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

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!








Yellow and White Irises: Reverse Amoena Patterns (2 of 2)

From “Genetic Domains in Tall Bearded Iris Flowers” in Irises: The Bulletin of the American Iris Society, Volume 93 No. 2 (April 2012), edited by Kelly D. Norris:

“Rhizomes, leaves, stems, standards, falls, hafts, beards, styles, even veins in the iris flower have different functions โ€” hence the term functional domains. These domains have their own regulatory genes that form their respective organs during development. Some of these regulatory genes turn on or off the carotenoid and anthocyanin color pathways — the sequence of biochemical reactions necessary to produce a colored pigment….

“There are at least six genetic domains in tall bearded iris flowers. These are the standards, falls, hafts, beards, veins, and styles. Remember, the falls, standards, and styles differentiate from different whorls of developing plant cells and take their own color pathways with them. Therefore, these floral parts should not be considered as one unit. Each of these domains has a duplicate gene that regulates its color pathway. We know these genetic domains exist because of the different colors expressed….

“A solid colored flower, or self, has its color genes in sync โ€” the standards, falls, hafts, beards, veins, and styles all express the same alleles for color. Thus the duplicate regulatory genes in a self have similar alleles, but once the synchrony between alleles is changed a wonderful world of color combinations opens up….

“Iris breeding for the past 100 years has focused on changing the synchrony between floral genetic domains to develop new color combinations (not new pigments). For example, first there was the amoena and then came the reverse amoena. The development of amoena, bitone, and luminata flowers has been a progression of changing the synchrony between duplicate genes in different domains.”

From “In Zurich” in So That It Flower: A Gathering of Poems by Melville Cane:

In Zurich,
Au lac,
As soon as it is June,
They deck the tables on the terraces
With yellow irises,
And serve a brand of scrupulously fine
Gay sunshine,
To mix with equally clear and sunny
Amber honey
And butter-balls, like curled tea-roses.

Then, if you so incline,
A draught, or two, or three, of wine;
And, as the blood begins
To sing with the violins,
One muses
And drowses.


Hello!

This is the second of two posts with photographs of irises with yellow standards and white falls that I took at Oakland Cemetery earlier this year. In the first post — Yellow and White Irises: Reverse Amoena Patterns (1 of 2) — I included irises planted in some of Oakland’s oldest landscapes where the irises hung out in solitary groups. In this post, we see some rejuvenated landscapes (like the first gallery image below) where the irises have complementary neighbors: the tall white-flowered Veronica spicata (also known as Spike Speedwell); and purple-flowered Verbena bonariensis (also known as Tall Verbena, Brazilian Verbena, or Purpletop Vervain), which I’ve positioned as the subject of a few of the photos with the irises in a supporting role. Is it just me, or do “Spike Speedwell” and “Purpletop Vervain” sound like they could be the names of cartoon characters?

With this post, I’ve reached the end of spring and summer 2026 photographs from Oakland. In past years, I’ve photographed lots of lilies in July and August, but doing so has meant that I’m still working on lily photos into fall and early winter, leading me to skip or miss out on photographing autumn color with the attention it deserves. Given how many asters and mums Oakland produces after summer subsides — and the variety of colors that its trees and shrubs produce — I hope to spend more time in an autumn frame of mind before the holidays roll around, without the lily photos pressuring me (!!) to edit, post, and write about them.

This, of course, assumes the temperatures start to turn cool here soon — we’ve been in the mid-to high-nineties every day throughout August and September so far — as asters, mums, and all the shrubs and trees really do use the cooling temperatures to tell them how to proceed toward fall. There’s no evidence of that cooling yet…

… but if we start dropping into the 50s at night this weekend and next week…

… the plants will likely take notice. And I will too.

Having lived half my life in northern New York, I have lingering nostalgia for the temperature changes that occur there between August and September, right when summer’s humid heat has worn out its welcome. Memories of my earliest visits to Oakland add to that nostalgia: I first explored its history and architecture extensively in October and November of 2007 for a series of research papers. So I’m planning regular stomps through the grounds of Oakland (as well as nearby Grant Park) in jeans, sneaks, and a nice fluffy jacket this fall — and recently bought a more landscape-appropriate new (used) camera lens just for that purpose.

The excerpt at the top of this post describes six “genetic domains” for tall bearded irises like these reverse amoenas, explaining how the flower’s standards, falls, hafts, beards, veins, and styles are all considered distinct (and open to manipulation) by geneticists producing iris variants. While I don’t claim to understand that part of the science well enough to explain it (yet), I still thought it was interesting that these genetic domains can be useful to a photographer (or any observer) as a way of isolating and focusing on various color regions our cameras capture. To help me visualize that better, I asked Claude.AI to produce a drawing mapping the genetic domains to their locations on the flower.

Using photos like this as guidance…

… Claude came up with this, a skeleton version of the reverse amoena irises that includes the domains mentioned in the excerpt (except veins, which could appear anywhere among the other sections).

If we put them side-by-side, it’s easy to see how the drawing is an abstract map to the living color regions of the flower I photographed….

… and it’s these regions, along with the color and texture transitions between them, that can be the most compelling ones to zoom in on. Close-up and macro photos of irises, in particular, are often composed to fill the frame with the regional transitions — not necessarily because the photographer knew about genetic domains and their color influences, but because these flower parts so deftly illustrate the ability of an iris (through genetic manipulation or natural mutations) to produce distinct arrangements of color, form, and texture within and at the boundaries of these regions — and color, form, and texture are so consequential to photography, photographic theory, and other kinds of image production.

Thanks for reading and taking a look!