Garfield Park Conservatory Part 1: The Fabulous Fern Room

On Saturday May 11, my husband and I visited the Garfield Park Conservatory in Chicago for the first time in about 6 years. I had forgotten how large and how stunning the place truly is. It was constructed between 1906 and 1908, and is on the National Register of Historic Places.

The Fern Room is especially beautiful, and, I think, worthy of a post all its own. Here are just a few of the pictures I took.

The entrance of the Fern Room, which also houses a variety of cycads, fern allies such as Selaginella, mosses, and a few tropical flowering plants, such as Monstera deliciosa, for variety. Edited to add: Since this post was published, I replaced this photo with a larger version, which looks particularly detailed when clicked.

Plaque visible upon exiting the room

A view of the room from another vantage point, showing the indoor lagoon that forms the center of the display.

Asplenium nidus, in a bed of Selaginella

A cycad, Dioon spinulosum

Another Dioon spinulosum, showing new growth spouting from the "trunk"

Ferns and Cycads around a bench, with duct work in the background. Part of the beauty of the conservatory in general is the age of the structure, and the fact that the workings, are for the most part out in the open and unobscured.

Closer view of the area above the bench

Platycerium (Staghorn ferns) with other Ferns and mosses in the foreground

Showing off the epiphytic nature of Platycerium on a Fern "tree." I've seen this done before with Bromeliads and Orchids, but never with Ferns.

Cycad, with cone. I believe this is another Dioon, but I forgot to note the label, so I'm not positive.

Young Pteris and Adiantum ferns, emerging from looks like moss, but which are actually gametophytes, the life stage that comes between spores and mature ferns.

Edited to Add: There is some actual moss in the picture, along with the gametophytes.

Your blogger, Karen715, standing near the entrance to the Fern Room

View of the Asplenium which was behind my head in the previous photo. I was amazed at the small size of the container in comparison to the plant.

Part 2 will cover the rest of our trip to the Conservatory.

Easy Grows the Head that Wears the Crown

In a post from last year, about a visit to the Chicago Botanic Gardens, I shared a picture of a group of Fritillaria imperialis, also known as Crown Imperials, or Fritillaries. I mentioned in that post that I had never seen them growing in a home garden, but that I would like to try them in mine.

Well I did. I purchased three of the rather expensive bulbs last fall and planted them, and here is the result:

Fritillaria imperialis in my backyard garden

This garden is a raised bed, with heavily amended, well-draining soil. It is my understanding that Fritillaria will fail if heavy soil allows water to remain pooled at the top of the bulbs for any length of time. The soil in the rest of my yard is heavy black clay, except for the random pockets of rocky, gritty, builder's fill that I come across when I least expect it. So even though I'd love to have them elsewhere, I decided that the backyard bed would be the best place for them. Even so, I'd heard tales of Crown Imperials being difficult to grow, so I wouldn't have been surprised if they hadn't turned up this spring.

Shot of a single plant. I was a bit worried that the tall stems might snap in some of the strong winds we've had this season, but the plants took those gales in stride.

One of the questions that came up about Fritillaria imperialis in the blog comments last spring was about the odor. I knew that the bulbs had a strong scent, sort of like musky garlic. But when admiring the plants at the CBG, I hadn't noticed any smell. Now that I have some, I know better. On cool gray days (and boy, have we had a lot of those here in Chicagoland this spring) you have to stand pretty close to get a hint of that garlicky smell. But if it is warm and sunny, the odor can be quite strong, and travels a fair distance.

Closer view of the pendant flowers, with their crown of leaves

I find the plants so striking that I don't mind the smell at all. In fact, I was thinking of planting a few more next fall. I was considering a getting a couple of the yellow-flowering Fritillaria for a nice contrast, but more of orange would also be nice. Love those orange flowers. And I understand that the bulbs will multiply, so I may get more even if I don't plant additional ones.

In case anyone wondered what the inside of those downward-facing flowers looked like. This looks pretty neat if clicked for a larger image.

I do understand that a successful first year with a plant doesn't necessarily mean that it is easy to grow. I've had more than my share of beginner's luck in the garden (and with my houseplants.) But since I've also had my share of beginner's failures, including bulbs that fail to come up at all, I'm taking this show of blooms as a positive sign for the future.

The Gift With Something Extra

Monday, May 2 was my eighth wedding anniversary. My darling husband Bob surprised me with two bouquets of flowers. One was a dozen yellow roses, the other was a lovely mixed arrangement.

Today, when I was about to change the water in the mixed bouquet, I noticed something. Included as foliage accents in the arrangement were two stems of Codiaeum variegatum, aka, Croton. These were not the one of the broadleaf multicolored cultivars, but rather, a narrow-leaved, yellow-spotted type. One of the stems was looking a trifle worse for wear, but the other was very healthy and vigorous.

Mixed bouquet. One of the Codiaeum stems is on the left in this photo.

Close-up of the Codiaeum cutting, still in the vase

Of course, me being the crazy plant lady, I had to take advantage of this. I removed the stem from the bouquet, re-cut the end, and stripped off a few of the bottom leaves. I then dipped the stem in rooting hormone, and placed it in a pot of moist vermiculite to root.

Codiaeum stem in vermiculite. The lovely little pot is an early Mother's Day gift from my stepson, Dave.

Now we will see. I haven't had much luck in the past with rooting Codiaeum cuttings, nor have I had particularly good luck growing Codiaeum plants (spider mites love them.) But if I succeed, it will be a lovely remembrance of this anniversary. Since I know he will read this: Thanks, Honey, for eight wonderful years!