Summertime Sound Bites: Curious Cat in a 'Lunch Pail Tree'

With food prices ever increasing, SAM and I have been working on turning our landscape into more of an edible one. As part of that effort, the Loropetalum tree--not edible as far as I know but too beautiful to cut down--that shades the front porch now holds pots of herbs. Can you spot the Cuban oregano (Plectranthus amboinicus) in one of them? Not a true oregano, also called Indian Borage, it has large variegated leaves, is very aromatic, and tastes wonderful in just about any dish that calls for oregano. I purchased it earlier this year at a Santa Rosa County Master Gardener plant sale. After watching its vigorous habit in a pot, I'm not about to turn it loose in the landscape. It might get carried away and cover everything in sight with its aromatic self, at least until freezing weather knocks it out. It's more suited for much warmer climates. 

The Loropetalum might as well be called the Lunch Pail Tree now. Remember that unusual tree in Frank Baum's story Ozma of Oz (you might have seen it in the film Return to Oz)?  It seems that Peanut the cat would agree that lunch is right at hand, only it's not herbs she has a taste for. The mockingbirds attracted to our edible landscape delight in taunting her. Now I'm not encouraging her to "thin their herd," but I won't discourage her from putting the Fear of Gardener into them.

Shortly after we moved back here, I noted that the local mockingbird population had exploded. We had already made great progress on the edible landscaping with the addition of blueberry bushes and plum trees a few years ago, and then pear and persimmon trees were planted shortly before we moved away. A few weeks ago, I told Peanut that I would be very disturbed if all of our work were fruitless on account of the birds. At least this time, she must have been paying attention to me.

Sylvan Settings and Golden Aurelia--Liminal Secrets to Good Health

Now, my co-mates and brothers in exile,
Hath not old custom made this life more sweet
Than that of painted pomp? Are not these woods
More free from peril than the envious court?
Here feel we not the penalty of Adam,
The seasons' difference, as the icy fang
And churlish chiding of the winter's wind,
Which when it bites and blows upon my body
Even till I shrink with cold, I smile and say
"This is no flattery; these are counselors
That feelingly persuade me what I am..."
--from As You Like It by William Shakespeare, Act 2, Scene 1--

I hope that my brothers and sisters in exile--holed up indoors while winter rages on outside--find some warm, Southern comfort in this post and the words of Duke Senior. On the last day of January, my Secret Aging Man and I walked some trails in the woods at UWF.

Peanut the Younger often takes chances by leaping onto favorite trees. She really seems to favor this Loropetalum. I'm thinking it must have an extra helping of prana--the life force or energy that is supposed to be holding this old world together. Our massage therapist daughter has taken a class in pranic healing and sometimes practices what she has learned on us.

The Secret Aging Man (aka Hubby) takes his pruning seriously and recommends a session for the crepe myrtle in the backyard. Lately, I have seen these trees around here, severely trimmed and making it look like a mad barber has been turned loose on the town. I agreed with the recommendation, but I'm afraid to show you the results of the session. Maybe I'll wait until there is some new growth sprouting in the spring.

At this time of year, when the evening comes early and the frosty air chases us indoors as soon as the sun sets, silly things like lava lamps take us back in time for a laugh or two.

The simplest things keep us satisfied these days, which is a good thing, because they are relatively cheap but oh-so-valuable for nutrition. Gold standards may change with time, but excellence in nutrition and health never goes out of style. Thomas More's Utopia (first published in 1516) found interesting solutions to the problem of maintaining a high standard of living in a world even then obsessed with possessions:

Now if in their society [Utopia] these metals [gold and silver] were put away in
some tower, the ruler and the senate might be suspected of deceiving the people
by some trick and getting some good from it for themselves--such is the foolish
anxiety of the mob. And then if they made platters out of them or other vessels
made by goldsmiths, if ever the occasion arose to melt them down and use them to
pay mercenaries, they realize that once people had begun to delight in them they
would be reluctant to give them up. To obviate these difficulties they have
thought up a method quite compatible with the rest of their arrangements but
very far removed from ours (for we value gold very highly and hide it away quite
carefully), a method which is therefore hard to believe unless you have
experienced it. Whereas they eat and drink from vessels of earthenware and
glass, beautifully crafted but inexpensive, they use gold and silver, not only
in the common halls but also in private houses, to make all the chamberpots and
lowliest containers.

I hope I am correct in identifying this jellyfish as Aurelia aurita, a moon jellyfish. It does not look exactly like the photos I have found online but close enough by description of size and color. Notably missing are the reproductive organs clearly evident in the other photos I have seen. It was not moving like the Portugese man o' war I saw on Pensacola Beach last month. Maybe its reproductive days are over, which would be a crying shame. It might be one of those valuable jellyfish deemed edible by discriminating palates in some Asian countries. Sushi, anyone?

...Sweet are the uses of adversity,
Which, like the toad, ugly and venomous,
Wears yet a precious jewel in his head;
And this our life, exempt from public haunt,
Finds tongues in trees, books in the running brooks,
Sermons in stones, and good in everything.
--from As You Like It, 2.1.12-17--

Yule Haul

Waiting

Serene, I fold my hands and wait,

Nor care for wind nor tide nor sea;

I rave no more 'gainst time or fate,

For lo! my own shall come to me.

I stay my haste, I make delays--

For what avails this eager pace?

I stand amid the eternal ways

And what is mine shall know my face.

You never know what waits for you at the end of a long journey from a far-away, frozen land. It could be a hammock on the patio in the sun and a friendly, familiar face...

...or two, or more.

Asleep, awake, by night or day,
The friends I seek are seeking me,
No wind can drive my bark astray
Nor change the tide of destiny.
What matter if I stand alone?
I wait with joy the coming years,
My heart shall reap where it has sown,
And garner up in fruit of tears.


You may find the annual rye you had sown a few weeks ago finally making an appearance on a drab winter lawn in Northwest Florida. You wonder if that guy at the agricultural check station could really believe someone claiming to be hauling home a few pots of his wife's herbs all the way from Illinois. You have discovered that honesty is still the best policy. And it never hurts to have a long line of trucks waiting behind you to dispel any doubt. The Loropetalum, among other things, lets you know that winter here is a lot more colorful now that you are home.

The waters know their own, and draw

The brook that springs in yonder height;

So flows the good with equal law

Unto the soul of pure delight.

The stars come nightly to the sky;

The tidal wave unto the sea;

Nor time, nor space, nor deep, nor high,

Can keep my own away from me.

--"Waiting" by John Burroughs (1837-1921)--

Love Bugs--Hermione's Revenge?

I love to see this Loropetalum shrub which I have trained into a tree. It blooms practically all year just beyond our front porch here in Florida, where the weather is still rather warm right now and the love bugs are swarming...again.





[Aside] Too hot, too hot!


To mingle friendship far is mingling bloods.


I have tremor cordis on me: my heart dances;


But not for joy; not joy. This entertainment


May a free face put on, derive a liberty


From heartiness, from bounty, fertile bosom,


And well become the agent; 't may, I grant;


But to be paddling palms and pinching fingers,


As now they are, and making practised smiles,


As in a looking-glass, and then to sigh, as 'twere


The mort o' the deer; O, that is entertainment...

--from William Shakespeare's Winter's Tale--

Rose in Illinois recently asked me what a love bug is. Can words adequately describe this free-loving menace to southern living? I have found a few words here and there that just might satisfy your curiosity about the critters. They are seldom seen alone, and you almost feel sorry for the poor males. I said almost. Washing windows is not recommended during love bug season, but I had no choice if I wanted to get this autumn chore done before leaving Florida this weekend. If I get home for Christmas, I would like to see the sun shining brightly through my windows and the Loropetalum blooming just beyond them.

A Time for Pruning

Once I got done mowing and trimming our acre in Florida this morning, I took a closer look at the roses surrounding the house and found them in dire need of pruning. In the northeast corner of the lanai, this Knockout has taken over and is beginning to rub against the screen.

Here, an unnamed daylily (purchased at a box store real cheap!) struggles valiantly past the Knockout to reach some sunlight.


This lovely tree rose is Honey Perfume. I definitely need more of this one. It has grown taller than any tree rose I have ever seen. It must be over six feet tall. The Thuja look like green sentinels protecting the rose from any harm. Fortunately, they are a slow growing variety and very fragrant themselves. I think the name is Emerald Green. Quite fitting, don't you think?

Here is another jungle, only this time in the flower bed at the front of the house. As you can see, the Loropetalum (I have trained it into a tree) is trying to make a comeback as a shrub, sending shoots out from around the bottom of its trunk. Can you spot the small lion (Peanut) roaring at me from her shady hiding place? I have a lot of work to do this weekend. An absence of several months can spell trouble for this gardener who likes her growing spaces to be in order. I can see that this morning's mowing was just the beginning.