</p> Catalogs call them "minor bulbs"--those little gems that brighten up our gardens in late winter. I am frankly astounded that you see so few of these in Denver gardens (or anywhere in the Rocky Mountain region). For any number of geobotanical reasons, there are only a very small number of early spring ephemerals in our native flora. But the Mediterranean region and Central Asia teem with extraordinary flowers that bloom as snows melt. These seem to grow here with real gusto. Crocuses, snowdrops, Cyclamen coum</em> and reticulate irises are all winter's jewels or else spring's earliest heralds. And there are many more as well, but the tiny grape hyacinth, Muscari azureum</em>, holds a special place in my affections. </p> Mention grape hyacinth, and many gardeners groan: the commonly grown Muscari armeniacum</em> or M. neglectum</em> thrive here all right: they can be downright pesky in the garden, producing vast sheaths of messy foliage in fall that singes by spring and doesn't quite justify their gloomy purple blue clusters that come a little too late (when everything else is blooming too).</p> There are a number of equally prolific grape hyacinths with more winning traits, and the first of these is this tiny blue marvel that usually opens its first blossoms at ground level in February. March, however, is its time of glory: right now the dry borders in my garden have wide swaths of azure blue, like the little pool of color you can see below.</p> Muscari azureum It is prolific, but please don't summon the invasive police! In this case, one can never seem to have enough of this good thing. It sprinkles my borders, my rock garden, it seems to pop up somewhere new every year. Of course, I have been known to gather its seeds in May and scatter them around rather enthusiastically. This little gem is above ground only a few weeks, and at the time of year our gardens are their most austere and need that little extra kick. And tiny though it is, its piercing blue is welcome. I first came to know this plant in the garden of the late T. Paul Maslin, an eminent biologist who taught at the University of Colorado in Boulder. Paul passed away in 1984. He was my near neighbor growing up with the most beautiful garden in Boulder (maybe in the state). He became my mentor and best friend. He loved this bulb (then known as Hyacinthus azureus</em>) which grew everywhere in his garden too. In fact, my plants trace their origins to Paul. In the later 20th century, Botanists called this bulb Hyacinthella azurea</em>, so the Latin specific epithet has progressed from masculine to feminine and is now neuter! No matter what it's name or sex may be, this is a bulb I wouldn't want to live without. Every day in March I go out and admire it here and there, and think of the vast swaths of Anatolia that it graces in nature (where, no doubt, some of my ancestors a millenium ago admired it too), and of my wonderful friend, Paul. I look forward to the day it carpets much of my half acre with azure scatterugs of sparkling blue. One could have much worse predilections, I'm sure you would agree!</p>
</p> Managing the environment versus managing people surely should be very different... or are they? Lately I have been challenged to make such an analogy and found it surprisingly compelling. Through the course of my 15 years studying invasive species biology and restoration ecology, as well as learning from the horticulturists here at Denver Botanic Gardens, I have come to the conclusion that there is no such thing as a bad plant... but that certainly there is plant "behavior" that we may deem harmful, such as when tamarisk trees dominate a riverbank to such an extent that nothing else can possibly grow.</p> Are tamarisk inherently "bad"? Of course not: they play an important role in their native ecosystems in Eurasia, and as it turns out, can also provide habitat for some birds and fulfill other ecosystem services in "invaded" ranges. That is, they can have both "good" and "bad" behavior. Which they do depends on the interaction of the tree with its environment. </p> Put tamarisk seeds in an area with lots of water where desirable native trees have been displaced through poor management or other causes, and they will dominate and further degrade the ecosystem through salt deposits and increased fire frequency. Alternatively, if the land is well managed and desirable species are doing well, tamarisk will not be invasive and individual trees can actually be a benefit to the overall ecosystem. </p> You may already see where this analogy is going.... I believe strongly that there is no such thing as an inherently "good" or "bad" person/employee/team member. However, any individual has the capacity to behave poorly and/or not contribute; it is up to an effective leader to make sure that A) the environment is managed well to promote "good" behavior and B) that the right people are in the right positions (i.e. they are doing jobs best suited to their skill sets and interests). </p> According to Jim Collins (of "From Good to Great"), one of the features of highly successful organizations and businesses is that they prioritize personnel decisions. This may be simple, but it certainly isn't easy. In the last couple years, we have seen Denver Botanic Gardens flourish in new and exciting ways; it is certainly a testament to this principle. Every new hire here thrills me because I know that the environment here promotes excellence, and that we work hard to put the right people into the right positions. We will be losing one of our finest leaders soon; Betsy Cheroutes, director of development ,is beginning a much deserved retirement. I have learned much about leadership from her and will dearly miss being able to pop in her office for a quick bit of advice. However, I know to anticipate great things from her successor in this positive environment. The tamarisk trees taught me that.</p> This blog post was written by Anna Sher, Ph.D.</em>, adjunct researcher and former director of the Research & Conservation Department at Denver Botanic Gardens.</em></p>
</p> Autumn is imbued with intimations of mortality: dying leaves, dormancy, doom, gloom, Hallowe'en colors and ghosts and spooks: Boo! Gardeners know another side of this "season of mists and mellow fruitfulness": there are a number of plants that only begin </strong>blooming in September, with one or another species coming on until the spring: Hellebores, crocuses, cyclamen and witch hazels are all plants that have a different notion of the growing season. It's their spring right now! A well stocked collection of any of these genera begins with heavy bloom in October and one or another will keep blooming right until the hot days of late spring when they go dormant (so to speak) for the summer doldrums. These are my kind of plants! Crocuses for most of us means the bright orangy-yellow Crocus flavus </em>or C. ancyrensis</em> among a host of others, not to mention the Dutch giants derived from C. vernus</em>. Although pitifully few Coloradoans grow them, crocuses will thrive almost anywhere they are planted in a Colorado garden: dry or wet, sunny or shady. They love it here. Now is a great time to plant these spring bloomers for a splash of color in February and March. There are another group of true crocuses that wait until October to put on their show. These you must order early in the season and plant in September preferably. Denver Botanic Gardens boasts wonderful plantings of these in many gardens: they are among the largest flowered plants in their genus and have flowers of a luminous shades of lavender, purple and occasionally white. Ten days ago we had a precocious bout of winter that froze many leaves and diminished our autumn beauty. But I have never seen the autumn crocuses bloom more spectacularly than they have the last few weeks. I am not talking about the pink Colchicums that go by that name (they are mostly done and are in the Lily family and have six stamens: true crocuses are related to irises and have only three stamens!). Above you have Crocus speciosus</em>, the commonest and bluest of the autumn crocus which is blooming in the east west pathway and the Rock Alpine Garden right now. Below is C. nudiflorus</em> in my own home garden. An even darker C. medius</em> will be blooming the next few weeks in the Rock Alpine Garden. Remind me to order more of these and the rest next year for my garden! To walk into a garden where dozens of unearthly, fluted goblets of autumn crocuses are gently trembling in the autumn breeze is heavenly. It's as though they are toasting the start of the crocus season with their beakers, full of sky blue or evening lavender. Cheers! </p>
</p> Mount Goliath, the northern shoulder of Mount Evans and located within the Arapaho National Forest, takes my breath away each time I visit. Visitors to this fragile alpine environment can experience the highest cultivated garden in the U.S. (managed by Denver Botanic Gardens in conjunction with the U.S. Forest Service), enjoy the Dos Chappell Nature Center or hike the M. Walter Pesman Trail. </p> As one wanders through the trail, one can witness numerous alpine wildflowers along with one of the most accessible stands of Rocky Mountain bristlecone pines (Pinus aristata</em>), some of them over 1,500 years old.</p> </p> If you haven’t been up to Mount Goliath, this is the perfect time to get up there. A Denver Botanic Gardens membership does not allow free access to the U.S. Forest Service Mount Evans Recreation Area. Visitors to Mount Goliath and Mount Evans need to pay the recreation area fee at the fee station. </p>
