Book Review & Giveaway: “What A Plant Knows”

For many gardeners, the reasons for gardening come down to stimulating and satisfying our own senses: the scent of a summer rose, the feel of a freshly mowed lawn under your toes, the sound of morning songbirds, the taste of a homegrown tomato, or the sight of the saturated color of the season’s first peony bloom.

But are our senses the only ones being stirred in the garden?  According to a remarkable video and an equally remarkable book, the answer is “no.”  Our senses, it seems, are in good company with the senses of our plants.

About a year ago, I discovered a Smithsonian Channel video, which is now available on YouTube.    Although the video was educational, I could never figure out how to say what I wanted to say or how to use it in a way that would make sense.  What I do know is that the video has remained in my brain and at the top of my post wish list.

See what I mean?  Very cool stuff.

A few weeks ago, my father phoned me and told me to watch “CBS Sunday Morning,” and an interview with biologist/author Daniel Chamovitz.  In easy-to-understand language, he explained that human senses are not the only ones stirring in the garden.  In a sense, said Chamovitz, plants have their own “senses” that are not too different from our own — and it’s not nonsense.  It’s science.

Chamovitz’s ideas are more deeply explored in his newly published What A Plant Knows: A Field Guide to the Senses, a well-researched book that is informative, intelligent, educational, and very user friendly — a kind of Sense and Sense-ability for gardeners.

As a postdoctoral fellow at Yale University, Chamovitz was drawn to the idea of how plants use light — and his scientific questioning led to the discovery of a specific set of genes that enable a plant to determine if it’s in the light or in the dark.  Much to his surprise, these genes are also a part of human DNA.  The discovery began a lifetime of questions and research into the similarities between plants and humans.

The result is this book, which is as much a tribute to the wonders of plants as it is to the wonders of the scientific process.

Chamovitz devotes each chapter to a specific sense, with his words peeling away the mystery of why plants do what they do.  To illustrate, Chamovitz recalls the work of earlier researchers and their discoveries, as well as the behavior of specific plants — such as Cuscuta pentagona.  More commonly known as dodder, the plant is a parasitic vine without chlorophyll.  In order to survive, it “smells” for a host plant and actively grows toward the source of the aroma.

Yes, this is that kind of book.  It will make you sit up and say, “Wow!”  It will make you ask questions.  It will make you appreciate even more the wonder that you cultivate in your gardens.

I can hear you all saying, “If plant can do all this, what else can they do?  Talk?”  Well, yes, they can.  Cue the video, also from the Smithsonian Channel.

If you would like to win a soft cover copy of What A Plant Knows: A Field Guide to the Senses, please leave a comment below.  For a second chance to win, leave a comment on my Facebook page and please remember to click “Like.”  Winners will be announced on Saturday, May 25.

Happy Mother’s Day!

“If love is sweet as a flower, then my mother is that sweet flower of love.”
Stevie Wonder

Mother’s Day and flowers, flowers and Mother’s Day — the two are so intertwined that it’s nearly impossible to separate them.  For most of my life, the day was a chance to give flats or flowering shrubs.  It’s also the day that symbolizes the absolute safe time of year to get things in the ground.  So for this day, here are a few photos of the azaleas, lilacs, and columbine blooming now and a few words for Mothers everywhere — including my own.

So That’s Where Baby Hydrangeas Come From!

I remember the day I first learned about the birds and the bees, which — surprise — really had nothing to do with birds and bees.

I was watching an afternoon rerun of “Marcus Welby, M.D.” with my mother, and the episode focused on a patient with an STD, only it was called VD at the time.  My father walked in at that moment and asked if I knew what that meant.

“Um, yeah?” I said, unsure if the question mark at the end of my response gave me an air of authority or uncertainty.

And then came my father’s response, “Let’s go for a drive.”  Uncertainty it was.

Bloomin’ Update 40: La Dolce Muscari

When my friend Maria presented me with a small bag of Muscari bulbs as a gift years ago, I had no idea that that would be the start of a beautiful relationship.  My first thought was, “How cute.  Grape hyacinths — even the name sounds petite and demure.”  Nothing, though, could be farther from the truth.

Repost: Water for Elephant Ears

A year ago, April temperatures were warm.  This year, it’s been cool — especially the overnight temps, which have approached the freezing mark.  As a result, my patience to get my hands dirty and to get my tropicals into the ground has grown thin.  My solution?  An experiment.  

Since I did not start any seeds in the potting shed this winter, it’s quite empty.  My plan is to plant the Elephant Ears and Canna in pots, place the pots in the potting shed, and then let the heat get their juices flowing.  And that’s the purpose for this repost — I’ll be doing exactly as I spelled out a year ago.  Happy gardening.

Attractive, aren’t they?

The last time I saw my Elephant Ears, they were clipped back, packed into peat moss, and stored in a cement bunker.  With the very warm April temperatures, I couldn’t resist opening up their winter palace.  But unlike Geraldo Rivera and Al Capone’s vault, I found my treasure.

My Top 3 Questions About 50

It’s official, and now that the rollercoaster that was this week is over, I can share this bit of news with all of you.  In the midst of the madness, I celebrated my 50th birthday. Yes, I am now a half-century old.

I think I’m supposed to feel different because friends and colleagues keep asking me, “How do you feel?”  Is 50 supposed to feel different than 49?  Am I supposed to be sad?  Contemplative?  Excited?

What I can say, having survived a head injury, the result of a car accident, and then 13 coronary stents, is, “I’m very happy to be here.”  Is that enough?  Should there be more?  According to celebrities who reach an insert-age-here milestone and then write a book and go on talk shows to shout how wonderful it is to be said age, I should be glowing — but the only thing that appears to be glowing is the fifty shades of gray in my hair.

For Boston . . .

Bloomin’ Update 39: Spring Awakening!

I am so distracted these days, and spring is to blame.  There’s the smell of freshness on the breeze, the chirps and calls of birds in the morning, and the daily display of fifty shades of green.  All I want to do is work in the yard: clean the beds, rake the lawn, bring out the terracotta pottery, inhale deeply — but I do have a day job that demands much of my time and a post to write.

Writing, though, is near impossible.  Spring stimulates all of my senses, and each time I step outside, I am overwhelmed with words, feelings, and adjectives.  Rather than write them down, they swirl inside my head as I become lost in the intoxicating world that is spring.

And so, I surrender to those who have already placed their words on paper, words that illustrate the beauty of the gardener’s most magical season.

To Blow Or To Suck, That Is The Question

Of course, I’m referring to leaves — what on earth were you thinking — because my yard is, once again, overrun with leaves — which is strange, since I have very vivid memories of autumn weekends with a rake.  I’m positive I raked this yard a few months ago.  In fact, I’ve written extensively about my love of raking, and the peace and nostalgia that this chore delivers.

But as I look out at a yard buried under as many leaves as I raked in the fall, I have decided that I am not a fan of spring raking.  It’s bothersome and it gets in the way of what I really want to do, which is prepare the beds for actual gardening — not this maintenance stuff.  I’ve waited through all of winter for this first warmish weekend to work outside — and raking is not on my list of things to do.

Repost: One Week In Two Zones

It was a gut-wrenching, heart-aching goodbye.  As we drove north on I-95, we watched spring disappear, its greens and blooms falling away with each passing mile.  And now, on a very cold spring day on Long Island, I am once again looking at a world of brown with only a few patches of green growth — a far cry from South Florida’s lush jungle.  So as I re-acclimate to my climate, I am thinking of a post from last year when I gardened in two zones in one week.  

Please, forgive me for this repost, but I am a sad gardener.  Just days ago, I tasted renewal — and this morning, I scraped ice from my windshield.  It hurts.  It really hurts.

One day, you’re on vacation in South Florida, gazing at the pattern of a banana leaf sunlit from behind (above) — and the next, you’re bundled up against the wind chill of Long Island.  After arriving home, I went through some random Florida photos and then walked around the yard on Long Island to make a comparison.  Can you guess which photos came from which zone?