New butterworts

TerraForums once again hosted an auction to benefit the North American Sarracenia Conservancy. It's a great way to get rid of excess plant material and acquire some new plants, all for a very good cause. I put up a few plants, including a Lecanopteris mirabilis, Myrmecodia sp., and a Drosera graomogolensis. But I couldn't resist bidding! Now that my orchid collection is outpacing my carnivorous plant collection, I thought I'd even things out by bidding on some Pinguicula, commonly called butterworts.

I ended up winning a P. gigantea, P. esseriana, P. laueana, and a P. rotundiflora. I also recently acquired a P. reticulata in a trade.

P. gigantea

P. gigantea is, you guessed it, a big one, reaching 9-10 inches in diameter. It is unique in that both sides of its leaves are sticky (most butterworts produce mucilage and digestive enzymes only on the upper sides of their leaves). Mine is just a small division... for now.

 The other newbies:

P. rotundiflora

P. reticulata

P. laueana

P. esseriana

With all these new butterworts, I decided to pot everything, including my older plants, together in a bonsai pot. It will save some space and I rather like the look of Pinguicula community pots. Here's what the whole thing looks like:

These Pinguicula hail from Mexico and have two distinct seasonal growth patterns. In the winter, when they need much less water, they form tight rosettes of succulent leaves. In the spring, they begin to form their wide, glistening carnivorous leaves.

P. 'Seductora' beginning to make carnivorous leaves. Many Mexican butterworts will flush pink or red in good light.

Unlike Drosera, Utricularia, and some other carnivorous plants, Pinguicula don't need as much water, even in their carnivorous phase. Consequently, many growers pot them up in coarse, well-draining mixes. Mine are in a mix of turface, lava rock, perlite, and a little peat. There are almost as many mixes as there are growers and I've had success growing them in the 50/50 mix of peat and perlite that is standard for most carnivorous plants. Anyway, they're quite easy to grow and make lovely flowers, so they're a good choice for beginners.

Anramitaco

The first European description of a Nepenthes comes to us from Etienne de Flacourt (1607-1660), French governor of Fort Dauphin (Tôlanaro, Madagascar) from 1648-1655.

To compete with the English and Dutch East India Companies, chartered in 1600 and 1602, the French created the Compagnie d'Orient in 1642 and established a colony at Fort Dauphin shortly thereafter. Beset by disease, debt, conflict with the native population, and a series of mutinies, the colony would last only thirty years before being abandoned. In order to drum up support for the struggling colony at home, Flacourt published his Histoire de la grande isle de Madagascar in 1658 and reissued it with additional material in 1661. The book describes, among other things, the flora of the island. For those of us interested in carnivorous plants, there's one plant in particular that catches the eye: anramitaco

"Anramitaco is a plant [...] that carries at the end of its leaves [...] a hollow flower or fruit like a small vase, which has a lid. This is a wonderful sight. There are red ones and yellow ones, the yellow ones being the largest." He notes that the little "flowers" contain water, and recounts a local superstition that it would not rain if one picked the "flower." Given this description, the anramitaco is none other than Nepenthes madagascariensis, one of only two species of Nepenthes endemic to Madagascar and widespread in the area around Tôlanaro.

The illustration (numbered 43) is very likely the first European illustration of a Nepenthes. I don't know if Flacourt preserved a specimen or not (probably not), but we do know that at least one plant, a Madagascar periwinkle (Catharanthus roseus), made it back to France and was later integrated into Sébastien Vaillant's herbarium, which still exists.

N. madagascariensis isn't the showiest Nepenthes, but it is one I'd love to grow for its botanical history alone. Unfortunately, this one is a lowlander and likes it hot and humid, so it would not last long in my conditions.

Proust's orchids

Last week, I gave a lecture on Proust's "Swann in Love," a relatively short and manageable section from the seven-volume Remembrance of Things Past. There's a wonderful little scene where Swann, on the pretext of adjusting the Cattleya orchids tucked around Odette's "low-necked bodice," makes love to her for the first time. From that moment on, faire cattleya ("make cattleya") serves as their secret, romantic code for lovemaking. But for Proust the Cattleya is more than an instance of lovers' language. The orchid comes to occupy the narrator's reflections on human nature, the unconscious, and literary creation. 

Detail from Cattleya Orchid and Three Hummingbirds (1871)

Proust was fascinated by orchids, especially their complicated pollination syndromes. He knew Darwin's work through translations by Amédée Coutance (1824-1895). Coutance was a curious botanist who authored, in addition to treatises on the oak and the olive tree, a short book on La Fontaine's Fables in which he argued that the seventeenth-century poet "a eu l'intuition des grandes lois qui régissent les luttes pour l'existence, et que, sur quelques points, il a devancé la science de son temps" [intuited the great laws that govern the struggle of existence and in some respects was ahead of the science of his day]. In the opening pages of Sodom and Gomorrah, the fourth volume of Remembrance, the narrator will remark that the laws of plant world are in turn governed by superior laws. All this talk of "laws," of course, nods toward Darwin's laws of evolution and natural selection. A flower's "ruse apparente" [apparent ruse] tricks an insect into pollinating it, but neither the flower nor the insect (nor even the casual observer) knows that this whole scene obeys an inscrutable natural order that ensures fertilization and avoids sterile self-fertilization.

Citing the example of the vanilla orchid, the narrator notes that "l'organe mâle est séparé par une cloison de l'organe femelle" [the male organ is separated from the female by a partition] and that it would remain sterile were it not for the intervention of birds, bees, or a human hand. This little partition, called the rostellum, serves to prevent self-fertilization. For Proust, the image applies to human relationships as well, suggesting the inaccessibility of the beloved and the need for some kind of artifice to unite the two. Hence Swann's recourse to the metaphorical power of language in "make cattleya." It is as though "making cattleya" is the only way Swann can make love to Odette. Of course, the repeated "make cattleya" diminishes the freshness and excitement of the newly-coined metaphor until finally it no longer promises sexual intercourse, but instead frustration and disappointment. "No cattleyas tonight."        

Illustration from Darwin's On the Various Contrivances by which [...] Orchids are Fertilised by Insects (1862). "a" is the male part, "s" the female part, and "r" the rostellum

When it comes to orchids, Proust is less concerned with evolution than with aesthetics, for he goes to say in the manuscript (not, alas, the published work) that the laws of evolution oblige us to consider "un être silencieux" [a silent entity] enclosed within a flower's petals and that we too contain something silent and unknowable that nevertheless obeys certain laws--the unconscious. Now, for an author preoccupied with the unconscious mind--spontaneous memories, sudden associations, dreams, desires--it is hardly surprising that the scene of pollination in turn becomes a metaphor for the "partie inconsciente de l'oeuvre littéraire" [the unconscious part of a literary work]. The famous madeleine scene, for example, captures all the intensity of memory relived. Whereas the conscious effort to recover the past results in frustration, the simple act of dunking a cookie into a cup of tea reaches deep into the unconscious and vividly brings forth past experience. Like self-fertilization, conscious remembrance is sterile. But the fortuitous intervention of an external entity, like a bee or a cookie, productively stimulates the unconscious, allowing use not just to remember, but to relive and recreate the past.

There's a lot more to say about Proust and orchids. Maybe one day I'll get around to putting my thoughts in order. Until then, I'm content just to pick up Sodom and Gomorrah from time to time and read the intoxicating first few pages where literary modernism meets botanical reflection.

Portrait of Proust by Jacques-Emile Blanche (1892), featuring an orchid in his buttonhole

   

Ants in your plants

This is a young Myrmecodia tuberosa, a distant relative of coffee that grows as an epiphyte in the forests of Southeast Asia.

Myrmecodia tuberosa

If you know your Greek, you might be wondering if this plant has anything to do with ants. Indeed, it does. This is an example of a myrmecophyte, commonly called an "ant plant" (myrmex "ant" + phyton "plant"). These plants grow in association with ants, with which they have a mutualistic relationship. The plant provides shelter for the ants, who in turn defend the plant from herbivorous pests and furnish it with nutrients from their waste. Where do the ants shelter? In the swollen base, or domatium, which is full of tunnels and chambers.

Cross-section of a Myrmecodia

My favorite ant plants are ferns of the genus Lecanopteris. I have two species, L. sinuosa and L. mirabilis, in my collection. These are two of the easier species and have proven to be quite vigorous and tolerant.

Lecanopteris sinuosa

L. sinuosa has hollow, creeping rhizomes covered in a layer of scales.

Close-up showing scales and a new frond

The hollow rhizomes of L. sinuosa serve the same purpose as the domatia of Myrmecodia spp. by providing shelter for colonies of ants. Most Lecanopteris share this feature, but L. mirabilis is an exception. Its large, flattened rhizomes shield ant colonies from the elements. They remind me of pools of green wax. Here is a small, recent division of L. mirabilis:

Lecanopteris sinuosa

Fortunately, you don't need ants to cultivate these fascinating plants. I grow Myrmecodia and Lecanopteris is sphagnum moss (sometimes sold as "orchid moss"). Regular, weak fertilizer application makes up for the missing ant colonies. Myrmecodia can take very bright light. I've found Lecanopteris to be tolerant of both light shade and more moderate light. Coming from the tropics, they do prefer high humidity.

I hope to add more ant plants to my collection. They're not only beautiful plants, but also great conversation pieces!

Blooming bladderworts

Today, I discovered that my small pot of Utricularia warburgii is sending up flowers.

U. warburgii is a bladderwort (so named because of the tiny subterranean bladder-like traps) native to SE China. I've had the plant for nearly two years, but this is the first time it is blooming. It did not bloom until I put it on directly on the windowsill last summer, where it experiences seasonal variation in temperature and photoperiod. It could be that this particular species needs seasonal cues to bloom. In any case, it's blooming now and the flowers are very pretty.

Utricularia flowers are very small (this one is about the size of a pencil eraser) but their delicacy is reminiscent of orchids. They aren't very popular, which is a shame because the terrestrial varieties are quite easy to grow, don't take up much space, and will reward you with lots of flowers.

U. sandersonii

U. livida

U. pubescens

U. chrysantha

U. blanchetii (with a Nepenthes ventricosa x talangensis)

Terrestrial bladderworts are not demanding. Grow them in a mix of peat and sand or perlite. As with all carnivorous plants, do not use substrates containing fertilizers and always use pure, e.g. distilled, water. Bladderworts like wet feet, so grow them in undrained containers (I use yogurt cups) or place pots in a dish of water. Some species are reliably floriferous, like U. livida, others need a little coaxing to bloom. Though not as showy or recognizable as the sundew or Venus fly trap, these diminutive plants will brighten your windowsill with scores of charming blossoms. 



  

Orchids in hanging terrariums

Terrariums are in. Especially tiny, trendy, crafty terrariums fashioned out of everything from spice jars to light bulbs. Hanging glass terrariums are also popular and, I'll admit, are great for folks with windows but not a lot of windowsill. The problem is that, while many of these projects score points for aesthetics, they're horticultural disasters unlikely to last for more than a few months.

Take, for example this carnivorous plant terrarium:

  
It's visually appealing. It's self-contained. It's full of interesting plants. It's also doomed. First of all, it combines plants with very different cultural requirements. Nepenthes (the pitcher plant) are tropical plants that grow throughout the year, while Dionaea (the Venus flytrap) is a temperate plant, native to North Carolina, that requires a cold winter dormancy. Second, Nepenthes generally prefer a more open medium, like sphagnum moss and perlite, and a dense, peat-based medium like the one here will likely lead to rot. Third, Nepenthes are vines. Big vines. If it remains healthy, it will quickly outgrow the terrarium. And I'm just getting started...

There are, however, many other plants that do well in terrarium. Tillandsia (the ubiquitous "air plant"), for example. But also miniature orchids, particularly those of the subtribe Pleurothallidinae. Many prefer high humidity and constant moisture at the roots, making them difficult for anyone who doesn't have the space for a proper orchidarium. Fortunately, they grow well in hanging glass globes. I don't know how or when the trend started, but an increasing number of orchid growers have adopted this method to grow the odd Pleurothallid or two.

I have two Pleuros in hanging glass globes, a Pleurothallis alata and a Lepanthes calodictyon. The latter is a gorgeous miniature orchid, with densely patterned, ruffle-edged leaves and tiny red flowers that resemble insects. Mine came mounted on a small piece of cork. I placed moist sphagnum moss in the bottom of the globe and nestled the mount on top. Within a few months, various mosses began to grow, creating a nice green bed beneath the orchid. I keep the moss moist and mist the globe (one spritz does a good job thoroughly wetting the interior) once every day or so. The globe hangs about two feet from the window, so it receives no direct sun. Here's how it looks:

And here's a close-up of the flower:

While this is easier than attempting to grow Lepanthes calodictyon on a windowsill next to some grocery-store Phalaenopsis, there are a few things to keep in mind: it should never dry out, but excess water will promote fungus and rot, so water carefully; most Pleuros are sensitive to dissolved salts, so use distilled or RO water and fertilize weakly throughout the year; finally (this should be obvious), keep it out of direct sunlight to avoid cooking your plant. And above all, always research your plant's cultural needs, lest you end up crafting a beautiful disaster like the carnivorous plant terrarium above!