Tulips

Yesterday was our seventh wedding anniversary (yes, I know, I'm getting on a bit). While I'm not much for mooning over things, I took a moment to leaf through our wedding pictures. First, I marvelled at the length of Joe's hair.

Second, I marvelled at the magnificence of the fig tree beneath which we were married.

Together, just after the ceremony. Unfortunately, I can't find a good picture of this lovely tree--I will post again when I do.

And third, I marvelled at the flowers.

Flowers have always been an interest of mine—I love the scent of fresh dirt on my fingertips, the green of the stems, even the light, sneeze-inducing pollen. But when it came to choosing wedding flowers, I was overwhelmed by choices. The traditional roses or jasmine? The modern and elegant orchids? The first flowers Joe ever gave me, gerberas? I considered them all as I wandered through florist shops (no, no help, just browsing, thanks) and nurseries (how hardy are the new daffodil strains?). I sniffed (nothing too heavily scented), brushed (not too much pollen), and crushed (had to stand up to a lot of pictures). Summer passed into autumn then, and I soon laid eyes upon tulips, fresh and fair.

They were pollen-full. They were fragile. They were even scented, a light, wispy, greenish sort of scent. But I wanted them all the same.

As with many things, I soon felt compelled to research tulips—anything that flags my interest for more than a second usually results in a flurry of book buying, database searching, and even "hey, have you got a minute to tell me about…" phone calls. This is time-consuming, yes, but I find myself doing it all the same. And really, I thought, how much could there be to learn about the tulip?

A lot.

The origin of the tulip (Family Liliaceae, Genus Tulipa) is sketchy. Most agree that the flowers are originally from Central Asia (their genetic centre being Tien-Shan and the Pamir-Alai mountain ranges near modern day Islamabad), and that they are so named because of their turban-like shape (consider the shape of the open flower). Historical records suggest that the flowers were cultivated in Turkey as early as 1000 AD, and that they were later introduced to Western Europe—and Holland—by a Viennese botanist in the late sixteenth century.

Tulips quickly grew in popularity—today, many people associate the tulip with Holland. The flowers were soon included in language of flower dictionaries, and the bulbs became popular on the commodities market. At the peak of the aptly named tulipomania, some tulips were worth 3000 guilders[1]! Tulip speculation was common in the wealthier classes, but also amongst those of middling income, as the tulip's phenotype would not be obvious until the flower appeared.

So, what was so special about these tulips? Infection. When a tulip is healthy, the flower has solid petals with a slightly rounded tip, and a uniform colour. The tulips that fetched the greatest prices, though, were variegated, with broken colouring. These features were later discovered to be a result of the Tulip Breaking Virus (TBV).

The rare Semper Augustus tulip, at one time worth 3000 guilders [1]

The craze for the beautiful broken tulips was by no means restricted to Holland; most of Europe succumbed [Lesnaw and Ghabrial, p. 102]. It was in Holland, however, that the beautiful broken tulips had the greatest socio-economic ramifications. At the time tulips were introduced to Holland, the Dutch had very recently won their freedom from the Spanish; the Bubonic Plague had killed thousands; a labour shortage had resulted in increasing wages; and memories of the plague and oppression had created a general sense of anxiety. It seems likely that the Dutch were then in a state of anxious euphoria when tulips were introduced, and that this may have contributed to their tulipomania.

Tulipomania ended in 1637, three years after its peak. Many buyers had realised the market was coming to an end, and the demand for broken tulips slowly faded away—the tulip bubble had burst, leaving widespread bankruptcy in its wake [Lesnaw and Ghabrial, p. 1054]. In fact, "the seventeenth century tulip trade is viewed by economists as the first modern stock market. Tulipomania remains the paradigm of the economic bubble," [Lesnaw and Ghabrial, p. 1054].

I still love tulips--Joe gave me a lovely bunch of broken pink ones recently. But I think I like them all the more for their history, their depth, and I am happy to know it.


A note on Tulips: tulips continue to grow after they've been cut, which can lead to a lack of pressure in their stems. Add something--like sugar--to the water, and trim stems every day. The flowers are also phototropic, i.e., they grow towards the light. To keep tulips from leaning to much, rotate the vase a quarter turn every day, or keep away from direct sunlight (this will also keep the flowers from opening too quickly).

Footnotes:

[1] According to a pamphlet written in 1636, the value of 3000 guilders (the price of the rare Semper Augustus) was equivalent to: eight fat pigs; four fat oxen; twelve fat sheep; twenty-four tonnes of wheat; forty-eight tonnes of rye; two hogsheads of wine; four barrels of eight-guilder beer; two tonnes of butter; a thousand pounds of cheese; a silver drinking cup; a pack of clothes; a bed with mattress and bedding; and a ship [Lesnaw and Ghabiral, p. 1053].

References:

Lesnaw, Judith A and Ghabrial, Said A. "Tulip Breaking: Past, Present, and Future". Plant Disease. 84.10 (2000): 1052-1060.