Ranunculus, and a plaintive plea for spring

I am so, so very sick of this snow. February is, to me, the bitterest month. It's cold, it's bleak and this month, the snow has been relentless. I've yet to see even the tiniest bit of Crocus foliage sprout and the snow makes it hard to even spend much time outdoors.

But, the days are lengthening, ever so slowly. And there is always the Duane Reade official sign of spring, the Peep (TM):



It's getting me so rammy that I finally decided to take some snapshots of plants at a florist. So I walked over to Adore Floral in Noho to see what they had blooming in a climate-controlled showroom.



I'll post a few other shots later this week but today we'll focus on Ranunculus asiaticus, or the Persian buttercup. This species of Ranunculus is native to the Mediterranean region and is a protected flower in Israel. It prefers a dry light soil, hot summers and mild winters.



Because it comes in a wide variety of colors and the big flower heads (with rows and rows of petals), it's a popular favorite in the floral industry, though the blossoms are still quite fragile.



Ranunculus are commonly called buttercup due to the buttery yellow color of another Ranunculus species, R. acris. Ranunculus itself is Latin for "little frog" (Rana=frog) because some species of this genus can be found near wetlands, which are also frequented by frogs.



Speaking of etymology, if the species name acris caught your eye, you'd be interested to know that indeed it is given this name because the plant has a bitter acrid taste that can be fatal to livestock if ingested fresh. It's unlikely, however that a cow or horse would eat much of it, due to the taste and the mouth blisters that animals will get after eating only a little of this plant. If humans handle the plant too much, they will also get a case of dermatitis caused by chemicals that can be released from the plant.

Nouvel's Parc del Centre del Poblenou

Last week when I was discussing the Parc del Clot in Barcelona, I made a reference to the nearby Parc del Centre del Poblenou, designed by architect Jean Nouvel.


Nouvel is best known for his architecture. The Pritzker-Prize winning architect designed the new(ish) Musee de Quai Branly in Paris, and is known among the Barcelonans for his Torre Agbar.

As far as I know, the Parc del Centre del Poblenou - opened in April 2008 - is Nouvel's first foray into landscape design. If you, dear reader, will forgive a tiny bit of snark in this post, let me add that I hope it will be his last.


Don't get me wrong; I'm pretty sure what Nouvel did is precisely what many architects would do if designing a park. The entire park is surrounded by large walls, limiting pedestrian passage and creating a sense that one is somewhat 'trapped' in the park. Even the cut-outs that you can see above are inpenetrable to air and wind as they are filled with plexiglass. To Nouvel's credit, the walls were intended to block out noise from the nearby traffic. However, there are many other ways noise can be mitigated. Grades can be raised or lowered, berms can be built, or (without water restrictions) white noise can be introduced.



A strange theme you discover while walking through the spare landscape is Nouvel's insistence on training or manipulating plants. Vines are trailed over large arbors, as seen above (arbors which, puzzlingly enough, fail intersect sensibly with any other landscape element. ...Why, why is this axis not aligning with the gate, argh? Also: note to self - use heavier footing for area lighting fixtures!)


Above, plants are stacked in towers raising to the sky, and below, well, I'm not sure what those nets are for.



Visitors have little choice when it comes to seating. Metal chairs are secured to the ground with footings and the absence of lawn areas (understandable in a water-deficient climate) further eliminate opportunities for improvisation in the landscape. To me, that kind of improvisation is a crucial part of a park experience. I want to walk through a landscape, survey my environment, and pick a spot to sit down that is my own special nook. It's about discovery. The fact that the seating locations are predefined by Nouvel steals some magic away from the visitor.


And, well, not to nitpick, but weeping willows (Salix alba subsp. babylonica) in a water-poor climate makes no sense to me.


I will aquiesce that I liked the treatment of this road, which bisects the park. The Parthenocissus is quickly covering the arbors and the structure seems fitting for the roadway. And I did love the use of rebar in the grillework for the vines, below.



Landscape architects love to wring their hands in despair at the thought of architects taking some of our territory. But frankly it seems unnecessarily insecure. If anything, a park like this (and perhaps to a lesser degree Tschumi's Parc de la Villette) demonstrates how specialized a landscape architect's knowledge and sensibility are and how unique they are from the field of architecture.



I used the word magic earlier in this post (and also when I discussed Vaux le Vicomte), when describing a landscape experience, but that's unfair to the designer. There's nothing supernatural in Olmstead's or Le Nôtre's designs. The success of their work (and many others in our field) is the result of a lifetime of study and discipline in the unique field of landscape architecture.

We have become Seattleites

Yesterday marked the beginning of the three-day holiday weekend for me. So I met some friends at 230 Fifth - a somewhat pricey bar that has fantastic views of the city. It was optimistic to meet there, considering how much rain we've had in New York lately.

Before my friends arrived, it began to drizzle. A few people determinedly opened umbrellas at their seats, hoping the clouds would pass. When my first friend arrived, the deluge began. (It was perhaps the fifth storm we had yesterday -- as it seemed to rain on the hour and be clear on the half hour, as regular as a bus schedule.)

I had to respect these folks:


Then again, if I were drinking a magnum of Moet & Chandon (which they were), I wouldn't let the rain stop me, either.

Earlier in the week, I gave my students an exam where the rain was, at times, falling sideways. We submitted to it like abused children. Yesterday: more of the same. As I've mentioned before, I am so very, very tired of this weather!

But, I suppose the one silver lining around the many, many clouds we've seen is that the storms move fast. And it wasn't long before we could return to our seats.


Have a good (dry, hot) Fourth!

More reasons to eschew Bradford pear

I know I may have discussed this more than enough but I don't think it's an exaggeration to say that Bradford pears are a scourge of our modern landscapes.

I get it - they are cheap and grow quickly. But the cheapness accounts for the excessive ubiquitousness of this plant, and, at least in this case, the fast growing quality means that the wood lacks structural strength and is thus susceptible to major limb loss. After that, it is not long before the whole tree begins to rot out and die off. In the meantime, I think we can all agree that trees like this,


are an eyesore. The weak wood also accounts for the tree's poor ability to withstand snow and wind loading, which can likely result in the tree ultimately looking like the specimen above.

This plant is so common that people with allergies suffer most when the tree is in bloom. And although Bradford pear is primarily used as an ornamental plant, it is increasingly seen as an invasive species, growing wild on roadsides and in wooded areas near the suburbs.

Don't use Bradford pears. For reals.

An endnote: I knew that I had used the term "dreaded Bradford pear" in a post at one point or another. But I couldn't remember which post it was, so I googled the three words, in quotes, to track down the blog entry. I was pleasantly surprised to know that I am hardly unique in using the word 'dreaded' in associate with 'Bradford pear.' In fact, it appears that 114 websites utilize the term "dreaded Bradford pear" -- it's good to know I am not alone in my opinions!

A few good reasons not to plant Bradford Pears

My students are no strangers to my... rants about Pyrus calleryana 'Bradford,' or Bradford Pears.

Sadly, I was not a plant geek when my parents hired a landscape designer for their house in Virginia. Otherwise, I would have protested against the use of this tree.

Alas, 20 years later this tree has succumbed like so many others Bradfords before it.

Bradfords, as you may know, are notoriously weak-wooded. They grow very quickly and that, coupled with the acute branching habit, is a recipe for the damage you can see in these photos. You have probably seen Bradfords and noted their perfect lollipop shape. After it loses a limb like this, it doesn't recover. Instead it looks like a lemon missing a wedge and will never quite fill in. Due to their low cost, they are also so over-used that the pollen is causing more allergies each spring when they bloom.

Finally, the wood rots very quickly after this kind of damage and it will be a fast ride to oblivion for this specimen.


It's always fun to say 'I told you so,' right? I'm glad no damage was done to their house, otherwise I may have held back a bit. But please: don't plant Bradford Pears!