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Eriocapitella japonica, the Japanese Anemone (2 of 2)

From “Anemone” in Japanese Gardens by Wendy B. Murphy:

“The Japanese anemone, a perennial grown for its late-summer flowers, is actually a native of China — Hupeh, the source of one of its Latin names, is a Chinese province — but it is considered one of the classical plants of Japanese gardening. Traditionally it is grown in the shade of trees or against dark rocks, where the clear, light colors of its flowers can best be appreciated. Sometimes plants listed as A. japonica are actually hybrids of this plant and A. vitifolia (grape-leaved anemone), a Himalayan species; this hybrid is taller than either parent, up to 5 feet, and is generally too large for use in a Japanese garden.

“The Japanese anemone grows to a height of 2ยฝ to 3 feet. It has slender, branching flower stalks and deeply cut dark green leaves that form a 12-inch mound of foliage. The 2- to 3-inch-wide flowers are generally pink or mauve, though there is also a white variety. For Japanese gardens single-flowered varieties are considered more suitable than those with double flowers. The Japanese anemone is long-lived, and if left undisturbed it grows more beautiful with age….”

From “White Anemone” by Bryllion Fagin in The Music Makers: An Anthology of Recent American Poetry, compiled by Stanton A. Coblentz:

I keep in memory one lovely hour
That stirs my heart through darkened days and fair;
Faint with the struggle to escape the snare
Set by the world’s grim, vision-crushing power,
By chance I found a garden where a flower,
Gold-chaliced, raised its face in fragrant prayer
In its own petaled shrine, and kneeling there,
Felt my bound soul fly from its grief-barred tower.

Since I have found the path to beauty’s place
My peace-enamored self shall never know
Again the haunted cells of loneliness.
For I have looked upon an angel’s face
Incarnate in anemone’s pale snow,
Fair as a spirit, and as passionless.


Hello!

This is the second of two posts with photographs of Eriocapitella japonica (previously named Anemone japonica) from Oakland Cemetery. The first post is Eriocapitella japonica, the Japanese Anemone (1 of 2).

The tropical storm formerly known as Hurricane Isaias left behind some cool, breezy, and mildly overcast weather this past Sunday — finally introducing some autumn-adjacent conditions The Photographer was pining for toward the end of September. Autumn photography at Oakland is something that took me a few years to fully appreciate, but I’ve come to see it as a season of color equal to spring and early summer, far beyond how its oaks and maples change. This past Sunday’s photography haul included images of Aromatic Asters, Gaillardia (unexpectedly blooming late), Goldenrod, Rudbeckia, Tanacetum, Zinnias, Zephyr Lilies, and a new encounter with a giant tree called Cunninghamia lanceolata, the Chinese Fir Tree whose pine-needle branches turn bright orange and yellow before they drop to the ground like piles of leaves.

On this Sunday trip, I revisited the location where I’d found the Eriocapitella japonica for these two posts and was happy to discover that their double pink relatives (Eriocapitella ร— hybrida) had come into bloom since late September, just around the corner. I had only photographed a few of the double-pinks one other time (see Eriocapitella, or: The Plants Formerly Known as Anemone (1 of 2)), and on this trip found many more than the eight I’d photographed last year. I’m still working on those photos, but here’s a sample…

… and here’s another sample where a hoverfly joined the photoshoot and stood still long enough for me to get several shots, including a pretty tight yet still well-focused closeup. Little pollinators everywhere seem to like the cooler temperatures as much as I do, and this particular one’s black and orange striped body provided a nice color contrast to the flower’s pink petals.

While it’s still a little early for the bulk of Oakland’s most colorful asters and mums — except Aromatic Asters and a few Tanacetums — here’s a hint showing flowers of the near future in one location where they fill part of a large raised memorial garden and are probably less than a week from opening in full.

I passed about a dozen similar areas on the grounds where the flowers were at this stage of preparing to bloom, so I expect I’ll be romping through the property again this weekend to see what I can find.

Thanks for reading and taking a look!










Eriocapitella japonica, the Japanese Anemone (1 of 2)

From “Begonia and Other Flowering Herbs” in The Garden Flowers of China by H. L. Li:

“The anemone, a perennial free-flowering plant with pink and white flowers, is one of the most desirable herbaceous flowers of the autumn garden. It has a long period of cultivation in China, where it is known as Pai Tou Weng (White-haired Old Man), and is a familiar plant in the autumn garden. The plant was formerly used in medicine for a variety of diseases from rheumatic pain to dysentery.

“The anemones now ornament the Western garden, and these are mostly hybrids of European origin evolved from the Chinese species. Called the Japanese anemone,
Anemone japonica, this, like many other garden plants, did not originate in Japan but was first noted by European naturalists in that country in the eighteenth century. These naturalists named many a species japonica that was only Japanese by cultivation but actually Chinese in origin (Bowles and Stearn, 1947).”

From “September’s Farewell” in My Garden in Autumn and Winter by E. A. Bowles:

“Anemone japonica is a plant I should like to grow every known form of, even some of the very double ones, but space forbids, so I have limited myself to a few. It is one of those plants that when first introduced to Britain was treated as a greenhouse plant, and instructions for so growing it may be found in old gardening books, of the date of Mrs. Loudon’s. Also, like so many introductions from China or Japan of that date, it was a garden form that came, a semi-double, crude pink one, still with us, but one of the least desirable. It is only within the last few years that the really wild type has arrived….

“It is a charming plant, perfectly single, of a soft tone of pink, with neat habit, round flowers about two and a half inches across, and one of the best of the many plants that have poured into our gardens lately from the Chinese province of Hupeh. It was at first called
Anemone hupehensis, but is now generally regarded as a wild form of A. japonica. I like it as well as any of the larger forms, for it has the look of a species about it, and a wonderful substance in the flowers….

“Then there is the beautiful old white form, formerly known as Honorine Joubert, and a plant one should allow to naturalise itself among shrubs and in cool, half-shaded borders as much as it likes, for it will give nearly three months’ display of its well shaped pure-white flowers, which have the most lovely of golden centres, both for form and colour, of any flower I can think of except
Rosa bracteata.”


Hello!

This is the first of two posts with photographs of a plant from Oakland Cemetery that has come to mark the transition between summer and fall for me. I’ve so far encountered two (probable) species on the grounds, one of which (Eriocapitella japonica, formerly named Anemone japonica (among other names)) appears around September, and one (Eriocapitella ร— hybrida) that’s more likely to start blooming later in October. Since it’s still just barely September, this post includes only Eriocapitella japonica, but I’m sure I’ll hunt down the other species in a few weeks, and may even find some Eriocapitella japonica plants still producing blooms.

Like the Clematis from my own back yard (see Clematis Abundance (1 of 3)), plants in the Eriocapitella genus are members of theย Ranunculaceaeย family, and they carry the distinctive center structure that earned the whole family the common name Buttercup. Coincidentally, one of the Eriocapitella japonica plant’s earliest botanical names was Clematis polypetala, perhaps as an observation that the flowers looked like tiny versions of Clematis blooms. This is of course something I just made up, yet it’s not an unreasonable theory given that Clematis polypetala goes back to the early 18th century and early scientific plant names were often developed around appearance similarities. For my part, I’m just glad I finally learned to spell the name of these delightful plants without having to copy and paste it from another document. And the pronunciation tip I created in last year’s post — see Eriocapitella, or: The Plants Formerly Known as Anemone (1 of 2) — has held up pretty well, which also helps me get the spelling right.

Farewell September!

Thanks for taking a look!








Clematis Abundance (3 of 3)

From “Clematis” in The English Flower Garden by William Robinson:

“Beautiful climbing shrubs and herbs from northern and temperate regions, and of the highest value for gardens. Among hardy climbers there is no other group of plants that equals the Clematis in variety and in beauty.

“The Clematis vary in habit from herbaceous plants little more than 1 foot high to woody climbers with stems 50 feet or more in length. Most of the climbing species support themselves by means of the leaf-stalks, which curl round twigs or other slender objects near. The Clematis flower possesses no true petals, but in their place a coloured calyx consisting of usually four, but sometimes as many as eight sepals.

“The Clematises may be used to cover walls, mounds, arbours, pergolas, and fences, and in the open, where no other support is available, rough Oak branches may be used for them, either singly or set together to form a pyramid, while the more vigorous species will run over trees….

“Many years’ experience among my plants makes me more than ever convinced that the Clematis is the most beautiful of our northern climbing plants, and, rightly grown, is hardy in our country. In addition to other good qualities I have observed in recent years a very precious one, a plant which takes no notice of rains and storms, copious and frequent as our south-western rains are. This is a very precious quality, as most of our other plants give way before them, even the hardiest. For the varieties and beautiful colours there are no plants equal to them….”

From “My Sanctum” in Poems by Martha Lavinia Hoffman:

Have you seen my princely sanctum where I sit?
Oh! An artist or a queen might covet it!
When I raise my eyes, such perfect pictures meet my gaze,
Not an artist or a poet but would stop to praise.
Hung about it, hung above it, on its ceiling, on its floor,
Never was a palace frescoed by a greater hand before,
For the echoing vaults above me are all trembling, floating leaves,
Swaying, quivering, where the sunshine and the shadow interweave;
And the cool, cool depths of water ripple, dimple at my feet,
And fantastic roots are braided for my lowly little seat.
Clear is the untarnished mirror where the stream is deep,
Where the grand old trees’ reflections calmly lie asleep;
I can see my face within it, when I stoop,
Framed by branches that above me sway and droop
And the pictures, there are mountains, there are forests on my walls,
And such color, and such distance, and such light upon them falls.
White clematis and pale, wild roses drape the fence,
Wild blackberry vines are trailing in luxuriance….


Hello!

This is the third of three posts featuring Clematis plants from my backyard. The first post is Clematis Abundance (1 of 3) and the second post is Clematis Abundance (2 of 3). This post includes photos of a Clematis I once knew by the name Clematis Bernadine.

Since I briefly discussed the Clematis flower’s unique central stamen structure in the last post, here’s a closeup photo of that structure from both the previous stripedย Clematis ร— jackmaniiย flowers and the flowers in this post. I found it interesting that the stamens in the flower on the right echo the purple and violet tones of the rest of the flower, a kind of color expression where the tones are similar and consistent rather than contrasting and completely different (as on the left).

Clematis stamens are sometimes used as aids to identification; and the chocolatey red center cone and color consistency are among the clues I used to decide that the plants below could very well be Clematis lanuginosa. The stamen colors retain their richness and intensity from the time the flower opens (as shown in the first six photos below) through the time it reaches adulthood. The number of petals (or more accurately, sepals) varies — there may be six, seven, or eight on each bloom — and the purple, violet, and pink colors present when they first open gradually fade as the flower ages. Among the photos below, the oldest flowers are those that are closer to pure white — although even an aged flower will still show brushes of color, especially through the sepal centers, more visible to human eyes (and to cameras) in diffused, overcast lighting.

Thanks for taking a look!