We got the wong berries, James

Intricate ink

People have sought the exotic, the dangerously unfamiliar, since history began. Spices, such as nutmeg and cinnamon, rare gemstones and precious metals were the prize of medieval merchants, who risked life and limb to make profit from the value these items accrued as they were transported over the threshold into the known world.

No different is the story of plant hunters. From the wondercrop, the potato, to exquisite orchid specimens, over the centuries botanists and bounty hunters have transported cuttings and seeds of plants all around the world. Often documenting them in intricate ink details, they cultivated them, with varying success, in new climes.

 Of course, in many cases, they were not to know the monster they would create. If, in an idle moment, you open the Journal of Horticulture and Practical Gardening (vol. 2, 1881), and turn to page 400, you find a description of a recent arrival from the Himalayas, which was obviously of great excitement to the Victorian gardener:

Himalayan balsam

 “Impatiens amphorata […] – An annual Himalayan balsam, attaining the height of 3 to 6 feet, and described as one of the handsomest species of that section. It was introduced into Kew by seed from Kashmir, and flowers annually abundantly in the months of August and September. It was in cultivation forty years ago in the Horticultural Gardens, having been sent from the gardens of Sabarunpore in North-west India, when these were under the superintendence of Dr. Royle.”

Love your oriental hardies? Then why should the Victorian plantsman stop at Himalayan balsam? William Robinson’s 1871 book on ‘Hardy Flowers: descriptions of upwards of thirteen hundred of the most ornamental species and directions for their arrangement culture etc’ has some novel ideas for bulking out those isolated spaces in your garden:

“If anybody will select some open grassy spot in a pleasure garden or grassy glade near a wood some spot considered unworthy of attention as regards ornamenting it and plant a group of three plants of Polygonum cuspidatum [Japanese knotweed] leaving fifteen feet or so between the stools a distinct aspect of vegetation will be the result. The plant is herbaceous and will spring up every year to a height of from six feet to eight feet if planted well it has a graceful arching habit in the upper branches and is covered with a profusion of small bunches of pale flowers in autumn.”

Japanese knotweed

 Sounds wonderful – and, of course, what’s better than an attractive plant which is prolific, comes back year after year however hard you cut it back, and lacks the natural predators it would have in its native environment?

Nowadays, these carefully cultivated exotic specimens can be found not just in pleasure gardens or grassy glades, but everywhere in the UK (except the remotest moorland in the Highlands of Scotland). Both listed as invasive species by the Environment Agency, Japanese knotweed and Himalayan balsam are officially wanted by the British government.

Cucamelon

With this in mind, I have always been intrigued - yet wary - about James Wong’s Homegrown Revolution. His “delicious, high yielding foods that are expensive to buy in the shops, yet super easy to grow yourself” readily fulfil our desire for new exotics. And like so many forerunners, they promise modern miracles: more food for less money and less effort; something for nothing.

Flick through your catalogue and you find the cucamelon. “These tiny watermelon lookalikes have a refreshing flavour and bags of personality,” the advert reads, before promising taste somewhere between a cucumber and a lime. You know you’re excited; this Mexican delicacy sounds like nothing you’ve ever tried. And in reality, this one is probably attractive enough to slugs to be pretty harmless in the long run.

But I wonder about the goji berry seeds my dad bought me for Christmas. “Highly productive,” the packet boasts; “Easier to grow than a stinging nettle” it adds;” “Delicious & foolproof to grow,” it says. James Wong is casual; he can get away with an ampersand.

Goji berry

So I blithely get on with the business of sowing: “Sow your seeds 13mm deep in a shallow tray of compost and leave on a sunny windowsill at 15-18oC to germinate.” Easily done – what next? “Transplant seedlings into individual 7.5cm pots and keep in a sunny warm spot indoors. Plant outdoors the following year 1m apart, late May/June after risk of frost has passed.”

Thanks James. Oh? That’s not all?

“The goji berry will thrive outdoors and there is absolutely no need to prune or train. The goji berry is a perennial plant and as such will continue to produce fruits each year.”

How kind of it. There’s more?

“You might be surprised to learn that the exotic Himalayan goji berry leads a secret double life as a common, and quite often very invasive, weed throughout much of the UK. Highly productive, delicious and foolproof to grow, before planting one of these it is actually even worth checking that it hasn’t already planted itself in that neglected corner completely unbeknownst to you.”

The alarm bells are ringing. Don’t tell me there’s more..?

“Free from the risk of pests and disease, keep on top of watering and the goji berry is happy to get on with the job.”

The job of being a weed?

I wonder if people in 150 years’ time will come to curse the introduction of the goji berry and the 21st century plant hunter?