tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33520762483335910522024-03-17T20:03:12.647+00:00RadixRoot Crop Research and RuminationsRhizowenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13898344291012563139noreply@blogger.comBlogger160125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3352076248333591052.post-83770943824852302142019-01-01T09:59:00.000+00:002019-01-10T19:29:28.505+00:00Aponogeton: distachyos: The Virtues of Vleikos in Black and White <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Although I sometimes delude myself that I ought to be close to exhausting the number of untried underground plant storage organs, there always seem to be more to discover; some of these edible roots, tubers and corms could be said to be hiding in plain sight. Here's one: vleikos (<i>Aponogeton distachyos</i>). Strangely, this aquatic edimental (ornamental edible, geddit?) is actually already cultivated commercially on a small scale - but not for its roots.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWIzrDTvTCSdCDkAQtJhcZfsTp8a31Td0kl09gdpv7h5eO230BVZ7zhRoVWEq5wFnBueZFbk35Oe6YdSHKENvF0tnIKfHlCzOiRywMegn3tY5vjqYnCLJq1HQdN3gpkQlq8z2inhiOTykd/s1600/DSCN4365.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="480" data-original-width="640" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWIzrDTvTCSdCDkAQtJhcZfsTp8a31Td0kl09gdpv7h5eO230BVZ7zhRoVWEq5wFnBueZFbk35Oe6YdSHKENvF0tnIKfHlCzOiRywMegn3tY5vjqYnCLJq1HQdN3gpkQlq8z2inhiOTykd/s400/DSCN4365.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Aponogeton distachyos</i>, Cornwall, December 25th 2018</td></tr>
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It's a native of the Cape region of South Africa, where it grows in the vleis, seasonally dry ponds and marshes, hence the name vleikos. It vaguely resembles some of our native pondweeds in the genus <i>Potamogeton</i>, having similar narrowly oval leaves which float on the water's surface. Its flowers are altogether more classy, however and account for its other Afrikaans name, 'waterblommetjie' - small water flower. Adorned with forked inflorescences of white flowers which are born at or near the water surface, it's a looker. These flowers are fragrant, but I'm not normally in a position to press my nose close enough to get their full effect without risking immersion myself. The most common English name is 'water hawthorn', an allusion to the resemblance of the flowers to those of the hawthorn tree (<i>Crataegus monogyna)</i>. Yes, kind of, I suppose.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Eat me, smell me, don't ignore me</td></tr>
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Flowering seems to peak in the spring, but I've seen plants blooming in the depths of winter if the weather is mild, Christmas 2018 being an example. These flower spikes are the bit for which the plant is cultivated in its native area. They're gathered after pollination and added to the hearty lamb stew known as waterblommetjiebredie. They impart a green bean sort of flavour to the dish. It's said that the original inhabitants of the region, the Khoikhoi, taught the Dutch settlers how to use them. If you can't be bothered to wade through chest deep water to pick your waterblommetjies, you can buy them in tins from South African supermarkets. For those of you who want to know more about waterblommetjie cultivation, <a href="https://link.springer.com/article/10.1007/BF02907818" target="_blank">this article</a> by Robert W. Pemberton is a very good place to start. Waterblommetjie consumption has even featured in Afrikaaner pop songs, not a claim many alternative crops can make. While we're on the subject of making a song and dance out of emergent inflorescences, I'm pleased to announce that waterblommetjie farmers harvested a <a href="https://www.businessinsider.co.za/massive-waterblommetjie-harvest-expected-in-western-cape-2018-7" target="_blank">bumper crop</a> in 2018 after several years of failure. This must be a relief to both them and their customers. Gelukwensing!<br />
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Vleikos is certainly a plant for which I have a long and abiding fondness: it's pretty and easy to grow - just add water, lots of it. Even better, it's an edible with an authentic track record. Established plants seem to seed with abandon and seedlings can often be scooped from the pond's surface for potting on.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">They want to break free: vleikos seedlings released from a tangled mat of floating vegetation</td></tr>
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Vleikos<i> </i>was first introduced to Europe in the 17th century for ornamental purposes. As ornamentals sometimes do, it's taken a liking to its new homes and has spread into the wild with unwanted enthusiasm in various parts of Europe, as well as Australia and California. If you choose to grow it, bear this in mind. It certainly does well here in southern Britain and I'm looking forward to sampling the crop of some enterprising pond owner who decides to test the market for <i>Aponogeton distachyos</i> flower spikes. Rumour has it that you can even lactoferment them with whey, salt and miso. Could this be the hipster's asparagus that the Shoreditch set have been crying out for since 2010?<br />
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I think it's fair to say that vleikos is the waterweed that keeps on giving - not only above the water, but beneath the surface too. Lodged in the mud, it produces a tuber, which, on roasting, is "considered a delicacy of the natives of Kaffraria." Thus spake Carl Peter Thunberg, the 'father of South African botany' in 1796.<br />
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For those who are a bit hazy on defunct South African polities, Kaffraria is just an old name for the eastern part of Cape Province "the land of the Kaffirs', that is to say, the Xhosa people. In contemporary South Africa, the K-word is considered an offensive racial slur for people of colour. Once, during a trip to South Africa many years ago, I was called a 'white kaffir'. What was clearly intended as a put-down, I now choose to see as a badge of honour. What better way to celebrate this gong than by eating an authentic K-food? With that in mind, I boiled a small vleikos tuber on Boxing Day; I can confirm that, as the Xhosa doubtless knew very well, vleikos tubers are are a tasty treat.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Spoilt for choice</td></tr>
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Pemberton describes the tubers he ate as having both very tough skins and also an impenetrable layer of dense black hairs (roots?). My diminutive morsel lacked the tough skin and roots. This could be a result of its immaturity, as it was decidedly towards the small end of the 1.5 - 6cm length quoted as typical. Another thing: I fished my chosen victim out of a Sargassum-mat of free-floating vleikos plants in my mother-in-law's pond rather than liberating it from the chilly ooze where the biggest tubers dwell. Could that be a contributory factor towards its easy-peelsy properties? In any case, first impressions were decidedly favourable, in terms of both taste and texture. I'm now wondering why it took me so long to sample the delights of vleikos tubers. I've had motive and opportunity, after all.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">It may not look like much, but it tasted good</td></tr>
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Vleikos is a fitting symbol for the Rainbow Nation, being an esteemed food for both blacks and whites in its homeland. Like a true internationalist, however, it repudiates any individual or national claims of ownership and grows where it will, both north and south of the equator. I, for one, am happy to welcome it into my garden so I can enjoy its floral display, eat those waterblommetjies and cook its tubers too. Welkom, Vleikos, stay a while. <br />
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Oh - and one other thing: the genus <i>Aponogeton</i> contains over fifty species, of which several others are known to be in possession of tasty tubers. I better dig another pond...<br />
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<b>Further Reading</b><br />
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Pemberton, R. W. (2000) <span style="color: #333333; font-family: "georgia" , serif; letter-spacing: 0.008em;">Waterblommetjie (</span><span class="EmphasisTypeItalic " style="box-sizing: border-box; color: #333333; font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-style: italic; letter-spacing: 0.008em;">Aponogeton distachyos</span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "georgia" , serif; letter-spacing: 0.008em;">, aponogetonaceae), a recently domesticated aquatic Food Crop in Cape South Africa with unusual origins <i>Economic Botany</i> Vol 54 pp 144-149</span><br />
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: "georgia" , serif; letter-spacing: 0.008em;">Thunberg, C.P. </span><span style="background-color: #fcfcfc; color: #333333; font-family: "georgia" , serif; letter-spacing: 0.10199999809265137px;"> (1796) Travels in Europe, Africa, and Asia, made between the years 1770 and 1779. 3rd. ed., vol. 2–4, London.</span><br />
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<br />Rhizowenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13898344291012563139noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3352076248333591052.post-82754228919694982742018-02-28T07:44:00.000+00:002018-02-28T07:44:49.466+00:00Psophocarpus lancifolius - Mysterious Misobwa One of the joys of doing a botany degree (back when it was still possible in the UK, happy days) was the opportunity for a little bit of extracurricular reading down between the shelf stacks. First port of call was always the purple-bound volumes of <a href="https://link.springer.com/journal/12231" target="_blank">Economic Botany</a>. Many an hour of sweet happiness was spent engaged in that noblest of activities.<br />
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On one such occasion, I picked a random volume, opened it at a random page and was soon captivated; the enigmatic tale of an undervalue<span style="font-family: inherit;">d Afromontane legume unfolded, a crop wild relative of the winged bean (<i>Psophocarpus tetragonolobus</i>) known, at least sometimes, as misobwa (<i>P. lancifolius</i>). Oh - and it had edible roots too. </span><br />
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The Afromontane zones, with their high mountains, dense jungles, miombo woodlands, swamps and dambo grasslands have always appealed to my inner armchair explorer. Likewise, I've always found crop wild relatives intriguing, both in their own right and as the source of disease and drought resistance, among other useful qualities. Where would wheat, tomatoes and innumerable other crops be without them? So, with misobwa's double whammy hitting me in all the right places, I knew it was time to roll with the blows, stiffen my sinews and start searching; this plant would surely be a worthy addition to my bucket list, filed under the category 'roots to know and grow'.<br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">At this juncture, I really should acknowledge my sources; I complain enough about others who fail to do so. Most of what I know about misobwa comes from the following paper:</span><br />
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<a href="https://link.springer.com/article/10.1007/BF03183924" target="_blank"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Uses, nutritional composition and ecogeography of four species of <i>Psophocarpus </i>(fabaceae, phaseoleae) in Zaire</span></a><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">By Daniel Harder, Oneyembe Pend Mbutu Lolema and Musasa Tshisand</span><br />
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According to Harder et al, misobwa grows at altitudes up to around 2500 metres above sea level in the Democratic Republic of the Congo; this is a bit higher than its close relative, the winged bean, which usually runs out of steam at around 2000 metres, although it sometimes struggles a little higher in Papua New Guinea before chilling and frost finish it off. I generally take an elevation of around 3000 metres in the tropics as my sweet spot for a sporting chance that a plant might make it here outdoors in Cornwall during the summer. Being a soft-hearted soul, I'm always prepared to exercise a little latitude in the application of my altitude rule, however - if a plant has some other merits. Misobwa - in my opinion at least - does.<br />
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What merits, you ask? Well, by all accounts its tubers are an outstanding food, containing around 10% protein and 5% lipid. But don't take my word for it. To quote that paper yet again:<br />
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<span style="font-family: "times"; font-size: 10pt;">The nutritious tuber is comparable to the seeds </span><span style="font-family: "times"; font-size: 11pt;">of </span><span style="font-family: "times"; font-size: 10pt;">soybean and peanut for protein </span><span style="font-family: "times"; font-size: 11pt;">and </span><span style="font-family: "times"; font-size: 10pt;">to soybean, peanut, and winged bean for lipids; it has a medium to low complement </span><span style="font-family: "times"; font-size: 11pt;">of </span><span style="font-family: "times"; font-size: 10pt;">carbohydrate (Smartt 1976). The tubers </span><span style="font-family: "times"; font-size: 11pt;">of </span><span style="font-family: "times"; font-size: 10pt; font-style: italic;">P. lancifolius </span><span style="font-family: "times"; font-size: 10pt;">constitute an excellent food source and, </span><span style="font-family: "times"; font-size: 10pt;">as such, are promising in tropical areas experiencing seasonal rains.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 10pt;">You would hardly expect me to refrain from a madcap misobwa chase after that kind of write-up. </span><span style="font-family: inherit;">Resistance is futile in the face of the Borg of tuberous beans. </span></span><span style="font-family: inherit;">My </span><a href="http://radix4roots.blogspot.co.uk/2016/05/got-my-finger-on-pulses-trifoliate.html" style="font-family: inherit;" target="_blank">peanut growing attempts</a><span style="font-family: inherit;"> have been pitiful and my soya beans' performance always so-so. Here was a root from the family Fabaceae that might just help me to regain my self-respect, I thought. </span><br />
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Not only does the misobwa plant form carrot-shaped, edible roots with the properties described above, but its long, rambling stems will also root at the nodes where they touch the ground and form secondary tubers. Under cultivation, might it be possible to persuade the plants to produce more tubers by pegging the vines down?<br />
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But aren't we missing something here? It's all very well to concentrate on a plant's apparent virtues as a crop, but what does it actually taste like? Daniel, for all his evident enthusiasm, doesn't mention this. Luckily I have some idea, thanks to this book, which I discovered online:<br />
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<span style="font-family: "times"; font-size: 10pt;"></span><a href="http://bibliotheques.mnhn.fr/medias/detailstatic.aspx?INSTANCE=EXPLOITATION&RSC_BASE=HORIZON&RSC_DOCID=205439" target="_blank">Pygmées d'Afrique Centrale</a>, by Stefan Seitz<br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">It's an ethnobotanical treatise on, well, I think you can guess if your fluency in French is equal to or greater than mine. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Anyway, it seems that the Bashi and Barwha peoples eat misobwa roots, which are said to resemble a potato in taste and are relished after cutting up and grilling. They gather the roots from open country rather than the rainforest proper. Although sketchy, this at least indicates that misobwa is not only edible, but palatable too. Again, this is an endearing tendency in a world populated by foul flavoured impostors like <a href="http://radix4roots.blogspot.co.uk/2009/02/crap-crops-of-incas-my-on-off-on-affair.html" target="_blank">mashua</a> (<i>Tropaeolum tuberosum</i>). Make that a triple whammy. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Until 2016 this was pretty much the sum total of my knowledge about misobwa; then, after years - decades - of vainly searching, letter writing and emailing, I finally got lucky. My seeds came not from the DCR, but by a rather unexpectedly circuitous route: from Zimbabwe, via Australia. It seems that they were collected in the 1980s near Harare, by the banks of the Umwindsi River which wends its way through the area around Gaydon Road. And, perhaps disappointingly, they were collected at an altitude of only 1480 metres, although this is about 15 degrees further from the equator than the Congo sites, so average temperatures ought to be commensurately lower.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Eventually it's time to move on from all the the book learning and received wisdom and actually get up close and personal with a plant in real time. How exactly did I get on with my first misobwa crop?</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">I received the aforementioned seed rather late in the year, towards the end of May. Germination was good, but that year I was caught short on the greenhouse front, so I grew them on the very</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">windowsill, where, a few years earlier, I had grown my </span><a href="http://radix4roots.blogspot.co.uk/2011/10/windowful-winged-bean.html" style="font-family: inherit;" target="_blank">asbin</a><span style="font-family: inherit;">.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWIz9KdjbqoMVJKTsSTGPy6sVYsitxL2fa6-HdCddxY7AGDBU4UiO0SJ_cwiaDbOwWPoU7ZRALKwg_R7uqOnvM5GvwZsVsV15zjtF8RCGGeI0fOTZhHOOfl6Ni5ffTmEdDEiYMaUcSu6a5/s1600/Psophocarpuslancifolius_seeds.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="480" data-original-width="640" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWIz9KdjbqoMVJKTsSTGPy6sVYsitxL2fa6-HdCddxY7AGDBU4UiO0SJ_cwiaDbOwWPoU7ZRALKwg_R7uqOnvM5GvwZsVsV15zjtF8RCGGeI0fOTZhHOOfl6Ni5ffTmEdDEiYMaUcSu6a5/s320/Psophocarpuslancifolius_seeds.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Misobwa seeds, left; winged bean/asbin right</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">According to Daniel Harder, the whole misobwa plant is frequently covered in dense yellow hairs. I was rather disappointed that my plants seemed completely hairless. In fact, they looked very similar to <a href="http://radix4roots.blogspot.co.uk/2009/02/amphicarpaea-talented-mr-talet.html" target="_blank">talet</a> (<i>Amphicarpaea bracteata</i>), with the same twining habit of growth and trifoliate leaves. I needed some reassurance that what I had was the real McCoy and not some cheap impersonator. It's been claimed by some that I have 'trust issues'; I can't comment on that, but I do like to know the true identity of the plants I'm growing. One distinctive characteristic of <i>Psophocarpus lancifolius</i> seeds is that they are described as having "a hilum which transversely bisects the pale, broadly elliptical aril". Taking my faithful hand lens, I looked at the remaining seeds and could see that this was true: my plants were indeed misobwas - clean-shaven Zimbabwean versions, maybe, but misobwas just the same, no mistaking it.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Misobwa seedlings have a typical trifoliate leaves and a slightly kinked, zig -</span><span style="font-family: inherit;">zag habit of growth which you may be able to make out in this picture:</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEheFLKmGrcpPvch2JYk_oRv0RjeiEJwc6u2Axb7isYN7GJ4iEg4XH7K40P3uH5Hm1eORavfmytBTw0PlFYr2SrLueb7iWSc51Jcl1zFJn_HNVS6OTGb8-FwfXv1u1fBw0KZrhkG6w2FIkr5/s1600/Psophocarpuslancifolius_seedlings.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEheFLKmGrcpPvch2JYk_oRv0RjeiEJwc6u2Axb7isYN7GJ4iEg4XH7K40P3uH5Hm1eORavfmytBTw0PlFYr2SrLueb7iWSc51Jcl1zFJn_HNVS6OTGb8-FwfXv1u1fBw0KZrhkG6w2FIkr5/s320/Psophocarpuslancifolius_seedlings.jpg" width="240" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Misobwa seedlings with zig-zag growth habit</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">They grew away quite well, creating a sinuous tangle of leafy, twining stems. With a little leap of imagination I could see myself squelching through a wet dambo grassland, with the lofty peaks of the Virunga National Park looming in the background. Stooping to examine a ripe misobwa pod, I could hear a silverback gorilla drumming on his chest somewhere in the undergrowth. Like I said, I'm an experienced armchair traveller.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFaUiyI5IinX4tyaocp8Im21r6DYnas47viUoFq5J_oYbhv-YwhBbrrnmXBoF1NuhjuvWvmGz5_VI01IrvJcXqNhgyxfxzVnvLqDThI2GkZ44HmD13KHZld104gMwuIWjeSGKcB4DOWPXQ/s1600/Psophocarpuslancifolius_climbing.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFaUiyI5IinX4tyaocp8Im21r6DYnas47viUoFq5J_oYbhv-YwhBbrrnmXBoF1NuhjuvWvmGz5_VI01IrvJcXqNhgyxfxzVnvLqDThI2GkZ44HmD13KHZld104gMwuIWjeSGKcB4DOWPXQ/s320/Psophocarpuslancifolius_climbing.jpg" width="240" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">My very own entangled misobwa thicket</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Back to the real world. I waited, patiently, for flowers to appear, but sadly, they never did. Towards the end of January 2017, the spell was broken and my beloved plants were starting to look a bit sorry for themselves, with withered leaves coated by sticky, aphidly secretions which really marred their appearance. I made the executive decision to tip them out of their pots and see what, if anything they'd made underground.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Here's the result:</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5D5DYT6iW9Hx5_3p3NAwFlIdaVBO5WxDg7XI_wH9x0ibOwzalqAZaglyEOJX-F0ac6nx1z2dzYBGlyi_WvZW4vSRYto7eqvHXlDEB7pBANYfKYlFjZI7Ap73G87aFy_ZviZ-kZa9I10wR/s1600/Psophocarpuslncifolius_roots.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5D5DYT6iW9Hx5_3p3NAwFlIdaVBO5WxDg7XI_wH9x0ibOwzalqAZaglyEOJX-F0ac6nx1z2dzYBGlyi_WvZW4vSRYto7eqvHXlDEB7pBANYfKYlFjZI7Ap73G87aFy_ZviZ-kZa9I10wR/s320/Psophocarpuslncifolius_roots.jpg" width="240" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Misobwa roots. Small and fleshy. </span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Thickened roots were indeed present. These were, as predicted, carrot shaped, but more the size and colour of a stunted wild carrot's tap root than a chunky Autumn King. I saw no signs of nodulation, so I'm guessing that the correct cowpea miscellany rhizobia were absent. </span><span style="font-family: inherit;">Neither a triumph nor a tragedy, these roots looked like they might be tasty roasted, but I rather doubted it would be worth the effort. </span><span style="font-family: inherit;">Alas and alack - my attempts to overwinter them were a failure and I now wish I'd followed my baser instincts and eaten them straight away. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">As is so often the case, my initial misobwa cultivation attempt raised more questions than it answered. Here are a few that spring to mind: what controls storage root development and size? How can I persuade plants to flower? And does anyone know anyone who can collect me some seeds from the highest parts of misobwa's range in Congo, Rwanda or Burundi? Maybe together we can explore the mysteries of this enigmatic root, a gift from the lovely, troubled highlands of equatorial Africa. </span></span><br />
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Rhizowenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13898344291012563139noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3352076248333591052.post-72214924711439515532016-05-08T16:14:00.001+01:002016-05-10T19:03:42.872+01:00Got My Finger on The Pulses: The Trifoliate TriumvirateEvery year is, it seems, <em>International Year of</em> something or other. The cynic in me sometimes struggles with the overstimulating and diluting effect of this continual bombardment.<br />
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This year, is different, however: it's <a href="http://iyp2016.org/" target="_blank">International Year of Pulses</a>. Where would we be without beans? It seems like there's a bean or pea for everywhere, from everywhere; as readers of this blog may recall, my flexible use of the word 'root', has allowed the occasional geocarpic legume to storm the ramparts of Castle Radix in the past. No point stopping now.<br />
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My enthusiasm for talet (<em>Amphicarpaea bracteata</em>) is well-known and I'll come to my reasons for initiating another sowing session in due course. After some deliberation and in defiance of the impressively unpromising spring we've had, I've decided to give fate the finger and try a couple of other interesting underground legumes. So, my fellow rhizophiles, I give you my 2016 Trifoliate Triumvirate: <em>Amphicarpaea bracteata</em>, <em>Arachis monticola</em> and <em>Vigna subterranea</em>.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhr64VLWvLKLTbShz-zPQjuPNbKUsnrxkPub3VxxwiekY7zk8unstbTeLRnu-E1sQBUdQFbUmdkIakabwN2zio_UgzYuQVp1uKJ5N2b7pUsXJtr1f1JlpZbvgGk_k878s5oEvg8B4FK7rA0/s1600/PulsesRadix.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhr64VLWvLKLTbShz-zPQjuPNbKUsnrxkPub3VxxwiekY7zk8unstbTeLRnu-E1sQBUdQFbUmdkIakabwN2zio_UgzYuQVp1uKJ5N2b7pUsXJtr1f1JlpZbvgGk_k878s5oEvg8B4FK7rA0/s400/PulsesRadix.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My Trifoliate Triumvirate: top left: <i>Amphicarpaea bracteata;</i> top right: <i>Vigna subterranea</i>; bottom right: <i>Arachis monticola</i></td></tr>
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<i>Arachis monticola</i> is probably the progenitor of the modern peanut (<em>A. </em><i>hypogaea</i>) with which we are all familiar. The tetraploid love child of two diploid species, <em>A. monticola</em>, clearly a mountain lover, has appealed to me for years. It comes from the area around Jujuy in Argentina and grows at altitudes between 1300-2300 metres in the Andes. A bit of cursory research shows that <em>A. monticola, </em>lurking in its high mountain fastness, prefers noticeably cooler temperatures than other wild peanuts, or tolerates them at least. With a hope that never dies, my thinking is that we might be able to coax the peanut to boldy grow where it's never grown before. This chill tolerance, if true, sounds very promising, especially when its ability to cross with <em>A. hypogaea</em>, the cultivated peanut, is taken into account: consider the Cornish Peanut Improvement Programme duly initiated.<br />
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There's a downside, of course - this is a <a href="http://www.cwrdiversity.org/about/#what-are" target="_blank">crop wild relative</a>, not an actual crop, after all. The peanuts that <em>A. monticola</em> produces are small and the plant distributes them far and wide, so harvesting them will be a pain. That said, I expect the rodents will manage to demolish the lot with their usual aplomb.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXkMxf_4RdXybhAIueX-WFVSuNur7kJo7r9IyAnhq_cjX60b_38ERJlhRYOLuBVpa9h59-Q8q3wKm56bR2c-p273Y2fjGxcKdwPZs7UJBA3icPjO3Tnsm4vFZZHYFns4T6HnF3YJAb-8qh/s1600/Arachis_monticola_+no_shell.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXkMxf_4RdXybhAIueX-WFVSuNur7kJo7r9IyAnhq_cjX60b_38ERJlhRYOLuBVpa9h59-Q8q3wKm56bR2c-p273Y2fjGxcKdwPZs7UJBA3icPjO3Tnsm4vFZZHYFns4T6HnF3YJAb-8qh/s200/Arachis_monticola_+no_shell.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>A. monticola</i>, diminutive monkey nuts</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsLlExLcC7yXvKJVrTgpfxJEx9LsC7bc7h1Asxva2WWIcNtMMraflY-8u3lZzBSKGN_q3y2l-8ppmnW-EHQbCtZ8Ne8HhZeR6uWXkII7vPIloiN_CzeNNkk3P3gnIU6r7Lt1gIkuGQf2mC/s1600/arachis_monticola_naked.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsLlExLcC7yXvKJVrTgpfxJEx9LsC7bc7h1Asxva2WWIcNtMMraflY-8u3lZzBSKGN_q3y2l-8ppmnW-EHQbCtZ8Ne8HhZeR6uWXkII7vPIloiN_CzeNNkk3P3gnIU6r7Lt1gIkuGQf2mC/s200/arachis_monticola_naked.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>A. monticola</i>, diminutive seeds</td></tr>
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In a beautifully timed coincidence, <i>A. ipaensis</i>, one of the long lost parents of the peanut, has just been <a href="http://www.scientificamerican.com/article/modern-peanut-s-wild-cousin-thought-extinct-found-in-andes/" target="_blank">rediscovered</a>. In the world of crop wild relatives, this is a big deal. The big deal in my part of the world will be whether I can get my <i>A. monticola</i> seeds to germinate or not and whether they'll survive our summer. Here's hoping.<br />
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If you want to know more about peanut wild relatives, including <i>Arachis monticola</i>, here's a good paper to start with:<br />
<a href="http://naldc.nal.usda.gov/catalog/37542" target="_blank">Biogeography of wild Arachis (leguminosae): distribution and environmental characterisation </a><br />
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For more on the fascinating sex life of the peanut and its close relatives, you could have a look at this: <br />
<a href="http://www.amjbot.org/content/94/12/1963.abstract" target="_blank">Genomic relationships between the cultivated peanut (<i>Arachis hypogaea</i>, Leguminosae) and its close relatives revealed by double GISH</a><br />
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Next up, is my wild card, Bambara groundnut (<em>Vigna subterraneana), </em>which I chose, not for its lofty altitude of origin, chill tolerance or any other possible pre-adaptations to life in Cornwall, but because I've never grown it before and I fancied an experiment. The beans come in all sorts of colours and the diverse batch I received looks like leguminous dolly mixture.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtabWbSe4OWuOG7QgUvjkfCY143pl2HhmcDNoqatH6iEdjMwnpk-kCpBcK_kZcUrQkmE57ODByfwbbWUYTai7nMzzNDtD26TloUOci33ysLxRH3FsrpXoRXM3-sCe7p5CGqcVbymb4_NmZ/s1600/Vigna_subterranea.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtabWbSe4OWuOG7QgUvjkfCY143pl2HhmcDNoqatH6iEdjMwnpk-kCpBcK_kZcUrQkmE57ODByfwbbWUYTai7nMzzNDtD26TloUOci33ysLxRH3FsrpXoRXM3-sCe7p5CGqcVbymb4_NmZ/s320/Vigna_subterranea.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Vigna subterranea</i></td></tr>
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<i>Vigna subterranea</i> is one of those intriguing African crops which has been rather eclipsed by New World invaders, in this case the peanut. It is still widely cultivated, however and has many merits, not least its resistance to high temperatures and drought, as one might expect given its origins in West Africa, probably in the hot dry parts of north eastern Nigeria. Those don't sound much like the climatic challenges we usually face here in Cornwall, but no less an authority than <a href="http://williamwoysweaver.com/" target="_blank">William Woys Weaver</a> claims that there's a basic rule of thumb: if you can grow outdoor tomatoes, you can grow <em>Vigna subterranea. </em>Given the spectacular levels of <em>Phytophthora infestans</em> on our plot, which carries off our outdoor tomatoes and potatoes every year, this is but little comfort. He's referring to temperature, of course, rather than pathogen load; the way I see it, nothing ventured, nothing gained. And you never know, a cold spring does not guarantee an indifferent summer. It might even encourage me to finally read this:<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMh0sCkITUUFE3KG-YUu9z60-N_D208AsB023O5OoxSO7rKirId4vc9ybN8DXFAv3a8v_px9BlCzJMIqspUeTcvMpVIW126Kuh5NfG3SwqLnjV2j08Rb8Fx5dmfpEJVqtMZiRExrNstQIi/s1600/Bamabar+Groundnut+Book+.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMh0sCkITUUFE3KG-YUu9z60-N_D208AsB023O5OoxSO7rKirId4vc9ybN8DXFAv3a8v_px9BlCzJMIqspUeTcvMpVIW126Kuh5NfG3SwqLnjV2j08Rb8Fx5dmfpEJVqtMZiRExrNstQIi/s320/Bamabar+Groundnut+Book+.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
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The mature beans are eaten roasted or boiled and are considered a complete food, containing about 65% carbohydrate, 18% balanced protein and 6.5% fat; bambara groundnut milk is said to be more palatable than soya milk, which can only be a good thing. In terms of bean distribution, it looks like the plants have abandoned their wild child ancestral habits and deposit their pods demurely, close to the base of the plants. For that the voles will be duly grateful.<br />
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Last but no means least, I give you talet (<i>Amphicarpaea bracteata</i>), <a href="http://radix4roots.blogspot.co.uk/2015/01/amphicarpaea-talet-like-it-is.html" target="_blank">tried and tested </a>in our climate. Following on from the success of that trial, I was heartbroken when, a few weeks later, a pheasant plucker emptied the pots, scattered the labels and pretty much gobbled the entire crop, eliminating several varieties in the process. Not so fast, Mr Pheasant! All is not lost, due to talet's cunning <a href="http://radix4roots.blogspot.co.uk/2009/02/amphicarpaea-talented-mr-talet.html" target="_blank">amphicarpic strategy</a>, whereby it hedges its bets through the production of different types of seeds, including hard, long-lived ones. I've kept a stash of the latter type of all my varieties in case of just such an eventuality. Time to open it and resurrect those that were lost. I'll give the finger to a pheasant just as soon as I will to fate.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikI5kTbeIudltAPLLN0byTM0ezTWcikfRP9uYSw13bECzMsBTK-wCxqMQmE5npYENTGT3AzqKj9gbrJnd71Cwpx7VuNTcMlZO8aC1rCgWCbeoWgntZUKZe7Jkyt1ToWUQ9kPYefx0UJTLA/s1600/Talets2014JPG.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikI5kTbeIudltAPLLN0byTM0ezTWcikfRP9uYSw13bECzMsBTK-wCxqMQmE5npYENTGT3AzqKj9gbrJnd71Cwpx7VuNTcMlZO8aC1rCgWCbeoWgntZUKZe7Jkyt1ToWUQ9kPYefx0UJTLA/s320/Talets2014JPG.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sprouting subterranean talets (<i>Amphicarpaea bracteata</i>)</td></tr>
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My talet resurrection enthusiasm knows no bounds. I've been inspired to open the dusty Radix crypt and disinter some seeds of varieties I placed there at the end of last century, when I first started tinkering with the plant in earnest. Are they still viable, after nearly twenty years? If I have the time, I'd also like to get my head around the latest research which identifies t<a href="http://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pmc/articles/PMC4833626/" target="_blank">hree cryptic species </a>within <i>Amphicarpaea bracteata</i> <i>sensu lato</i> and try and see which ones I've got. Help! Can I possibly cope with yet another trifoliate triumvirate?<br />
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<br />Rhizowenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13898344291012563139noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3352076248333591052.post-14506705041654014352016-01-24T12:28:00.000+00:002016-01-28T06:32:56.518+00:00Oh Heck, it Ain't Mecha-meck!During my blog's fallow phase, a few brave souls have continued to leave comments. I've just been moderating and publishing them. Turns out there were some interesting ones, but what really caught my attention was a message from Ron Kushner. Ron is an authority on all things <i>Ipomoea - </i>I am a mere dilettante. <i> </i>So when he politely lets me know that the seeds I received in good faith as <i>I. pandurata</i>, with their fabulously weirdy-beardy appearance, are in fact <i>I. macrorhiza</i>, I listen. <br />
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Just like the chuckle-inducing <i>Corrections and Clarifications</i> section in the Grauniad (sic), I am going to have to make a retraction. When I said "<a href="http://radix4roots.blogspot.co.uk/2010/05/oh-heck-heres-mecha-meck.html" target="_blank">oh heck, here's mecha-meck</a>", I was wrong. What I should have said is "oh heck, it's from Yucatan". </div>
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It seems that <i>I. macrorhiza </i>has a distinctly southerly distribution, being found on the coast in the south eastern states of the USA. One theory is that it was transported there from Mexico by First Nations people, possibly as a food source. <i>I. pandurata </i>is found much further north and, by inference, ought to be a lot hardier than the southern softie that is <i>I. macrorhiza</i>.</div>
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The proof, as Ron has pointed out, lies in the seeds. Compare and contrast: </div>
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Here's 'my' mecha-meck: an artisan-brewing, kimchi-gobbling hipster with splendid and extravagant whiskers:<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnfCY8zhGUGk_lIm1Ii7_2BFFOWueuzFsD833MGv24Q-I_RMjgk9aizyXDT_it9wI4I2fy_5xPyFUN8z_1fM_fMRwObDLfBGe1uRw57Q6JaTppXQi7L2IZFo_NBgeMkvid7upzTsGPcAEh/s1600/Ipomoeamacrorhiza.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnfCY8zhGUGk_lIm1Ii7_2BFFOWueuzFsD833MGv24Q-I_RMjgk9aizyXDT_it9wI4I2fy_5xPyFUN8z_1fM_fMRwObDLfBGe1uRw57Q6JaTppXQi7L2IZFo_NBgeMkvid7upzTsGPcAEh/s320/Ipomoeamacrorhiza.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Ipomoea macrorhiza</i></td></tr>
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The true mecha-meck is more of a designer stubble aficionado:<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTpzdAzliVPr1PIcgGQa2Le0jWlEwJG02KkpU-GPbCV2Ix2wwzqNVV9FdCrujd1Jl5JpHDMcLgd5ZbkcuzDm_NRVr8UiwR_oE6s-kcVzVP1Qm4e-eWiW3AIj_wgaLvcr78nyBe7cido1F1/s1600/Ipomoeapandurata.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="280" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTpzdAzliVPr1PIcgGQa2Le0jWlEwJG02KkpU-GPbCV2Ix2wwzqNVV9FdCrujd1Jl5JpHDMcLgd5ZbkcuzDm_NRVr8UiwR_oE6s-kcVzVP1Qm4e-eWiW3AIj_wgaLvcr78nyBe7cido1F1/s320/Ipomoeapandurata.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Ipomoea panudurata</i> (image courtesy of University of Missouri)</td></tr>
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I suppose this late onset revelation is actually a bit of a relief; the impostor's growth and winter survival was, let's face it, a big disappointment. Without reworking the tired Spartacus allusion yet again, I'd rather the true mecha-meck reveal itself and we can all get on with our lives. </div>
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On that note, in true one-step-forwards-two steps-back fashion, I must now throw myself on the tender mercies of East Coast USA rhizophiles. Say, can anyone provide me with seeds of the true mecha-meck? </div>
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Rhizowenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13898344291012563139noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3352076248333591052.post-9960329294160352392016-01-18T10:45:00.000+00:002016-01-18T10:45:07.914+00:00Now We Are Seven There's plenty of talk about work/life balance these days. No one mentions work/life/blog balance, however. It seems like Radix has fallen victim to an egregious lopsidedness of the latter. Work commitments, family illness, all combined with a slothful nature and inborn lethargy, have conspired to leave my blog unupdated for one whole year. Keep this up and I could win a Darwin Award for blogging.<br />
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Just like A A Milne's poem '<a href="http://www.familyfriendpoems.com/poem/now-we-are-six-by-a-a-milne" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">Now We are Six</a>', in which the author expresses the desire to remain at the age of six in perpetuity, it seems as though my blog is following suit. That's not to say that I haven't been continuing my root researches, albeit in an attenuated, fitful and truncated fashion. I just haven't managed the transfer from mud-encrusted notebook to blog. As I write, I'm struggling to remember how this digital interface actually works..... So I find myself on the eve of this blog's seventh birthday, attempting to reassert its existence. Not drowning, but waving.<br />
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One project that has occupied me over the last year, is the <a href="http://www.ocabreeders.org/" target="_blank">Guild of Oca Breeders</a>, an attempt to set up a Europe-wide oca breeding collective and citizen science project. Last year, we sent out about 150 seedling varieties to people from Spain to Sweden. We're still waiting to analyse the data, but it confirms what I already knew: most people are much better growers than I am. There's a mini backlog of a few unpublished posts that I really ought to tidy up and publish, too. <br />
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So like Bobby Vee (before my time, natch) and his <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6GRuzaMwvrA" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">rubber ball</a>, I'll come bouncing back to you. Soon, anyway. Hopefully.<br />
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<br />Rhizowenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13898344291012563139noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3352076248333591052.post-58191125039601508012015-01-16T09:49:00.001+00:002018-04-01T11:30:36.236+01:00Amphicarpaea - Talet Like It Is. <em>Happy New Year. Rather than make pronouncements on the forthcoming reformation of my character and behaviour, my 2015 New Year's resolution is to abandon the concept of New Year's resolutions altogether and just get on with things. In that spirit, I am going to spend a few weeks rodding this blog's pipework in the hope of clearing the indigestible mass of half-finished posts that have been backing up. </em><br />
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<em>Here goes.</em><br />
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Back in the spring, I potted on a whole load of <a href="http://radix4roots.blogspot.co.uk/2014/05/talet-will-out.html" target="_blank">different </a>talet varieties and left them to their fate. That was never my intention, of course. I meant to update regularly on their comparative vigour in the hope of identifying which of the six varieties was best suited to the Cornish climate. As per usual, life seems to have impeded my lofty plans, so here I am catching up once again.<br />
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Talking of loftiness, the plants became so top heavy that they kept falling over. It was politely pointed out to me that they constituted a tripping hazard, blocking as they did the narrowest defile in our famously narrow back yard. Come August, I finally took the hint and moved them down to the plot instead. It was also high time that they were repotted into something roomier than their budgie smuggler fit 7cm pots. Their leafiness, while providing a gratifying splash of green against the wall, had also meant that they were quick to dry out; resuscitation was needed on several occasions, with the poor things gasping and close to their permanent wilt point. Welcome to my world, where horticulture and homicide collide.<br />
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Originally I had randomly arranged the different varieties into those handy stackable blue crates; now I sorted them back into their individual varieties in order to compare each in terms of growth and nodulation. For illustrative purposes I set out the varieties in ascending order of vigour, left to right. 'Saratoga Battlefield' (SB) was the least vigorous, followed by 'Yabumame', which had a distinctly chlorotic cast about it. The most vigorous of the six was the unimaginatively named 'Original', which I obtained (I think) from a Seed Savers Exchange member. In terms of nodulation, 'Original' seemed to be ahead of the pack, although 'FVK' (Frank van Keirsbilck) and 'GN' (Gardens North) were quite well endowed too. The latter two early varieties had already begun producing aerial chasmogamous flowers, and also sported long and leafy axillary branches close to ground level.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoZ4zlK9YDDQe00YQN-kAeUWO_Fy2cbRZgH87sTDR26ROVal6LQ2QUwh1dVC-MJaG2sisBrP1Jz50R3AbpemaNnrjAUDJTeGuCet9a83o-FSaq1koxa7wlaGz5JPLdsXacedti1EufEm1C/s1600/TaletComparisonAug2014.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="Amphicarpaea varieties, August 2014" border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoZ4zlK9YDDQe00YQN-kAeUWO_Fy2cbRZgH87sTDR26ROVal6LQ2QUwh1dVC-MJaG2sisBrP1Jz50R3AbpemaNnrjAUDJTeGuCet9a83o-FSaq1koxa7wlaGz5JPLdsXacedti1EufEm1C/s1600/TaletComparisonAug2014.jpg" title="Amphicarpaea varieties, August 2014" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Arrayed in all their glory. August 2014. </td></tr>
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The repotting process gave me the perfect opportunity for a mid-season peep at what was going on below the surface of the compost. Talet, as I've previously mentioned, has the nifty ability to fix nitrogen; aside from producing damn fine beans, this is one of my prime motivations for growing the plant.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgApDVNy9V4EOfnH5j2CBgvOKi1fsWa4s9oL286yjBzHmE7p55AfJFOmTLpEVbV6BYecmL1llFLiwj_NUv7MAPlHAejYibDVsgmXbglPDVxdVx0srmAJEtRtoW7HBM3cT4RnIOK61L-FBnO/s1600/TalettGNAug2014JPG.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="Amphicarpaea bracteata Gardens North Subterranean bean and nodules, August 2014" border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgApDVNy9V4EOfnH5j2CBgvOKi1fsWa4s9oL286yjBzHmE7p55AfJFOmTLpEVbV6BYecmL1llFLiwj_NUv7MAPlHAejYibDVsgmXbglPDVxdVx0srmAJEtRtoW7HBM3cT4RnIOK61L-FBnO/s1600/TalettGNAug2014JPG.jpg" title="Amphicarpaea bracteata Gardens North Subterranean bean and nodules, August 2014" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
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GN. Shows a small subterranean bean developing and a fair few nodules. Oh, and an earthworm. </div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7iIHHWauPDzqFVSQ7tQXXlieyCdzgxFoS_4I4FyEY23NRQfiQS33JYjdwFoFB3qs4x91nM_YcxdniH9xdPAGUxnzdQbGrXrog19lm8iK4-iHNhK2RGott6On-pgM4WemkPpCaXlDo94jW/s1600/TaletFVKAug14.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="Amphicarpaea bracteata FVK subterranean bean and nodules. August 2014 " border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7iIHHWauPDzqFVSQ7tQXXlieyCdzgxFoS_4I4FyEY23NRQfiQS33JYjdwFoFB3qs4x91nM_YcxdniH9xdPAGUxnzdQbGrXrog19lm8iK4-iHNhK2RGott6On-pgM4WemkPpCaXlDo94jW/s1600/TaletFVKAug14.jpg" title="Amphicarpaea bracteata FVK subterranean bean and nodules. August 2014 " width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">FVK: baby bean and some nodules. </td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuSsaQVIF4AjqgINipB2Aatyw5GnQhwEQnSMdz9RUQrYA33JsjMSXm0gJKKzSDs3b4_f9OX-1TxTyCnHR4JBmf5fQSub03UMr0kiycY0ej4dIFrjRFqq49V5HvM5Y0ca4giibkUwjmooWs/s1600/TaletOrigAug2014.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="Amphicarpaea bracteata Original, profuse nodulation. August 2014" border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuSsaQVIF4AjqgINipB2Aatyw5GnQhwEQnSMdz9RUQrYA33JsjMSXm0gJKKzSDs3b4_f9OX-1TxTyCnHR4JBmf5fQSub03UMr0kiycY0ej4dIFrjRFqq49V5HvM5Y0ca4giibkUwjmooWs/s1600/TaletOrigAug2014.jpg" title="Amphicarpaea bracteata Original, profuse nodulation. August 2014" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Original: massive nodules, subterranean shoots ramifying nicely. Not a bean in sight. </td></tr>
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As I searched the yabumame root mass for nodules, it was clear these were missing, or too small to be visible with the naked eye. This might explain their stunted growth and yellowish leaves - symptoms of nitrogen deficiency. Yabumame is known to associate with its own particular strains of <em>Bradyrhizobium</em> bacteria in Japan, which might well have not made the trip here with the aerial seeds I received - maybe in this case absence of evidence really was evidence of absence.</div>
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I potted on the plants into 1 litre pots and tried to keep them watered, despite the protracted warm and rainless spell, which led our stream to dry up. The early flowering varieties were the first to die back, while 'Original' continued to look green and healthy for weeks longer and grew much larger than any of the other types had managed in their noticeably shorter lives. 'Saratoga Battlefield' limped on in a strange, enfeebled state, a vegetable creaking gate hanging long on its hinges; yabumame retained its jaundiced look before eventually succumbing. <br />
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Finally, in November, even 'Original' senesced and after a few weeks' hiatus, I decided to tip out the pots and assess the yields.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDPbzDas2oa2vkC1qxTwRa5bSr_H-906TvSC5CXgtGrIG_w-38f7QsOPHlv3y3REaqPOzHQMf1Dnf3IMBiGQ6efDaT6KutaX5xk-GMjy6aKxpl3-WAaQQ_fw_No_0xU1c2bToiQFLSoK1_/s1600/TaletcomparisonNov14JPG.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="Differential sensecence in Amphicarpaea bracteata August 2014" border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDPbzDas2oa2vkC1qxTwRa5bSr_H-906TvSC5CXgtGrIG_w-38f7QsOPHlv3y3REaqPOzHQMf1Dnf3IMBiGQ6efDaT6KutaX5xk-GMjy6aKxpl3-WAaQQ_fw_No_0xU1c2bToiQFLSoK1_/s1600/TaletcomparisonNov14JPG.jpg" title="Differential sensecence in Amphicarpaea bracteata August 2014" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">State of play. November 2014</td></tr>
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So these are the results, with individual the contents of each pot heaped together. When hunger stalks the land, don't come to me begging for Amphicarpaea beans.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiN7K4Ylv9JT74_0rvp9vwZ9VVrBn27OTh26fusLfxxyS-315UA3wQPL7_MgT84JtUW285yqumglCDy-4J38kAehyphenhyphenb6kc5vo8HpqSFIA6HIsocu3qR148a4Th4UYoKhteDCRXxnULI9rzQh/s1600/TaletYab14.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="Amphicarpaea edgeworthii, total yield November 2014" border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiN7K4Ylv9JT74_0rvp9vwZ9VVrBn27OTh26fusLfxxyS-315UA3wQPL7_MgT84JtUW285yqumglCDy-4J38kAehyphenhyphenb6kc5vo8HpqSFIA6HIsocu3qR148a4Th4UYoKhteDCRXxnULI9rzQh/s1600/TaletYab14.jpg" title="Amphicarpaea edgeworthii, total yield November 2014" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Yabumame.The total yield from five pots. Back to the drawing board on this one, I think.</td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigQQIWlvyxPCM_C59lkSDOG1oGgcnszemvBLbWtVwi9Qub1QG4VbNCzryn-HiGbu1LEXgHNonNM2ZilGEYaGryioQHye_PIAp52l7Kyc5217HpYNMpHdgA0P5mb-Qrut58Dm4xZl_CVpFc/s1600/TaletGNNov14.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="Amphicarpaea bracteata, GN. total yield November 2014" border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigQQIWlvyxPCM_C59lkSDOG1oGgcnszemvBLbWtVwi9Qub1QG4VbNCzryn-HiGbu1LEXgHNonNM2ZilGEYaGryioQHye_PIAp52l7Kyc5217HpYNMpHdgA0P5mb-Qrut58Dm4xZl_CVpFc/s1600/TaletGNNov14.jpg" title="Amphicarpaea bracteata, GN. total yield November 2014" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">GN. I've seen worse. Five pots.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEij3bEAiuUBlByqkhe69D0eIhyphenhyphenMGfwxSouI0qrMQLnur-ONuHRvfjshNbLJ5eN_gweOMPhRQ24qnusRaC9zWrG66ADSsi6Pxyt-sZ1Rm-VHEmgv0svyhy3_qZPLaOzQYzQIgN2zBDQI8xiq/s1600/TaletFVKNov14.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="Amphicarpaea bracteata, FVK total yield November 2014" border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEij3bEAiuUBlByqkhe69D0eIhyphenhyphenMGfwxSouI0qrMQLnur-ONuHRvfjshNbLJ5eN_gweOMPhRQ24qnusRaC9zWrG66ADSsi6Pxyt-sZ1Rm-VHEmgv0svyhy3_qZPLaOzQYzQIgN2zBDQI8xiq/s1600/TaletFVKNov14.jpg" title="Amphicarpaea bracteata, FVK total yield November 2014" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">FVK. Six pots.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSI9KWrcJJGVr-JdqwhfUK0IOtj4YVD-BDVSxJZVrfHiCKaNqtHhyotYRZYQvQEeI2FlRlMbB3hySo0lLjclkEsnIizzSthMysg48_UwgCP4GcDN5BSeGIIHw48s70N3qh7SMYaBtCkD56/s1600/TaletOrigNov14.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="Amphicarpaea bracteata, Original, total yield November 2014" border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSI9KWrcJJGVr-JdqwhfUK0IOtj4YVD-BDVSxJZVrfHiCKaNqtHhyotYRZYQvQEeI2FlRlMbB3hySo0lLjclkEsnIizzSthMysg48_UwgCP4GcDN5BSeGIIHw48s70N3qh7SMYaBtCkD56/s1600/TaletOrigNov14.jpg" title="Amphicarpaea bracteata, Original, total yield November 2014" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">And finally, the clear winner, Original. Six pots.</td></tr>
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The two pots of Saratoga Battlefield failed to produce a single bean between them. Bah!</div>
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All in all, 'Original' was by far the most productive variety, with the others lagging way behind. But I'm not entirely satisfied with my experimental method. In fact, I'm intending to run the 'experiment' again this coming season; when you hear scientists say "more research needed", this is what I think they mean. Bigger pots, more water - I owe it to them to try again.<br />
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So, those are the results - but what of their interpretation?<br />
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It could be that I potted on the early varieties way too late; they may have already been too far down the seed development process to take advantage of extra root room, nutrients and improved water availability offered by their new homes. I seem to remember noticing something similar years ago when I potted on a previous bunch of sorely neglected talet seedlings. Legumes are known to be quite thirsty when flowering and it's possible that seed development was affected by water stress at a critical stage. Perhaps 'Original', as a result of its later flowering, took advantage of the increased space, water and nutrients to grow much bigger before seed formation was initiated; it might then have directed the more abundant products of photosynthesis downwards to create fat subterranean beans.<br />
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At least I've established that if you plant one fat <i>Amphicarpaea</i> bean, you might get nine back - if you use the right variety and treat the plants with a modicum of respect, horticulturally speaking. I've wanted to know this indispensable piece of information for years. It isn't isn't too bad a deal, bearing in mind that talet is, as far as I'm aware, an unimproved wild plant. The next challenge is to quadruple that yield - a forty fold increase between sowing and harvest would be something like an acceptable level for a crop plant.<br />
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The variety NS (Nova Scotia) grown from aerial seeds obtained from Edward MacDonnell produced a few small beans. I'll add it to this coming season's trial. I also have seeds of a variety from Ohio, which was kindly sent to me by James Cheshire. And seeing as I still have aerial seeds of SB left over, I guess I'll give it another chance. Come to think about it, I'm sure I have some other varieties knocking around, in the form of those indurate aerial seeds. May as well liberate them too.Rhizowenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13898344291012563139noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3352076248333591052.post-81537674064167503042014-12-01T11:12:00.001+00:002014-12-01T16:07:56.180+00:00Radix Alphabetical Advent CalendarWhen it comes to Christmas, I'm a bit of a "bah, humbug!" sort of a bloke. I am however, a fervent believer in recycling; this extends not to just glass bottles, cardboard and milk cartons, but to previous blog posts - no point reinventing the wheel or torturing untold thousands of oca seedlings to come up with the same old tired prose. Due to a period of retrenchment (some of which has been spent with a trenching spade in hand), I haven't been able to give either our plot or this blog the attention they deserve. I'm hopeful that I will get back on track next year with more regular posts and some interesting developments. In the meantime, I offer up my Radix Alphabetical Advent Calendar, with the letters of the alphabet standing in for corresponding dates in the month. Beat that, Alan Turing!<br />
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Today is December 1st, so I give you A and the first root in the Radix lexicon: <a href="http://radix4roots.blogspot.co.uk/search/label/Aandegopin" target="_blank"><span style="font-size: large;">aandegopin</span></a><span style="font-size: large;">.</span> <br />
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P.S. I'm really worried about Christmas Eve....Rhizowenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13898344291012563139noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3352076248333591052.post-89936339476231755182014-08-20T16:23:00.000+01:002014-08-20T16:24:03.934+01:00Oca: Six Degrees of Separation<br />
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It occurred to me the other day, as I evicted yet another bunch of volunteer ocas from their chosen homes, that I've been doing this for a few years now. In fact the 2014 seedlings are the sixth generation descendants of the original oca varieties that I started with. For those who love this sort of thing, the<i> six degrees of separation</i> theory posits that we are all connected with one another by a chain of, at most, six intermediaries; it's an intriguing idea, the likelihood of which must surely be increasing as the internet's hyphae ramify ever further across the globe. Oh and it was also a passably good film.<br />
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Here are my ocas - the great, great, great, great grandchildren of the original varieties. They're still going strong, or at least they appear to be if the above image is to be believed. So what effect has being Generation Six had on my charges? <br />
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But before all that, an extensive caveat. I'd like to be able to say that I've made a significant breakthrough in breeding a ravishingly beautiful, delicious, dayneutral oca. Maybe I have, but due to conflicting pressures and responsibilities, I haven't been been able to devote anything like enough time to the methodical recording of tuber yields. Something or other has got in the way every time - frost damage, voles, vine weevils, midnight ambulance rides to hospital - that kind of thing. That and the more humdrum exigencies of earning money.<br />
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And when I say breed, I really mean stand and stare at the bees and hoverflies transferring pollen as they flit from flower to flower - very relaxing. Back in the early days, <a href="http://radix4roots.blogspot.co.uk/2009/09/ocasional-update-1-to-bee-or-not-to-bee.html" target="_blank">I rushed to hand pollinate and bag flowers individually</a> and I think I even went to the trouble of recording parentage, but I now no longer have time or the inclination for such niceties. If you want to look at someone who's far more methodical than me, check out <a href="http://wettingthebeds.cultivariable.com/" target="_blank">Bill's blog</a>.<br />
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Proper breeders are supposed to apply some sort of directional selection pressure to their charges. I've done very little of this, I must confess. There are two reasons: firstly I started with only a few clones and I thought it wise to conserve as much variation as possible before culling ruthlessly. <br />
Secondly, I'm a softie at heart and don't like to institute a reign of terror on my charges - I'm not Ivan the Terrible, I'm Rhizowen the lily-livered.<br />
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So as a bystander to oca's unfolding evolution, what conclusions can I actually draw? Here are a few, off the top of my head:<br />
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<li>Oca seedlings are variable - leaf, stem, and tuber colour, pubescence, height, you name it, it varies. </li>
<li>Oca seedlings generally flower <a href="http://radix4roots.blogspot.co.uk/2012/10/a-host-of-golden-oca-flowers.html" target="_blank">much more readily</a> than commercially available varieties.</li>
<li>There are many more of the short and mid-styled varieties than long styled ones. </li>
<li>Oca seeds germinate fairly easily and grow quite fast; they can go <a href="http://radix4roots.blogspot.co.uk/2011/10/from-seed-to-seed-oh-yes-indeed.html" target="_blank">from seed to seed outside in one season</a> here in Cornwall. </li>
<li>Tubers from oca seedlings are perfectly edible and <a href="http://radix4roots.blogspot.co.uk/2012/01/cornwalls-tiny-little-oca-cook-off-2012.html" target="_blank">not always tiny</a>, knobbly and misshapen.</li>
<li>Oca pods require careful management - when they <a href="http://radix4roots.blogspot.co.uk/2009/09/ocasional-update-2-podzappoppin.html" target="_blank">pop, those seeds don't stop</a>.</li>
<li>Corollary of the above - oca volunteers will appear where you probably don't want them.</li>
<li>Voles and other rodents love to eat oca tubers.</li>
<li>Unlike the voles, I hate harvesting oca tubers in the late autumn when our soil is cold, sticky and squelchy. </li>
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Bearing in mind that I started with so few varieties, the overriding question is this:<br />
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have I been blissfully - inadvertently - <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Genetic_purging" target="_blank">purging oca's genetic load</a>, thus producing an oca master race, or merely subjecting the unfortunate plant to the perils of inbreeding, spawning a clutch of web-fingered banjo players? Deliverance from these sorts of questions at three o'clock in the morning would be very welcome.<br />
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And I know it's bad form to use the c word so early in the year, but could I have the following for Christmas, please: <br />
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A bunch of ten or more people, ocaphiles to the hilt, with whom to explore some of the possibilities of oca improvement. There are so many questions to be answered, so much more work to do.<br />
Until such time as the above dream team materialises, I will ponder and ruminate. So here's my final question, which neither Bible scholars nor oca breeders have yet been able to answer definitively: will the mistakes of the "breeder" be visited unto the seventh generation? I'll let you know - next year.<br />
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<br />Rhizowenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13898344291012563139noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3352076248333591052.post-74194788847841338362014-06-01T08:18:00.000+01:002019-02-24T13:48:38.138+00:00Mauka: Three Cheers for The Marvel of Peru<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaIjsDJgwea5c0fpoED2Ct3KT2nz-vM5Mj2BtF0vvmOCOQniZttRo6JL9K95wJ97bifmPcgRSH4IFJ6ILWqdsp3s9kHIGZ5dOGyIxZSVnpy0vFUshNaaMu07JbTqp1hUDQ-7enq0LZzetC/s1600/MaukaMan2014.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="Mauka Man Mirabilis expansa" border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaIjsDJgwea5c0fpoED2Ct3KT2nz-vM5Mj2BtF0vvmOCOQniZttRo6JL9K95wJ97bifmPcgRSH4IFJ6ILWqdsp3s9kHIGZ5dOGyIxZSVnpy0vFUshNaaMu07JbTqp1hUDQ-7enq0LZzetC/s1600/MaukaMan2014.jpg" title="Mauka Man" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Mauka Man, hero.</td></tr>
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We've eaten Mauka Man, the root I harvested a while ago. It had to happen; I'm glad it happened. According to <a href="http://www.nap.edu/openbook.php?isbn=030904264X" target="_blank">Lost Crops of The Incas</a>, mauka (<i>Mirabilis expansa</i>) is usually allowed to sit in the sun for a while before consumption. Previously I've only ever eaten it straight out of the ground. While tasty, there is usually a slight residual irritation at the back of the throat; this stops the experience from being the sensual delight it could be.<br />
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Half the battle with novel foods is figuring out how to prepare them. As we normally harvest root crops in the winter, sitting roots out in grey, wan light isn't likely to effect much positive change. Sunshine in May (when we get it) is much more intense. Clearing out the mauka bed in the spring has therefore given me the ideal opportunity to follow the preparation method favoured in mauka's Andean homeland. Not that I planned it that way. Let's just call it a fortuitous failure.<br />
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Dismembering and preparing the poor fellow wasn't easy as the roots were twisted and as I understand it, mauka is always eaten peeled. While I was laboriously flaying the severed limbs, I noticed that beneath the skin, there was a reddish hue - a reaction to all that intense Cornish sunshine no doubt. More surprising still, was the observation that, like some Andean zombie, this root was undead: I could see some tiny adventitious shoots breaking forth on the cut surface. My previous experience indicates that pieces like this can be replanted and will go on to develop into new plants. Useful.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIgX3t1QOngTPa4NU_hsN9_kKEWBc-W5T0micoNeWOKgSBT_d03Ad-lJLmO_9EWmboqXQG5EjQMxz6fJ7IzFZhx6OyjARyYGLLtwZbiCWxzDi2dMz5cVXiAt3C3n5W-U-rJvwmVgSXXQBk/s1600/Maukaroot400g.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="Mauka root (Mirabilis expansa)" border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIgX3t1QOngTPa4NU_hsN9_kKEWBc-W5T0micoNeWOKgSBT_d03Ad-lJLmO_9EWmboqXQG5EjQMxz6fJ7IzFZhx6OyjARyYGLLtwZbiCWxzDi2dMz5cVXiAt3C3n5W-U-rJvwmVgSXXQBk/s1600/Maukaroot400g.jpg" title="Mauka root (Mirabilis expansa)" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">400g of prime mauka flesh</td></tr>
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Despite the efforts I was forced to expend in<br />
the peeling process, the three year old root flesh was, generally speaking, surprisingly free of fibres and woodiness, at least in its raw state. As per usual, I chopped the flesh into chunks and deposited the whole lot in a pan of wate<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTqbS0fcHqFITJkWqo0KauzWQwHhVPgyS3FXn9_5nY_Ear5kbX5WwrnpxvH_zatZtor9Wdd7Q1NbqJSGQlN0QtTtd8BD2aWp_x_EM8YFkNVM8dlarzTc-BjjnKa4qv9MuvZ-H4N-pwxMoi/s1600/Maukaadventitious.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="Mauka (Mirabilis expansa) adventitious buds" border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTqbS0fcHqFITJkWqo0KauzWQwHhVPgyS3FXn9_5nY_Ear5kbX5WwrnpxvH_zatZtor9Wdd7Q1NbqJSGQlN0QtTtd8BD2aWp_x_EM8YFkNVM8dlarzTc-BjjnKa4qv9MuvZ-H4N-pwxMoi/s1600/Maukaadventitious.jpg" title="Mauka (Mirabilis expansa) adventitious buds" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Not dead yet - adventitious bud appearing</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEEmLuJx8xlXPwSWIZIXsifOJWD_YqMYQXQvMrjBqMyArDUq6-kn4ngJVDzIpgMJ4458eqjLChdWxdQgQrrDTP4FF3AuezfbOC2nv3xPAST-tNbS-oZ-jQKyusADRU2NnExYNpsam6OkVC/s1600/Maukapinkskin.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="Pink flesh Mauka root (Mirabilis expansa)" border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEEmLuJx8xlXPwSWIZIXsifOJWD_YqMYQXQvMrjBqMyArDUq6-kn4ngJVDzIpgMJ4458eqjLChdWxdQgQrrDTP4FF3AuezfbOC2nv3xPAST-tNbS-oZ-jQKyusADRU2NnExYNpsam6OkVC/s1600/Maukapinkskin.jpg" title="Mauka root (Mirabilis expansa) left in sun" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Pink below the skin</td></tr>
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As I was boiling the chunks, I remembered something from <i>Lost Crops of the Incas</i> about the cooking water being used as a drink. After I'd fished out the cooked pieces, I allowed the cloudy liquid to cool. I tried it (gingerly at first) and can reveal to the world that this beverage is nothing like potato water in terms of palatability. Contrary to my expectations, it was sweet and pleasant, with none of the gritty starchiness I had expected. It seems that this is a nice drink in its own right and could probably be fermented into something interesting too. Or maybe the liquid could be used as a base for soups. Could quaffing mauka-ade become some sort of liquid sacrament to the ritual of mauka flesh preparation? Stick in a few songs and a bit of inebriation and Mauka Man would make a perfect successor to <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/John_Barleycorn" target="_blank">John Barleycorn</a>.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7RfVSWl3s-msG5_eX0LO1ofYp1mX0IFXMScwzJ-XSVmxjm7T2xXT_jMQxkSuUe-grGAyC8ffpGD9hiiECqNSOTOzvAH9IlYGm3I-J1jr3Vf0rAphcnMh0CX4JoY_e5Mc14-teUUnoq5dO/s1600/Maukadinner2014.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="Mauka Meal (Mirabilis expansa)" border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7RfVSWl3s-msG5_eX0LO1ofYp1mX0IFXMScwzJ-XSVmxjm7T2xXT_jMQxkSuUe-grGAyC8ffpGD9hiiECqNSOTOzvAH9IlYGm3I-J1jr3Vf0rAphcnMh0CX4JoY_e5Mc14-teUUnoq5dO/s1600/Maukadinner2014.jpg" title="Mauka Meal (Mirabilis expansa)" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Tasty enough, but less than the sum of its parts</td></tr>
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I hastily cooked some vegetables from the rack and plonked the mauka chunks on top. To be honest, the firm texture of the mauka did not combine particularly well with the vegetable mush I created, although it was all very palatable. Slightly chastened, I kept some of the cooked mauka chunks back and the following evening I fried them quickly with a little bit of oil, some herbs from the garden and a pinch of salt.<br />
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As we took in a DVD (<i>Hunger Games</i>, as it happens) and ate our mauka chunks, I rather lost concentration on the film; savouring the delightful finger food that pan-fried mauka proved to be was a major distraction. Still, any bow-toting heroine who is named after <i><a href="http://radix4roots.blogspot.co.uk/2012/12/whoopee-for-wapato.html" target="_blank">Sagittaria latifolia</a> </i>gets my approval by default. <br />
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To one whose palate has been corrupted by a lifelong diet of Angel Delight, pot noodles and fish fingers, I consider this to be excellent fare. In fact, of all the Lost Crops roots I have tried, this is my favourite. With its firm flesh and sweet taste, it is a pleasure to chew. I bet it would make great chips. If my rudimentary preparation methods are anything to go by, cannier cooks than I will easily come up with numerous ingenious ways to incorporate it into the western diet.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4JRdAxihvISzmOoHGOfqwRTWF1asdbtXFzlRwpj4eWy-RoyuvujX5UeBveRwBJSLGJlQmhlEfk703T_H-gyAH0Vj4YqE3pSGqa_4YBqEyjOI5ftz34mkzCrHRXdmsLLdSsp3kpzTOUM69/s1600/Maukaliquid.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="Mauka (Mirabilis expansa) drink mauka-ade" border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4JRdAxihvISzmOoHGOfqwRTWF1asdbtXFzlRwpj4eWy-RoyuvujX5UeBveRwBJSLGJlQmhlEfk703T_H-gyAH0Vj4YqE3pSGqa_4YBqEyjOI5ftz34mkzCrHRXdmsLLdSsp3kpzTOUM69/s1600/Maukaliquid.jpg" title="Mauka (Mirabilis expansa) drink" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A glass of mauka-ade proved unexpectedly potable</td></tr>
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So Mauka Man got eaten. It had to happen and I'm very glad it did. And I'm happy to raise a glass of mauka-ade to salute his passing. Three cheers: hip hip hooray! Hip hip hooray! Hip hip hooray!</div>
Rhizowenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13898344291012563139noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3352076248333591052.post-22337307964748021852014-05-14T21:29:00.000+01:002014-05-16T23:15:59.337+01:00Talet Will Out<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Spring is sprung, <i>Amphicarpaea </i>style</td></tr>
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After last year's exceptionally cold spring, this time around we're experiencing something much less chilly. This relative balminess was confirmed a while ago when I noticed that the midge season had begun. Oh joy. And then what weather forecasters describe as "unusually powerful winds for the time of year" started up and have been battering us for days. It's kept the midges at bay, but I can't help feeling pangs of sadness when I see radiant young beech leaves torn from their twigs and lying in dishevelled drifts by the edges of the lanes. Like the midges and the gales, the talets (<i>Amphicarpaea bracteata</i>) are also in the ascendancy. Or at least they're up and out of the ground. No matter the weather, it's a cause for celebration in this household.<br />
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I have several varieties of this noble <a href="http://radix4roots.blogspot.co.uk/2009/02/amphicarpaea-talented-mr-talet.html" target="_blank">amphicarpic</a> bean and it occurs to me that I ought to make an attempt to compare them in something resembling a systematic way. I already know that some die back more rapidly than others; what I've never got around to doing is actually investigating their relative productivity. Until now.<br />
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Because of the activities of the voles, I've taken to growing them in pots in the back yard. I'm told that voles in North America cache the underground beans for hard times. Our voles seem to be more of the live-fast-die-young persuasion, because they have managed to eat every single one I have planted over the last few years; they make no more attempt to put provisions aside for the winter than Aesop's grasshopper did. Not that starvation seems to threaten their population - they usually transfer their attentions to the oca crop to tide them over.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhX2Sb6NYwA5MMRNyW-zVJAhdA-CyobMAFk9G-4tPCtVOkZRRg2OeHzYG_nLWdRO5LAbNlx6y413k0PVQo_D34Bru7sGy9QpRM9LWwNOaAsjAOWCd_gLMNaoyh5QH16XuZwUUs46Ts37tSQ/s1600/Yabumame2014JPG.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhX2Sb6NYwA5MMRNyW-zVJAhdA-CyobMAFk9G-4tPCtVOkZRRg2OeHzYG_nLWdRO5LAbNlx6y413k0PVQo_D34Bru7sGy9QpRM9LWwNOaAsjAOWCd_gLMNaoyh5QH16XuZwUUs46Ts37tSQ/s1600/Yabumame2014JPG.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Yabumame seedlings</td></tr>
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Enough of the voles and their villainy. When I say several varieties, I actually mean six: there's my first one, whose origins now escape me; a variety from Frank van Keirsbilck in Belgium; 'Saratoga Battlefield'; 'Gardens North' and the <a href="http://radix4roots.blogspot.co.uk/2013/09/yabumame-hot-stuff-from-hokkaido.html" target="_blank">yabumame from Hokkaido</a> (<i>Amphicarpaea bracteata</i> subsp. e<i>dgeworthii</i>) which Paolo Gaiardelli very generously gave to me.<br />
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If anything, 'Gardens North' seems a little small and rather late; is this because I gave the best specimens away to various people earlier in the year or just an adaptation to its chilly birthplace in Ontario? And I'm a little short of 'Saratoga Battlefield' which I collected myself in 2008. Maybe the shame of the British defeat at that location has seriously inhibited its growth, but I've only managed to get two underground beans from this<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwLNyYgybfx4q7_No0-E3AYScaYhmhrmc57SlYaNqXqHfaV3Js4edG9haUmQw9EIkitQWaZzcJNeNMldVrJN32xu2P7M5V22NTrd_aGUnSB2_cyq6SLUqkFDIwSvgv82fZq_ZakdjCw9Ga/s1600/AmphicarpaeaNova_Scotia_2014.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwLNyYgybfx4q7_No0-E3AYScaYhmhrmc57SlYaNqXqHfaV3Js4edG9haUmQw9EIkitQWaZzcJNeNMldVrJN32xu2P7M5V22NTrd_aGUnSB2_cyq6SLUqkFDIwSvgv82fZq_ZakdjCw9Ga/s1600/AmphicarpaeaNova_Scotia_2014.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Amphicarpaea 'Nova Scotia' safe in a greenhouse</td></tr>
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variety to date. To complete the set for this year, I have a variety from Nova Scotia, kindly donated by Edward MacDonell, a fellow amphicarpaphile from said Canadian province. These have been started from the much smaller aerial seeds, so I'm fast-tracking them under glass.<br />
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As to experimental design - well, apart from the Nova Scotian accession, they're in the same growing medium, same size pots, with between two and six replicates of each variety. That's about as sophisticated as my experiments ever get. Still, if I keep an eye on the plants, their flowering times and (breaking the habits of a lifetime) actually weigh the resultant crop, I might learn something about their relative merits; I could use that information to inform any breeding programme I susbequently develop. Talks about talks, I know, but one has to start somewhere.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhz4j7CykJKaTOfCi9EdkVEWpOD8Rea2ssqLDtBmL0kL5yLMUBIxLr7xgYVRNZJJXLc2eKeC4Lm9IOQFKLESMx-p2e8ofuQ3yJPlUEV8rVAoIticKJ0R5nvCscnu7J2vzR0qYKQOL4GQWc3/s1600/AmphicarpaeaExpt2014.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhz4j7CykJKaTOfCi9EdkVEWpOD8Rea2ssqLDtBmL0kL5yLMUBIxLr7xgYVRNZJJXLc2eKeC4Lm9IOQFKLESMx-p2e8ofuQ3yJPlUEV8rVAoIticKJ0R5nvCscnu7J2vzR0qYKQOL4GQWc3/s1600/AmphicarpaeaExpt2014.jpg" height="320" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Setting up the experiment</td></tr>
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I could get smug about mounting the biggest talet grow-out ever seen in Cornwall; the truth is, however, that this probably represents a tiny fraction of the potential <i>Amphicarpaea</i> germplasm out there: <i>A. bracteata </i>is <a href="http://plants.usda.gov/core/profile?symbol=ambr2" target="_blank">widely distributed</a> in North America. I'd like to try the Mexican variety, the original 'talet', for starters and then there's the intriguing prospect of <i>A. africana </i>from montane areas of Central Africa. I know absolutely nothing about that species. Is it even edible? And let's not forget yabumame, which must exist in various forms in Korea and China, as well as in Japan.<br />
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While I'm waiting for the universe to slake my insatiable desire for additional <i>Amphicarpaea</i> varieties, you might like to consider this: there's good evidence that <i>A. bracteata</i> is actually composed of <a href="http://www.nrcresearchpress.com/doi/abs/10.1139/b96-199?journalCode=cjb1#.U3OGZF42L4I" target="_blank">two or more cryptic species</a>. This means that there are reproductively isolated, morphologically dissimilar lineages, which although superficially resembling each other, are actually distinguishable to the expert eye; I can see myself spending more time I don't have mastering the intricacies of this arcane art. Someone has to, I suppose. And could it be that 'Saratoga Battlefield' is one of the less competitive lineages described <a href="http://onlinelibrary.wiley.com/doi/10.1046/j.1420-9101.1994.7050567.x/abstract" target="_blank">here</a>? Nothing is as it seems in the complicated world of <i>Amphicarpaea</i> breeding.<br />
<br />Rhizowenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13898344291012563139noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3352076248333591052.post-10749150311076979002014-04-03T08:07:00.000+01:002014-04-03T08:11:22.053+01:00Ocas Go Undercover<i>I meant to publish this a while ago, but tedious distractions like earning money got in the way - c'est la vie. </i><br />
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Received wisdom holds that there is nothing better than other people's money. I have little experience of this, remaining open to any offers you might care to make in that regard. I am, however, an enthusiastic convert to the concept of other people's greenhouses, especially when they're frost free all winter.<br />
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Back in the autumn, I pricked out a whole load of late-emerging oca seedlings into some modules; I realised there was no chance these minuscule waifs would survive the winter in situ. Although adding an extra eighty ocas to my swelling brood seemed foolhardy, I constructed a makeshift cold frame and left them to it. This was probably a mistake, as I became rather attached to them as the weeks passed. They actually grew quite well and the cotyledons were overtopped by flushes of fresh trifoliate leaves. Then, as the weather became colder, I feared for their survival.<br />
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After a bit of head scratching, I devised a cunning plan to transfer them to a greenhouse at a nearby institute of higher education, where I have sympathetic contacts. When I say nearby, I mean a train ride of about half an hour. Being true-to-form, self-contained Brits, not one of my fellow passengers commented on the trays of seedlings perched precariously on my lap as I made that journey on two consecutive days. For that I was duly grateful.<br />
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiY7k8CkhYONlL4p0SGRgZvU9nsrhkvk0LURqPBX2bkP5EVpVVAk_YJoo0WOciQGbsLWK-Y1BVVEd74flIn1qLGz0iZ5vBTCvGMhCbiZPFu6hC-b9dyi2AaO2T-53KOeHjjMpADgX6W_Hk/s1600/Indoorocas.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="Oca Seedlings" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiY7k8CkhYONlL4p0SGRgZvU9nsrhkvk0LURqPBX2bkP5EVpVVAk_YJoo0WOciQGbsLWK-Y1BVVEd74flIn1qLGz0iZ5vBTCvGMhCbiZPFu6hC-b9dyi2AaO2T-53KOeHjjMpADgX6W_Hk/s1600/Indoorocas.jpg" height="320" title="Oca Seedlings Oxalis tuberosa" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Indoor ocas</td></tr>
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Once ensconced in their new home, the seedlings grew rapidly, despite the shortening days of November and December. Then, just before Christmas, they were cruelly evicted in a moment of high pathos of which Dickens would have been proud. I managed to find them alternative accommodation, however and they have dwelt happily in their second location for the last two months. The temperature inside seems to have hovered around a snug 10 ℃ for most of this time.<br />
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To be honest, it hasn't been that much colder outside during this period. In any case, this has seen the plants through the darkest days of the winter and I'm happy to report the presence of a number of oca mini-tubers. See below for selected highlights.<br />
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The largest of these started forming tubers quite early on; others have been slower to develop. I suspect that this is a result of their relative ages, some plants having been much larger than others when I saved them from imminent oblivion.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJBAq3PZd24sf0CvG4ViXxRs0OybaumE1lxrOzkmuHvn70zzug0WRsOu48MXyaItgNsOE1bUuoJyo6F3UqNsxY223Z_Qdw22tseOpD6jY4HSVk8BJ1CMou9W1zlFx11sQBVq9hwR1ckEIc/s1600/Indooroca1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img alt="Oxalis tuberosa" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJBAq3PZd24sf0CvG4ViXxRs0OybaumE1lxrOzkmuHvn70zzug0WRsOu48MXyaItgNsOE1bUuoJyo6F3UqNsxY223Z_Qdw22tseOpD6jY4HSVk8BJ1CMou9W1zlFx11sQBVq9hwR1ckEIc/s1600/Indooroca1.jpg" height="240" title="Oca Tuber" width="320" /></a></div>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhu-9RDCkKdHFpuiOSHhwezzBKG7zPql7SjTPegnWQCFsqyRM3n98Vojr5PJ2R6OcMj-C_wFmc8wbFQMDXx1GmmDf7C7EmwV3NOm5P9wdIwtrH27jc3cLSQmCmmVD-z4mtOOaDEyqccv0ff/s1600/Indoorocas3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="Oca Seedlings" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhu-9RDCkKdHFpuiOSHhwezzBKG7zPql7SjTPegnWQCFsqyRM3n98Vojr5PJ2R6OcMj-C_wFmc8wbFQMDXx1GmmDf7C7EmwV3NOm5P9wdIwtrH27jc3cLSQmCmmVD-z4mtOOaDEyqccv0ff/s1600/Indoorocas3.jpg" height="320" title="Oca Tubers Oxalis tuberosa" width="240" /></a><br />
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I'll spare you any more gratuitous ocaporn; suffice to say, I now have another 70 or so oca varieties to plant out somewhere, anywhere.<br />
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So it should, in theory at least, be possible to set up a continuous production cycle with a couple of generations of oca seedlings per year, if facilities are available. I am happy to take on the role of oca propagator in chief , if you could just see you way to adding some money and greenhouses.Rhizowenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13898344291012563139noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3352076248333591052.post-83364154429142906582014-02-10T08:20:00.001+00:002014-02-10T08:20:24.458+00:00Mauka: Making a Meal of ItA maritime climate has some benefits, most noticeably in the moderation of winter temperatures. Walking through Liskeard the other day, I noticed a full-sized potato plant, looking remarkably healthy. I'm assuming it has sprouted from an overlooked tuber and has flourished in the cool, but not cold, weather we've been having; plenty of nasturtiums in Plymouth remain unfrosted. The downside of the close proximity of an ocean is its annoying tendency to deliver incessant low pressure systems and their associated cloud, rain and wind. This winter has been exceptionally turbulent, even by our exacting standards and the coast of Cornwall and other parts of southern Britain are being re-sculpted as I write. Others face the dismal prospect of finding their homes underwater. Let's hope losses of life and property are avoided as much as possible.<br />
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Several days ago, a lull in proceedings allowed me to get out to Oca Acres and try and tidy up what the wind had scattered. Our soil, a sticky clay, was slippery and totally unsuitable for digging. Despite this, my curiosity got the better of me and I felt the sudden and powerful urge to lift one of my <a href="http://radix4roots.blogspot.co.uk/2011/09/mauka-expansa-by-name-expansive-by.html" target="_blank">mauka seedlings</a>. They have sat in the ground for three full years since I planted them out; although we haven't had a particularly cold winter in that time, the ground surface has been frozen for several weeks on occasion. Nevertheless, they have sprouted each spring and I have repaid their generosity by doing virtually nothing in the way of weeding or feeding them. What some might call neglect, I refer to as screening for resilience. To my untrained eye, they've looked fine by the summer and have done a good job of suppressing and surpassing the weeds. Folks, this is my kind of plant.<br />
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Unsatisfied curiosity is something up with which I cannot put: I grabbed a fork and listened for the satisfying squelch as waterlogged soil was lifted; in due course I succeeded in prising a mauka plant from the ground.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgKx6wFBfyGO-MeCWWtBOxFwrFKtc7kaI1q_NE8xcovHPyYG49ojHiFBUkmme8vxydssdEqhi3JmD-_RX3SKqrqUiM2vF7RhlOhHu09lYRqCf9QNhgv1SqHUtqelRAj_MAoJmMBjdKfGtr/s1600/MirabilisexpansaBlanca.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="Mauka root, Mirabilis expansa" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgKx6wFBfyGO-MeCWWtBOxFwrFKtc7kaI1q_NE8xcovHPyYG49ojHiFBUkmme8vxydssdEqhi3JmD-_RX3SKqrqUiM2vF7RhlOhHu09lYRqCf9QNhgv1SqHUtqelRAj_MAoJmMBjdKfGtr/s1600/MirabilisexpansaBlanca.jpg" height="320" title="Mirabilis expansa, mauka root" width="240" /></a>Although the tops had been frosted off, the underground parts seemed fine, bar a little bit of cracking and scarring. What's not obvious in this picture is that there were dozens of small buds, all waiting to burst into growth as soon as the weather warms up. Mauka seems not to have any innate dormancy, which given our notoriously erratic climate, might be a good thing. It certainly resprouts well after frosting.<br />
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Unlike oca, which the voles love to consume above all other roots, mauka seems not to be favoured by their attentions. While they are quite content to burrow through the centre of a plant and create underground caverns around its roots in the process, there's precious little evidence of them eating it.<br />
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I decapitated the plant and buried the top a few inches below the soil surface; with its strange dead man's fingers protruding as I shovelled back the soil, it was a slightly macabre moment.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjh4d8OuF8GClClFxSbQeQt-f6UFg2RWFaWedqo_271os6jZYMBfsTpa8-avgPzZQDlgaYapMTw3-nKXGJhh_oeuDkAmM0pPE1zaoI98kcR9pgl_m8xKbY9hcz4y47X3R0mjb4ZMfL_8yo9/s1600/Maukaraw.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img alt="Mirabilis expansa, mauka, raw pieces" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjh4d8OuF8GClClFxSbQeQt-f6UFg2RWFaWedqo_271os6jZYMBfsTpa8-avgPzZQDlgaYapMTw3-nKXGJhh_oeuDkAmM0pPE1zaoI98kcR9pgl_m8xKbY9hcz4y47X3R0mjb4ZMfL_8yo9/s1600/Maukaraw.jpg" height="320" title="Mirabilis expansa, mauka raw pieces" width="239" /></a></div>
I hurried home with the root and immediately peeled and cut it into chunks. It had very firm, white flesh, which reminded me a little of cassava (<i>Manihot esculenta</i>). Like cassava, the root is said to need careful preparation to remove what the <a href="http://books.nap.edu/openbook.php?record_id=1398&page=76" target="_blank"><i>Lost Crops of the Incas</i></a> describes as an "astringent chemical". In the case of mauka, this is done by leaving it in the sun for a few days. I opted for immediate consumption. I could claim that I did this in the spirit of enquiry, but the truth is simple: I was hungry and couldn't wait for a peekaboo sun to work its solar alchemy. Into a pan of boiling water went the mauka.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoS2hCwEN1Mo3Q9Rh0DbYAeAQ1gsN7PLvBd3T_W_rys5oR22WurWwYuMfO7Hg0zeu4dB2BIMzvc_96hq3BF69nzu2Hs_F2sbLdyIp6U1kxyEwV8bPrvdY88vSbL4u5Xn2eHDWZXu-RJpgM/s1600/maukacooked.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="Mirabilis expansa, mauka, cooked pieces" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoS2hCwEN1Mo3Q9Rh0DbYAeAQ1gsN7PLvBd3T_W_rys5oR22WurWwYuMfO7Hg0zeu4dB2BIMzvc_96hq3BF69nzu2Hs_F2sbLdyIp6U1kxyEwV8bPrvdY88vSbL4u5Xn2eHDWZXu-RJpgM/s1600/maukacooked.jpg" height="239" title="Mirabilis expansa, mauka, cooked pieces" width="320" /></a></div>
On cooking, the pieces lost their white colour and became a pale yellow; concentric growth rings, rather like those in a tree, became obvious in cross section. Luckily, however, the mauka morsels weren't woody, but firm in texture, with a sweet and very pleasant taste. There were a few chewy fibres near the centre of some of the chunks, but considering the root was three years old, it was remarkably good eating.<br />
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I did detect a slight ticklish irritation at the back of my throat after I'd gulped down a generous handful of the pieces. It was similar to the sensation I experience following the consumption of fuchsia berries. I suspect it was caused by the presence of raphides, little needle-like crystals of calcium oxalate which are present in both fuchsia berries and mauka. According to <i>Lost Crops of the Incas</i>, plants are supposed to vary in their acridity, with Ecuadorean specimens being noticeably sweeter. There is some evidence that, in the case of taro (<i>Colocasia esculenta</i>) at least, the <a href="http://onlinelibrary.wiley.com/doi/10.1002/%28SICI%291097-0010%28199804%2976:4%3C608::AID-JSFA996%3E3.0.CO;2-2/abstract" target="_blank">raphides are tipped with a protease</a>, which increases the swelling and irritation caused. Perhaps mauka is similar. Individuals vary in their <a href="http://afrsweb.usda.gov/research/publications/publications.htm?seq_no_115=92233&pf=1" target="_blank">sensitivity</a> to these things; as I may have mentioned previously, some people will happily gulp down plants which I find thoroughly <a href="http://radix4roots.blogspot.co.uk/2009/02/crap-crops-of-incas-my-on-off-on-affair.html" target="_blank">unpleasant</a>.<br />
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Mauka is definitely a tasty root crop, raphides notwithstanding. It's also surprisingly resilient, in Cornish conditions at least. I could certainly learn more about how to prepare and cook it and I wouldn't yet describe my leave-it-alone cultivation methods as being definitive. When the rain stops and the wind subsides, I might just nip out and continue my fork-to-fork investigations into a fascinating foodstuff.Rhizowenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13898344291012563139noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3352076248333591052.post-65932966176497632082014-01-24T08:35:00.001+00:002014-01-24T10:55:01.874+00:00Radix: Alive at Five<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicAbQAnpMLz-QwdD1ASJLdOY-BnAFJqxY9MBLGxJKjUrzyTbgtcyxlYCFXHnM5G3UwTgBhzvXPU__CDvNAGBKhPiGhUNWIcPyVnx6bOyqR8OqHeYwol_XByeH2mJN-Rpar3_YN2zemr4TC/s1600/AndeanRoots.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="Oca Mashua Yacon" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicAbQAnpMLz-QwdD1ASJLdOY-BnAFJqxY9MBLGxJKjUrzyTbgtcyxlYCFXHnM5G3UwTgBhzvXPU__CDvNAGBKhPiGhUNWIcPyVnx6bOyqR8OqHeYwol_XByeH2mJN-Rpar3_YN2zemr4TC/s1600/AndeanRoots.jpg" height="300" title="Radix Root Crops" width="400" /></a></div>
I was recently reminded that <i>Radix: the Blog</i> has just passed its fifth birthday. Unlike Stalin, I had no five year plan when I began it. But like Chairman Mao, maybe I've achieved the occasional Great Leap Forward. Although it doesn't do to dwell on the negative, I've had a few reversals of fortune on the way too; gardening is like life in that respect.<br />
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So what has Radix actually achieved in the last five years? Here are a few highlights, in no particular order:<br />
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<b>Oca</b><br />
I've shown that <a href="http://radix4roots.blogspot.co.uk/2010/04/up-come-ocas.html" target="_blank">breeding</a> <i>Oxalis tuberosa</i> is possible with limited time, resources and talent. My ocas have been begetting in a Biblical manner - I'm now onto my 5th generation from seed, with seedlings <a href="http://radix4roots.blogspot.co.uk/2013/08/ocas-pop-up-apace.html" target="_blank">popping up regularly</a> where they shouldn't. Oca is well adapted to our maritime climate, but I haven't yet found that elusive day-neutral specimen which will tuberise in the summer and catapult it<i> </i>into the mainstream. Perhaps <a href="http://wettingthebeds.cultivariable.com/2014/01/oca-seedling-progress-and-2014-plans_9.html" target="_blank">others</a> will.<br />
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<b>Mauka</b><br />
After decades of yearning, I finally managed to obtain seeds of <i>Mirabilis expansa</i>, one of the rarest of root crops. I also managed to produce a small crop of "<a href="http://radix4roots.blogspot.co.uk/search/label/Anthocarp" target="_blank">seeds</a>" of my own using a <a href="http://radix4roots.blogspot.co.uk/2010/10/mauka-man-bites-dog.html" target="_blank">shed, a wrist watch and some black plastic.</a> As a result, mauka has now been cultivated in Norway and Germany as well as North America. I feel that one day mauka will be recognised for its many virtues. And unlike a <a href="http://radix4roots.blogspot.co.uk/2009/02/crap-crops-of-incas-my-on-off-on-affair.html" target="_blank">certain other Andean root crop</a> that starts with an m and ends with an a, it's actually pleasant to eat. I'm not talking about maca....<br />
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<b>Anchote</b><br />
Even in the spectacularly awful summer of 2012, my truly puny <i><a href="http://radix4roots.blogspot.co.uk/2012/12/anchote-out-of-africa.html" target="_blank">Coccinia abyssinica</a> </i>plants<i> </i>from the Ethiopian Highlands produced perfectly palatable and surprisingly large roots. What might they have done in a passably good summer?<br />
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<b>Yacon</b><br />
Thanks to <a href="http://thevegetablegarden.be/" target="_blank">Frank van Keirsbilck </a>and some inadvertent crossing with a <a href="http://radix4roots.blogspot.co.uk/2010/09/yacon-kentish-connection.html" target="_blank">crop wild relative</a>, I am now in possession of an <a href="http://radix4roots.blogspot.co.uk/2010/09/yacon-i-am-spartacus.html" target="_blank">enormous, vigorous yacon hybrid</a>, which I have named <i>Smallanthus x scheldewindekensis</i>. So far no one is beating a path to my door, but it can only be a matter of time. Normal yacons seem demure by comparison, although they taste better. Maybe I should make some <a href="http://radix4roots.blogspot.co.uk/2010/01/i-snack-on-yacon.html" target="_blank">yakraut</a> with the hybrid and see what happens?<br />
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<b>Talet</b><br />
Although I haven't persuaded everyone to abandon 'hog peanut' and adopt the name 'talet', my respect for and interest in <i><a href="http://radix4roots.blogspot.co.uk/2009/02/amphicarpaea-talented-mr-talet.html" target="_blank">Amphicarpaea bracteata</a></i> and its close relative <a href="http://radix4roots.blogspot.co.uk/2013/09/yabumame-hot-stuff-from-hokkaido.html" target="_blank">yabumame</a> remains undiminished. Talet is an outstanding wild edible and grows quite happily in Cornwall.<br />
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<b>Hopniss</b><br />
I obtained seeds from what is (was?) the world's most <a href="http://radix4roots.blogspot.co.uk/2011/06/have-hopniss-am-happy.html" target="_blank">northerly diploid population</a> of <i>Apios americana</i>. The plants are (hopefully) still alive. In my world, that's a success.<br />
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<b>Bulbs a plenty</b><br />
I've enjoyed the experience of growing the <a href="http://permanentpublications.co.uk/port/around-the-world-in-80-plants-an-edible-perennial-vegetable-adventure-for-temperate-climates-by-stephen-barstow/" target="_blank">edimental</a> bulbs <a href="http://radix4roots.blogspot.co.uk/2011/02/bulbous-belly-border-1-cacomitl-flecked.html" target="_blank">cacomitl</a>, <a href="http://radix4roots.blogspot.co.uk/2010/04/can-i-mess-with-some-camas.html" target="_blank">camas</a> and <a href="http://radix4roots.blogspot.co.uk/2013/03/triteleialaxa.html" target="_blank">Triteleia laxa</a> in my bulbous belly border project. I can confirm that they all taste good.<br />
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And, for the sake of balance, here are few a few slightly less successful projects:<br />
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<b>Mashua</b><br />
Grows like a weed, looks lovely and yields abundantly; <a href="http://radix4roots.blogspot.co.uk/2009/02/crap-crops-of-incas-my-on-off-on-affair.html" target="_blank">what's not to like</a>? The small matter of its taste. Boiled, it's disgusting and even <a href="http://radix4roots.blogspot.co.uk/search/label/Mushua" target="_blank">lactofermentation</a> cannot redeem this incorrigibly unpleasant foodstuff. Yet some beg to differ, hence my <a href="http://www.surveymonkey.com/s/KBFD6JV" target="_blank">mashua survey</a>, which will doubtless yield something more interesting than the kilos of mashua I have to dispose of every year.<br />
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<b>Sweetpotato</b>: <i>Ipomoea batatas</i> is a delicious, versatile and vigorous crop - if you live somewhere warm. I live in Cornwall. I tried some <a href="http://radix4roots.blogspot.co.uk/2011/05/how-now-kaukau.html" target="_blank">high altitude sweetpotato seeds</a> from Papua New Guinea (as one does) in the hope of finding something more suitable to our temperature regime. Here are <a href="http://radix4roots.blogspot.co.uk/2009/02/crap-crops-of-incas-my-on-off-on-affair.html" target="_blank">the results</a>; judge for yourselves. My foray into <a href="http://radix4roots.blogspot.co.uk/2010/05/oh-heck-heres-mecha-meck.html" target="_blank">crop wild relatives</a> using <i>I. pandurata</i> (mecha-meck) and <i>I. leptophylla</i> (man-root) hasn't produced anything I can eat. Downhearted? Not I!<br />
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<b>Ahipa </b><br />
<a href="http://radix4roots.blogspot.co.uk/2009/03/crap-crops-of-incas-4-pachyrhizus-ahipa.html" target="_blank"><i>Pachyrhizus ahipa</i></a>: nitrogen fixing, edible raw. Probably needs a warmer climate than we have here. Shame.<br />
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<b>Ulluco</b><br />
<i>Ullucus tuberosus,</i> the <a href="http://radix4roots.blogspot.co.uk/2009/01/crap-crops-of-incas-my-on-off-on-affair_22.html" target="_blank">Ingrid Bergman of Andean root crops</a> has been reduced to side show stunts like <a href="http://radix4roots.blogspot.co.uk/2010/12/merry-ulluchristmas.html" target="_blank">this</a>. Shame on me. If only she had fulfilled her part of the bargain by giving some decent yields I would never have sunk so low. Things may be looking up on the <a href="http://wettingthebeds.cultivariable.com/2013/09/ulluco-for-my-second-true-seed-trick.html" target="_blank">ulluco front</a>, however.<br />
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Given my lack of an initial five year plan, maybe I ought to initiate one now. If pressed, I might suggest the following avenues of research:<br />
<ul>
<li>Trawl the genus <i>Ipomoea</i> for potential sweetpotato substitutes and enjoy some more crop wild revelry.</li>
</ul>
<ul>
<li>Intensify investigations into leguminous root crops such as hopniss, <a href="http://radix4roots.blogspot.co.uk/2014/01/numb-fumbling-3-aardaker-i-love-dutch.html" target="_blank">aardaker</a> and the members of the genus <i>Amphicarpaea</i></li>
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<ul>
<li>Continue to explore the potential of oca by growing an outrageously large number of seedlings.</li>
</ul>
<ul>
<li>The great family Apiaceae, the umbellifers, have been heinously neglected by me, save for my not entirely successful attempts at <a href="http://radix4roots.blogspot.co.uk/2011/05/dont-tamper-with-my-yampah.html" target="_blank">yampah</a> cultivation. In the hope of banishing arracacha angst, I've been growing species like skirret for a while, but haven't posted about them. This must change. </li>
</ul>
<ul>
<li>Make rooty explorations of the floras of Africa, Australia and the Himalayan region. There's plenty of good stuff there.</li>
</ul>
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<li>And - of course - I'm open to suggestions (and germplasm) of anything you recommend.</li>
</ul>
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I know for sure that I will be exhausted long before the plant kindom gives up all its riches; I wouldn't have it any other way. </div>
Rhizowenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13898344291012563139noreply@blogger.com14tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3352076248333591052.post-91251031013504123222014-01-08T09:16:00.000+00:002014-01-08T09:16:18.453+00:00Numb fumbling 3: Aardaker: I love Dutch Meeces to PiecesThe wild weather continues, with buckshot hail salvos, slate-loosening gusts of wind and rain - loads of it. Despite the insanity of attempting any kind of gardening under these circumstances, I took my chance in a short lull the other day to examine the yield of my aardaker plants. Although the soil is now completely saturated and any attempts at traversing the plot seem like a slightly premature reenactment of World War I, the aardakers are located in pots, sitting on the surface of the soil and thus, in theory at least, able to drain.<br />
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Aardaker (<i>Lathyrus tuberosus) </i>is one of the tastiest root foods out there and comes with that additional leguminous gift - the ability to fix nitrogen. It's also one of the most infuriating plants that I've grown. Like some wayward genius, it beguiles me with its outstandingly tasty roots and then, time after time, gives such a lacklustre performance that even ulluco would blush - luminous pink, bright yellow - at it.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWgr7YMRyuWbaAmFo-Xn2cJu7gA9vEqBjvt9eQa6a3IqFip3YQ4ibbaoRGeljDHpqKBKs5Lxe_mxXJJx2UhAzIAEF_j5mLtEnNmv3c8OkeKKNXJ_-KmHcmWeZnKAYYQVlcQ-dcPRwBfuXw/s1600/LathyrustuberosusBarstow.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWgr7YMRyuWbaAmFo-Xn2cJu7gA9vEqBjvt9eQa6a3IqFip3YQ4ibbaoRGeljDHpqKBKs5Lxe_mxXJJx2UhAzIAEF_j5mLtEnNmv3c8OkeKKNXJ_-KmHcmWeZnKAYYQVlcQ-dcPRwBfuXw/s320/LathyrustuberosusBarstow.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
What really bothers me is the miserly quantity of tubers it produces. This is pretty much the total yield from a 15 litre pot. Admittedly the aardakers suffered, as did much else, in the hot spell when our water supply dried up. But I've had better yields from first year seedling hopniss in 9 cm pots. And just like hopniss, received wisdom suggests that you should leave the tubers in situ for a couple of years to swell up, then harvest them. Like we all do with our potatoes, oca, yacon and other single-season-decent-cropping plants? No, exactly. For garden cultivation it needs to justify its existence by being much more productive.<br />
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I don't share the sentiments expressed by Professor Henry Higgins in My Fair Lady: <i>why can't a woman be more like a man?</i> Women are fine. But why can't aardaker be more like <a href="http://radix4roots.blogspot.co.uk/search/label/Mashua" target="_blank">mashua</a>, in terms of its yield, anyway? Like that troublesome <i>Tropaeolum</i>, it is also a top-notch ornamental edible, but I've never yet been faced by a glut of aardakers; disposing of mounds of mashua tubers happens every year.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgx7uFY48O3rHwJjcrfWXO_qWhwp8OpBGxRxJusYTz-C_AzFB28LvRDlR8l87qMOQPi1adouTPbGekEjJokC2GPDM2bDI9lRL0i0FqLEgD_GxwsTo2K_zJZddwtI8jLkMzDzmTOxIHHXs8M/s1600/Lathyrus+tuberosusJuly2013.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="Lathyrus tuberosus" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgx7uFY48O3rHwJjcrfWXO_qWhwp8OpBGxRxJusYTz-C_AzFB28LvRDlR8l87qMOQPi1adouTPbGekEjJokC2GPDM2bDI9lRL0i0FqLEgD_GxwsTo2K_zJZddwtI8jLkMzDzmTOxIHHXs8M/s1600/Lathyrus+tuberosusJuly2013.jpg" height="320" title="Lathyrus tuberosus" width="240" /></a></div>
This is, of course, a wild plant and hasn't undergone generations of selection like mainstream crops have. It's considered to be an invasive, noxious weed in some places, choking wheat crops for instance. Those tubers, blessed be their name, allow it to resist mechanical methods of control such as hoeing - it just re-sprouts - and it's hard to kill with herbicides such as 2,4, D. I think I have the perfect biological control in my possession, however and would be glad to furnish beleaguered authorities with it: slugs, lots of them; they seem to consume aardaker foliage with unparalleled enthusiasm and will strip plants overnight. "Cry 'Havoc!', and let slip the slugs of war!"<br />
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What's strange is that cultivation of a kind has almost certainly been attempted in the past. <a href="http://www.swsbm.com/Ephemera/Sturtevants_Edible_Plants.pdf" target="_blank">Sturtevant's Edible Plants of the World (1919)</a> cites several sources suggesting it was grown as a crop; <a href="http://www.thevegetablegarden.be/" target="_blank">Frank van Keirsbilck </a>tells me that between the 16th and early 20th centuries, 'Dutch mice' as the roots were called, were grown in the the Zeeland area of the Netherlands; they were supposedly then sold in France. Frank has also found mention of different varieties in an old Flemish book, but has been unable to locate them. Maybe the interaction of soils, climate, husbandry were different; maybe they had special high-yielding varieties; maybe the story is apocryphal. I just can't believe there were no slugs in the Netherlands. It's not a native of the UK, but a very rare and declining weed. Read about the 'Fyfield Pea' <a href="http://www.fyfield-village.org/fyfieldpeahistory.html" target="_blank">here</a>.<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwQS_mr0baRXc0a5p-zWZ6_JdCGps9xfVCIYrfdKvxYDAl4sa-u9nebTiTmRRJjLJjff9dnKt3FF-vOwkpjrD2R8jR10LlX6-7tGNk25gUZRZQP2-Z4pqz5hfTzkbcHBiIu3-btDJFcR74/s1600/415px-Lathyrus_tuberosus_%E2%80%94_Flora_Batava_%E2%80%94_Volume_v3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwQS_mr0baRXc0a5p-zWZ6_JdCGps9xfVCIYrfdKvxYDAl4sa-u9nebTiTmRRJjLJjff9dnKt3FF-vOwkpjrD2R8jR10LlX6-7tGNk25gUZRZQP2-Z4pqz5hfTzkbcHBiIu3-btDJFcR74/s1600/415px-Lathyrus_tuberosus_%E2%80%94_Flora_Batava_%E2%80%94_Volume_v3.jpg" height="400" width="276" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"> Jan Kops, Flora Batava, Deel 3 (1814)</td></tr>
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Plants seem to vary somewhat in the shape of their tubers, with some being elongated and others close to ovoid; perhaps they also vary in size, fattening speed and slug resistance. Like so much in the world of alternative root crops, we start from a knowledge baseline of next to nothing. So what I propose, Dear Friends, is that you help me to extend my aardaker accessions to encompass its Eurasian-Siberian heartland and its introduced range in North America; it would be fun to get hold of seeds from the Fyfield plants too. I've no idea how diverse this species is, but would like to find out. Aardaker has many virtues and might, with concerted effort, be amenable to improvement. And even if not, I can always eat my failures, God (and slugs) willing.<br />
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<br />Rhizowenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13898344291012563139noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3352076248333591052.post-12339165743123398132013-12-31T12:13:00.000+00:002014-01-05T11:32:48.908+00:00Numb Fumbling 2: Sagittarias RisingThe weather has been slightly cooler of late, so what better time to plunge my hands into the icy cold, muddy waters of the <i>Sagittaria</i> buckets to examine the yields. This is considerably less pleasant and more painful than oca harvesting. Perhaps the only thing in its favour is the natural buoyancy of the <i>Sagittaria</i> tubers*, which once released, bob to the surface and can be scooped up; ocas tend to stay put and require sifting, no easy task in our sticky clay soil. I'll hold fire on that manicure until the harvest season is well and truly over.<br />
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This year I grew two varieties of arrowhead, <i>S. latifolia, </i>the <a href="http://radix4roots.blogspot.co.uk/search/label/Wapato" target="_blank">wapato</a> and chi gu <span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #666666; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', Trebuchet, Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;"><b>慈菇, </b></span>a Chinese arrowhead variously described as <i>S. trifolia</i> var. <i>edulis</i> or <i>S. sagittifolia</i> var. <i>edulis</i> - the taxonomy seems somewhat confused. In any case, the latter is a cultivated variety, which showed no signs of flowering, but was noticeably bigger in all its parts. It could be that it's a triploid, with an extra set of chromosomes; this might account for its larger size and apparent sterility. This is a not-uncommon occurrence in the world of root crops, being found in varieties of <a href="http://radix4roots.blogspot.co.uk/search/label/Canna" target="_blank">achira</a>, <a href="http://radix4roots.blogspot.co.uk/2009/06/happiness-is-root-called-hopniss.html" target="_blank">hopniss</a> and <a href="http://radix4roots.blogspot.co.uk/2009/01/crap-crops-of-incas-my-on-off-on-affair_22.html" target="_blank">ulluco</a> as well as some types of potato, to name but a few of my target species. The main advantage of this is that the plants wastes no time and effort on producing seeds and concentrates on vegetative reproduction; this is great if it leads to big fat tubers. The problem comes when conditions change and you want to breed varieties to meet the challenges of new pests and diseases, for example.<br />
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Other research suggests that the <a href="https://www.jstage.jst.go.jp/article/jsbbs1951/39/3/39_3_345/_pdf" target="_blank">application of GA3</a>, a plant growth regulator, will encourage flowering and seed set in some varieties of Chinese arrowhead. I can foresee some great fun crossing and selecting various arrowheads to create my very own locally adapted variety. All I need is time, space and an independent income. Or perhaps you'd like to take the project on?<br />
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I grew my plants in builder's buckets which are probably a little too small for a decent crop, but the chi gu tubers are noticeably bigger than the wapatos. To be fair, I didn't thin out the wapatos very much much this spring, so they were probably a little congested and starved of room; as the old refrain goes, next year is going to be different.<br />
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Here are the biggest of the chi gu:<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQeKwB8fiZMHiMmevoAkJAYLhqTIdrhHITakJnrbE94Pc8ptdxmzRihk-Qomb42xJh7qqUkd4ZTHUKvT-CdPLqjd-XLaJ65yPrRvFJ1yMzS4940ViEBB3EpYk3lDrRQDoid9AnD46X5vno/s1600/ChiGu.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img alt="Chinese arrowhead" border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQeKwB8fiZMHiMmevoAkJAYLhqTIdrhHITakJnrbE94Pc8ptdxmzRihk-Qomb42xJh7qqUkd4ZTHUKvT-CdPLqjd-XLaJ65yPrRvFJ1yMzS4940ViEBB3EpYk3lDrRQDoid9AnD46X5vno/s320/ChiGu.jpg" title="Sagittaria Chi Gu" width="320" /></a></div>
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And some wapatos for comparison:</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4HbYGLTUDFZcSv8-Yxbfu21ISAgk2NAM9s8H8chVx0VE5psFEGPbl85haLcuuyky70rGfDRUzxCA7T_gGlehL3UhhIvRX7NGE_yNWnKGQ3EmrVEV6LzDqZfaqb5j5tc4nioGpPBGuvnbs/s1600/Wapato2013.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img alt="Wapato" border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4HbYGLTUDFZcSv8-Yxbfu21ISAgk2NAM9s8H8chVx0VE5psFEGPbl85haLcuuyky70rGfDRUzxCA7T_gGlehL3UhhIvRX7NGE_yNWnKGQ3EmrVEV6LzDqZfaqb5j5tc4nioGpPBGuvnbs/s320/Wapato2013.jpg" title="Sagittaria latifolia" width="320" /></a></div>
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Chi gu is a favourite New Year's food in China, often being served in the form of deep fried slices. Lovers of rude vegetables will be delighted to discover that the Chinese consider the tubers with attached sprouts to resemble a baby boy's genitals and this is apparently auspicious for family fecundity. I shall bear that thought in mind next time I'm harvesting them and accidentally knock off a large, firm shoot. <br />
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2013 may have been the unofficial (and unwelcome) year of the horsemeat scandal in the UK, but I notice that the Chinese Year of The Horse is galloping towards us at the end of January 2014. I'm thinking this might be a good time to explore culinary convergence of an "everything with chips" kind, using my wapatos<i> </i>and<i> </i>chi gus<i> </i>as a spudstitute. In the meantime, I wish you all a Happy New Year.<br />
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*Rather than practice my usual boretanical pedantry, I have elected to use 'tuber' for what are, technically speaking, turions.<br />
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<br />Rhizowenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13898344291012563139noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3352076248333591052.post-26456942784569084962013-11-28T10:10:00.000+00:002013-12-05T20:20:48.690+00:00Numb Fumbling 1: A Tale of Two TaletsThe season of mists and mellow fruitfulness is over. It is now chilly and the soil is saturated from weeks of rain. It's time once again to plunge my hands into the ground and see how the talets are faring. I find gloves to be an encumbrance when sifting through sticky soil or compost for seeds and small tubers; my hands at least must be naked when harvesting talets.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFw9sB6ypC3-kUVY6a8tDXlpOAq-TApvm-qJ88wdrQJ4bJw7AYglAGzS9l6XLKARvhA_RlItvubnYKR_z3tn1LXq1wz2Naw55nV34duKCA2GRPDqAmWsmsYsCyAHtK422xn8nhmJoTLJub/s1600/Aerialchasmogamous.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="Amphicarpaea bracteata aerial chasmogamous flowers" border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFw9sB6ypC3-kUVY6a8tDXlpOAq-TApvm-qJ88wdrQJ4bJw7AYglAGzS9l6XLKARvhA_RlItvubnYKR_z3tn1LXq1wz2Naw55nV34duKCA2GRPDqAmWsmsYsCyAHtK422xn8nhmJoTLJub/s320/Aerialchasmogamous.jpg" title="Amphicarpaea bracteata aerial flowers" width="240" /></a></div>
For those unfamiliar with this plant, talet is <i>Amphicarpaea bracteata</i>, an excellent wild edible from North America. It's commonly known as hog peanut, but native people of my acquaintance tell me that they consider that particular name to be derogatory; it was an important food source for many tribes. For more information on this fascinating and delicious geocarpic legume, you could take a look at <a href="http://radix4roots.blogspot.co.uk/2009/02/amphicarpaea-talented-mr-talet.html" target="_blank">this</a>. Talet means, perhaps somewhat prosaically, "ground bean" in Nahuatl, but you can't fault the impeccable logic employed in its naming.<br />
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As evidence of its wide adaptability, I cite its successful cultivation outdoors at 64<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px;">°</span>N in Norway by Stephen Barstow, the leading edimentalist. It even survived the winter there.<br />
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I've been collecting varieties for a few years now and have about half a dozen, including <a href="http://radix4roots.blogspot.co.uk/2010/04/yabadabadoo-yabumames-poking-through.html" target="_blank">yabumame</a>, the Asian cousin of talet, which looks very similar and is sometimes considered to be a variety of <i>Amphicarpaea bracteata</i>. I've yet to do any controlled assessments of their differing yields, though. Perhaps if I make a public declaration of my commitment to do so in 2014, then the support of well-wishers will strengthen my resolve and see me through the rocky patches. It works with marriage, doesn't it? As the voles have been dining like kings on the crop over the past few years, I decided to transfer my accessions to pots until our bright-eyed and tiny-tailed chums have declined or decamped. I'm glad I did, because not a single bean came up this year.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrQkXSGGfduz4kYS-cWJRG3XluDMD1UpBGoL5XlkgDwPEushawITbTIX_28XkADmuOYTqqiEu0OOI6mR6Xci_YzKf_H3AHbF6DjGW9voGkWlLmF6q-Le6xm2vwpkVGrTHzgrRMnl675AvQ/s1600/Amphicarpaeacomaprisons.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img alt="Amphicarpaea bracteata differing varietal senescence" border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrQkXSGGfduz4kYS-cWJRG3XluDMD1UpBGoL5XlkgDwPEushawITbTIX_28XkADmuOYTqqiEu0OOI6mR6Xci_YzKf_H3AHbF6DjGW9voGkWlLmF6q-Le6xm2vwpkVGrTHzgrRMnl675AvQ/s320/Amphicarpaeacomaprisons.jpg" title="Amphicarpaea bracteata differing maturities" width="240" /></a><br />
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My latest acquisition is a Canadian variety, originally offered by <a href="http://www.gardensnorth.com/site/index.htm" target="_blank">Gardens North</a> an excellent company with an interesting range of North American natives. I got my seeds via Mark Robertson, a fellow amphicarpaphile who kindly passed them on while he was living in the USA. I'm glad he did, because they no longer offer them.<br />
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There seem to be marked differences in maturity between the varieties, with this photo from early October showing the fully senescent 'Gardens North' in all its shabby glory, while my original variety, provenance unknown, only hints at dying back. Early maturity ought to be a good thing in our climate, with its cool and unpredictable summer weather. </div>
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Time to take the plunge. Compare and contrast, as they say.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8evoo6tAiPmSQk9DFbe1MOqcxafY8ct_CbDYce1REe1E2ZTA78uLwehc31kFt7etd7qmetYljin60kHt-ThH56iR05DeczOQfKXr_Yz_9bCST40Bi-bcX939N-WxWRo8ec2E4UD383gRD/s1600/Amphicarpaeacomparison.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="Amphicarpaea bracteata yield variations" border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8evoo6tAiPmSQk9DFbe1MOqcxafY8ct_CbDYce1REe1E2ZTA78uLwehc31kFt7etd7qmetYljin60kHt-ThH56iR05DeczOQfKXr_Yz_9bCST40Bi-bcX939N-WxWRo8ec2E4UD383gRD/s320/Amphicarpaeacomparison.jpg" title="Amphicarpaea bracteata yield variations" width="320" /></a>After a bit of fiddling, I came up with two harvests from the two varieties, with 'Gardens North' on the left, just above my authentically grubby thumbnail and the original variety to the right. It seems as though the original variety gave fewer, although larger beans, but I haven't actually compared their masses and fear I might be ejected from the kitchen if I attempt to use our domestic scales. One of the original variety's beans was exceptionally large, but on further investigation, it turned out to be a double yolker, something I've not encountered before.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2Uxx9bdq_x6Lnx4BjCYwtPB0movnX7IBCb4uL0hyprS0XlqXb853Yzh3yzebw0PROQz0zKCedFqpMNS9p0K_FKnJsyIQNTQX3mwTwFgxb8EC9eZ0UwTFA1JaEvQ_huuz_7P-Au7_RY44r/s1600/amphicarpaeadoubleyolker.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="Amphicarpaea bracteata double seeded subterrnanean pod" border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2Uxx9bdq_x6Lnx4BjCYwtPB0movnX7IBCb4uL0hyprS0XlqXb853Yzh3yzebw0PROQz0zKCedFqpMNS9p0K_FKnJsyIQNTQX3mwTwFgxb8EC9eZ0UwTFA1JaEvQ_huuz_7P-Au7_RY44r/s320/amphicarpaeadoubleyolker.jpg" title="Amphicarpaea bracteata double yolker" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Amphicarpaea double yolker </td></tr>
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So that's two talets looked at. I think it might be a week or two until my fingers have regained full mobility and sensitivity and I'm ready to look at the others; typing this just after the event is proving challenging enough. Numb fumbling indeed. </div>
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<br />Rhizowenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13898344291012563139noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3352076248333591052.post-66672391057477833282013-09-21T09:06:00.000+01:002013-09-30T23:10:49.261+01:00Wapato: The Seedy Side of Sagittaria I'm a bit of demon for sowing interesting things and then forgetting about them. This has advantages and disadvantages. Many of the plants that fascinate me have seeds with dormancy mechanisms; in the absence of information on unlocking these, it's easiest to just sow them and hope that the spinning tumbler of fluctuating ambient temperatures finally cracks the code and allows them to germinate.<br />
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The disadvantage is the large number of pots and seed trays knocking around, which sometimes generates some criticism from my nearest and dearest. And if the labels and pots become separated, as has been known to happen, things can get a little baffling.<br />
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Back in the spring (I think) I sowed some wapato seeds which I had gathered from my plants in 2012 (I think). This is a signal lesson in why appending the sowing date on the label is a worthwhile undertaking. The seed tray was placed in a shallow receptacle which was topped up with water, in an attempt to create the kind of conditions most likely to encourage wapato germination. The months rolled by and nothing happened. The heat wave in July kept me busy watering other pots and I abandoned the wapato in favour of more deserving cases. The compost became completely desiccated and I presumed the wapato seeds had perished.<br />
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Then came the rain - lots of it. One day, in between torrential showers, I was dutifully following my instructions to create order out of chaos in the back yard and rediscovered the wapato tray.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzyuH_m361ksfrniKd6p-UTbXgU7qorD1ryLpwheH-GUxTZLmA-uU9xUw9n23wc7vzaCDhw2pZHfQqGeu0XMa0cD-jvBOn7b6NJ7M_a0MaVMT_5aG2uUN0dla6Dmp7WPYRCqFlwwOgeXaR/s1600/Sagittariaseedling.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img alt="Wapato, Sagittaria latifolia" border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzyuH_m361ksfrniKd6p-UTbXgU7qorD1ryLpwheH-GUxTZLmA-uU9xUw9n23wc7vzaCDhw2pZHfQqGeu0XMa0cD-jvBOn7b6NJ7M_a0MaVMT_5aG2uUN0dla6Dmp7WPYRCqFlwwOgeXaR/s320/Sagittariaseedling.jpg" title="Wapato, Sagittaria latifolia seedlings" width="240" /></a></div>
I picked off a few small bittercress plants and was all set to reassign the compost as soil conditioner, when I noticed some small seedlings in one corner of the tray. At first I thought they were pink purslane (<i>Montia sibirica</i>) a pretty (and pretty invasive) introduced wildflower. This aggressive beauty self seeds with great enthusiasm in our garden and any unguarded pot is soon infected with the pink plague.<br />
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And yet there was something alismataceous in their cast that made me pause. Wapato, unlike pink purslane, is a monocot, so I checked the next batch of emerging seedlings; they were wholly lacking in the paired cotyledons you'd expect to see in dicots like <i>Montia sibirica</i>. The wapato germination code has been cracked, although I can't help feeling that it would have been better for them to have waited until next spring. And probably better for me, because they don't look as though they're ready to survive the rigours of winter without my intervention. <br />
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Just as I was about to post this, I noticed a comment on the <a href="https://www.facebook.com/groups/141198905918483/594657423905960/?notif_t=group_comment" target="_blank">Radix Root Crops </a>page from Tycho Rosehip. It turns out he has managed to sow and grow wapato this year. I've got a feeling his plants are now bigger than mine and I may ask him to reveal his secrets. </div>
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Rhizowenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13898344291012563139noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3352076248333591052.post-35706827112660567802013-09-10T07:53:00.000+01:002013-09-10T08:22:08.501+01:00Yabumame: Hot Stuff From HokkaidoYabumame (<i>Amphicarpaea edgeworthii</i>) is the Asian version of talet (<i>Amphicarpaea bracteata</i>), one of my favourite underutilised legume crops, whose many virtues I've mentioned on <a href="http://radix4roots.blogspot.co.uk/2009/02/amphicarpaea-talented-mr-talet.html" target="_blank">several occasions </a>previously. If you're looking for a cunning botanical strategist, which is also tasty to boot, look no further than <i>Amphicarpaea</i>.<br />
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Yabumame's status as a separate species seems to be under question and it appears that we should all be calling it <a href="http://www.theplantlist.org/tpl/record/ild-41415" target="_blank"><i>Amphicarpaea bracteata </i>subsp<i> edgeworthii</i></a>. It does look very similar to <i>A. bracteata </i>proper.<br />
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I've already grown <a href="http://radix4roots.blogspot.co.uk/2010/04/yabadabadoo-yabumames-poking-through.html" target="_blank">yabumame</a>, but that variety came from seeds I collected myself around Tsukuba, Japan. They did OK, but I couldn't help feeling that plants from further north would be more suitable. Luckily, Paolo Gaiardelli came to my rescue when he brought back seeds from Hokkaido and graciously passed some of them on to me.<br />
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As with <a href="http://radix4roots.blogspot.co.uk/search/label/Hopniss%20seedlings" target="_blank">hopniss</a>, sourcing northern provenance seeds makes a lot of sense for those of us foolhardy enough to live at high latitudes. Plants are somewhat more likely to tolerate our temperature regime and get on with the business of flowering or tuberising during our long day summers. So runs the theory, anyway. Hokkaido summers are cooler than the rest of Japan and the winters are snowy and cold. Cooler is of course, a relative term, but as yabumame grows in woodland habitats in its native range and talet has done well here, it seemed safe to assume that it would also thrive.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgV8kKrILSgQK78tHty_c3TWBi03KZDnv4e7YNrKkDylFS2WmCzXAfpJunSwqGOHrzJpKNm4rSswHZN7_1mRJhyqdHW0mDiCyw6iiNn855s2viqqqqffydArR5c5TWhuoyJfdtOIIje9FHJ/s1600/Yabumame2013.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="Yabumame, Amphicarpaea edgeworthii" border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgV8kKrILSgQK78tHty_c3TWBi03KZDnv4e7YNrKkDylFS2WmCzXAfpJunSwqGOHrzJpKNm4rSswHZN7_1mRJhyqdHW0mDiCyw6iiNn855s2viqqqqffydArR5c5TWhuoyJfdtOIIje9FHJ/s320/Yabumame2013.jpg" title="Yabumame, Amphicarpaea edgeworthii" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The glorious top growth of yabumame</td></tr>
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I sowed some seeds in the spring; they germinated and grew, although not enthusiastically, it has to be said, with foliage and habit of growth more or less a dead ringer for talet. When the puny amount of top growth died back in August, with nary an aerial pod in sight, I was disappointed. Perhaps the growing medium lacked the necessary rhizobium, or they got too hot, cold, dry or wet at some stage and never recovered. I cursed my horticultural ineptitude yet again and resigned myself to sowing some of the remaining seeds next spring. <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvCF7jC0n1ey_0ZFjFkbT-lNpiEMurCZ-ydOSmAVV7eVMwRPV5yCfoIpVt3dOyEK4rKoItCDNry0TacEwgZVn9sNfP0rzzQF7iTIu3pB_RhTC3pZ5tmWvLVlIR_9IiWpSbTny8HgdBom6Q/s1600/Yabumameseeds2013.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="Subterranean yabumame seeds(Amphicarpea edgeworthiii)" border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvCF7jC0n1ey_0ZFjFkbT-lNpiEMurCZ-ydOSmAVV7eVMwRPV5yCfoIpVt3dOyEK4rKoItCDNry0TacEwgZVn9sNfP0rzzQF7iTIu3pB_RhTC3pZ5tmWvLVlIR_9IiWpSbTny8HgdBom6Q/s320/Yabumameseeds2013.jpg" title="Subterranean yabumame seeds(Amphicarpea edgeworthiii)" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Yabumame beans: small but full of eastern promise</td></tr>
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Before recycling the compost, I tipped it out into my hand and was surprised to discover some rather small, but reassuringly plump, subterranean seeds. If a sickly slip of a plant can deliver the goods, imagine what a fine, strapping individual might have achieved. Assuming these seeds survive the winter, they should grow away well next spring. Underground seeds tend to give much bigger plants, with higher yields in my experience, so perhaps everything is unfolding as the universe intended.<br />
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Having spent several years amassing <i>Amphicarpaea</i> varieties, it must now be time to start doing some comparative trials, with a view to breeding a super talet. In my mind's eye I can see it now, with its neat, bushy habit and handfuls of tasty beans easily accessible just below the soil at the base of the plant. While I work towards this goal, I know that eating those which fail to make the grade will be no hardship: <i>Amphicarpaea</i> is one of the best wild foods out there.<br />
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<br />Rhizowenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13898344291012563139noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3352076248333591052.post-27808121984298562013-08-09T08:48:00.001+01:002013-08-09T08:56:40.628+01:00Ocas Pop Up Apace<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkmcNoJHDdSz-M0DzUE68PUA_hY6cdZ-7SdNjNYQ57bl6mWe4Way0mpr5MbQUenPoYWZIU_NmyG3-p66wngFKB0hVNv7jruEJhrEzaX-1bNssiDCTNbxpu92ryPxBY5FpTzJ2vb_T5cOot/s1600/ocaseedlingJune2013.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="Oca seedling Oxalis tuberosa" border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkmcNoJHDdSz-M0DzUE68PUA_hY6cdZ-7SdNjNYQ57bl6mWe4Way0mpr5MbQUenPoYWZIU_NmyG3-p66wngFKB0hVNv7jruEJhrEzaX-1bNssiDCTNbxpu92ryPxBY5FpTzJ2vb_T5cOot/s320/ocaseedlingJune2013.jpg" title="Oca seedling (Oxalis tuberosa) self sown June 2013 next to beetroot" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Oca seedling June 2013</td></tr>
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During the hot dry spell in July, I was concerned for the safety of the oca seedlings which had appeared, almost magically, earlier in the year as an intercrop amongst the beetroots.<br />
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Luckily, the beet leaves offered some shade to the tender seedlings and the majority have made steady growth. Those that found themselves exposed in the full glare of a surprisingly fierce summer sun, I protected with handfuls of grass; it seemed to do the trick.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhc6PxB4nlm9JabzXFPIDqJa330CPbEA5dqpDKCXbReXd14PjXERpSuCdMvOcxlp3Jjt3Ggc-eknE_1l3oNG1JJYTmBUmNZ5utOdS6vDVfVtGY4D2yPNHwH0RzGiPDHaUPmtNzbGtuc_VZh/s1600/OcaseedlingJuly2013.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="Oca seedling Oxalis tuberosa" border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhc6PxB4nlm9JabzXFPIDqJa330CPbEA5dqpDKCXbReXd14PjXERpSuCdMvOcxlp3Jjt3Ggc-eknE_1l3oNG1JJYTmBUmNZ5utOdS6vDVfVtGY4D2yPNHwH0RzGiPDHaUPmtNzbGtuc_VZh/s320/OcaseedlingJuly2013.jpg" title="Self-sown oca seedling (Oxalis tuberosa) August 2013" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Oca seedling, August 2013</td></tr>
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The intense sunshine has since been replaced by some equally intense rain and the vegetable beds are sprouting impressive numbers of weed seedlings. Not to be outdone, yet more oca seeds are germinating and with the warm temperatures and plentiful soil moisture, they're shooting away quite vigorously. Whether they will make sufficient growth to tuberise before the autumn is anyone's guess, but I'm giving them leave to remain just in case.<br />
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Now I'm alert to this new development, I've abandoned casual hoeing in favour of scrutinising the crevices and irregularities of the bed surface for yet more oca seedlings. It seems that those who seek will be rewarded - yesterday I spotted some tiny tell-tale cotyledons amongst the leeks. So if you happen to be passing Oca Acres and see me bottoms up like a dabbling duck, I'm merely doing what any other certifiable oca enthusiast in my position would.<br />
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<br />Rhizowenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13898344291012563139noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3352076248333591052.post-60963826171505973682013-07-06T17:52:00.001+01:002013-07-06T22:24:36.775+01:00Flemingia procumbens: Soh-phlang from far-flung ShillongThat's Shillong, capital of Meghalaya, a state in North Eastern India, nestling in the foothills of the Himalayas, in case you didn't know. Sometimes it's nice to escape the gravitational pull of the Andes as the one true source of unusual roots and tubers. In that contrarian spirit, meet soh-phlang, a bona-fide root crop which most people have never heard of.<br />
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Meghalaya is a fascinating state, with all sorts of interesting edibles, both wild and cultivated. Strangely, the area is mainly Christian, thanks to the efforts of Welsh missionaries who arrived in the mid 19th century. Meghalaya means, apparently, "abode of clouds". I don't know whether it was the familiarity of the area's heavy rainfall that attracted the Welsh - Cherrapunji and nearby Mawsynram vie for the title of wettest place on the planet; their annual rainfall totals of over 12 metres make Blaenau Ffestiniog, Wales' wettest town, seem positively parched in comparison.<br />
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I first became aware of soh-phlang in my undergraduate days, when I was frequently to be found between the library shelves, reading copies of <i>Economic Botany</i>. I still reckon it was a better use of my time than lurking behind the bike sheds for a surreptitious cigarette or some other nefarious activity. I forget what I was supposed to have been studying at the time, but the memory of soh-phlang remained; in the decades that followed, I saw the odd tangential reference to its cultivation, both in its heartland as well as other places - Vietnam springs to mind. It's worth mentioning that most of the literature associated with this species uses its old name, <i>Flemingia vestita</i>. Those meddling botanists - they just can't leave well alone. </div>
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Soh-phlang is a small trailing legume with crisp, white root tubers, which are usually eaten raw and have a nutty flavour. They're often dipped in a sesame paste before consumption and have a high protein and phosphorus content. Their skin, which is easily removed by hand, has <a href="http://www.sciencedirect.com/science/article/pii/S1383576902000326" target="_blank">a reputation as an anthelmintic</a>; should you be troubled by flukes, just reach for the soh-phlang peel - it's all about the genistein, apparently.<br />
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Until fairly recently, soh-phlang was collected from the wild, but it has now become quite a popular crop and has been incorporated into the <i>jhum</i> shifting cultivation which is practised by the Khasi people who live in this area. It fixes <a href="http://www.sciencedirect.com/science/article/pii/016788098990056X" target="_blank">large quantities of nitrogen</a> courtesy of its root nodules and has <a href="http://nebio.in/nebio/2(4)2011/NeBIO_2(4)_1.pdf" target="_blank">extensive mycorrhizal associations</a>; with these abilities, soh-phlang helps maintain soil fertility, as well as providing farmers with a valuable source of income.<br />
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There is precious little information on how soh-phlang is cultivated, although I seem to remember reading somewhere that small seed tubers are usually planted in the spring and yields of up to 3000 kg/hectare can be obtained. Maybe if the summery weather holds, I can try intercropping them with potatoes as is done in Meghalaya. Or, perhaps, better still, with oca. The plants themselves do seem a little like diminutive ocas, with neat trifoliate leaves.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEir2ZhVpWqDiPiP7-Qtk4TxbiO7p0ChuYMvhNeX5nK2yhrsPIw9arYmMNCyU7sA11_wHa_D_nwXJ2CVLt6vpPeKboJCySo8cKLqgbSEzyBgM75ClKSigcNa5MO_2_x7F1PXzNFl4Lk5AYEm/s1600/flemingia-procumbens,anne.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="249" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEir2ZhVpWqDiPiP7-Qtk4TxbiO7p0ChuYMvhNeX5nK2yhrsPIw9arYmMNCyU7sA11_wHa_D_nwXJ2CVLt6vpPeKboJCySo8cKLqgbSEzyBgM75ClKSigcNa5MO_2_x7F1PXzNFl4Lk5AYEm/s320/flemingia-procumbens,anne.jpg" width="320" /></a>The best illustration of soh-phlang available to mere mortals seems to be this one. It certainly gives a sense of the trailing stems which account for the specific epithet, <i>procumbens</i>. I'm indebted to <a href="http://annepatrie.wordpress.com/2013/02/20/flemingia-procumbens/" target="_blank">Anne Patrie</a>, an ethnobotanist who is conducting research in Meghalaya, for drawing my attention to it.<br />
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<a href="webkit-fake-url://9B7C4C45-AE17-4F8A-AB05-2584AC3874EB/url.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"></a>But that's the wild type <i>F. procumbens; </i>domesticated plants tend to be more bushy and upright, which is how mine appear. Flowering usually occurs after the monsoon season, sometime in the autumn, which suggests that day length sensitivity could be an issue if seed production is required. I haven't yet seen any nodules on the roots, which might indicate that the correct rhizobia are missing. The plants aren't exactly romping away either, perhaps a further indication that the roots are lacking the right symbiont.<br />
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Whether soh-phlang will prove to be productive in our climate remains to be seen. Although the weather is warm and humid at the moment, it has been downright cold for months and I haven't dared try my plants outside. I suspect that our usual frequent rainfall will suit it fine, but maybe average summer temperatures are too low. That's a pity, because I've been been doing some fusion food fantasising: I just can't erase the image of soh-phlang dipped in Cornish clotted cream from my mind. Rhizowenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13898344291012563139noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3352076248333591052.post-22830313020196826262013-04-10T16:24:00.000+01:002013-04-10T17:33:28.650+01:00Oca - The Plot Thickens<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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I spent this morning planting out oca varieties at a secret location in the <a href="http://www.tamarvalley.org.uk/" target="_blank">Tamar Valley</a>. Secret in the sense that I doubt I'll be able to find my way back there again without assistance. I'm not renowned for my infallible sense of direction and it gets worse when I'm driving. I was merely tailgating Dave, my guide and assistant for this escapade. Luckily he knew where he was going. I'm borrowing a plot on the field that Dave and fellow members of <a href="http://www.tamargrowlocal.org/harrowbarrow-and-metherell-agricultural-society" target="_blank">HaMAS</a> (no, not <i>that</i> Hamas) use for their community supported agriculture project.<br />
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They're a motley bunch (the ocas I mean), mainly ones I've grown from seed, plus a few old favourites and others raised by <a href="http://www.thevegetablegarden.be/start_E.html" target="_blank">Frank van Keisbilck</a> and <a href="http://www.carllegge.com/" target="_blank">Debs & Carl Legge</a>. I thought there were about 120 of them, but it turns out there were 133. This probably makes this the most biodiverse patch of oca in the whole of the Tamar Valley. And there's still the small matter of a few more as-yet uncatalogued tubers sitting outside my back door - the fruits (or should I say roots?) of the volunteer seedlings of 2012. The grand total must therefore be approaching 150. This is far too few to really get oca breeding off to a flying start, even though I struggle (read: fail) to maintain them properly and keep accurate records. If some philanthropist with a horticultural bent would like to support my efforts, I'm open to offers; I would certainly be delighted to adopt a more systematic approach to record keeping and give oca breeding the attention it so richly deserves.<br />
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I'm intending to lift all the varieties together in the autumn, but earlier than usual, to see whether any of them show signs of precocious tuberisation. I keep saying I'll do this every year and then I don't manage it. I'm pretty sure I've come up with various other excuses to over the years, some of which may even have been genuine. I'm blaming my failure to do so last year on the very wet weather. When I finally got around to harvesting the 2012 crop, scenes reminiscent of the Somme ensued. Intellectually I knew that I wanted a day-neutral oca, now I know it in a damp, numb-fingered and mud-caked sort of a way - I'm not even sure that I've got the mud out from under my fingernails yet. No, the fact is, we need varieties that tuberise at a sensible time of year. The simplest and possibly best way, to my mind at least, is to sow thousands of seeds and select the best plants for further evaluation: my efforts are just the beginning of the beginning as far as I'm concerned.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">What 133 oca tubers look like planted in a field. </td></tr>
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Dave kindly offered to dig the trenches (oca, not Somme-sized), which he did with great enthusiasm; my job was to place the tubers carefully in them, backfill and label them. I suggest that, should the gods be kind and a harvest obtained, Dave be served a splendid ceremonial oca meal in recognition for his heroic efforts; if it weren't for him, I'd be out in the field right now, planting ocas in the pouring rain, which if you haven't tried it, is surprisingly unenjoyable. In fact, just as the last tubers went in, the rain began to fall in the kind of quantities that make gardening thoroughly unpleasant; what had been fine tilth quickly transformed into sticky, boot-clogging clay - the plot literally thickened before my eyes and beneath my feet. My work being done, I retreated to the car; Dave had left a short while earlier due to another engagement. A good morning's work and I eventually found my way home - which in itself is something of a result.<br />
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<br />Rhizowenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13898344291012563139noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3352076248333591052.post-91744054200893499202013-04-03T07:53:00.002+01:002013-04-03T08:35:35.845+01:00Yacon: Don't Try This at Home<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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If you thought I was late harvesting the <a href="http://radix4roots.blogspot.co.uk/2013/03/march-of-maukas.html" target="_blank">maukas</a>, get a load of this: the 2012 yacon harvest only just being lifted. This really isn't the done thing and I cannot recommend it as a sensible course of action if you want to keep your yacons going from season to season. Nevertheless, they seem to have survived. It was also an opportunity to have a look at the roots of the hybrid yacons (<i>Smallanthus x scheldewindekensis</i>), whose story is told <a href="http://radix4roots.blogspot.co.uk/2010/09/yacon-kentish-connection.html" target="_blank">here</a> and <a href="http://radix4roots.blogspot.co.uk/2010/09/yacon-i-am-spartacus.html" target="_blank">here</a>. True yacons are on the right, hybrids on the left. That's a matchbox for scale.<br />
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The hybrids have produced long, carrot sized and shaped storage roots, which fan out horizontally in all directions, somewhat like an iron-pumping <i>Eremurus</i><b> </b>bulb. They're much smaller in diameter than proper yacon roots and not as sweet, with a slightly more resinous taste. Oh well. It was probably a little unrealistic to hope for anything better, but there's no reason why they couldn't be used in a yacon breeding programme to add some new qualities to the genepool. In the Grand Yacon Winter Wipeout of 2010 for instance, <br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Hybrid yacon roots</td></tr>
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they survived, whereas the true yacons didn't, perhaps indicating some extra cold tolerance not found in the true species; that would be well worth having.<b> </b>And unlike the Jerusalem artichokes, they don't seem to blow down all the time when it gets windy - quite impressive considering their stature. Maybe those horizontal storage roots act like guy ropes and give them extra stability.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Small but perfectly formed proper yacon root</td></tr>
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In any case, they are enormous plants, towering at three metres or more in height. I put this down to heterosis - hybrid vigour - which often occurs when plants are crossed. No seeds have been set to date, sterility being another common occurrence with hybrid plants; they certainly flowered profusely though, despite the miserable weather last summer. But this summer is going to be different, right?<br />
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Rhizowenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13898344291012563139noreply@blogger.com13tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3352076248333591052.post-78541646507614781482013-03-28T09:18:00.000+00:002013-03-28T11:11:53.010+00:00Apios americana: Life, Liberty and the Pursuit of Hopniss<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7uGfZatRIGekjJJ6qrrSTQ5g0AzDMSiU1rM5fQS51o3765N72nBoIy0XuQe92usFlM-wwvObkhMUDAXlytCmmbouYpdcuwkndmjG0yjgkEk4_xM5YGO2VTKejYfwvNMdtl_egYB_d7ezh/s1600/Apiosamericanaseedlings.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7uGfZatRIGekjJJ6qrrSTQ5g0AzDMSiU1rM5fQS51o3765N72nBoIy0XuQe92usFlM-wwvObkhMUDAXlytCmmbouYpdcuwkndmjG0yjgkEk4_xM5YGO2VTKejYfwvNMdtl_egYB_d7ezh/s320/Apiosamericanaseedlings.jpg" width="320" /></a>Although the weather outside is frightful, sowing seeds is so delightful - especially when they're hopniss seeds. These recently germinated. Due to an administrative error involving germplasm leakage over the floor, they're a mix of two varieties - 'High Point' and 'Deerfield River', which have <a href="http://radix4roots.blogspot.co.uk/search/label/Apios%20americana" target="_blank">featured previously</a> on this blog. Although the triploid varieties occur further north than the diploid ones and are generally more vigorous, they're sterile, which leaves the would-be breeder up a bit of an evolutionary cul-de-sac. With these (relatively) northern adapted diploid varieties, it might be possible to come up with something better suited to our climate and then start crossing and selecting the progeny. While I have life and liberty, I will do my best to pursue the goal of productive hopniss.<br />
<br />Rhizowenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13898344291012563139noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3352076248333591052.post-52445271828991756252013-03-18T08:09:00.000+00:002016-05-11T17:03:28.553+01:00Bulbous Belly Border 2) Triteleia laxa: a Basketful of BrodiaeasOn a recent visit to west Cornwall, the weather turned particularly nasty - with a powerful, chilly wind and heavy, horizontal rain, punctuated by stinging hail showers. Rather than walk the dunes near the appropriately named town of Hayle and enjoy the warm spring sunshine as had been our intention, I took cover in a large garden centre. With the rain steadily drumming on the roof above my head, I wandered over to the bulb stands, where all sorts of exotic (and insanely cheap) bulbs were displayed in brightly coloured packs. <br />
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My rooty radar immediately picked up on the presence of copious quantities of Brodiaea 'Queen Fabiola' a pretty blue-flowered Californian bulb, or more correctly a corm - and an edible one at that. As the voles saw fit to devour the entire 2012 camas crop, I felt as though I deserved a consolation prize. These fitted the bill nicely.<br />
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This plant, more correctly known as <i>Triteleia laxa</i>, was an important food source for many native peoples in northern California. It seems that mixed bulb gardens of this and other edible species were carefully managed to maximise their productivity. Regular harvesting and soil disturbance increased the rate at which the plants produced offsets: a well-stocked bulb garden benefited from human intervention. I bet they looked beautiful too - imagine a veg garden composed of a glorious mix of <i>Dichelostemma</i>, <i>Perideridia</i>, and <i>Brodiaea,</i> all in full flower. How they achieved this without mousetraps is anybody's guess.</div>
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Although on the small side, I've read that the corms are delicious, with a sweet, nutty taste, both raw and cooked. They are still gathered by the Kashaya Pomo people, who boil them, although in the past they were cooked in leaf lined earth ovens in a similar manner to camas.<br />
Aside from numerous native names, <i>Triteleia laxa</i> has a few colourful English ones too: Ithuriel's spear, triplet lily, wally basket and grass nut. 'Indian potato' is also a name applied to this and a host of other bulbs and roots too.<br />
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As all scholars of Milton's <i>Paradise Lost</i> will know, Ithuriel was an angel sent by Gabriel to unmask Satan in the Garden of Eden. The horned one was incognito as a toad, whispering bad stuff in Eve's ear. Ithuriel prodded him with his spear and he was forced to drop the disguise and hightail it out of Eden. And the link with <i>Triteleia</i> is? Perhaps something to do with the spear-like appearance of the unopened flower stalk. That and a vivid Victorian imagination, I suspect. 'Grass nut' is a more practical, if somewhat more prosaic name, as the thin foliage does look quite grass-like. As for 'wally basket', I'm at a loss to explain its derivation. Maybe someone can help me. I think I'll stick with <span style="color: #6a6a6a;"><span style="color: black;">púuchu, the Miwok</span> <span style="color: black;">people's name for it.</span> </span><br />
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The variety most commonly available, in Europe at least, is 'Queen Fabiola', with attractive dark blue flowers. The name commemorates the Dowager Queen of Belgium, who has recently been embroiled in a tax evasion scandal that has rocked the nation. No more heroes anymore.... Fabiola is also the patron saint of divorced women and nurses - and why not? They need a patron saint as much as anyone else.<br />
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There are other varieties, which I've yet to see, but might gladden the heart of the avid corm consumer: take 'Sierra Giant', for instance - said to be polyploid (bigger corms as well as flowers, perhaps?) and 'Humboldt Star', which produces very few offsets, resulting in "huge" corms (yes please!). All of this suggests that there is enough variation occurring in the species to consider a programme of sowing and selection to come up with a fab new variety specifically for eating, assuming they are as good a food as the reports suggest. The packet promotes them as "miniature agapanthus", which is probably pushing it, but as well as being edible, they make good cut flowers. In fact, removing the flowers might lead to the formation of bigger corms. Unlike camas, where the main storage carbohydrate is inulin, <i>Triteleia</i> corms are starchy, providing the eater with useful calories with every thrust of the digging stick.<br />
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When the weather allows, I'll plant them in a little patch of their own at Oca Acres. As pocket gophers and various other tunnelling critters seem to enjoy them in their native habitat, I fully expect our voles and mice to quickly add them to their diet. I'll keep a few in a pot in the back yard, where the voles at least don't dare to show their faces. I'm also considering planting a few amongst the <a href="http://radix4roots.blogspot.co.uk/2011/02/bulbous-belly-border-1-cacomitl-flecked.html" target="_blank">cacomitls</a> to see whether I can create my very own mixed species bulb garden and to hell with the clashing colours.<br />
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When it comes to reports as to the edibility of various obscure roots, bulbs and corms, I tend towards the scepticism of Missourians with their homeland's unofficial title as the "Show Me State". Before instigating a run on 'Queen Fabiola' stocks around the country, I felt I really ought to put the claims of their palatability to the test. Please don't try this at home, because, as the packet says, "do not consume this product". But it also clearly states that "the bulbs (sic) are not chemically preserved". So, in the interests of science and with a spirit of enquiry, I took a corm and peeled it. I then cut it in half; one half remained raw, the other half I boiled until it was fairly soft. I chewed on both and can categorically state that both halves seemed to be edible. The raw piece tasted like a raw peanut, not too bad; the cooked half was very similar to a potato and was deliciously moreish. Maybe Indian potato is an appropriate choice of name after all. I'm just hoping I get to dig a basketful of them this coming autumn.<br />
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<br />Rhizowenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13898344291012563139noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3352076248333591052.post-66042677336710689872013-03-02T19:13:00.000+00:002013-03-02T19:13:14.861+00:00March of the MaukasIt's March, so it must be mauka time. Not time to plant maukas as you might expect - no - time to lift them. I didn't quite manage to accomplish this task before the torrential rains of winter took hold; the water table seemed to be lying close to or above the soil's surface for months and at one point the gate disgorged a babbling brook. As proper farmers with proper kit have experienced similar difficulties in lifting their potato crops in this area, I felt a little less humiliated by my deficiencies.<br />
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The rainy season has abated for the present, its replacement being a cold, dry, easterly wind, which has been blowing for a couple of weeks. As the ground now no longer resembles a waterlogged sponge, I thought a little bit of exploratory digging was in order, to ascertain the whereabouts and health of the mauka crop. I pulled back the fleece, which I'd draped hastily over the patch in a half-hearted attempt to protect them against the cold and took my spade and dug where the label (barely legible) suggested the first plant lay. <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuXMhKNwbv_SO7mA6S1olOz26vpbG7HDXlXGFg1EBfrOQRkf2gWxXjIlYzCgaKkmXcr-XICe_ijGutfNvjQb0W28zZ0Zzu-RPIdW69TVzUoeU_hfxtO3SEzBVXfsdyYiJb40MVUXYSvJ8n/s1600/Maukastem.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuXMhKNwbv_SO7mA6S1olOz26vpbG7HDXlXGFg1EBfrOQRkf2gWxXjIlYzCgaKkmXcr-XICe_ijGutfNvjQb0W28zZ0Zzu-RPIdW69TVzUoeU_hfxtO3SEzBVXfsdyYiJb40MVUXYSvJ8n/s320/Maukastem.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
The first object that turned up was this decidedly impressive piece of swollen mauka stem, looking for all the world like a bloated, jaundiced witchetty grub. It's a chunk of CIP208001, my original variety which I grew from seed obtained from Centro Internacional de la Papa some years ago; coincidentally this was the most expensive seed I have ever purchased, mainly due to the very low viability they showed. But I don't regret the expense and the 15 year wait: I finally have a mauka stem like the ones in the books.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfYMZf7q407fDUTidCN8cRJ0sIAQlidwWFh5XViYX8zGRFKzD7vGr9nobvfLpH9DBz7Fb2MWOGPub8Ke-O_Vhx8B9h8w1GhxaeYM5V835DzP_PTAFwFnj6rhS9QW8XnME51hRokBWj5afN/s1600/Maukapieces.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfYMZf7q407fDUTidCN8cRJ0sIAQlidwWFh5XViYX8zGRFKzD7vGr9nobvfLpH9DBz7Fb2MWOGPub8Ke-O_Vhx8B9h8w1GhxaeYM5V835DzP_PTAFwFnj6rhS9QW8XnME51hRokBWj5afN/s320/Maukapieces.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
I should point out that this wonder worm represents two season's growth - I also failed to harvest the plants at the end of 2011. A bit more digging yielded up this collection of pieces. Not bad, all things considered.<br />
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Mauka continues to impress me with its tenaciousness and good behaviour; I really ought to taste check it again to see whether I still like it as much as I did previously. It seems probable that there will be enough for a proper meal of mauka if the yields from this plant are anything to go by - one up another ten to go.<br />
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<br />Rhizowenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13898344291012563139noreply@blogger.com0