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Every now and again Toby and I get together at a local coffeehouse to talk about our practices and about landscape architectural issues in general.  Conversation never lags — as we did when we worked together at Copley-Wolff, and over meals with other LA friends, and even before then, when we were both grad students at Cornell, we find plenty to talk about.  And we generate plenty of ideas for blog posts.

The thing is, once we’ve talked it seems harder actually to write the posts we’ve talked about.

Yesterday we had a long-overdue confab.  As always, it was refreshing  and fun to discuss our professional lives through the filter of a longtime friendship.  We mined a vein of topics that covered, as always, a pretty wide territory.  And once again, I made notes on what ideas I wanted to write about later.

This time, however, it dawned on me that the gulf between talking and writing would loom in front of us again, no matter what notes I took.  The solution — at least for the moment — is simply to post the list of topics we covered.  Here’s our list:

  • Apple crumb cake or two-chocolate mousse?  Brain food is important, and sweet selection really was our first topic as we stood at the counter.  Apple crumb cake won out.
  • Parcel 18 on Boston’s Rose Kennedy Greenway, and the clearing out of a rose thicket underneath a group of Dawn Redwoods (Metasequoia glyptostroboides).  Now you can understand the design intent of letting the trees form a grove.
  • The proposed Armenian Genocide Memorial, proposed for construction near Boston’s North End on the Greenway.  A labyrinth?  Really?
  • Flat, graphic designs as a substitute for spatial volumes with permeable enclosure.
  • The idea of letting the Greenway grow in and develop a character for a period of several years before adding buildings to it.
  • London Plane trees moved bare-root last summer.
  • This summer’s ISA Conference and Trade Show in Chicago.
  • This summer’s ASLA Annual Meeting in Washington, DC.
  • Priceline.com, or the other one that isn’t priceline but also isn’t as easy to remember. (Afterthought: quikbook.com is worth a try too.)
  • Toby’s web site.
  • The Parsley.  Not long ago, she posted a couple of really smart landscape architectural reviews of Chicago’s Millenium Park.  She wrote not only about the Iconic Big Moves (the Cloud Gate, aka The Bean, the Lurie Garden, the Crown Fountain), but also about the less glamorous but important issues of circulation, edge-making, enclosure, detailing, sight lines, and wayfinding. In the opinion of the one of us who’s been there, she nailed it.
  • College reunions.
  • Older parent/family issues.
  • High school reunions.
  • Labyrinths, cathedrals, pilgrimages, and minotaurs.
  • Baby garter snakes and fledgling mockingbirds.
  • Design strategies for linking the North End Parks on the RK Greenway with the southbound Surface Road — street-theatre-promoting terraces and broad steps could add charm, access, and character to a peculiarly bulwarklike edge.
  • The enormous effort involved in designing tree plantings for the Greenway given its intensely utility-rich subgrade conditions.
  • The pros and cons of prefab tree boxes.
  • The merits and hazards of being quoted by reporters.
  • Permeable pavement, and when it isn’t.
  • Silver Lake in Wilmington, MA, its role as the headwaters of the Ipswich River, and what’s being done to make its watershed work better.
  • A huge multi-stemmed Ilex opaca — 50′ tall — in Wilmington.
  • Walden Pond’s water level this year (very high, due to heavy spring rains).
  • The LID Center and its building on decades-worth of knowledge and experience (Ian McHarg and Design With Nature, Andropogon, etc.)
  • Bing birdseye photos as a useful way to see a site online.
  • Garden Design magazine as an advertising delivery system (but not ours).
  • Fine Gardening magazine.
  • Subtext in garden design magazines.
  • The New York Times‘s increasingly goofy treatment of landscape and horticulture, including their astonishing discovery of the tree lawn, aka the “parkway” (Illinois) or “verge” (Britain).
  • CEUs for Connecticut and New York landscape architects.
  • What grows in the shade of a Norway maple and what will grow in the same place after it’s gone — in reality and in metaphor.  Massachusetts had severe and blustery thunderstorms this past Sunday, and hundreds of trees came down around the Commonwealth.  I had three calls about downed trees the next day.
  • Avant Gardens in North Dartmouth, MA.
  • Sylvan Nursery in Westport, MA.
  • Lobster rolls, eggplant fries, and strawberry rhubarb pie at The Bayside in Westport, MA.
  • Fertilizer.
  • Bacterial counts.
  • Young Goodman Brown by Nathaniel Hawthorne.
  • The possibility of designing a series of wooden stairs to run down a slope dominated by a client’s ancient and beloved Sugar Maple, rather than installing stone steps that might damage its roots.
  • Native plants for parking lots.
  • Volunteer barberries.
  • Stone walls.

Truly.  One conversation.

Memorial

Downtown Boston teemed with people this past holiday weekend. Stroller brigades patrolled the streets, the scent of sunscreen wafted through the breeze, and a general air of well-being rested like a pleasantly warm blanket over the city.

Friday, I had walked through Boston Common and seen the simple and remarkable memorial to Massachusetts’ fallen military just installed by the Massachusetts Military Heroes Fund. Yesterday I returned with my camera.

In the distance, something appears to cover the Common's usual green carpet.

Closer, the rug becomes a sea of American flags below the Soldiers' and Sailors' Monument. Visitors drawn to the sight stop, gaze at the flags, take photos, and chat quietly with others standing nearby. Parents keep their little kids from running into the flag field.

People and cameras are everywhere.

Flags are set between 12 and 18 inches apart, on no discernible grid.

One flag for each fallen military service person from Massachusetts.

A few signs printed on FomeCor and staked into the ground explained the memorial installation.



More here.

both/and

I should have known, of course.  In a recent post on trees and pollen, I wrote:

Bee-pollinated trees don’t bother to release the kind of pollen that makes you sneeze, and wind-pollinated plants don’t bother to attract bees. (There may be belt-and-suspenders plants out there that can be pollinated by wind but would like also to be pollinated by bees, but this non-botanist isn’t aware of them. Readers?)

I like taxonomy and either/or, but nature likes redundancy and both/and.  Nature is right; I stand corrected.

Species with a Plan B tend to stick around longer. So it turns out at least two genera of New England trees (and probably many more elsewhere) are both wind- and insect-pollinated. Maples and Willows have small but clearly visible flowers that are pollinated both by wind and by insects.

Our native Columbine, Aquilegia canadensis, has a back-up plan too. Its long red nectaries attract hummingbirds and its yellow bits attract bugs.

Thank you to Frances Clark, in her excellent Wildflowers of New England class at Garden In the Woods, for cluing me in on this.

Or, ‘This is not a tree’.

Thinking again about, and then past the pollen issue, I wonder if humans had such strong allergic reactions in pre-industrial times. In much the same way that we have been using the world’s oceans as a dumping ground for every substance we don’t want to deal with, we have been pumping fine particulates into the atmosphere in ever-increasing quantities since the start of the Industrial Revolution.

Maybe pollen's not the real problem. Photo courtesy of The Library Of Congress, via Flickr.

We breathe oxygen. Oxygen shares atmospheric space with pollen and with myriad other particulates; our bodies work to filter out the particulates as we draw in oxygen.

Certainly, pollen poses challenges to the smooth operation of the human body. And planting fewer pollen-abundant trees might help breathing conditions to some extent. But really, now — shouldn’t we also look at the overload of particulates continuously (not only seasonally) streaming into our breathing space from coal-fired power plants, miscellaneous smokestacks, vents, trains, trucks, buses, and cars? And act to place more stringent limits on emissions from all those sources?

Making the natural world the culprit is easy. Calling ourselves to account for the consequences of our much more harmful actions may, as painful as it is, may be the more responsible and fruitful response.

I wrote here that “a big tree does more to keep a city cool and clean than a small one does.” Adrian Benape, New York City’s parks and recreation commissioner, has the numbers.

The first number is 102. New York, he says, plants “102 different unique cultivars and species of street trees in pursuit of a more diverse urban forest.”

The second number is 65. Benape writes:

I wouldn’t trade in the street trees planted by our predecessors for anything. These venerable specimens of the urban forest give us the most benefits right now — more than 65 times those of a smaller tree, according to research by the United States Forest Service. They clean our air, shade our streets, reduce energy costs, increase property values and beautify our neighborhoods.

ZZZZZZZZZZZZSSSSSSDDDDchew!! Excuse me; Toby’s photo of the pollinating pine in that last post just makes my nose tickle.

His points about pollinating trees make sense to me; wind-pollinated trees are different in nature from insect-pollinated trees, and have quite different effects on those allergic to fine particulates.

I have to say that Mr. Ogren’s original Op-Ed piece stood out as much for its hypo-allergenic focus as for its assertions about what trees do get planted in cities. To set the record straight, a number of the plants he mentioned (both favorably and unfavorably) — box elder, mulberry, silver maple, willow, cottonwood, and even red maple — are considered either outright weed trees or are simply weak-wooded and would never pass muster for planting in dense urban areas. More often than not, most of these trees volunteer in the city, and are able to thrive because they are wind-pollinated, produce a lot of seed, and are able to grow quickly and under conditions that would stymie less tenacious trees.

Landscape architects and arborists working in cities tend to avoid these plants for street tree plantings; in fact, I would think of using some of them — if any — only on larger sites where space was not an issue, where I wanted fast and effective growth, and where there was no chance that they would invade other areas. Municipal lists of acceptable street trees are actually, quite limited, as the piece points out, and mainly include slower-growing or more structurally sound trees than some of these worst culprits — the criteria for street tree selection in a city have to take into account those trees that have relatively reliable structure and habit, can deal with difficult soil, exposure, and moisture conditions, and that don’t create walking hazards with heavy fruit set.

What struck me most, after reading Mr. Ogren’s piece, was the realization of how much vegetative biomass there is in cities, despite our best efforts to pave wherever possible. The ocean of pollen we swim in every spring and summer comes from volunteer as well as planted trees, shrubs, grasses, and forbs, and reducing the pollen count in any area feels a little bit like setting aside a piece of the ocean to make a freshwater pond…

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