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"Pay attention to the world." -- Susan Sontag
 

New Year’s Day 2025 (An Anemone Puff Piece)

From “How to Find Happiness Through the Year” in Lovingly: Poems for All Seasons by Helen Steiner Rice:

Everybody, everywhere
seeks happiness, it’s true,
But finding it and keeping it
seems difficult to do,
Difficult because we think
that happiness is found
Only in the places where
wealth and fame abound —
And so we go on searching
in ‘palaces of pleasure’
Seeking recognition
and monetary treasure,
Unaware that happiness
is just a ‘state of mind’
Within the reach of everyone
who takes time to be kind —
For in making others happy
we will be happy too,
For the happiness you give away
returns to ‘shine on you’.

From “The White Anemone” by Owen Meredith in One Thousand Poems for Children, selected by Elizabeth Hough Sechrist:

‘Tis the white anemone, fashioned so
Like to the stars of the winter snow,
First thinks, “If I come too soon, no
     doubt
I shall seem but the snow that stayed
     too long,
So ’tis I that will be Spring’s unguessed
     scout,”
And wide she wanders the woods
     among
Then, from out of the mossiest hiding-
     places,
Smile meek moonlight-colored faces
Of pale primroses puritan,
In maiden sisterhood demure;
Each virgin floweret faint and wan
With the bliss of her own sweet breath
     so pure.


Hello!

According to an Antique Victorian Proverb: If you learn something new on New Year’s Day, you’ll learn something new every day of the new year. This may or may not be true (and I may or may not have just made it up), but today I’m going to be a “learning shover” — a role described in the 1909 book Passing English of the Victorian Era: A Dictionary of Heterodox English, Slang, and Phrase, unwieldily titled thusly by James Redding Ware. “Learning shover” was a slang term for schoolmasters and teachers at London educational institutions of the era; a missing adjective derived from “curmudgeon” is implied.

I took the photographs in this post in December, on a hunting trip at Oakland Cemetery’s gardens, looking for late fall color that would end up in one of my Christmas project posts, Seven Days to Christmas: When Nature Does the Decorating. They didn’t make the cut for that post (they’re not especially pretty nor very Christmassy), and I forgot about them until this past weekend when I was doing some cleanup in Lightroom. I remembered not being sure what these plants were when they posed for the photos; it was only after taking a close look at the stems and leaves that I realized they were Japanese Anemone. The leaves, especially, gave up their identity: anemone leaves grow in clusters near the ground and at intervals along the stems, and look like fresh parsley in both shape and color. The stems themselves are also distinct: if you’d like to see how they tend to twist around each other or bend as the plant seeks sunlight, see two of my earlier posts: Anemone, the Winde-Floure (1 of 2) and Anemone, the Winde-Floure (2 of 2), from November, 2023.

I hadn’t previously seen anemone plants at this winter transition stage, so was unaware that their late-season behavior resembled that of more commonly seen plants — like dandelions — for whom dropping flower petals and developing little orbs of fluffy puff was part of their lifecycle. Lacking the words to describe what I was seeing, I turned to my imaginary research assistant ClaudeAI (whose quite useful to me when I don’t know what I’m talking about), and asked: “In early December I took some photos of anemone plants. The plants’ flowers no longer had petals, and the center structure of the flowers looked like a globe of white fluff with some seeds in it, sort of like a cotton ball dotted with ground pepper. How is this change in the flower’s appearance explained botanically?” And ClaudeAI said:

What you’re observing is the fascinating transformation of anemone flowers from their showy flowering stage to their seed-dispersal stage….. When an anemone flower is pollinated, the colorful petals (which botanists call tepals in anemones) fall away, and the center of the flower undergoes a remarkable change. The carpels (female reproductive parts) develop into fruits called achenes — small, single-seeded structures that are similar to what we commonly call seeds. Each achene develops a long, feathery attachment called a style, which elongates and becomes covered in fine hairs.

These feathery styles serve a crucial purpose in seed dispersal. Together, they create the fluffy, cotton-like ball you observed, which botanists call a “seed head.” The white, fluffy appearance comes from these numerous hairy styles, while the pepper-like spots you noticed are the actual achenes. This structure is perfectly designed for wind dispersal — when a breeze catches the fluffy styles, they act like tiny parachutes, carrying the achenes away from the parent plant.

This adaptation is particularly interesting because it’s similar to what we see in other members of the buttercup family (Ranunculaceae), to which anemones belong. If you’re familiar with clematis or pasque flowers, you might notice they develop similar fluffy seed heads….

Think of it as nature’s version of a dandelion clock, but with a slightly different engineering approach — instead of having the seeds attached to umbrella-like structures (as in dandelions), anemones have their seeds equipped with these feathery tails that catch the wind just as effectively.

I wanted to learn a little more (of course!) — so I asked ClaudeAI to explain exactly how the seeds get dispersed:

The seed dispersal process in these plants is a masterpiece of natural engineering, and understanding how the seeds detach reveals fascinating adaptations that have evolved over millions of years.

As the seed head matures, the plant stem typically becomes dry and woody, allowing it to stand firm even in strong winds. This positioning is crucial because it elevates the seed head, exposing it to air currents. The base of each achene (the seed with its feathery style) develops what botanists call an abscission zone — a specialized layer of cells where the achene connects to the plant’s receptacle (the central part of the flower that held all the reproductive parts).

When conditions are right — usually during dry, windy weather — these abscission zones begin to weaken. Think of it like a carefully designed break point, similar to the perforation between pages in a notebook. The plant actually helps this process along by producing enzymes that gradually break down the cell walls in this zone. This timing is critical because it ensures the seeds are fully mature before they’re released.

The detachment process itself is quite elegant. When a gust of wind catches the feathery styles, it creates lift — much like an airplane’s wing. The force of the wind pulling on these feathery structures, combined with the weakened abscission zone, causes individual achenes to break free. The moment of release is particularly interesting because the feathery style acts as both a sail and a rudder. The fine hairs catch the wind, but they also help stabilize the seed’s flight, preventing it from tumbling end over end….

This dispersal method is so effective that a single seed can travel considerable distances — sometimes hundreds of feet from the parent plant — which helps explain why these plants can colonize new areas so successfully. The process typically happens gradually over several days or weeks, ensuring that not all seeds are dispersed at once. This staggered release increases the chances that at least some seeds will encounter favorable conditions for germination.

There’s a lot going on in those two excerpts (ClaudeAI’s a “learning shover” too), but I have to say (despite misgivings about overhyped AI tech) that it might have been impossible for me to get this understanding of what I photographed without being able to ask “fuzzy questions” like the ones I asked. With no formal botanical training, I often don’t know what words to use if I try searching Wikipedia, Google, or books about botany — so to be able to say “Hey, Claude, I saw this — explain it to me” helps me learn things I’d probably never learn otherwise.

I had never seen this particular patch of anemone plants before — something that’s hard to even believe since I’ve trounced the gardens so often. Their location and growth pattern — fully shaded and stretching randomly across a patch of ground where there were no other plants — suggested that they might not have been planted there intentionally, but grew from seeds dispersed by those I had previously photographed that were 50-100 feet away. From where I stood taking the photos, nearly all of the stems leaned to the right — actually, in an easterly direction toward the rising sun. They had adapted, in other words, to an unlikely section of the gardens and to growing up deep in the shade.

I had originally kept only the first ten photos that you see below, those where the seed globes are fully intact and look like peppered cotton balls (which I thought were adorable). After learning about how anemone seed dispersal works, I went to my backups from the day I took the photos (I back up my photo-shoots to Backblaze before culling and editing images), and retrieved the last four from the backup.

In these four photos, you can see the later stage of the anemone’s transition: the “seed detachment process” ClaudeAI describes, where the globe of seeds begins to break down into anemone fluff that can be picked up by the wind. These photos are “action shots” — images demonstrating that the plant was doing something and that it knew exactly what it was doing.

And with that… my work as a “learning shover” is done… for now!

Thanks for reading and taking a look…

And Happy New Year!






Merry Christmas!

From “A Christmas Wish” by Edgar A. Guest in Prayers and Poems for Christmas, published by Ideals Publications, Inc.:

I wish you joy on Christmas Day.
Yet one day filled
with mirth and cheer
Will oh so quickly pass away,
I wish you joy throughout the year.

May peace be yours
when night comes down;
May every good which life can give
Be yours to bless your home and crown
The tasks of every day you live.

Beneath your roof may laughter ring
And love and merriment abide,
And may you reap through many a spring
The blossoms of the countryside.

God grant that you may wake by day
In strength, the tasks of life to meet;
May you go singing down the way.
And may your dreams at night be sweet.

Through every day of every year
This wish of mine I shall renew;
God keep you safe and hold you dear
And pour His blessings down on you.


Ho! Ho! Ho!

Below I’ve gathered all the photos from this year’s “Days to Christmas” series in one post, because photos like to hang out together on holidays.

Click the links above each gallery if you would like to see the original posts and the quotations or poems I selected to go with them. 

Thanks for taking a look … and: 

Merry Christmas!!!!!


Ten Days to Christmas: Peace in the Village



Nine Days to Christmas: Silver (and Blue) and Gold










Eight Days to Christmas: Red and Green (and Gold)












Seven Days to Christmas: When Nature Does the Decorating











Six Days to Christmas: It’s the Little Things!











Five Days to Christmas: The Sights and Sounds of Angels











Four Days to Christmas: Winter Solstice, When Snowmen, Owls, and Deer Meet in the Dark Woods









Three Days to Christmas: As the Light Turns



Two Days to Christmas: Les animaux de Noël










One Day to Christmas: Happy Christmas Eve!


One Day to Christmas: Happy Christmas Eve!

From “Those Last, Late Hours of Christmas Eve” by Lou Ann Welte in Poems of Christmas, edited by Myra Cohn Livingston:

All has stilled, Magician Sleep having cast his spell
Upon the house, and silence lends an unreal
          beauty —
A holiness that hovers over all. And as a bell
That has been long and loudly ringing, stopping
          short
Brings surprise (you lift your head to listen,
          knowing well
The sound has ceased, and yet you listen still) so now
A slow suspense, a mild excitement loosely coiled
Holds you, keeps you listening: unwinding, drops
          away.
And now, like children on tip-toe — lovely and
          unspoiled —
Come those last, late, lingering hours before
          Christmas Day.

From “Before the Christmas Dawn” by Hilda Lachney Sanderson in Christmas Blessings: Prayers and Poems to Celebrate the Season, edited by June Cotner: 

Just before the Christmas dawn,
When time belongs to me alone,
And all the household’s still asleep,
All creatures still in dreamland deep,
I feel within the darkness dense
A special Christmas reverence,
As in the hush that stillness brings,
I almost hear the angels sing,
while in my mind I clearly see
The Christ child stirring peacefully.



Two Days to Christmas: Les animaux de Noël

From “The Doctor’s Christmas Eve” by James Lane Allen in The Ultimate Christmas Collection:

“Elizabeth’s peculiar interest in animal pictures had begun during the summer previous, when the family were having a vacation trip in Europe. Upon her visits to galleries of paintings she had repeatedly encountered the same picture: The Manger with the Divine Child as the center of the group; and about the Child, half in shadow, the donkey and others of his lowly fellows of the stall — all turned in brute adoration. The memory of these Christmas pictures came vividly back to her now — especially the face of the donkey who was always made to look as though he had long been expecting the event; and whereas reasonably gratified, could not definitely say that he was much surprised: his entire aspect being that of a creature too meek and lowly to think that anything foreseen by him could possibly be much of a miracle.

“Once also she had seen another animal picture that fascinated her: it represented a blond-haired little girl of about her own age, with bare feet, hair hanging down, a palm branch in her hand. She was escorted by a troop of wild animals, each vying with the other in attempt to convince this exceptional little girl that nothing could induce them just at present to be carnivorous.

“The most dangerous beasts walked at the head of the line; the less powerful took their places in the rear; and the procession gradually tapered off in the distance until only the smallest creatures were to be seen struggling resolutely along in the parade….

“The meaning of the picture seemed to be that nothing harmful could come from the animal kingdom on this particular day, providing the animals were allowed to arrange themselves as specified in the procession…. All, no doubt, would have been glad to parade behind Elizabeth….

From “Christmas Legends” by Denis A. McCarthy in The Animals Christmas: Poems, Carols, and Stories, edited by Annie Thaxter Eaton:

Villagers all, this frosty tide,
Let your doors swing open wide,
Though wind may follow, and snow beside
Yet draw us in by your fire to bide;
Joy shall be yours in the morning!

Here we stand in the cold and the sleet,
Blowing fingers and stamping feet,
Come from far away you to greet —
You by the fire and we in the street —
Bidding you joy in the morning!

For ere one half of the night was gone,
Sudden a star has led us on,
Raining bliss and benison —
Bliss to morrow and more anon,
Joy for every morning!

Goodman Joseph toiled through the snow —
Saw the star o’er a stable low;
Mary she might not further go —
Welcome thatch, and litter below
Joy was hers in the morning!

And then they heard the angels tell
‘Who were the first to cry Nowell?

Animals all, as it befell,
In the stable where they did dwell!
Joy shall be theirs in the morning!’

From Greetings from Christmas Past by Bevis Hillier:

“Bats were almost as popular on Victorian cards as belfries and bells. They were to be one of the favourite subjects of Art Nouveau designers, though their basic structure is more Gothic in feeling. Maurice Rheims, who illustrates a gold goblet decorated with a spreadeagled bat in his L’Objet 1900 (1964), writes: ‘Ces animaux, chargés de bien de crimes, ont fait en tout temps l’objet de légendes et d’illustrations terrifiantes.’ — [These animals, responsible for many crimes, have always been the subject of terrifying legends and illustrations.]

“But it was not until the nineteenth century that stories of the vampire bats of the South American forests reached Europe, giving the little blind flying mouse a reputation for sinister perversity most satisfying to the decadents: ‘Holy Roman Vampire’, [Oscar] Wilde suggested. The younger Strauss’s comic opera Die Fledermaus [Revenge of the Bat] was first performed in 1874.

“Batcards ranged from the jollity of these cherub jockeys to the near-lubriciousness of Emily Thomson’s: design [first postcard, below], with its disingenuous caption, ‘Thy thoughts I cleave to’.”










Note: The four blue bat images up-top aren’t real photos. I didn’t have any bat-baubles, so I used Adobe Firefly to generate some for me. Yet they do look like something I’d photograph, don’t they? 🙂


Three Days to Christmas: As the Light Turns

From “Solstice Songs: O Holy Night” in The Return of the Light: Twelve Tales from Around the World for the Winter Solstice by Carolyn McVickar Edwards:

Oh holy night!
The stars are brightly shining!
It is the night of the Sun Child’s birth.
Long we have lain in cold
and fear of hunger
But Sun returns
And the Earth wakes again!
A ray of hope:
The weary world rejoices
For yonder breaks
A new and glorious morn!
Sing and give thanks
Oh lift your voices high now
The Sun returns
Sun returns
to light the world.
Rejoice! Rejoice!
Oh Sun returns!

From “December Mist” by Morgan Golladay in Solstice: A Winter Anthology, edited by Dianne Pearce:

Sunlight reflects blue off the
banded mist, begotten by yesterday’s
warm sun on December earth. The gods of
soil and field slumber still,
cold slowly settling into their bones.

I walk the verge, waiting, watching….

I greet this Solstice
with calm, measured footsteps, waiting and
watching
as cycles turn.

From “Winter Solstice Sleep” by Clive Frobisher in A Poem for All Seasons, compiled by Robert Blackham:

As sunlight withers and day departs,
Night time claims the hills and fields.
Cloaking treetops in icy darkness,
Forgotten ghost of summer past.

Creatures bolt into earthy beds,
Spiralling into slumber farther deep.
Through the longest night of year,
Nothing stirs, time seems frozen still….

Through the winter they endure,
Dormant in subterranean cocoons.
Awakening with the yawns of Spring,
The creatures rise to start anew.