Category — Plant uses

Earlier in the year, I posted a picture of California buckeye (Aesculus californica) leaf buds. I thought it was only fair to show the rest of it. The most spectacular part, of course, is the amazing flower spikes, about 8 to 12 inches (20 t0 30 cm) long, with a mild scent and amazing coloration, if you look closely.

But even apart from their flowers, buckeyes are stellar plants. Many might disagree with me, calling them shrubby or weedy. And it is true that, while they are the first trees to show that brilliant chartreuse-green in spring and then fan their leaves out, they are also the first to drop their leaves, usually sometime in September, when all the other leaves are still growing strong, and the dying falling buckeye leaves are a bit depressing in an already-sere landscape.

Buckeyes are prominent natives in my landscape, and they used to be a major food for the Pomo Indians, who leached the poisons out of them in order to eat the meaty, chestnut-like nut. Their name for this tree was De-sa Ka-la, which means “food tree”.

It may sound odd, then, to hear that other native Californians (possibly the Pomo, too) used them unleached, to stun fish: put in a river pool, fish die and float to the surface. Not a method for sport-fishing, but used judiciously, a good way to be sure of fish when you depend on them for food.

The substances that poison the fish can also poison human beings with nerve and respiratory failure: the bark, twigs, flowers, and leaves are as dangerous as the unleached nuts, which are a beautiful shiny glossy brown and fit beautifully in the palm for stroking with your fingers. (I’m sure this is stress-reducing). These toxins are also in the Ohio buckeye Aesculus glabra.

The Asian horse chestnut (Aesculus hipposcastanum), on the other hand, was used medicinally in Europe for intermittent fevers and respiratory problems-though it was also known to be a nerve poison, like its American relatives. (If you find this strange, think for a moment about the toxicity of many medical drugs today.) Its folk use was in salves for rheumatism and hemorrhoids. The skin probably filtered the active ingredients somewhat, so that it was relatively safe. These trees are often found in the eastern U.S., and have looser flower spikes with hints of pink and yellow in them, if you look close.

California buckeyes have adapted well to their environment; while they tend to like streamsides and wet places, they also grow in places with no obvious water. I don’t know if they indicate a high water table or if they are just very tolerant of a wide range of places. They grow in semishade as well as full sun.

Buckeyes also range in size and shape: they can be small shrubby plants several feet high, and they can be many-branched tall trees up to about thirty feet. I’d guess this has to do with available water and nutrients. Their bark is smooth and pale, although in my area it tends to accrue lichen and moss-both of which accentuate its appearance, to my mind, rather than mar it.

I’ve never grown a buckeye, simply because there are so many around already, I’ve never felt the need. If you want to try, I’d suggest choosing a variety that suits your area. Rather than struggling to fit the dry-summer-loving California buckeye into a cold or wet-summer place, choose A. glabra (Ohio buckeye) or A. hippocastanum (horse chestnut). Horse chestnuts are tall beautiful thick-trunked trees, so if you want to grow one of them, make room.

Winter hardiness is another thing to consider when choosing your variety. California buckeyes grow only in lower elevations, which means they will take some freezing, but probably would not do well in prolonged-cold winters.

It’s interesting to ponder that a tree that is entirely toxic can also be a food staple. Yet more proof that inconsistency is not a strictly human trait.

References

LoLo Westrich, California Herbal Remedies, Gulf Publishing Company, 1989

Charles F. Millspaugh, American Medicinal Plants, originally published in 1892. Mine is a Dover reprint.

Nicotiana alata (jasmine tobacco) has bigger flowers than some tobaccos do, so you can see right into their innards when they are fully open. You do have to get underneath them to do that, though, since they hang gracefully down from the stem. (Just another good reason for putting them in a container on your porch, where they will be higher up and you will be sitting down.)

They’re great commuter plants: Nicotia alata opens in the evening, so it can greet you on the porch each evening with freshly-opened flowers that spread a light, sweet scent. Some people also recommend planting night-fragrant plants under bedroom windows. Near an outdoor summertime bed would be another good place.

N. alata is one of those rewarding plants that takes almost no energy. And yet it comes back year after year, through hard freezes (to 15 degrees F/-9.5 C) and through summers that go well over 100 degrees F ( 38 C). Jasmine tobacco mostly blooms in early summer for me, with a few scattered blooms here and there through the rest of the season. Other kinds of fragrant night flowers (including other tobaccos) tend to get going later in the season, so N. alata fills a gap.

After years of trying to grow different tobaccos from seed (JL Hudson has an enticing assortment of varieties bred for both smoking and ornament) and failing utterly, I got my jasmine tobacco plant from Select Seeds. It arrived, took off, and is still doing nicely some years hence. I put it in a self-watering container in semi-shade where it seems to be happy without any extra attention from me: I give it the same fertilizing treatment that the whole garden gets, and I water it. Voila tout.

If anyone out there has successfully grown tobacco from seed, or knows of someone who has, I’d be interested to hear. Trying and failing multiple times has given me a new respect for tobacco farmers.

While tobacco gets its share of criticism (I admit I don’t like being shut in smoky rooms myself), it can be useful in the garden as well as pretty. Ornamental tobaccos have pretty much the same set of alkaloids as smoking tobaccos, although as you can see their leaves are nowhere near as dense. Still, you can use them the way the Victorians did, as an all-purpose pesticide (tobacco was the DDT of the Victorian age). Soak the dried leaves in water to make a kind of tea, then spray on plants to kill and repel bugs. (If you have bugs on your tobacco plants, you’re on your own.) Civilized smokers—people who smoke outside—can follow one of the pleasant traditions of the 1930s: smoking near the rose bushes. The tobacco-laden exhalations help the roses keep clear of fungal diseases.

This picture of the newly-opened blooms shows the greenish tint they have before they mature, also some of the hairiness that I find so appealing in a plant. Maturing, for a tobacco flower, happens in what humans would call a blip: these blooms will last only through the next morning. The following night will bring fresh blooms.

Evening’s also a good time to see the silhouette of the blooms that are coming on and the blooms that are passing away, with the little hairs glowing like a halo around each one. (The little brown-red flower behind it is a California figwort, which I must post about sometime, another great plant.)

Jasmine tobacco gives sensuous pleasure along with intimations of mortality. I think most sensuous pleasures are sweetened by the scent of approaching death. But few pleasures are so carefree as jasmine tobacco.

(For all you fans–there’s even more on poison oak.)

Take a look at this picture of poison oak with wild fern. If you didn’t know the plant brought out a rash in a lot of people, wouldn’t you say, “Ooh, pretty foliage”?

If you look at poison oak with an unjaundiced eye, it’s beautiful: leafing out, in full leaf, and blooming. I heard a story about some little girls-well-trained in recognizing poison oak leafed-out and poison oak in winter-who picked the pretty flowers. (Note: in flower essence therapy, poison oak flowers are recommended for irritable touch-me-not syndrome. Maybe these girls had a plan in mind.)

When it comes to touching the plants, some people are horribly allergic to poison oak, and some are not affected at all. Some of us have been both in the course of our lives-it’s possible to acquire an immunity by gently brushing up against poison oak over time. The native Americans in my area used poison oak as basketry material–it’s very pliable and strong.

It’s also possible to lose that immunity by lack of contact. I found this out the hard way. Never assume you’re not sensitive to the plant, just because it was OK last year.

If you are particularly sensitive to poison oak (or someone close to you is), then it should definitely be cleared from the high-traffic zones. I’m sorry to say that, other than digging it out, I don’t know of any other safe way to get rid of it. Except hiring someone else to dig it out. There was a lot of excitement around here a few years ago, when people started using a highly concentrated vinegar as a defoliant: it was supposed to be the cure for poison oak, eventually killing it systemically.

Yeah, but it turned out that you have to do it religiously a few times in a season, and if the plants have substantial woody growth you have to cut them back first, and wait for the new growth. And even then, it just may not work.

So it’s back to digging, unless you want to go the toxic defoliant route. If you’re looking to make your living space safer and more comfortable, toxic defoliants don’t strike me as the ideal addition, but that’s just me.

But while you may want to get rid of it in some areas, it’s not necessary to uproot every piece of poison oak just because it’s The Enemy. If you have kids, teach them what it looks like, including in the flowering season. They’ll need to know that anyway, because if it grows around your place, you can bet it’s at their friend’s house and on their shortcuts from school. Oh, and remember to alert your visitors, too.

Poison oak doesn’t always spread-keep an eye on it, and don’t give it ideal growth conditions (such as water and fluffy soil). And give it a little space away from the house to spread out and look beautiful-a pachysandra for the 21st century-and the original low-care foliage plant.

As for whether poison oak is a friend or enemy-maybe it’s a little bit of both. Nobody ever said ambiguity was limited to the human world.