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

Revisiting Zinnias (1 of 3)

From “Zinnia elegans” in  Restoring American Gardens: An Encyclopedia of Heirloom Ornamental Plants, 1640-1940 by Denise Adams:

“Fifteen zinnia flower colors were noted in old catalogs and references, including white, sulfur yellow, golden yellow, orange, scarlet-orange, scarlet, light tan, lilac, rose, magenta, crimson, violet, purple, and dark purple. There were also variegated forms, but the solid double flowers were the most popular. This hardy annual ranged in size from the dwarfs at 3-12 inches to the tall zinnias that were 20-30 inches….

“Zinnias did not appear to their best advantage in masses — but looked well in mixed borders. They were also effectively grown as single plants in the lawn.”

From “Hours in the Garden” in Hours in the Garden and Other Poems by Herman Hesse:

…Over there, where at times the path approaches the beds,
Each year we let a few flowers grow, because we take that
Steep path quite often, in fact every day, and when the beans
And the peas and the cabbage are already brown and scorched,
At the edge of the path a few flowers still get their water:
Red-violet zinnias, or snapdragons and nasturtiums.
Past them, whose freshness brightens the languishing slope,
          I walk….


Hello!

This is the first of three posts with photographs of Zinnias from Oakland Cemetery. I always like to mark their return with new photos because they make their presence known right at the boundaries between summer and fall; and, once upon a time in the olden days of five years ago, I didn’t know what they were so I just called them “wildflowers” (see Ten Wildflowers and Three Butterflies from 2021). We have learned many, many things since then!

I took photos for this first post on a very sunny day in late August, and the photos for the next two posts on a very cloudy day in the middle of October. The Zinnias weren’t done blooming on the later date, so that gives you some idea about how long their overall blooming season can last. The excerpt I included at the top of this post describes the large number of colors Zinnias can produce, and you’ll find most of those colors among the photos.

There are several patches of Zinnias at Oakland in different locations, all of which demonstrate a Zinnia plant’s ability to manage growing conditions other plants would find intimidating. They grow well on steep hills, in sandy soil, and with stems that protrude from and rise high above rocks or gravel. Those tendencies probably explain why I originally thought they were wildflowers: they struck me as exhibiting behaviors similar to flowering plants one might find on the side of a road or around railroad tracks growing in gravel or sand.

Since we had a lot of fun with maps in my last post about the Eriocapitella genus, let’s take a look at three more!

Once again from Plants of the World Online, here are distribution maps for the Zinnia genus, followed by distribution maps for two of its most common species: Zinnia peruviana and Zinnia elegans (the original maps are (here, here, and here). Green on these maps defines the genus or species’ native regions; and purple defines where a plant has been introduced and has sufficient presence to be considered naturalized. (Seeย What โ€œNativeโ€ or โ€œIntroducedโ€ Mean: Myths and Misconceptionsย for more on these terms.)

These maps tell a different story than the one I described for Eriocapitella — which was about migration from Europe and Asia to North and South America. The Zinnia genus travelled in the opposite direction: it was native to the Americas and migrated from there to Europe, Asia, and parts of Africa and Australia. The Zinnia peruviana species, as shown in the second map, made some similar journeys as the genus as a whole.

The story of Zinnia elegans (shown on the third map) is a bit more complicated: it, too, made journeys similar to those of Zinnia peruviana, but its native or wild version was widely modified (especially in Europe and Asia) to produce flowers with different forms and colors, perhaps most notably the double Zinnia as well as the exuberant layered-golf-ball design shown below:

The plant’s modifications meant its characteristics were different enough that its return to the Americas was considered an introduction, effectively replacing the plant’s prior designation as native. Their original form — if it can be called that still — is also represented throughout my galleries, where you will find similarly colored flowers with a single (though often overlapping) row of petals. To be fair, continued genetic modification means that the two flowers above could be variants of either Zinnia elegans or Zinnia peruviana — but that doesn’t alter the botanical history narrative too much. It simply reflects human influence on the species and the ongoing work of botanists and geneticists to produce new colors and forms. And their presence at Oakland Cemetery also tells another part of our Victorian garden story, where native plants like Zinnias are as likely to be found as those imported or “exotic” species native to other world regions.

Thanks for reading and taking a look!















Double Japanese Anemone (2 of 2)

From “Japanese Anemones” in A Family of Flowers: Clematis and the Ranunculaceae by Deborah Kellaway:

“Japanese anemones always start by sulking, and seldom think of flowering until they have lived for at least two years in a new place. But once they perk up, there is no stopping them. They grow in all directions, horizontally and vertically. Before long the small original plant is filling a square metre of border space and a dozen or more straight stems are rising from the handsome basal leaves until in August they are waist high.

“The plant grows from a tuberous rootstock which spreads out horizontally 20cm/8in below the ground. In spring it makes strong clumps of divided leaves, dark green on top, pale green beneath, incised round the edges and arranged in the typical pattern of threes. The strong brown stems branch and branch again, four separate flower-stems coming from a single stalk, and each of these flower-stems branches again into four or six, and finally there will be four to six flowers, each on its separate pedicel at the end of each stem.

“The seed-heads are so round they look like buds, but they are yellow, and the buds are mushroom-pink. The final effect is a mixture of buds, seed-heads and open flowers all enhancing each other; the sequence goes on and on, from bud to flower to seed-head, in a cycle that continues from August to October.”

From “Windflower” by Bliss Carman in Windflower: Poems of Bliss Carman, selected and edited by Raymond Souster and Douglas Lochhead:

Between the roadside and the wood,
Between the dawning and the dew,
A tiny flower before the sun,
Ephemeral in time, I grew.

And there upon the trail of spring,
Not death nor love nor any name
Known among men in all their lands
Could blur the wild desire with shame.

But down my dayspan of the year
The feet of straying winds came by;
And all my trembling soul was thrilled
To follow one lost mountain cry.

And then my heart beat once and broke
To hear the sweeping rain forebode
Some ruin in the April world,
Between the woodside and the road.

Tonight can bring no healing now;
The calm of yesternight is gone;
Surely the wind is but the wind,
And I a broken waif thereon.


Hello!

This is the second of two posts with photographs of Eriocapitella hybrids that very likely go by the name Eriocapitellaย ร—ย hybrida, from Oakland Cemetery. The first post is Double Japanese Anemone (1 of 2).

I opened this post and the previous one with excerpts from A Family of Flowers: Clematis and the Ranunculaceae by Deborah Kellaway because the book was useful for my earlier Clematis photos (see Clematis Abundance (1 of 3) and Clematis Abundance (2 of 3)) and also has a chapter devoted to Eriocapitella — though by their earlier genus name, Anemone. It can be a bit confusing, I think, when a plant has moved from one genus to another recently, and it takes a bit of mental juggling to remember that a book like Kellaway’s — published in 1997 — doesn’t differentiate between the two, especially with common names like Japanese Anemone remaining quite sticky in botanical literature and horticulture. It can help, in a case like this, to learn more about the plants from a current and frequently updated resource.

On Plants of the World Online, you can fetch distribution maps for most plant families, genera, and species. Below I’ve included its distribution map for the Clematis genus, followed by its map for the Eriocapitella genus, followed by the Anemone genus (originals here, here, and here). All three plants are members of the Ranunculaceae family, so share plenty of botanical (and visual) characteristics; but only two of the three have similar geographical distributions.

On these distribution maps, green indicates a plant’s native regions, and purple indicates regions where a plant is considered introduced. “Introduced” doesn’t necessarily mean a plant doesn’t exist in other regions, but reflects the extent to which a plant has been established outside regions where it’s known to be native. For a fine explanation of how these terms are used in botany, see What “Native” or “Introduced” Mean: Myths and Misconceptions — which elaborates on what I just wrote, and for the purposes of botanical history, anchors the definition of “introduced” on whether or not a plant “was present in a region at the time of European colonization of North America.”

The top and bottom maps — for the Clematis genus and the Anemone genus (which still contains a couple hundred species, even with Eriocapitella separated out) — show that the Ranunculaceae family overall has a nearly worldwide native presence. Eriocapitella, as shown on the middle map, has much more limited native regions (China and other parts of Asia) and has established well enough to be considered introduced only in Japan, some contiguous regions of Europe, and a small corner of South America. But it’s considered neither native nor introduced in North America, so its presence a mile from my house at Oakland Cemetery implies that it’s part of the history of plant migrations.

That kind of framing provides enough information to approach research with greater precision. In the book Restoring American Gardens: An Encyclopedia of Heirloom Ornamental Plants, 1640-1940 by Denise Adams, Adams describes the documented presence of plants still included in the Anemone genus as early as 1596; but treats plants like those I’ve been photographing separately. The plants we now know as Eriocapitella japonica, Eriocapitella hupehensis, and Eriocapitella x hybrida (all among those often described as fall-blooming Japanese Anemones) made their way to North America in 1844 and began their employment as border, accent, and container-gardening plants in nineteenth-century North American landscapes. Their repeat performances and presence at a place like Oakland link these historical threads quite nicely, reflecting evolving attitudes toward landscape design in that era along with the rise of Victorian-influenced gardens and Victorian garden cemeteries, as well as the cultural preference for “exotic” plants (often of Asian provenance) caught up in European and North American exploration and colonization.

I love it when a (botanical) story comes together!

Thanks for reading and taking a look!










Double Japanese Anemone (1 of 2)

From “Japanese Anemones” in A Family of Flowers: Clematis and the Ranunculaceae by Deborah Kellaway:

“The lightest September flower is the Japanese anemone. It looks positively weightless poised high above the herbaceous border on the tops of straight stems that never bend or tilt. If it is silver-pink its face shines in the light; if it is white it illuminates dark corners. It will grow and spread and flower in full shade, planted between shrubs….

“The white is always pure white, the pink is always cool pink with a trace of mauve in it, sometimes paler, sometimes deeper. There are no other colours, but there are many variants of shape, size and height, in a steady stream of new named cultivars. Some are relatively short; some (like ‘Luise Uhink‘) are semi-double with thin, slightly fussy sepals giving the flower the look of an aster….

“Among the whites, the old hybrid ‘
Honorine Jobert‘ … is peerless; it is 100 cm/40 in tall, and its simple flower has five or more white sepals and a ring of golden stamens. It has adorned shady garden borders for a century, rising above hydrangeas and dull evergreens, robust in growth but delicate in detail, flowering for three successive months, almost too familiar to be showy, too obliging to be adequately cherished.

“Among the pinks, ‘Queen Charlotte‘ was E.A. Bowles’s special favourite. ‘It is so lovely’, he wrote, ‘that I cannot bring myself to root any of it out.’ It is not tall and has large, generous flowers, tip-tilted semi-double saucers….”

From “To a Windflower” in Selected Poems (from Moods) by Theodore Dreiser:ย 

Excellent gesture,
Rare symbol,
Evoked by the sun out of the soil,
Obeying a compulsion of light,
A compulsion of thought,
But
So fragile
And yet
So aglow with sensation,
Warmth,
Impassioned color,
Form,
You are โ€”
You are
A reaction to what?
A thought of what?
Recording whose mood?
Gaiety?
Breath?

I will sit before you and ponder,
I will seek to image you
As pure form
As thought,
Color โ€” without color โ€”
As idea โ€”
Or tone, only, maybe;
I will think of you as pure feeling.
Beyond sensation,
And then โ€”
And then โ€”
Maybe โ€”

These inscrutable things
Out of which you take your rise
Will interpenetrate
And dwell in me.


Hello!

This is the first of two posts with photographs of Eriocapitella japonica relatives that are very likely a hybrid called Eriocapitellaย ร—ย hybrida, from Oakland Cemetery. This hybrid glows in the shade with its bright pink colors, and — unlike the white Eriocapitella in my previous two posts (see Eriocapitella japonica, the Japanese Anemone (1 of 2) and Eriocapitella japonica, the Japanese Anemone (2 of 2)) — it produces multiple rows of flower petals, earning its characterization as a double or semi-double anemone.

When I photographed white anemones for the two previous posts in September, these pink doubles were nowhere to be seen. It appears that their bloom time is slightly different or environmental conditions altered their cycles, as they’re all fall-blooming anemones that flower for several weeks. But the later appearance of the pink ones meant I got a chance to photograph quite a few buds that were just coming in, and the photos below progress through buds from earlier to later stages.

The galleries wrap up with five shots of one of the many hoverflies — bitty buglets that like to imitate wasps as they flit rapidly among autumn blossoms — that joined my photoshoot. Despite its still appearance in the photo, this hoverfly was constantly in motion, so getting a stationary view meant using a high shutter speed (1/750 of a second) — but also: resisting the urge to get too close when taking a shot, which would either encourage the hoverfly to leave or would reduce the focal distance too much to produce a clear image. The five shots are actually derived from one image, which — because I stood back when pressing the shutter button — was sharp enough to permit some pretty extreme cropping in Lightroom. Here you see the size of the original image with the crop I applied to produce the fifth version, followed by the result.

The five images of the hoverfly, then, are a series of successively tighter crops, made possible by the level of detail the camera captured even from a distance of about five feet with the lens set to 55mm. As I started taking mainly close-up and macro nature images a long time ago — often using a macro lens to do so — it has taken some mental retraining to remember to back away from the subject for photos like this, and rely on the camera’s capabilities as well as Lightroom editing to get results like these. It is, as such, a straightforward example of a photography workflow that aligns shooting techniques with post-processing to achieve a creative effect that departs from, but still represents, the original experience in the field.

Thanks for reading and taking a look!