Grassophilia

Phrysosoma cornutum

Why is this horned toad so happy? I know that's a terrible instance of pathetic fallacy on my part--but it was one of those luminous New Mexico days (few places are more wonderful to visit in September) with caerulean skies, gentle breezes and finding a Texas horned lizard (I still prefer the less accurate "toad") just added a dollop of extra delight...for us (if not for the seemingly cheerful lizard)
 

Sclerocactus papyracanthus

"Us" being Jan (my mate), Steve Brack and Rod Romero (Steve drove us to Belen and Rod the rest of the drive to find "Toumeya"--the former generic name for this remarkable cactus that has evolved to mimic dried prairie grasses.

I'll be sharing far too many pictures of this delightful plant (which I've grown--as you'll see in the very last picture of this post) but never seen in nature. Ironically, I've driven through its entire range (which is basically the entire Rio Grande valley in New Mexico, with some very sparse outliers in Arizona, the Big Bend of Texas and one location in Mexico.

This one is uncharacteristically separated from the bunch grasses it mimics, which give you a sense of its quiddity.

Here, more typically practically attached to a neighboring clump of grass.

This shows the swirling shadows of the papery spines.

Here nearby a large cow pie: I imagine plenty of these are crushed by herbivores.

More in grass...

And the final one...

There is an endemic Opuntioid that has similarly broad spines. Grusonia clavata shares almost the same exact range as Toumeya, and also has the broad spines--undoubtedly parallel evolution.

Grusonia can make enormous mats here and there in the Rio Grande valley.

And finally a picture I took years ago of Toumeya in my garden, in bloom! Alas, it only lasted a few years (Sclerocacti are often thought to be relatively short lived)--but what a stunning blossom!

Pat Hansen: my guru

Pat Hansen

I know that everyone has their mentors, gurus, guiding lights. I've had more than my share of them in my lifetime: none has had a more profound or salubrious impact on me than this remarkable woman. I had my last yoga session with Pat barely a week before she passed away almost one and a half years ago.

I was not ready for her passing (as if any of us are): she'd had a badly botched operation on a hip that had worsened over time and that, combined with too many intrusive operations took an enormous toll: doctors were ready to exact heroic measures when she decided to forego medications and passed quickly. Her close friend and fellow Yoga master, Hansa Knox was with her at the end as well as her family. Hansa provided me with these pictures of Pat.

 Despite practicing therapeutic yoga on me for well over 3 decades, I don't seem to have ever taken a photograph of Pat. I must have some in my transparency files--which should I ever have a chance to go through and find them, I shall be sure to scan them.

But these images do much to convey something of Pat's ethereal grace. She always seemed to have a smile, if not a chuckle on her lips. My volunteer of many years, Joan Schwarz, was responsible for taking me (I should say DRAGGING me) to Pat when I was in severe spasm way back in the 1990's--possibly even the 1980's: I never made note of when we started. I knew from my very first session that Pat was a remarkable practitioner. My severe lower lumbar disks--three of them were crushed--caused me excruciating, acute, perennial pain. It took almost a year of devoted practice with Pat before one day I realized the pain had gone. Forever.

I cannot imagine what my life would have been had I not found Pat: my back kept degenerating--but persistent yoga practice was such that I have had no pain whatsoever for decades. Somehow she trained my muscles to sustain the alignment of  my spine so that the disks and vertebrae no longer crushed against my spinal chord. Pretty miraculous stuff.

Obviously, Pat was a very charismatic and beautiful person--not just in her physical presence: photos can't convey the beauty of an profoundly loving and generous soul.  Our sessions weren't cake walks--she "put me through my paces" with challenging asanas that were often strenuous and verging on stressful. There was not one day in decades I did not look forward to going to her office and later her home when she semi-retired and getting that rigorous treatment. There could be a bit of small talk at the beginning or the end, but Pat was efficient: she knew me so well that as soon as I changed into my yoga clothes and got on my mat she knew just where my body was most out of whack, and would focus on having me relax and realign so that by the time I got up and left I felt rejuvenated. I mean I felt fantastic.

People tell me that "yoga isn't for me" or they don't like yoga. I am absolutely certain that therapeutic yoga, such as Pat practiced (and which Hansa practices now) would be perfect for anyone, anywhere, any time. Over the decades I met MANY of Pat's current and former students: every one seemed to feel the same way I did about her and working with her.

Something in me tells me I wouldn't be alive today if I had not had the extraordinary help of this amazing woman. 

All of our days are numbered. And most of us somehow never find the time to acknowledge the profound debt we owe this or that friend along the way. 

I have no doubt Pat knew how grateful I was for the gift of health she provided me. I also wish to thank John Bayard and Lainie Jackson: after a decade or so of solo therapy, they joined me for more years than I can reckon and we all three--gardeners with similar gardening ailments--spent a magical hour every week-- being coached and helped by Pat. These are some of the sweetest and best hours of my life. There aren't many things in my life I could say that about. Even gardening has its bad days!

Thank you, Hansa, not just for these pictures--but for being there to help continue this wonderful process!

Bucking the system...or why I grow plants

Bukiniczia cabulica

The first three pictures were taken yesterday (September 28). I first grew this plant as Dictyolimon macrorhabdos--that name pertaining to a closely related (and also variegated leaf) plant from the same region which is perennial and yellow flowered. I saw the true Dictyolimon at the fabled Gothenburg botanic garden and still dream about it. The generic epithet translates as "netted Limonium"--a rather appropriate name for either taxon.

 It was Henrik Zetterlund--curator at Gothenburg--who first collected the plants we grow in cultivation on the "SEP" (Swedish Expedition to Pakistan) in the early 1980's. Dan Johnson and I also collected it there in 2001 [our form had coarser variegation and is probably lost to cultivation]. It was distributed under the incorrect Dictyolimon name at the time--which (incidentally) the Global Biodiversity Information Facility continues to confuse-q.v. I wonder how many of my Blog followers will jump down that rabbit hole?

For most of the late 20th and early 21st century I grew this as Aeoniopsis cabulica--the generic epithet suggesting "it looks like an Aeonium"--which is true enough, and the specific alluding to the capital of Afghanistan, where presumably it occurs (if it hasn't been bombed to smithereens there). This name was sanctioned by Flora iranica--Rechinger's priceless shelf-full of books that Solange Gignac (of blessed memory) purchased for Denver Botanic Gardens' library at my behest. Rechinger named Dictyolimon--ironically.

A particularly appealing specimen in my new crevice garden I photographed this spring. Somewhere, someone along the way decided that it needed a new generic epithet--hence Bukiniczia--the significance of which is lost on me. But cabulica remains. Just as the name keeps changing so do the plants. One says "I've grown this or that plant"--but each individual plant has its own allure, its own quiddity. Just as Bertrand Russell pointed out (correcting Heraclitus) you never step into the same river once.

Moreover, Bukiniczia is monocarpic: you enjoy the rosette on year, the next it produces its messy sheaf of bloom (which I never photograph) which devolve into thousands of seeds every one of which seems to want to germinate!

I photographed this growing in a chink of a wall at Durango Botanic Gardens a few years ago. Who wouldn't want that in one of ones own chinks?

For a while Bukiniczia ran wild at my dear friend Sandy Snyder's magnificent old garden (which I featured many times in other posts)*. These are weathered old rosettes that will bloom in a few months--still looking surprisingly good after a wretched Colorado winter. Draba hispanica sets them off!

A shot of the same area taken in fall--the rosettes are fresher and more pristine. I am dumbfounded that Plant Select never chose to promote this plant: any nursery that grows it sees the pots of it flying out the door. And 99% of the people who grow it will cut the messy seedheads before the seed ripens, so they won't get self sown seedlings and will have to buy the plant again (a nurseryman's dream!). In fact you'll be hard put to buy plants of this anywhere any time. Savvy people grow it from seed: I have collected vast quantities of seed in the past at the Gardens at Kendrick Lake: alas, the staff there "renovated" the bed where these grew and proliferated, and it's extinct there...

But it's alive and well in my crevice garden--where I collected a bounty of seed I will contribute to the North Amerian Rock Garden Society's fantastic seed exchange--which shall open in December. There's time for you to join www.nargs.org and line up for this and thousands of other treasures (I donate hundreds of packets each year). NARGS has much, much to offer--a fantastic Quarterly [still printed in paper--unlike the poor A.G.S. which went digital this year] and no end of other bennies such as tours, conferences, webinars. And more!

The system that NARGS and Bukiniczia buck is modern commercial culture. And specious "Progress"--join us and you'll join the world of Nature's ineluctable allure. Where every leaf, every rosette, every blossom is a treasure far greater than anything corporate culture can hurl in your face!

*I must remember to give Sandy a handful of fresh seed to scatter in her magnificent new crevice garden at her NEW place! One must never be without Bukiniczia!

Late summer gold

 I dropped by to pick Marilyn Raff* up to carpool to the mountains last Saturday and spied this golden mound in her garden. That did it: I have to blog about Eriogonum allenii--the shale barren buckwheat that Marilyn has championed in both her gardens over the decades.

Here is my specimen--now diminished after at least a decade--in my home garden. It's growing in a bit of shade, which explains its more open habit.

Here's the same plant another year with moon carrot providing a foil.

I suspect the most spectacular public garden display of this outstanding plant is at Denver Botanic Garden's Chatfield Farms: a dozen or so clumps here and there on the small rock garden that's adjacent to the labyrinth.

These pictures were taken just before COVID, but I am sure the buckwheat is still blooming well there: it's long lived, long blooming and just generally cool. I know there are a ton of yellow daisies that bloom in late summer. Unlike so many goldenrods (Solidago), this plant doesn't sucker or seed enthusiastically. Flowers last for the better part of two months, aging a gorgeous orange and red. The foliage is large and leathery, taking on wonderful tones with frost.

Here's a particularly sumptuous specimen at Chatfield

Here you can see the basal rosette of large, oval leaves. These take on wonderful orange and red tints in the fall.

At Chatfield again--showing what a terrific mass of color they can provide.

My specimen in late fall--it ages to a really lovely shade of tawny orange--yet another season of interest.

A map taken from BONAP (https://bonap.net/MapGallery/County/Eriogonum%20allenii.png) showing the distribution of E. allenii in the wild. The map doesn't fully convey that the range is not just the Appalachians but the shale barrens that occur there which contain quite a few endemic and rare plants--many with affinities with our Western American flora

Here is the range of ALL Eriogonum species in the continental United States. It is obviously a genus with a primarily Western distribution. It's not surprising that the shale barren buckwheat has adapted so well to xeric gardens in the Western United States!

*Marilyn Raff is an accomplished garden designer and friend of many years. She designed and created gardens as a business for much of the late 20th Century in the Denver area, and she has volunteered at Denver Botanic Gardens for nearly 4 decades. She has authored six books, Most of which are available on Used Book sites such as bookshop.org or signed copies of some can be purchased directly from Marilyn on her website (https://marilynraff.com/books/). She is an artist and keen connoisseur of all manner of cuisine as well. 

Dr. Seuss Aloe?

Karel DuToit next to his Avatar, Aloe pillansii

If Dr. Seuss were an Aloe fan, I suspect Aloe pillansii would have been his favorite--which has a sort of absurd resemblance to trees in some of his books. It rates high for Karel DuToit--shown here standing next to a fine specimen (Karel's on the right--to be clear!). Karel named his company for this tree (Pillansii tours)--and he produced a shirt emblazoned with an image of this very specimen! Which I possess and should add to this post when I get around to it!

Seeing this aloe was high on my wish list for this trip (we tore through that list in record time and saw ever so much more!). Karel told me there are only about 1000 specimens of this aloe in the wild--and the hill above has the largest colony.

Here is Jan standing next to another stalwart example: each tree had its own peculiar character...

We were pleased to see young specimens here and there...

The Richtersveld (where these grow) is an extremely arid region, with temperatures in excess of 40 Celsius in the summer months. Drought is practically never ending...

Occasional dead specimens like the one on the right inspire speculation: just how long has that been dead? How old might it have been?

There were surprising numbers of choice plants growing around and among the aloes--I believe this is Euphorbia dregeana.

Next blog perhaps will feature the wealth of choice bulbs, herbaceous plants, shrubs and succulents growing nearby...

The Last Note: Coincidence?

 

Tο τελευταίο σημείωμα (The last note)

On May 1, 2019 I was flying from Athens to Denver on an United Arab Emirate flight that was completely full. As usual, I flew economy and was a little distressed that my surprisingly petite "B" seat was located between an African American couple ("A" and "C")--distressed not by their race (I hasten to add) but by their size. Those who know me personally are aware I wear size double X shirts and am embarrassed to confess that I'm "morbidly obese" according to dietitians. My mirror assures me I'm not that fat--and I was considerably more svelte than the very polite--but truly enormous--couple between whom I was sandwiched.

There was no way I could take out my laptop (or even a tablet if I had had one) on this rather long flight (just to New York or Dulles--can't recall which). I think it was 10 hours duration. I don't always watch movies on a plane, but that was obviously going to be the best way to pass time (although we somehow managed to jostle meals en route). I don't want to brag, but I am an unusually good traveler. Not many things faze me when I'm traveling, and I do remember I even managed a pretty good snooze at one point during this flight...but it was a very long flight indeed!

I did squeeze in two movies. I am always amazed at how many movies they manage to make available on flights. I am a lover of movies--and what surprises me even more is despite scrolling through dozens and dozens of flick promos, surprisingly few have any interest for me (I hate movies with gratuitous blood, almost any "action picture" I find boring, let's skip the cartoons this flight, then there are those sincere, heartfelt dramas that turn my stomach and finally a few old classics I occasionally like to revisit). One of my recent flights had a Wes Anderson movie (I was thrilled outta my mind! "Moonrise Kingdom"--loved it btw). Emirates had the usual vast store of unacceptable titles--I scrolled through. Somehow I'd managed to miss "Ghostbusters" when it first came out in 1984. I watched it...watchable at the time, although I have no residue of memory about it (bad sign). Perhaps because I was too focused on finding the ghost "Slimer" who my good buddy Bill Adams told me decades ago looked like an albino Scrophularia macrantha flower [there! I did it: snuck in a botanical reference!--the inclusion of this little essay in my very chlorophilic Blog is now justified!]

It's a long flight...I scrolled the endless list of English-speaking mediocre films again and again. This WAS an Emirates flight after all--and sure enough there was a vast array of OTHER film offerings: dozens of films in Arabic (obviously), a whole section of Japanese movies, Chinese, Korean, French, German and by God! there was a section of GREEK movies. I'd just spent two weeks in Greece--and I speak Greek for Heaven's sake! I'll watch one of those...

I picked The Last Note

You can read a synopsis and even watch the trailer for this movie here. The storyline is an echo of Sophie's choice, only here the protagonist must choose another prisoner to replace him or join the 200 who were sent to the firing squad. He chooses to join the 200. Among whom was also my uncle.

Panagiotis Kornaros (painting in my home)

 Not long into watching the movie I realized, of course, that my uncle might well have been part of the plot--and as I saw the group shots of the prisoners in the concentration camp I imagined him among them--I kept wondering if he (or a actor portraying him) might even be granted a cameo.

The final scene where the doomed are being marched from Haidari to Kaisairiani to their death, I  looked intently, intensively at the marchers, as if I might have caught a glimpse of him among them.

In the credits, however, all 200 martyrs (the cream of the progressive Greek intelligentsia of the time) were listed by name. And I spied his there among them.

I don't think that outwardly I showed the shock and agony I experienced inside myself as the film drew to a close. I sat there stunned for some time. Somehow the date, May 1, 1944 was evident--perhaps in the description of the movie, or in the closing scenes. It didn't take long for me to recall that my flight was taking place on May 1, 2019.

There's something fatidic about anniversaries--the 75th being somehow more resonant than had it been the 72nd or 83rd, say.

I am not particularly superstitious, nor prone to conspiracy theories. Although in a vague pantheistic fashion, I can be accused of being spiritual. My life, however, is rife with uncanny coincidences--this being a particularly succulent example., Something I attribute more to a sort of Nabokovian temporal patterning rather than true Fate or the Master's hand.

Who knows, maybe I'm wrong?

Postscript.

I posted a link to this blog post on Facebook where it was subsequently barred--because it alleged I was trying to solicit "likes"! I did enter a protest and hope they change their minds.*

*Follow up to that postscript: Facebook recanted and posted my link to this blog (to give them credit): the protest worked!