Bermuda gladiolus

It is time to say goodbye to this gladiola. By June it's 'see-you-later.' 

Ice Plant

This plant (Ice Plant, Hottentot Fig, Sour Fig) is a food plant in its native Africa. The fruit and leaves are eaten. Don't look for it in your local supermarket (unless you live on the dark continent).

Lollipop Plant

Pachystachys lutea

The Walls of Jericho

Datura metel

All parts of this plant contain dangerous alkaloids. If you fancy hallucinations, feeling as though your head has been leveled by a steamroller, slipping into a coma, or death...this plant is for you. Talk about plants trying to kill you.

Seed pod

Fruit, out to kill you.

My editor is chiding me for the hyperbolic title, as she munches on a bowl of strawberries, grown hydroponically in some cave in Afghanistan and shipped lickety-split to a nearby grocery store for her immediate pleasure. The modern agro-business model never ceases to easily defeat the malleable mind of today's consumer.

Yesterday, and the day before, you were told--no, you were exhorted--to eat your fruits and vegetables. Fruits and vegetables are healthy, full-stop. Every third grader knows that. 

So, what's wrong with fruits and vegetables, he said rhetorically, knowing he would soon answer his own question. Other than phytates, lectins, oxalic acid, tannins, saponins and trypsin inhibitors...nothing, really. Welcome to the whimsical world of anti-nutrients.

Musa paradisiaca is the most common banana in Bermuda gardens.

Passiflora edulis

The well-guarded secret is that plants don't want to be eaten. Fancy that. Fruits and vegetables are loaded with nasty though protective (from the plant's point-of-view) compounds that are likely to give you a tearful tummy ache (and when I say you, I mean any critter on God's green earth that might fancy a chew on some salubrious leaf or want to feast on bright red berries. As humans we tend to think the world revolves around us. But it doesn't. Speaking frankly, nature might want you (or some creature) to eat fruit as a means of seed dispersal. And without venturing too far into scatological matters, I will explain tactfully: you eat the fruit; said fruit passes through your digestive tract (elephants and baboons, too) and lands, somehow, in a comely patch of dirt, whereupon it germinates. 

Another problem is that the fruit you gorged on was probably never intended for you. Nature probably had a particular species of bird in mind to co-opt into scattering the seeds, free of change, as farm labor is so expensive. And so, the reason some fruit may not agree with you is that the plump berry you popped into your mouth was never meant for you. But we are egocentric and regularly dismiss the incontrovertible evidence that we share the planet with other hungry animals.

But one thing is certain: natures does not want you--or any other of its vast network of crazy-eyed critters--to eat seeds. Seeds are for germination, not for chewing, masticating, or offering up on the altar of Epicure. This means you probably ought not eat sunflower seeds, pumpkin seeds, sesame seeds... You get the idea.  Strawberry seeds and the like, however, are the exception (such a clever design). They are so small that they escape their tormentor's teeth--and end up at the other end, unscathed--though meticulously malodorous. 

And if mother nature, that free-spirited termagant, doesn't want you to eat her seeds, she doesn't see much point in you eating leaves, twigs, roots, or whatever--as she has armed her verdant vassals with a pharmacy of potent defenses (those annoying anti-nutrients). 

Should you then not eat fruit and vegetables? No. But simply this: don't assume plants are benign. Ricinus communis ( castor bean plant) is a friendly-looking plant. If you are a Soviet-era spy (and I happen to know some of my readers are) you will know that the particular lectin from the castor bean, called ricin, can kill you in a heartbeat. Benign. Not so much. The blanket statement that plants are good because they are natural is not endorsed by most spy agencies.

The castor bean example too extreme for you? What about kidney beans? Heard of those? Eating as little as four uncooked red kidney beans (Phaseolus vulgaris) can land you in the hospital with  diarrhea and vomiting. Cases are well documented. Cooking deactivates the lectins in kidney beans making them safe to eat.  Phew!

In Bermuda, we are fond of cassava pie, made with unconscionable amounts of butter, half a hen house worth of poultry, stray feathers, some pork, a crazy amount of eggs, and cassava flour. Raw cassava contains cyanide and must not be eaten. Again, the cooking is the key. Not all anti-nutrients are destroyed by heat, so there's something else for you to chew on. [Nice metaphor. Ed.]  

My aim is not to malign plants. If you prepare lionfish ( with its venomous spines) improperly, you could be in for a surprise. Venomous defenses are not the same as the biological warfare employed by plants to keep you from feasting on them; nevertheless, don't mess with a lionfish. But as far as anti-nutrients are concerned, there are indeed lectins in meat, though they are far less troublesome to the human digestive enterprise than the don't-eat-me chemicals found in plants. 

Annona Squamosa also called Sugar Apple

But we are drifting from the topic in hand: fruit. I grow Sugar Apples and love them. They are members of the  Anonnas, or custard apple family. They also contain neurotoxins. Bottom line, don't eat a crate of them. 

There are lectins in tomatoes, carrots, rice, barley, navy beans, cantaloupe, lemons, bananas, garlic, and cocoa. And that's a very incomplete list. Lectins are a favorite way plants protect themselves against invaders (caterpillars, lawyers, accountants, etc) but there are others, the razor-sharp edges of oxalate particles, for instance: how would you like to swallow a 12 pack of Gillette razors?  

An eloquent elk can run away from you or knock you down--and trample on your head. Plants are unable to defend themselves in this manner; therefore they need to resort to other means (some of which have been cataloged here). 

Acca sellowiana. My Feijoa tree was murdered bt Humberto in 2019.

Plants undoubtedly possess beneficial compounds, but one should never conclude that they are unquestionably healthy. Spinach, for example, is a treasure trove of calcium and magnesium. But what good is that if the oxalates found in Popeye's favorite food prevent humans from absorbing those minerals? Aside from being inflammatory--funny how swallowing sharp objects will cause that--oxalates bind to essential minerals making them unavailable.  

So what is my recommendation on fruit?  Eat fruit in season. This necessarily limits your intake. It also puts you into synchronicity with the way in which your ancestors (say of a couple million years ago) ate. They were the original intermittent fasters, and this probably conferred some metabolic advantages--which we sadly have lost with our 24 hour access to the Seven Eleven slurpees and foot long franks.

Vegetables? Eat what's in season... Same reasons.

Here are a couple of fruits growing under the pandemic skies of  June.

Eugenia selloi

Goji

I love goji berries. They are, however, part of the Nightshade family--but that's a whole other subject. 

Agapanthus

This is the tropical version of the daylily. It is called  Lily-of-the-Nile by close friends and associates. Incidentally, we are in mid June, and on Devil's island this meretricious beauty starts to show off her blue garments in May.

Agapanthus

Heliconia

Gardening safely in a pandemic: the birdcage protocol.

The month of June brings the strangest sights to the garden. Heliconias, for example.  Now these imposing plants are related to the edible banana. Heliconias are, however, not to be eaten; rather, one must enjoy the eye-catchingly colorful bracts and bold demeanor they flaunt. But there is, as usual, confusion about numbing nomenclature; you see, botanists are a fickle bunch (bad pun says my ever-vigilant editor, sipping on a banana daquiri spiked with hydroxychloroquine). Yesterday they swore Heliconias were related to the banana (Musa species). Today they insist upon placing it in the Zingiberales family  (i.e. ginger) and I am only slightly embarrassed to bring such dissension to your attention. The modern covid predicament: not only must one garden with masks and gloves, one must deal with quacks and the raves of family-swapping thugs. I protest.

Heliconia rostrata

Rain Lily

Last week, in early June, in the midst of a pandemic, it rained hospitably. The 'rain lilies' responded. My editor, always keen to find fault, said I should unobtrusively add the scientific name of these lilies. Why should I write Zephyranthes Labuffarosa on my blog? It's long, and complicated. Average readers don't want that.  They want pretty pictures. 

Day 13

My recent trip to Venus.

Dionaea muscipula

Here are more snaps from my recent trip to Venus. To my surprise the Venusian government was pretty lax about covid. Naturally, the administrators of our sister planet are etymologically concerned with the pervasiveness of venereal disease their planet, bathe in sisterly sulfuric clouds, but they tell me covid-19 is not a thing there, so tourists may peregrinate joyously without need of PPE, or, as I have heard about other jurisdictions, a tracking device which could easily record the intrepid traveler's oh-so innocent meanderings from one palatial house of ill repute to another, as Venus does have her charms.

Day 7

Dionaea muscipula in bloom

This little blossom, taken on my latest trip to Venus, is very cheerful.

Naturally, there are travel restrictions due to the pandemic, but interplanetary voyages are game on. Go figure. (Elon will be happy to read this.)

Day 6

Gardening in a pandemic

Many mysterious moons ago, this pretty herb (probably a weed) germinated from a packet of wild flower seeds, which I long discarded. I think it is Nemophila menziesii also known as baby blue eyes or baby's-blue-eyes. My editor, banished to a sunlit room, reminds me that I should not be so careless. 

(I have been informed by one of my readers (okay, I only have one reader) that this bad-boy is Oenothera speciosa. It is very invasive and I doubt even a Hiroshima type event would get rid of it. Like living in a pandemic, one must accept what one cannot change. )

 Oenothera speciosa 

P.S. The alliterative cartoon cactus was inspired by:

https://theimprobablegarden.blogspot.com/2020/06/first-cactus-blossom.html

Day 4: Gardening in a Pandemic

GARDENING IN A PANDEMIC

Welcome back, friends. (I write as though there is actually an audience out there. This type of delusion is common in an epidemic--so they say.)

Here is the circular garden design, as promised:

The trio of mystery trees (unlabeled above) from the previous post are Garcinia intermedia or Lemon Drop Mangosteen. They are babies and may not survive my neglect (or the punishing winds, or the pandemic, or fact that Garcinias are not known to grow on the rocky, devil-inhabited island of Juan de Bermúdez ).

At the base of the palm we find the Argentinian Morning Glory (Ipomoea platensis ) comfortably ensconced. Notice the large caudex. (My editor suggests I define such words as 'caudex,' but I am too lazy to act upon such valuable advice.)

Ipomoea platensis

Till the next time, or as they say now...till the next pandemic (official 2020 phrase).

The palm (Roystonea regia or Royal Palm).

June 15, 2020 update: the Morning Glory blooms gloriously!

A slight problem!

Morning glory tries to strangulate Lemon-Drop Mangosteen. Bad.

Unexpected problems often plague the keen gardener. 

The first post and a tentative garden project

So what if the improbable path is a tad overgrown? After all, you can still make out the stepping stones, but not over there, as some pernicious weed is overstepping its wafer-thin authority. Always seems to happen. Still, the offender in question has the stealth of an assassin and this leads me to conclude, after years of careful study, that members of the plant kingdom are untrustworthy, as opposed to, shall we say, your average blog narrator. 

Parenthetically, I am informed by my editor, who is partial to all things lavender, that 'straighttalkedness' is not a word in any true sense; and for such shortsightedness I dismissed her summarily and asked her to kindly take all her aromatherapy paraphernalia with her—splitting an infinitive in the process, a little something designed to raise the hackles of my now jobless greenhorn editor. 

And while giving consideration to the kingdom Plantae, I would be wholely remiss if I were not to touch upon the perennial concept of beauty (and of horrid puns). Plants, those photosynthesizing conjurers, often avails themselves of tawdry lures such as sporting a coat of pubescent fuzz, the mere touch of which excites, or having the audacity to exude heady perfumes, or wantonly displaying colors which shock the soul. 

And so, Eve shockingly tempted Adam with a brick red apple. Apple seeds contain cyanide. Do you see where I am going with this? Did Eve really want to knock off her first beau or is this the story of how plants are trying to kill us? An interesting narrative challenge, to be sure. My belief is that plants are indeed trying to murder us, in our sleep or as we wake, and that we are hardwired to respond to narratives. More about these intriguing though disparate concepts later, perhaps.

Nevertheless, the plan for the first pandemic garden is that of a simple circle. Yet can circles be anything but simple? This is a rhetorical question and you, my dear reader, ought not rush headlong into proffering an answer—unless you squarely want to. Circle and square, ying and yang:  this sort of musing is beyond the purview of this blog, as is ultimately the meaning of mathematics or the reasons why you’re always tongue-tied when it comes to justifying your monthly expenses.

Then there’s this obsession you, dear blogofile readers slash viewers, have with pictures. Not to disappoint I will occasionally include visual aids, even though words ought probably be enough. And what was it Susan Sontag said about photography? It’s all murky to me now and my temperature is rising. But we are in the 21st century, in the middle of a pandemic, and we need to step back and do something bold and invigorating, such as planting a garden.

So here’s a nifty info-graphic of my pandemic-induced brainchild: 

This week I shall purchase a camera with the money I'm saving on bus fare; subsequently, you shall be able to regale in the type of verisimilitude (a literary term—how strange that should crop up here, along with another terribly bad pun) that only the labour of photographic equipment can bring to the blogosphere. When words fail, a picture never disappoints, unless it’s of the wrong thing, or that the focus isn’t spot on, or that the lens cap you should have removed irretrievably darkens your picture.

Till the next time, when I shall reveal the names of the newly planted trees. They are South American in origin, and so is the palm  smack-dab in the middle, curiously enough. And at the base of the palm (not part of the pandemic plan) is an Argentinian Morning Glory. So, we have a near-perfect design and thematic unity—and this is only day one! What more could you ask for? You are perusing a free blog after all.

The unlabeled tufts of growth are probably weeds.