Rhodora Roaring And Bend Over Betty

     The Rhodora is roaring on the roadsides, and oh - a lovely thing she is! I grew up calling this a Swamp azalea, because that's what my mother called it. Swamp azaleas are actually a totally different critter, more common in the south than the flower you see here. Swamp azaleas are usually white, though they can be pink, but not this magenta color. The outrageous magenta flowers seen in ditches, swamps and bogs in Maine are Rhodora, correctly Rhododendron canadensis. I captured her first blossom, the start of her hollering, on May 22nd. The Service Berry trees are passing as the Rhodora begins to bloom. Rhodora blooms before the leaves come out, making the flowers more obvious. One or two blossoms might not be too impressive, but the little shrubs boast hundreds of flowers making them en masse, very showy. Once the flowers go by, the shrub all but disappears into obscurity as the narrow, bluish green leaves blend in with surrounding vegetation.
     In the nineteen hundreds, taxonomists thought this was a distinct genus from the rhododendrons because of the flower shape, thus the name Rhodora. The blossoms have three lobes, rather than five like other rhodos. The floral structure is different, too. The flowers have no true tube or throat which would hold all the various plant parts together. Instead, the flower is split almost from its base with an upper three-lobed lip and two lateral strap-shaped petals. The stamens, styles and stigmas are large and protrude, exceeding the length of the petals. In the two photos below, the differences are clear between the Rhodora on the top and the rhododendron on the bottom.
     Eventually, the taxonomists changed their minds about where Rhodora belonged and included her in the genus of rhododendrons, but her name stuck, nonetheless. As with birding, just about the time you think you've got a name straight, the rules of play also change in botany. Rhodora is not endangered. The outrageous magenta blooms can be seen on the roadsides from Pennsylvania to northern New Jersey, northward to Ontario, Quebec and the Canadian Maritimes. The ostentateous magenta isn't eveyone's favorite but, in the Northeast we forgive and love Rhodora's tastelessness as a sure sign that summer is about to erupt.

Rhododendron canadensis, commonly  known as Rhodora on the top. A cultivated rhododendron on the bottom.

Range map for Rhododendron canadensis

Ralph Waldo Emmerson thought Rhodora was swell, too. I've never been a big Ralph fan, but I have his famous poem for you here.

The Rhodora

On being asked, whence is the flower.

In May, when sea-winds pierced our solitudes,
I found the fresh Rhodora in the woods,
Spreading its leafless blooms in a damp nook,
To please the desert and the sluggish brook.
The purple petals fallen in the pool
Made the black water with their beauty gay;
Here might the red-bird come his plumes to cool,
And court the flower that cheapens his array.
Rhodora! if the sages ask thee why
This charm is wasted on the earth and sky,
Tell them, dear, that, if eyes were made for seeing,
Then beauty is its own excuse for Being;
Why thou wert there, O rival of the rose!
I never thought to ask; I never knew;
But in my simple ignorance suppose
The self-same power that brought me there, brought you.

     Another garish roadside presence in spring and summer in Maine is the Bend Over Betty lawn ornament, or yard art. Here, we pronounce that "yah-d  ah-t." She's surely no beauty, but she does have presence. Once in a while, she is accompanied by her partner, Bend Over Bob. He is also seen only from the rear and with his boxers showing. Like the color magenta, their beauty is in the eye of the beholder. Once the novelty has worn off, they are often seen listing sideways with the weeds growing up around them. Like a derelict Bend Over Betty, I too can be found hip deep in the weeds of late. As the Rhodora blooms gardening season is flourishing, too. So, I've been lost to Weeding For Dollars and have not written for a month.
     Numerous of you have sent e mail inquiring as to where I've been. "Have you gone underground," I was asked. No, but close to it, bent over with my head to the dirt, hands moving through the earth, pulling, teasing and chopping at the unwelcome, a professional Bend Over Betty. It has moved me that I have been missed. There could hardly be a worse insult than for my absence to have gone unnoticed. Rest assured that I am out here, like a tennis ball your dog lost in the tall grass.

Yours truly, Bend Over Betty

Better not to ask about the rabbit and the donkey.

Thanks for some of the information to: 

Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia

Johnson, Charles W. 1985. Bogs of the Northeast. University of New England Press, Hanover, New Hampshire and London, England.

Appalachian Mountain Club. 1964. AMC Field Guide to Mountain Flowers of New England. Appalachian Mountain Club, Boston, Massachusetts.

Slack, N. G. and A. W. Bell. 1995. Field Guide to the New England Alpine Summits. Appalachian Mountain Club, Boston, Massachusetts.

Wallner, J. and M. J. DiGregorio. 1997. New England’s Mountain Flowers: A High Country Heritage. In cooperation with the New England Wild Flower Society. Mountain Press Publishing Company, Missoula, Montana.

Wordless Wednesday - Johnny-Jump-Ups Are Heartsease

     I started this post as a Wordless Wednesday, but could not keep my mouth shut. These flowers are Johnny-Jump-Ups, also known as Heartsease.  In my gardens in coastal Maine, they are the first and last flowers to bloom. The Johnnies jump up in April continuing through November. In years past, I have photographed them coming up through the snow. Native to the Pyrenees and Spain, violas escaped from gardens and naturalized across this country.  They are the progenitor of the familiar pansy.         
       Johnny-Jump-Ups are also called Heartsease with a long history in herbalism. The viola has been used to treat epilepsy, asthma, skin diseases and eczema. It has expectorant properties, and so has been used in the treatment of chest complaints such as bronchitis and whooping cough. A diuretic, it's been used in treating rheumatism and bladder inflammation.  Also, the flowers were considered good for diseases of the heart, from which may have come its popular name of Heartsease as much as from belief in it as a love potion.             
     A quirk of some violas is the elusive scent of the flowers which temporarily desensitises the receptors of the nose, preventing further scent from being detected from the flower until the nerves recover.
    When just opened, Viola flowers are used to decorate salads or in stuffings for poultry or fish. Deserts like soufflés and creams can be flavoured with essence of Viola. The young leaves are edible raw or cooked. The flowers and leaves of some varieties have a distinct vanilla flavor with hints of wintergreen, delicious in salads. Candied violet or crystallized violet is preserved with a coating of egg white and sugar and still made commercially in Toulouse, France. Violet syrup is also made in France from the flowers' extract. In the United States, the syrup is used to make violet scones and marshmallows.
     Johnny-Jump-Ups, Viola ordorata are also used to make perfume. Because it comes and goes when it turns off the sense of smell, it's thought of as a flirty fragrance.
     In the language of flowers and speaking to the long time popularity of the flowers, Johnny-Jump-Ups have many other names:
Wild Pansy, Love-Lies-Bleeding, Love-in-Idleness, Live-in-Idleness, Loving Idol, Love Idol, Cull Me, Cuddle Me, Call-me-to-you, Jack-jump-up-and-kiss-me, Meet-me-in-the-Entry, Kiss-her-in-the-Buttery (that sounds rude, now doesn't it?), Three-Faces-under-a-Hood (so does that), Kit-run-in-the-Fields, Pink-o'-the-Eye, Kit-run-about, Stepmother, Godfathers and Godmothers, Herb Trinitatis, Herb Constancy, Pink-eyed-John, Bouncing Bet, Flower o'luce, Bird's Eye and Bullweed.
     Call it what ever you wish, where ever you wish to call it, the tiny violas give my heart ease whenever I see them. In the spring, I think "Johnny has jumped up - winter is over!" In the late fall, I think "Johnny's still jumping -summer can't really be gone." How can you go wrong with a flower that can be used to treat a snotty nose or a broken heart, to flavor a marshmallow or scone? Now if only I can get violas to take the rap when I run at the mouth on a Wordless Wednesday. Don't blame me; the flowers made me do it.

Sandfire, Pickles & Mouse Nipples - Salicornia Or Sarcocornia

    A few days ago, while birding on Green Point in Phippsburg, I photographed this stunning plant. The top photo is the same plant, just not as mature as the one on the bottom. It was growing on a sandbar along the shore on what would be considered tidal marsh amongst eel grasses and Sea Lavender. I just thought it was pretty, but it turns out to be a complex and useful plant. Put it this way, if you ever wind up on the moon or a desert island with me, you'll thank your lucky stars. 

      Sarcocornia is a subfamily member of the genus Salicornia, a large family of salt-tolerant succulents. The taxonomy of this family is difficult and controversial because the morphology of the plants is very similar. You've really got to be a botanist to sort it out.  Though many authors disagree, the plants are generally separated based on the flower structure and whether they are perennial or shrubby, versus annual. The botanical name has changed several times because the the separation of Sarcocornia from Salicornia was not generally accepted until after the start of the 21st century. In 2001, it was called Salicornia perennis; in 2004 it was called Arthrocnemun perenne, and in 2006 it was called Sarcocornia perennis. Next year? Who knows! I for one, can hardly stand the drama. Don't you just hate it when botanists fight? It's like that show Jersey Shore for God's sake! I only bothered to tell you because all that made looking up about this pretty, red plant very difficult. I've saved you a load of work there. See? You're already glad you are on the desert island with me; I can tell. 

      The genus names come from the Greek, 'sarco,' meaning flesh, and the Latin, 'cornia,' meaning horn, and 'sal,' which is salt. That's easy enough to remember, no? Thankfully, the common names are delightful and memorable. Called Saltwort, Glasswort,  Samphire, Sandfire, Sea Beans, Chickenclaws and Mouse Nipples, it's edible. The name "Glasswort," comes from the soda-rich ashes left after burning the plant which were used in early glass and soap making. According to some references, it's also being considered as a biofuel as the seeds are high in oils. Salicornia not only grows on salt marshes, but grows in deserts and can be irrigated with salt water. It is also used as fodder for cattle, sheep and goats and in Sri Lanka, it is used to feed donkeys. What could be more useful than that?
     They are also edible and a common food stuff in Brittany where they pickle it. The vernacular name ‘samphire’ comes from ‘sampere,’ an early English name from the French ‘herbe de St.Pierre.’ I thought 'Sandfire' came from the flaming red that the aging plant turns in the fall, but it turns out that's an English mangling of the French. Go figure. On this continent, in the Maritime provences of Canada it is steamed or sauteed, then doused with butter. It's usually served with salmon, though I did find a pairing with lamb. I haven't tried it, but it's reported to be very salty, thus, the name "Saltwort." The Acadians named it after mouse nipples because of the little, dotlike balls that cluster on the stem. "Chickenclaws" also comes from the appearance, "Sea Beans" from what it looks like cooked - little, green beans. Salicornias are harvested when the plants are young and can be eaten fresh. Inside the flesh is a stringy center. It's cooked with the roots on, then pulled through the teeth leaving behind the core.
     I hope you have stayed awake and taken all of this in. Your life could one day depend on it. The next time you are out on a salt marsh, look for this beautiful, versatile plant. If you get stranded out there or on a desert island with me, you'll be able to feed, wash, warm and save your ass with one plant.

Get Your Mind Out Of The Gutter

This is an Impatien viewed close-up. That’s all, but I know what you were thinking. It is the rare person who does not immediately think of the secret parts of the human form. Our second thought is, “Oh! Wait a minute - that’s a flower!” So, why is it that our response is “get your mind out of the gutter,” as if our first thought is a shameful place to be? Psychotherapists have made fortunes declaring answers to that question. I’ve been working on a project composed of macro shots of flowers and their intimate parts, the parts that jump out at us and make us squirm. There’s nothing subtle about it, either. I choose the most provocative elements, because they stir the moment of unrest that I want to evoke in the viewer. I want to shove you off your mark, to disturb you. Why is that? The simple answer is that it gets attention; the deeper answer is that I want to stand out from the crowd. I confess that I have always yearned to be somebody, though my secret fear is that I'll conclude my life in banal mediocrity. My intense dread motivates me to learn to do a lot of things, too. I belong to a photography focus group where progress on individual projects is reviewed and discussed. It has irked the hell out of me when presenting my project, that the frequent response is ‘Oh ya, like what’s her name………O’Keeffe, ya, Georgia O’Keeffe.” NO! Not her, me! Georgia O’Keeffe was wrongly accused. Art historians claim she did not intend her paintings of Calla lily pistils and labia like Hibiscus to be construed as pornographic. It was her husband, Alfred Stieglitz (ironically, a photographer) who promoted her work with that language. In fact, those works are not representative of her work overall, but simply those that are most popularly recognized. And why is that? Because, they are the works that jolted the masses, not her more subtle, complex abstractions. They are the works which scream to the thing that we all have in common, our bodies and its urges. So, that’s where I decided to start - no disguises, no fans, no feathers, no bubbles, just unabashed posy porn. I chose an impatien as my opening piece because they are possibly the most ubiquitous bedding (see, there you go again) plant. They take shade and full sun. They live confined in containers or sprawling on the ground. They reseed prolifically, mutate readily, survive neglect and outright abuse and come in every possible color. They are simple, beautiful. They may not be the most complicated, but they are the best known, the Barry Manilow of the flower world. I’ll take that kind of recognition. Unlike Georgia O’Keeffe, I’m not beating around the bush.