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

Category: photography and imagery

Mophead Hydrangeas (1 of 3)

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From “Hydrangea” in Ornamental Shrubs by Jaroslav Hofman:

“The name of this plant originated from the Greek words ‘hydor’ meaning water and ‘angeion’ meaning vessel, with reference to the fact that the shrub requires adequate water for successful growth. It is known as the Hortensia, the name having been conferred by the discoverer of the shrub in China in 1767, namely the French physician and botanist Filibert Commerson. The Hydrangea was brought to the Royal Botanic Gardens, Kew, for the first time by Sir Joseph Banks in 1789….

“The Hydrangea has been cultivated since ancient times in China and Japan. The first shrub of this species to be brought to Great Britain was apparently also a cultivated and not a wild type. Its flowers were red, its umbels composed mainly of sterile flowers. The new shrub aroused great interest at that time with its outstanding beauty. Through cultivation and cross-breeding new forms were produced, but at first the growers were unable to attain much diversity of colour, dull, pinkish-red or pale pink predominating….

“Indeed the Hydrangea resisted all attempts to improve it for a long time. It was only after the importing of a glowing-red variety from Japan (the ‘Rosea’ variety) and its cross-breeding with ‘Otaksa’ [that] French horticulturists… succeeded from 1910 onwards in breeding a large number of new forms differing not only in colour, but also in shape, which surprised visitors to the horticultural exhibition taking place in Paris at the time. Further progress was achieved when it was discovered that the Hydrangea reacted strongly to certain chemicals in the soil by a sudden change of colour in its flowers. For example, it was found that iron or ammonia in the soil fostered the growth of blue flower-heads, formerly a very rare phenomenon in this flower.”

From “Hydrangea” in Tremulous Hinge: Poems by Adam Giannelli:

Water vessel — patina of summer —
its zeppelins soar all the way
into September, the heads colored
like the flavored ice atop snow cones….

Beside a driveway and a house,
a few orbs, flamingo-like, float
on thin stalks. Others, laden
with bloom, rest, like tails of tired poodles, on the ground.

Each mophead is a bevy, a beveled blue,
a standing ovation,
that fumes with lattices of spume, solid but fretful, like sleep.
I never knew that ecstasy
could arrive at
so many angles….

Hello!

When I moved into my house in 2004, there were two batches of hydrangeas in the back yard, one on each side of the steps leading to the courtyard. All of them produced flowers in the “mophead” shape, a descriptor used to differentiate them from hydrangea flowers of the “lacecap” style, like the Bluebird Hydrangeas I added to the garden myself. “Mophead hydrangea” is also a common stand-in name for hydrangea varieties that produce flowers like this.

The came-with-the-house hydrangeas were a mix of several varieties (probably Hydrangea paniculata, Hydrangea arborescens, and Hydrangea macrophylla) but since I wasn’t sure of their identities, I got into the habit of calling them all “hydrangibles” — a word I made up that combines “hydrangea” and “dirigible” in honor of their large, floppy blooms that seem to float above the leaves. Imagine my surprise to find the poem I excerpted above, where the poet describes hydrangeas as “zeppelins” — since zeppelins are a kind of dirigible and the poem evokes the same “floating above the garden” imagery I was going for with “hydrangible.”

About half of the hydrangibles got frozen out a couple of years ago, during two weeks of plant-destroying deep-freezes we had around the winter holidays. When spring came, those that didn’t die behaved very badly, producing only a handful of new stems pointing in all sorts of odd directions (as hydrangeas often do), and developing only a few anemic flowers. This year, though, they did quite a bit better — so I got them to pose for a couple of photo-shoots and their flowers were big and floppy enough that I could refer to them as hydrangibles once again.

While working on the photographs, I wondered if I could pretend there was a real-life people-moving vessel that might be called a “hydrangible” — since, you know, it’s quite common that our plant names (even imaginary ones) are based on something else. So I went to Adobe Firefly (which I wrote about here and here, and haven’t used since) and asked it to generate “a photograph of a dirigible that’s covered with hydrangea flowers, flying over the city of Atlanta” — and it produced for me these five images…

… which obviously prove that hydrangibles capable of flying people around in the clouds actually do exist, because, hey, the internet “knows” about them. Now I just need to figure out where these hydrangibles take off from so I can go for a ride, and would especially like to fly over (and hang out at) the fanciful lake and park in the last image, as I didn’t even know about that lovely body of water and greenspace smack-dab in the middle of downtown Atlanta.

🙂

Thanks for reading and taking a look!

Hydrangea serrata ‘Bluebird’ (2 of 2)

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From “H. Serrata ‘Bluebird'” in 1001 Plants to Dream of Growing, edited by Liz Dobbs:

“A delightful summer-flowering shrub, H. serrata ‘Bluebird’ is the perfect choice for any garden that does not have the space for one of the larger lacecap hydrangea varieties. ‘Bluebird’ is a slender shrub, with upright tan-colored stems and painted dark-green leaves flushed purple red. In midsummer the delicate lacecap flower heads appear; these are purple-pink on alkaline soils, but bright gentian-blue on acidic soils. Each flower head consists of a flattened cluster of tiny fertile florets surrounded by larger, showier, sterile or ray florets. ‘Bluebird, along with other H. serrata varieties, has smaller, more refined flower heads than familiar lacecap hydrangeas. As the season progresses, the color of the flowers changes to purple-green, and the wine-red color of the foliage becomes more intense toward fall.

“‘Bluebird’ is a lovely hydrangea to grow in sun or in light shade with perennials and roses. Its compact habit makes it suitable for narrow borders…. H. serrata ‘Tiara’ is similar in habit to ‘Bluebird, but it has more sterile florets in each flower head. The flower color is more mauve, and the fall foliage more intensely crimson in the sun. H. serrata ‘Rosalba’ has fewer, large sterile florets, which are initially white but soon change to crimson. Its fall foliage is rich purple-red. H. serrata ‘Miranda’ has very dome-shaped flower heads, which turn a vibrant shade of blue in acidic conditions.”

From Seasons of Light: A Collection of Haiku by Dermot O’Brien:

The withered blossom
on a bedraggled hydrangea
surprised by purple buds

Hello!

This is the second of two posts with photos of Hydrangea serrata ‘Bluebird’ — from my garden. The first post is Hydrangea serrata ‘Bluebird’ (1 of 2).

I took most of these photos a little later in the season than those in the previous post, and — as is described in the quotation at the top — you can see how many of the tiny flowers have shifted color from mostly-blue toward a mix of purple, pink, and light green. I had actually thought the color-shift was from soil variations (as hydrangeas are known for their fascinating color changes), but this may be a late-summer seasonal change, since mine are all planted together.

If you’d like to see the color variations presented by some of the Bluebird’s close relatives (those mentioned in 1001 Plants to Dream of Growing above), click these links:

H. serrata ‘Tiara’
H. serrata ‘Rosalba’
H. serrata ‘Miranda’

Rosalba looks especially scrumptious: that mix of red and pink among the flowers and the florets (which are white or very light blue in the Bluebird hydrangea) may just earn them a place in my garden next year.

Thanks for taking a look!

Hydrangea serrata ‘Bluebird’ (1 of 2)

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From “Hydrangea serrata” in Hydrangeas: Beautiful Varieties for Home and Garden by Naomi Slade:

“A near neighbour and relative of H. macrophylla, H. serrata hails from the wooded mountains of Japan and Korea, where it is sometimes called ‘tree of heaven’. In the uplands, well away from the sea, temperatures often dip below freezing so, for garden purposes, it is noticeably hardier than its cousin….

“While the vulnerability of H. macrophylla comes from the length of its growing season, starting too early and going on too late, H. serrata has a much shorter growth period so it is hardier in the face of cold — although it is no fan of blazing sun.

“Like H. macrophylla, H. serrata likes partial or dappled shade so it can be used in a similar way in the garden. It is less tolerant of exposed, windy or very warm locations and it doesn’t thrive in wet soils, which makes it less suited to coastal and boggy sites. On the other hand, the plants tend to be smaller, at around 100cm (40in) tall, so are suitable for compact modern gardens.

“The species has lacecap flowers and serrated leaves — hence the name — and does well under trees. A number of cultivars, specifically Grayswood, Preziosa and Glyn Church will go through several colour changes throughout the season — but since they are not susceptible to pH, these are consistent in their inconsistency. The white cultivars will remain white regardless of soil pH, but the other pink and blue cultivars are moderately susceptible, so situations arise where, for example, Bluebird, grown on alkaline soil, will produce flowers that are noticeably pink.”

From The Windbreak Pine: New and Uncollected Haiku by Wally Swist, edited by John Barlow:

the deepening blush
of hydrangea flowers
late August chill

Hello!

Here we have the first of two posts featuring Hydrangea serrata ‘Bluebird’ — most commonly referred to as the Bluebird Hydrangea — from my garden. I have about six of these plants at a boundary between shade and sun in my back yard, where most of the time, they seem pretty happy. They bloomed well for several years running, then they got frozen and failed to bloom for one season, then this year returned once again. I always like to see them in early summer, and they look especially nice in late afternoon and early evening, when their white florets glow and the cluster of blue and pink flowers look more saturated as the sun goes down.

The part of this lacecap-style hydrangea that usually catches the eye includes both the cluster of tiny flowers at the center and the white florets that seem to float around them. Technically, only the lacecap portion contains flowers; the white florets are produced (the hydrangea tells me) to demand the attention of pollinators by providing some white-on-dark contrast.

These baby Bluebirds can be hard to photograph, and when I look at their photos from previous years, I see that I’ve often struggled to get the colors and focus right. Focusing at close range is difficult because the cluster of flowers may extend five inches or more from front to back, and the flowers in the cluster are extra-tiny, entangled with each other, and hard to differentiate in the camera’s viewfinder. And they move easily in the wind, making my eyes wobble.

Examine, if you like, the first two photographs, and you’ll see what I mean: the foreground white floret is in focus as are some of the blue flowers, but as the distance from the camera increases, the cluster of flowers becomes blurrier as do the two background florets. If I use a narrower aperture, I can get more of the flower cluster in focus — but then too much of the background also ends out in focus and it becomes difficult to separate the flowers from the background.

As you move through the galleries below, you can see how I handled that: by either moving in closer and eliminating many of the wee flowers from the image; or by moving back and taking a wider shot, where the fact that some of the flowers are out of focus becomes less apparent. I have sometimes tried adding LED light or using a flash, but then they look like they’re studio portraits rather than nature photos. So while I wasn’t entirely satisfied with these images, I decided to post them despite being unable to achieve perfection — whatever that is!

Thanks for taking a look!

Stargazer Lilies, Stargazing (2 of 2)

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From “Attracting Attention” in The Reason For Flowers: Their History, Culture, Biology, and How They Change Our Lives by Stephen Buchmann:

“Here for you to identify is a living organism, much loved and admired. Having no say in the matter, millions are bought and sold, removed from their natural habitat for the pleasure of the buyers, living fast, dying young, without offspring — then discarded without a second thought. Sometimes they enjoy a better fate, free to live outdoors, reproducing prolifically, enjoy full life spans, their beauty on display for all to see.

“The smell of this organism is a hauntingly sweet fragrance, once inhaled, never forgotten. The appearance is dramatic. A long, tumescent rod, topped by a broad, gray-purple tip oozing a clear, sticky liquid, juts suggestively from the center of a yellow, starlike throat…. Surrounding the long rod, six yellow-green arms project from the starlike mouth, the bulging, orange packages at their tips….

“Lacking legs or wings, this regal-looking organism is grounded — unable to move during its entire lifetime — and thus dependent upon animal intermediaries. If its concentrated appeal is able to reach out, it is the bees or perhaps other animals that transport its sperm helping it to reproduce. Earthbound and immobile, it casts a gaze upward, to the stars, as it whispers a name sending a message of fanciful dreams, optimism, and unlimited possibilities. What am I?

“A flower of course, but more specifically a Stargazer lily. The Stargazer, which came to market in 1978, is the result of many years of crossbreeding efforts by the eccentric genius lily-breeder Leslie Woodriff, who wanted a beautiful, fragrant, spotted lily that would hold its blooming head proudly high, unlike any other horticultural lily of the time.”

From “Green Finger Secret” by John Lyons in The Second Anthology of Poetry at the Albert, edited by John Bosley and others:

Sunlight caught you
on hands and knees
sniffing stargazer lilies,
moving with wonderment
among mosses and ferns
in cool places diffused with green light.

Later you returned home,
looked in the mirror;
your face was smudged orange
with lily pollen;

you smiled,
turned to water a plant
you once found tangled in your hair.
“Laughing grass,” you called it.

Hello!

This is the second of two posts featuring Stargazer Lilies from my garden; the first post is Stargazer Lilies, Stargazing (1 of 2). Here we take many close looks at the flowers’ intricate details, from a day, in real life, when we ingested an intoxicating amount of Stargazer Lily aroma while taking photos.

As is often the case with the flowers I photograph, I spent some time trying to learn about the Stargazer’s history. Since many of the books I use for digging into the past are not recently-published, there wasn’t a lot of information to be unearthed about this flower. So I turned to my imaginary research assistant ClaudeAI and asked for a summary of the plant’s background and how it got its name. Here’s what Claude told me — and it was a nicely written overview, so I thought I’d share the whole thing:

Stargazer lilies are a relatively recent addition to the world of flowers. They were first bred in 1974 by Leslie Woodriff, a lily breeder in California. Woodriff was known for his work with oriental lilies and was always striving to create new, exciting varieties.

The development of the Stargazer lily came about as Woodriff was trying to breed a lily with upward-facing flowers. Most oriental lilies at the time had downward-facing or outward-facing blooms. He wanted to create a lily that would “look at the stars,” hence the name “Stargazer.”

The name also has a poetic quality, evoking the image of someone gazing up at the night sky in wonder. This ties in well with the flower’s upward-facing blooms and its striking appearance.

Woodriff created the Stargazer by crossing Lilium auratum and L. speciosum, two species of oriental lilies. The result was a flower that combined the best qualities of both parent plants: the large, showy blooms of L. auratum and the hardiness and petal recurve of L. speciosum.

The Stargazer quickly gained popularity after its introduction. Its unique appearance, strong fragrance, and relatively easy cultivation made it a hit with both commercial growers and home gardeners. It became particularly popular in the cut flower industry due to its long vase life and dramatic appearance.

Today, Stargazer lilies are one of the most recognizable and beloved lily varieties worldwide. They’ve also been used to breed other lily cultivars, continuing Woodriff’s legacy of horticultural innovation.

Thanks for reading and taking a look!

Stargazer Lilies, Stargazing (1 of 2)

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From “Stargazer Lily” in Anthology of Flowers by Jane Field-Lewis:

“It’s been dubbed a floral celebrity for its striking good looks and, in plant terms, its relative youth, having only been introduced in the 1970s. The stargazer is a hybrid lily of the Oriental group, specially adapted so its blooms face skywards but still retaining the perfume of its cousins.

“Part of its popularity with the flower-buying public is the stargazer’s ability to rise to almost any occasion. Need to say sorry? The stargazer can. Congratulations? Its associations with aspiration, wealth and prosperity should do the trick nicely.

“It can also call on the lily family’s wealth of cultural and religious symbolism over the centuries, from ancient Greece, where it was linked to sexuality, to early Christian paintings, where it represented chastity and purity. It crops up in folklore, too, especially in determining the sex of an unborn child.

“Nowadays the flower has made common parlance. We talk about ‘gilding the lily’ to refer to unnecessary ornamentation or over-embellishment because it is viewed as a benchmark for idealism and flawlessness.

“Nothing, William Blake once wrote, can ‘stain her beauty bright.'”

From “Stargazer Lilies” in All of You on the Good Earth: Poems  by Ernest Hilbert: 

The vase itself is a spent shell casing —
Lush petals pour out like surging steam,
Lacquered battle-bent cuirasses, photograph
Of fireworks in humid July skies, racing
Into an umbrella of spark and cream,
Falling as luxurious glittered ash.
The arrogant smudged stamens jet high
And proud like vapor trails, the whole bouquet
Unfastening like a vast nebula,
Long pour of poisonous gas; arms fly
Out and fade, and the soft leaves, in late day,
Aim down, oar blades in air above Formica,
Limp and breathing in a dry universe,
Wet pennants, green ghosts, long surrendered spears.

Hello!

Returning to my garden once again, here we have the first of two posts with photographs of Stargazer Lilies, whose official name — Lilium ‘Stargazer’ — is uniquely not-confusing. These lilies made a cameo appearance in a previous post along with my Witch’s Hand Daylilies, but here we leave the daylilies backstage and promote the Stargazers to a well-deserved starring role. The first image below will give you a sense of how the lilies — living in two pots in my back yard — produced this boisterous batch of blooms in June and July.

I bought the Stargazers in 2023, but it was too late in the season for them to produce more than the single blooms they sported at the garden center — so I never took their pictures. I was pretty excited (possibly even surprised, as gardeners often are) to see them return this year and give me something striking to zoom in and out on with my camera. The images in the galleries below progress through a few of their large unopened flower buds to studies of the fully opened petals from various angles and distances. In the second post, we’ll do more of the same, and we’ll also push our faces right into the centers of the flowers. Since the Stargazer was “specially adapted so its blooms face skywards” and mine actually do that — this will be very easy and fun to do!

I liked the poetry I included up-top because it’s one of those unusual poems about a flower that mentions the flower only in the title. You’re left to decide, instead, how and to what extent the poet has described the flower accurately, or metaphorically, or with flourishes of realism and metaphor. Words and phrases like lush, lacquered, fireworks, spark and cream, glittered ash, vapor trails, oar blades, and spears — among others — all produce a mental image that reflects the flowers’ colors, texture, structure, scattered pollen, leaves, and even aroma. You might also gather a contrasting war-and-peace metaphor as well as reflections on the Stargazer’s life cycle ending in a vase on a kitchen countertop, from the poem as a whole.

Thanks for reading and taking a look!