Excellent Ixora: The Humble Umbel

Ixora casei--in bloom now all over Southern Florida

As I was driving into the parking lot of one of my doctor's, I came around the long driveway--and was ushered towards the office entrance by this expansive line of Ixora bushes.  Even though I've lived here for the last 8 years, the sight took my breath away.

 

These are like a handful of firecrackers to my eyes.

I love the almost waxy look of the flowers and the leaves.  In a hot humidity that makes most flowers wilt just a few minutes after they are picked--these flower-lets are the same pristine shape for days after I pull them off the stem.  

Years ago, before I knew the name of the Ixora, (I love that name!) I pulled handfuls of the four-petaled florets and slipped them inside a book.  A month later I found the book (having forgotten the flowers I'd pressed between the pages), and opened it.  A shower of salmon-red, "four leaf clovers" rained down into my lap.

The flower is part of the Rubiaceae family.  I was reading another blog and discovered that they are one of the plants known as "umbelifers."  Each individual flower is held together with others on a single stem.

The individual florets before they bloom.

Side view of a full-blown umbel.

I got this from the notes of an on-line Botany 115 class. The next photo refers to the flower stalk--the pedicel. 

Individual floret:  in my clumsy way, I've knocked one of the stamens loose to sit below the ring on my hand.

Sometimes when I try to pull just one of the florets away from the bunch, I can feel the pistil slip out of the pedicel so all that's left is a long, hollow tube.

Closed flowers spike above open ones--almost like a tiara atop the head of a prom queen.

One of my professors once commented that when I take pictures of plants, I do so showing all the parts that I can.  Usually my aim in photographing plants "in the field" is to find an image that will help me to identify it even when there are no flowers or fruits showing.  Most plants bloom only during one season of the year.  When I am waundering about with a horticulture class, the purpose is to be able to ID the plants we see.  Most often, we're looking when blooms have already fallen or haven't yet come out.  Leaves are all there is to see . . . and ornamental (or "landscape") bushes or shrubs are kept so closely trimmed that they don't get a chance to produce blooms.

Leaves!  Look at the leaves!  Take what you can get . . . still got to figure out what plant's in front of me.

For me, this would be a great ID photo to have:  leaves, undeveloped and full-blown umbels. 

I leave you with this last image:  a handful of Ixora casei:  soft, effulgent pink-red florets.

DELICIOUS!

   

  

Golden Beetle and a Story

Iridescent Gold. A phrase that comes from the Greek and tells a story in just two words.

  

In the Grecian language, "iris" means "rainbow"; which is linked to the goddess Iris--the embodiment of the sky-bound colour spectrum that the Judeo-Christian tradition remembers as a sign of the message from God promising never to flood the world again. 

Like the Biblical rainbow, Isis was also a message-bringer:  messenger of the gods.  As such, Isis traveled at the speed of the wind, heedless of time or element.  Back and forth she flew between worlds, linking the gods to mortal men. 

(I say "men" since I rather think that women are meant to be smarter, and able to stand on their own two feet--without depending upon the prognostications of reclusive, forest hermits.  Also, women get the short shrift in just about every mythology. Take Arkhe for example . . .) She could reach into the deepest seas and furtherest reaches of the underworld.

  

Isis had golden wings.  Her twin sister, Arkhe, was winged with iridescent ones.  She did not keep them, though.  They were torn from her by Zeus and given as a wedding gift to Nereid Thetis on the day of her marriage.  The gift passed to Nereid's son, Achilles.  He wore them on his heals, becoming the FTD icon (also called by the Greeks "Podarkhes"--which meant "wing-footed with Arkhe's wings.")and a personage on one the tests in my 6th grade English class.

Kudos for the source of information: WikiAnswers' Word and Phrase Origins Supervisor (There is a photo portrait of her on the site, but whose real name remains a mystery to me.).  Who knew there could be such an intriguing job? 

In Front of the Light

I'm still remembering last night's swim.  Nathan took this of me in front of the in-pool light.  It mirrors the way I feel when I'm in the water--no noise, no gravity, no clear vision.  It is a dream that I can jump into whenever I choose.  

Just knowing that makes everything else much easier to take.  

Sometimes I don't even change into my swim suit--which grosses Nathan out . . . all that dirt from my clothes.

When we first got here, my favorite thing to do was to put on a pair of my most-worn long shorts and a too-big shirt.  I'd go out on the acre of land that surrounded our house and pull weeds, plant flowers, fertilize the tomato plant that hadn't died yet, thin the ferns and cut out the weed trees.  Since it was always hot and humid (no matter what time of year it was), when I got really overheated I would jump into the pool.  When I wasn't sweating anymore, I would hop back out of the pool and go back to work.

Magic.  Water.  Pool.  Perfect.

Change: Interlopers and Natives

Northern Peeper

I discovered that the silvery brown-eyed frogs that I find tucked into all sorts of places around here are not "exotic" but indigenous to Florida.  I understand that Florida is second only to Hawaii in the number of invasive species that have taken up residence--many times pushing out the original insects, plants, amphibians, reptiles, mammals, trees, bushes . . . 

Actually, Hawaii has one of the highest (if not the highest) number of species that have become extinct since 1900 . . . not much room in the first place, too many people want to live there and they bring with them (on purpose and by accident) things that changed the island forever.

Every moment things change.  My three toddlers grew into adults.  We moved from Utah to Iowa to Texas to Florida to Texas to Argentina to Texas to Missouri to Florida.  My mother died. My dad retired and started his own company--which now produces the most popular tongue cleaner in the entire world. I gained 30 pounds and lost 40.  I cut my hair off and it is long again.  I bought a mare in Argentina and we brought her back to the United States with us--I was going to ride her until we both grew too old. My body got too old too fast and I have not been able to ride any horse for over a dozen years.  We bought a home that had fruit trees: orange, lime, pink grapefruit and avocado . . . and they are all gone now.  I got a Master's degree in English--and now I take classes in horticulture and calculus.  

But some things have not changed yet.  Northern Peeper frogs continue show up in all sorts of surprising places.  I still have three children--and gained two grandchildren.  I live in a house that I love with a man whom I love even more.  He says that he loves me and cherishes me more and more each year.  I still want to ride horses.  I have always loved to swim--and that is still true.

Someday I will have a perfected, resurrected body and I will not have time rush me forward through each change.  I will ride horses.  I will be in love even more with my husband.  I will understand water and air and space and how the eternities progress. 

Swimming tonight with two of my children who are now all grown up.

For now I will continue to grow old and to plant new trees and be with my children--who are adults but will always be my children.  I will work at learning how to capture the world that is changing all around me through the lens of my camera.  

I will write about the things that change and the things that stay the same.

I will find Northern Peepers tucked into odd and unexpected places.  

Backyard Hotel

Wild Allamanda

Common Allamanda houses a Pine Woods Treefrog (Hyla femoralls)

   

A place for everyone and everyone in his place.

Firebush branches

Hamilia patens

I can only imagine a newborn frog nestled inside one of these.  I shall keep looking.

An Infinitesimally Small Spot

Driving home from Church, the cup

After a six week Environment Issues class this summer that focused on all the crap we've infused into the Earth's water, land and air; I have become hyper-sensitive to the plastics that are littering everything around me.  

On the way home from Church, I pulled up to a stop light--passing the cup above, left half-filled with some green tea concoction on the road by the dotted white line.  

I was first in my lane at the light.  

Cars pulled up at my right, stopped and then turned right onto Indiantown.  I looked in my rearview mirror--no one was behind me.  Another car pulled up to my right.  Still no one behind me.  I put the car in park and opened the door.

I slid down from the driver's seat and looked all around me.  It was a moment frozen--no cars moved.  I peered around the Expedition's back end:  the cup was still there.

It took a moment to get to the cup and flip it over--holding it as far away from me as possible.  While it was still dribbling, I turned to away and walked quickly back to my car--the cup still dripped green liquid.  I placed it by the hinge on the floor and closed the door.  

The light was still red.  I put the car back into drive, and the light turned green.  

I have picked up lots of trash--as I walk from a store to the car, walking dogs in a park, waiting on the sidewalk at Disneyland.  This time felt strange--like something staged.

It was as if I was finally forgiven.  

Years ago I was at a stop light and there was a girl in a small car in the left turn lane in front of me.  Obviously finished with her extra large fountain drink, she rolled down her window and dropped the cup onto the ground.  It landed upright, with a resounding "clop."  

Everyone could hear the sound of the ice compacting as it hit.  I wanted to yell at the girl--"Pick up your garbage!"  But I was stunned.  

It seemed as if everyone was--for instantly everything was completely soundless.  

In my mind I opened my door and walked over to her car, picked up the cup and emptied the ice out onto the road, handing her the empty cup, lid and straw.

"I think this belongs to you," I said loudly as I hand her the garbage.  Everyone stopped at the light watched as the girl's hand curls around the empty cup and she accepts it through the open car window. 

The light changed, the girl turned left--leaving the cup standing up right and unmoved.  Everyone drove off . . . and I have never forgotten.

It has been 25 years since I was at that light on East 12th Street in Des Moines, Iowa.  Today I got a chance to redeem myself--to protect an infinitesimally small spot on the Earth for a fraction of a moment.

It is a small consolation. 

My . . . I am terribly over-dramatic--to the point of of ridiculousness.

I like that word:  ri-di-cu-lous-ness.  Sibilant "S"--almost as good as quintessential.  

That word has is own story.

Society Garlic and Silver Buttonwood and Some Deep Thoughts

Society Garlic individual blossom.

Society Garlic plant

At the beginning of this last summer semester, I arranged to do a photography project with one of my favorite professors.  One of the most wonderful parts of this endeavor is that I have begun to notice trees and plants with a more discerning eye.  I notice if the flowers were compound, where they were placed on the stem, if they were held high or allowed to droop over sidewalks and fences.  I notice how the leaves frame the blooms--when the leaf colours mirror the flower.  

I was trying to find a good example of a silver buttonwood tree. 

Silver Buttonwood branch

Silver Buttonwood "button"

My only buttonwood tree--perhaps more than 30 years old.

 The one in my own front yard is very old and surrounded by a huge plumbago bush--so the bottom of the trunk is concealed.  I wanted to illustrate how the leaves shine out against other, darker foliage--making it easier to identify the tree.

Now I see silver buttonwood trees EVERYWHERE.  Before the photograph, I did not notice them anywhere.  

Single, young tree in the sun

In my own, broader self, what are the silver buttonwood trees I am missing?  What do I need to be focusing on in my life that I am completely missing right now?  If I could discover this thing, how would it affect my perspective? my gratitude? my decisions?