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.

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.

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.

Hybrid Seed

Day 265: Some of my readers may recall that in November 2019, I brought out my little paintbrush to tickle the flowers of a white Schlumbergera (Zygocactus) until they released pollen. I transferred the pollen to two receptive flowers on a yellow Schlumbergera and sat back to await results. By early December, the ovaries of the yellow plant had begun to swell. By April, they had begun to turn pink, indicating that they were ripening. One dropped about a month ago while still somewhat tender, so I let it lay until it had dried out thoroughly, and on July 1, I cracked it open. It contained roughly two dozen tiny black seeds which I planted in a mix of potting soil and sand.

Years ago, my husband conducted a similar experiment. As I recall, his craving for results caused him to harvest the pods before the seeds were mature; in any event, those he planted never germinated. In this case, I think the pod may have fallen prematurely despite the appearance of the seeds. The second pod is still attached to the plant.

Horticulture does not bring the instant gratification so desired by many. It is an exercise in patience; plants progressing through their cycles recognize only their own urgencies and cannot be rushed. Can you stand the suspense?

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!

Second Round

Day 125: There is almost always something in bloom at my house. Indoors, the white and yellow Christmas cacti are putting on their second flush of blooms, a little late for their customary mid-January appointment. As you may recall, I cross-pollinated the yellow one with the white in November and am now waiting for Yellow's pods to mature. So far, I have had no luck going the opposite direction. However, I have my paintbrush handy in case Yellow produces pollen (which it has not yet done). Meanwhile, White is putting on a show. Its colour drifts toward a pale shell pink when temperatures are too cool or light levels are too low. This season, conditions in my back bedroom window were pretty close to perfect, with only a faint blush evident in the blooms. I am also happy to report that I have kept my Tillandsia alive for over TWO YEARS now. Lovingly known as "Saturday" for the schedule on which I give it a light spray of water, the plant is not likely to reward me with a flower spike for my pains, but I find its three-inch array of thready foliage very gratifying. Now, if I could just get that damn Clivia to bloom...

Ovaries!

Day 52: Ovaries! I have ovaries! You may recall that roughly two weeks ago, I took my little paintbrush and transferred pollen from a white Christmas cactus to a yellow one. The ovaries of the two receptive flowers are now noticeably swollen. When my husband performed a similar experiment, it took months for the pods to ripen and turn red. As I recall, they hung on the plant for months after that until Bruce's impatience got the better of him and he picked and opened them. They did contain seed, but either he had plucked them before they were fully mature or the seed was not otherwise viable because planting it brought no results. I may not be able to report the outcome of this botanical adventure for a year or two, but at least this phase of it was a success.

Flowering Birds

Day 35: My collection of Christmas cacti is largely populated by the more unusual colours: yellow, white, picotee. I have some red/magenta ones as well, but they bloom later and by then, my eye has become somewhat jaded to their beauty and elegance. It is the flocks of early-flowering hybrids I love best, flying in their birdlike forms and feathery petals to my mantel, there to roost until their season is done.

Many long years ago, my husband (not particularly horticulturally adept) succeeded in cross-pollinating two differently coloured plants. We were both surprised when one of the two developed small reddish fruits, heaxagonal in cross-section and about half an inch long. We expected them to drop, but were again surprised when they held on, matured and dried. Bruce split the pods (it was his experiment, after all) and planted the tiny black seeds with care. Perhaps conditions weren't right, or perhaps the seed was sterile; in any event, after months of waiting and hoping, it became apparent to us that nothing further was going to occur.

As I set the Birds out on dark velvet for their portraits, a shower of pollen dusted the fabric's nap. Thinking of Bruce, I'm going to go get a paintbrush.

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!

Dreams Of Blueberries

Day 207: When I put in my blueberry bushes, I selected "mid-season" varieties using the logic that the pollinators would not be around at this altitude for early-season types. Now I am beginning to wonder if I should have bought late-season plants instead. Last year, I got enough berries for snacking, far short of what I envision as the eventual yield. The bushes are still young...or rather they are new to the "blueberry pen" outside my kitchen door. One was a sickly plant which had been shaded out in another location after losing its partner to similar circumstances. I moved it two years ago and added a second variety beside it for cross-pollination. It has perked up amazingly well, and both plants are covered with buds. A third bush is dwarf and self-fertile; it bore a handful of large, sweet berries last year (its first year in my garden).

As of this writing, all three bushes are lavishly adorned with pink buds, but there is a distressing absence of pollinators, and I can hardly give each blueberry flower the same reproductive assistance I'm providing to the Akebias. Transferring pollen from one flower to another on the tip of an artist's paintbrush is time-consuming! That said, we have a few warm days on the roster and the blueberry buds are not yet open. Perhaps all the elements necessary to provide a good yield will still manage to come together at the proper moment.