A Cultivated Appreciation

Day 346: If you were of a mind to do so, how do you know when an Akebia fruit is ready to eat? Easy! It splits longitudinally to reveal the mass of pulp and seeds inside. Two of mine were ready to eat by yesterday afternoon, so I had them for a before-dinner snack. Even though both of them had come from the same "hand" (cluster of fruits on a single stem), one was sweeter than the other. In either case, it is only a light sweetness, perhaps equal to that of one teaspoon of sugar dissolved in eight ounces of water, certainly not like a sweet drink or candy. Is there a flavour to it? Again, it is almost imperceptible, more like a slight scent than an actual taste. Yes, eating Akebia fruits requires a cultivated appreciation, but I look forward to this harvest every year now.

Growing the Strange

Day 343: Over time, I've grown some damned strange things in my garden (some with applaudable success, some less so), but none has been quite as strange as the Akebia. The fruits are barely edible (you have to carefully suck a thin pulp off a mass of large black seeds, then spit the seeds out). Nor is it particularly tasty, although one can educate the taste buds to appreciate the light sweetness. They're not particularly ornamental as vines go, however, the flowers have a lovely scent for the brief period they are in bloom. Their one redeeming merit (other than their curious and marginal edibility) is that they are easy to pollinate, and to my way of thinking, therein lies the enjoyment of raising them. This year, I had the great good sense to only pollinate those flowers low on the vine, so I won't have to climb up on a stool to pick the topmost fruits. Oh, yes. I eat them. I'm not sure why, except that it seems like I should garner some reward for my work.

Tickling Time

Day 196: As I came out of the garage yesterday, a waft of sweet fragrance alerted me to the fact that the Akebia vines have started blooming. A quick assessment showed that not only were the white male flowers ready to contribute pollen, the purple females were ready to accept it. I made a quick trip into the house, grabbed the camel-hair brush I use for botanical matchmaking, and went back out to tickle stamens and pistils so that I can have a handful..."handful," I said!...of Akebia fruits to enjoy in the fall. Even though I tried last year not to get too carried away, my cross-pollination efforts wound up creating more than I could reasonably eat. It's possible that a breeze or bugs contributed to the abundance, but as a general rule here in the Pacific Northwest, these plants require human assistance in order to fruit. This year, I had the great good sense to only pollinate flowers which were in easy reach. No more climbing the ladder to get that one last Akebia which, in any event, are an acquired taste.

Matchmaker To Akebia

Day 197: They had me worried! The white Akebia vine was blooming profusely, producing lots of pollen with nowhere to go. The purple vine...the bearer of fertile female flowers...wasn't doing so well. I'd pruned both back radically last fall when the trellis collapsed, and the purple one hadn't taken well to the haircut. It was only showing a few male flowers last week and, as you may recall, the cross must be made with pollen from the white vine's male flowers to the females of the purple. It doesn't work the other way around, as my experiments have shown. Last night, I discovered a few receptive female blooms, and dashed into the house to get my horticultural paintbrush. Okay, Akebia fruits are pretty strange and certainly not to everyone's taste, but they are secondary to the fun I get from cross-pollinating. That said, I vowed that this year, I wouldn't go overboard, limiting myself to no more than a dozen potential Akebia pods at full ripeness.

Half The Haul

Day 356: Even as I write, I am enjoying one of the most bizarre fruits in my garden. This is but half the haul from my carefully hand-pollinated Five-Leaf Akebia vines. I have mentioned before that one must acquire a taste for this comestible, and in fact it took me several years to train myself in what, precisely, there was to appreciate from a fruit comprised mostly of hard, large seeds. The handful of friends I've tried to instruct in consuming them have not had my patience or persistence in learning to eat something well outside the norm for Western palates. In other words, I couldn't talk anybody into seconds. Too bad! That just means more for me. This year's crop is exceptionally sweet, and I am not quite sure if that's because my taste buds have become sensitized or because I didn't water the vines and simply let them grow unattended through what was a very dry summer. That said, when the pods ripen and split to indicate that they are ready to pick, they seem to do so all at once. I managed to get through about 50 last year without wasting a one, but this year, I was more conservative in the number of flowers I pollinated.

Match-making

Day 202: It's time for me to play match-maker for the Akebia vines again. Experience has taught me that the purple male flowers do not produce viable pollen, so the cross must be made between white males and purple females if there is to be a crop of fruit, and even though the two vines are now intertwined to some degree, the downward-facing flowers will undoubtedly always require some pollination assistance on my part. To that end, I was up the ladder with an artist's round sable paintbrush a few days ago, tickling pollen from the anthers of mature white flowers and transferring it to the stigmata (receptive tips) of the purple ones. In the close-up photo, you can see where the pollen has adhered to the sticky substance of the receptive stigmata. In theory (and usually in practice), each one of these will develop a fruit roughly four inches long and about an inch and a quarter in diameter. They're not the easiest things in the world to eat, but I have developed a liking for the mildly sweet taste of the pulp. That said, I have been unable to find any recipes which use it, so I eat it straight from the pod.

An Acquired Taste

Day 355: This marks the fourth year my Akebia vines have borne fruit as a result of hand-pollination. I have only been successful in fertilizing the purple-flowered female from the white-flowered male, although this spring I thought I might have succeeded in going the other direction. However, the ovaries of the white-flowered vine only swelled slightly and then dropped, leading me to conclude that one or the other (male or female) is sterile. My success gave rise to an even greater puzzle: what to do with the fruit itself. Purportedly edible and even enjoyed by the Japanese, the "sea-slug" in the interior of the pod is a mass of sizeable black seeds surrounded by a thin translucent white goo. To eat an Akebia, you scoop out the slug, pop a portion of it in your mouth, roll it around with your tongue to get the sticky bits off the seeds, and at that point, you can spit the seeds back into the rind for easy disposal. You might be left wondering why you'd bothered. Each year, I've dutifully experimented with eating the fruit and until today, dismissed it as a pointless venture, but when I brought in the pod which had split overnight, I found it rather sweet and enjoyable. Perhaps it was because this pod was perfectly ripe, neither too green nor too mature, or perhaps I have finally acquired a taste for Akebia fruit. I'm looking forward to the next one, and there are 14 yet to come.

Five-Leaf Akebia Fruit

Day 279: The fruit of the Five-Leaf Akebia (Akebia quinata) is an odd-looking thing, and as far as I've been able to determine by reading and experimentation, entirely without gustatory merit. So why do I cross-pollinate my two vines every year? Because I can. Earlier this year, I reported that I thought I had been successful in fertilizing white female flowers with pollen from the purple males. Regrettably, the pods which began to form dropped before they reached the diameter of a pencil. Theoretically, the transfer should work that direction, but to date, the only plant to set fruit has been the purple one, and that only after I had hand-pollinated it with the white. Still, we take our successes where we find them, and in another corner of the garden, the kiwis have declined to be "self-fertile," also starting to set fruit, only to drop it before the berries began to swell. In contrast to the Akebia, kiwis are a crop I wish to successfully cultivate for the table. I may have to plant a pair (male and female) of a different "hardy" variety.

Cross This Way

Day 214: It's been five years since I planted two Akebia vines at the corner of my garage in the knowledge that it "takes two to tango" in the Akebia's mating dance. Akebia is not self-fertile. It requires a second plant for successful pollination. Having said that, repeated experiments with the resultant fruit have not resulted in anything particularly appetizing, but the vines have provided me with a unique opportunity to play Gregor Mendel in this documentary of the Akebia's life cycle. Once again, you may find me in the garden, camel-hair paintbrush in hand, the third partner in an exhibition of Akebia porn. (At this point, you might want to send your children into the other room.) My task is simple: stimulate the eager, productive males until they are ready to release their pollen, and then introduce them to the moist, receptive females.

The female Akebia flower is substantially larger than the males which hang around her like groups of oversexed teenage boys. Her multiple pistils exude a sticky substance when she is ready to accept pollen from the males' stamens, but she is selective. She will not accept the offers made to her by the males of her own vine, only those from a second vine. However, the males of my purple Akebia are infertile and in fact, produce very little pollen. This means that I cannot cross from purple to white. The white males are vigorous (fortunately, they don't have the option to wear MAGA hats....just sayin'), and the purple females are more than willing to partner with them. White to white, no; purple to purple, no; purple to white, no; white to purple, BINGO! and then this fall, I'll have another crop of inedible, oddly (if perhaps understandably) phallic Akebia fruit full of huge black seeds which seem to be non-viable. So that said, why do I repeat this experiment every year? Maybe it's because it makes my non-scientific neighbours wonder what I'm doing, or maybe it's just because I can. Either way, it's fun.

Update 5/29/20: Well, this is an interesting turn-up. I seem to have successfully pollinated the white Akebia with its own pollen. I have one cluster (so far) of developing fruit. The species is generally regarded as not being self-fertile, but some sources say that it is partially so. Looks like I proved it!

The Bizarre Akebi Fruit

Day 353: Consider this an editorial retraction. This year's bumper crop of hand-pollinated Akebi fruit has changed my mind about lack of redeeming merit, if only by a smidgin. I waited for the pods to be fully open (more open than the one in the foreground) before picking half a dozen. By forcing the pulp through a sieve to remove the abundant large black seeds, I retrieved roughly a quarter cup of frothy "juice" which, when taken by the teaspoon, was pleasantly sweet and somewhat aromatic. They're definitely not something you'd want to pack in your lunch, but at least they've proven themselves to be more than just a botanical novelty/pasttime. I would need a few hundred more and a healthy helping of patience before I'd attempt to make them into jelly. I still have only had success pollinating one direction, white-flowered vine to purple. Only the purple one bears fruit.

Because I Can

Day 200: As far as edibility goes, the fruit of the Akebia vine has absolutely nothing to recommend it, or none that I've been able to find. I've tried sucking the purportedly sweet pulp off the huge, abundant black seeds, but found it to be almost tasteless and definitely not at all sweet. I've tried stir-frying slices of the pods, but again, thought the end product was bland and insipid and not even worth using as filler. That said, here I am again, paintbrush in hand, tickling pollen from one plant to the other in a repeat of the horticultural amusement I've done for the last two years. Why? Because I can.

There's something to be said for achieving cross-pollinating by hand even if the fruits themselves are unrewarding. I've learned to recognize the symptoms of receptivity in the female flowers (a sticky fluid develops at the end of each stigma) and the presence of ripe pollen on the males. So far, I have only been able to make a one-way transfer successfully: pollen from the white variety to the females of the purple one, making me wonder if the male flowers of the purple variety are sterile. Its stamens drop when I touch them with the paintbrush. The experiment continues, and if nothing else, it keeps me amused.

Extended Experiment

Day 353: As I was preparing to pick the remaining Akebia pods from the vine, it occurred to me that I shouldn't waste the opportunity to see if my cross-pollination efforts might have produced viable seed. To that end, I encased the pods loosely in nylon netting just a few days before they split. As they dry out, the seeds will be caught in the net. The Akebia vine is relatively attractive and semi-evergreen, and despite rumours to the contrary, it isn't likely to propagate to invasive levels on its own, given my limited success at cross-pollinating. If I do get plants from these seeds, it will be interesting to see if they mature and bloom, and if so, which colour will prove dominant. And then? Maybe back-breeding with one of the parent plants or introducing new stock. Lots of possibilities here! Luther Burbank I'm not, but I do know how to graph a Punnett Square.

No Redeeming Merit

Day 345: It's official: Akebi fruit has absolutely no redeeming merit unless you simply enjoy the challenge of cross-pollinating. The male flowers on the purple vine failed to produce pollen, but seven pods formed on it and developed to maturity. I harvested one early, before the seeds had a chance to harden, but the pith (purportedly edible) was quite bitter at that point. I tried a second pod a few days ago. The pith was mildly sweet, but otherwise relatively tasteless and riddled with hard black seeds so numerous that sucking the pith from them was far more work that it was worth. Still trying to find a use for the fruit, I sliced the pod and stir-fried it as suggested in some recipes I'd seen on line, but even cooked, the flesh was unappetizing. Perhaps a taste for Akebi is based in genetics, i.e., its flavour appeals to those individuals who carry a certain gene. Will I break out my little paintbrush again next year? Probably, if for no other reason than to say, "Look! I cross-pollinated these myself!"

Second Experiment

Day 297: Despite the fact that Akebia fruits (Akebi) have absolutely nothing to recommend them as edibles, my success at hand-pollinating them last year led me to wonder if I could repeat the experiment with similar results. Testing should never be a one-off. If results are not reproducible, you can't claim success. To that end, when the Akebis bloomed this spring, I got out my trusty camel-hair brush and started checking flowers daily for pollen production and receptivity. Once again, very few female blossoms appeared on the white-flowered vine as compared to the purple variety, and conversely, none of the male flowers on the purple Akebia matured to the pollen-making stage. Consequently, I was only able to transfer pollen from white male flowers to purple females; nevertheless, I got results, and seven Akebia fruits are coming into their maturity. I now know that I waited too late to pick them last year and that the seed/pulp ratio was skewed to the "seed" side of the equation. As for their potential as edibles...well, as a good scientist, I'm going to have to see this experiment through to its conclusion, although I don't expect the final stage to vary from previously recorded data. In other words, "Ugh!"

Tickling The Akebias

Day 209: Last year, I successfully cross-pollinated my two Akebia vines, but only in one direction. I lifted pollen from the anthers of the white varietal and fertilized the female purple flowers. The male purple flowers never developed pollen to transfer back to the white stigmas. As a result, only the purple-flowered plant bore fruit. After making several attempts to convince myself that the pith was even remotely edible, I decided that the plants provided better service as novelty vines. Trust me on this, the fruit was nasty. That said, the experiment was interesting, so I've decided to repeat the process this year. So far, I have been able to lift pollen only from the white-flowered plant. No pollen has developed on the purple anthers, making me wonder if the male flowers are sterile. My observations have been somewhat hampered by rain, so it's possible that a few days of warm weather may generate pollen formation, but this may not occur while the female white flowers are receptive.

Doing The Splits

Day 353: The first of the Akebia pods has done the splits, revealing a fat cylindrical object which to my mind resembles some kind of sea slug. This is the edible portion of the fruit. Now I am going to ask you to use your imagination. Set the following pictures in your mind:

Imagine watermelon seeds which instead of being flat are egg-shaped, i.e., picture seeds which are roughly the size of watermelon seeds, but they're shaped like teardrops and they're hard. If you're familiar with pomegranate seeds, the seeds in your imagination would be similar, but pomegranate seeds are a little pointier on the small end.

Now mentally put yourself in the kitchen. You're cooking something which requires the addition of either confectioner's sugar or powdered stevia. As you pull open the plastic inner wrapper, you drop the box. A ~poof!~ of sweet dust flies into the air just as you're taking a breath. Some of the dust...not much, just a little...goes up your nostrils. It's not quite enough to make you sneeze, but close.

Ready? Do you have those two images clearly in your minds? Okay, if you were to wrap those teardrop-shaped seeds in a very thin coating of your sweetened, viscid nasal mucus and then were to stick a gob of them in your mouth, you'd get the idea of what the pulp of the Akebia fruit feels and tastes like.

Although the Akebia cross-pollination experiment has come to a successful conclusion, I do not think we'll go down this road again.

The Akebia Experiment

Day 343: I'm not to the point of calling the Akebia Experiment a success yet, at least not if the goal was to have ripened fruit, but the cross-pollination certainly worked. The fruits are beginning to turn a lighter green, although they are still hard as rocks. They should be blotchy purple when mature. References say that the maturation period is 40-50 days. Right, yeah, sure. We're well into the fourth month since I tickled their little stigmas with the paintbrush. Admittedly, there might be some latitude between varieties just like there is in corn, tomatoes and a host of other vegetables and fruit, but two whole months? That's stretching this botanist's credulity. I have to admit that it's been fun watching the fruit develop even if I don't ever get to taste it.

Akebia Fruit

Day 288: Even using the proper scientific terminology, it is difficult to write about the process of manual cross-pollination without it sounding risqué. My efforts in that regard are being rewarded with the production of approximately a dozen and a half Akebia fruits of various sizes, the largest of which are shown here. When in the flowering phase, the pistils of this cluster exhibited a heavier production of stigmatic fluid; pollen transfer was much easier to effect because the pistils were receptive. Size of the fruit indicated the number of ovules (seeds) successfully fertilized. These were within easy reach of my paint brush and I transferred pollen to the pistils several times during their period of receptivity. Whether or not the fruit proves to be worth the trouble as far as edibility is concerned, the experiment has expanded my grasp of the mechanics of botanical reproduction and, having seen the phases first-hand, I can now explain the process in intimate detail even if doing so makes my readers blush.

Fruits Of My Labours

Day 250: Well, I'll be darned! It looks like my attempt to pollinate the Akebia vines is going to pay off! Little 3/4" fruits are developing on the purple vine.

Using a fine artist's paintbrush, I transferred pollen from the male flowers of the white vine to the female flowers of the purple vine. I would have liked to perform a reverse experiment as well, but the male flowers of the purple vine never formed pollen, a fact which led to misgivings that it might have been a non-fertile cultivar. Both male and female flowers were smaller on the purple vine than on the white, although the purple females appeared to be receptive (i.e., the pistils were tipped with stigmatic fluid). The female flowers on the white vine were not observed to demonstrate receptivity, "not observed" because I didn't look very hard at them because I didn't have any pollen to transfer to them. The fruits are developing solely from the ovaries which were hand-pollinated; all others have dropped.

A question now arises: did the cold snap we experienced just as the male flowers opened on the (obviously fertile) purple vine inhibit their ability to produce pollen? They opened a week or so later than the white flowers. Interestingly, the white vine produced very few female flowers, but even so, no pollen was produced by the purple vine with which to cross-pollinate them. And then there's another question: are the fruits going to taste good enough to be worth the bother of hand-pollination? Will they even hang on the vine long enough to mature? Stay tuned!

The Mating Game

Day 216: Finally, the Akebias are sporting both male and female flowers on each vine! But with SNOW coming down in the rain yesterday and decidedly un-springlike temperatures, they are not producing pollen. I'm not worried. The next several days are supposed to see a dramatic rise in temps and pollen will soon be plentiful. I'll be out there with my little paintbrush tickling plant 'nads!

How do you tell boys from girls? The upper left white flower is female, as are the two large purple flowers. Look closely at the different structures. The male flower is smaller and has stamens, two-part organs consisting of a filament (thread-like stalk) and a pollen-bearing anther. The pollen must be transferred to the female stigma in order for fertilization to take place. Some plants are self-fertile, i.e., either their flowers consist of both male and female parts, or male and female flowers both appear on the same plant. In the case of Akebia, the flowers require being fertilized by another Akebia. In their natural habitat, this job is done by bees and wasps, but in the Pacific Northwest, Akebias bloom too early in the year, before the natural pollinators have emerged. Just for fun, I'm engaging in a little horticultural experiment, playing the role of matchmaker between my two vines.