“With such a range of colours and shapes, and the lure of being able to develop even more, it was not long before the chrysanthemum came to the attention of the flower fanciers who were generally known into the nineteenth century as ‘florists’. Unlike the modern meaning of someone who will sell you a flower or deliver a whole bouquet, ‘florists’ and florists’ societies were then dedicated to the raising and showing of a limited number of flower types. In the eighteenth century, when the societies originated, these types were restricted to the auricula, carnation, polyanthus, ranunculus and tulip; in the late eighteenth century they were joined by the pink….
“By the time the chrysanthemum had become popular, however, this range of florists’ flowers had been expanded to include the anemone, hollyhock (surely a difficult flower to bring to a show table), pansy, picotee and latterly the dahlia, such that the inclusion of its autumnal cousin the chrysanthemum was almost inevitable. Nevertheless, in the early decades of the nineteenth century there was some reluctance to welcome the foreign chrysanthemum to the European florists’ table.
“By the late nineteenth century, the gardens of the working and middle classes in London and other large conurbations were suffering from the effects of smog and pollution — a combination of acids and blanketing soots that resulted in grey and grimy gardens. The chrysanthemum, suggested [James Shirley] Hibberd, would bring a golden cheer to these otherwise dull gardens at the worst time of year, when mists and the first coal fires of the season brought down the heavy pea soupers; and it was not just the garden that the chrysanthemums would enliven but the gardeners themselves…..”
Dawn’s glory is its color, musk its scent. It’s born to rise above the vulgar throng. It safeguards its vermilion, shuns all dust. It owns jade’s toughness, flinches from no frost. Its fragrance yields to none in royal parks. Its glow outshines its friends by the east hedge. Oh, may the Prince bestow his love and care! It’ll break to fullest flower on Double Ninth.
Many of the blooms in this post were photographed against memorial stones or stone-wall backgrounds; others — those toward the center — were shot where they gently trespassed among the two-tone leaves of some variegated irises I photographed a couple of years ago, included in my post Iris pallida ‘variegata’ from June 2023.
All these red flowers were especially fetching. Even though there are seventy-two photos across the four posts where I’ve shared them, I wouldn’t mind having a few more to share. Ah, well, I guess that’s why we have seasons: flowers come, flowers go, then once around they come back again.
“As with all rarities, the chrysanthemum was at first only available to the wealthy, as prices reflected the difficulties of obtaining the plant, especially as it was not possible to create seed. But as prices dropped it became a focus for the ever-diligent ‘florists’ or plant fanciers, who began to experiment with obtaining different varieties and colours….
“In 1824 Henry Phillips listed the chrysanthemum as one of the plants ideal for the autumn border, alongside the dahlia (first seen in Europe in the late eighteenth century), Chinese aster, hollyhock, Michaelmas daisy and the golden rod.… Phillips records that more than thirty varieties were available in England, having ‘escaped from the confinement of the conservatories of the curious, and as rapidly spread themselves over every part of our island, filling the casements of the cottagers and the parterres of the opulent with their autumnal beauties, that now vie with the Asters of their native land in splendour and variety of colour.’
“The range of colour was in fact so notable that Phillips took the creators of early nomenclature to task for having assigned the name ‘chrysos-anthum’ to a flower that was no longer necessarily gold. Running through the possible permutations of petal shape, arrangement and colour, Phillips enthuses over ‘changeable white, quilled white, tasselled white’ and plain ‘superb white’. Yellows ranged from buff to orange and flame, and reds from pale rose to rich crimson as well as the old purple and ruby or claret colour….”
The fingers trace the filigree patterns of the mind. Eyes see beyond the medallion where willows swish the ground. Hearts run into unknown courtyards — flash as bright fish in a sun-dusted pond — stretch — to reach gold red chrysanthemums.
I chose the poem above for this post because of its reference to “gold red” chrysanthemums — which seemed to fit this batch of flowers so well because of the contrast between the nearly pure-red flower petals and their yellow-gold centers. When working on the photographs in Lightroom, I noticed that there is a bit of reflective color between parts of the flowers: some red from the petals overlaps the gold in the center, and vice-versa, slightly altering the color perception of each one so that the colors seem to blend despite strong contrast between the two.
All the photos in this post are from the same section of the garden (where I also found the magenta flowers I posted previously), where they tumbled over the stone wall in photogenic batches and were quite insistent that I take their pictures. The wall in this section is about four feet high, built in the earlier days of the cemetery and consisting of a mix of brick and stone with a gray concrete top, one slightly curved downward to create a softening effect. As you look at the first five photos, imagine that there is a raised square memorial plot to the left, surrounded by the wall: these mums were growing in that plot through to and over the edges of the wall.
At the base of the wall, you can see one of the many curved brick culverts, an important part of the original cemetery layout and part of its drainage system. Not evident from the photos is that these drainage culverts are installed around all similar plots — to ensure water could be diverted away from the walls — and are connected to each other to channel water out of the area, to the back of the cemetery and to its many large drains. So they serve this practical purpose, while simultaneously creating a set of contrasting colors and textures that are endemic to the property’s aesthetic characteristics and its history.
This particular construction — a raised memorial section at the top of a wall, surrounded by red-brick drainage culverts — is common in areas of the property where members of wealthy families were interred and memorialized. The memorials were designed to reflect the family’s social and financial standing, and create a physical legacy representing their status and wealth. That they were raised above ground level was part of this multi-dimensional representation, the height and often elaborate design implying status while creating a private and segregated remembrance space distinct from others on the property.
Originally the families paid for this type of construction, for any memorial structures and burial services, and for maintenance and groundskeeping for some period of time — which is why these sections are often opulent and reflect the rise of a prosperous social class in Atlanta’s early days. Eventually, the maintenance and preservation of such plots would revert to cemetery management, supported by a mix of membership fees and donations, public financing, financing enabled by the property’s presence on the National Register of Historic Places, the affiliated Oakland Historic Foundation, and the efforts of volunteers. The memorial legacies thus expand from their connection to the families that built them, to a role as part of a public historical place.
We tend to experience historic places like this visually (in real life or photographically); but it can be fascinating to take any single element we see and try to tease out its layers of meaning. This is perhaps even more true at a time when we’re inundated with images, most of which are imprinted on our brains in milliseconds and often as quickly forgotten. Yet a few flowers cascading over an old brick wall can be much more than that — if you ask questions about why they’re there and how all of the things surrounding them are inter-related. A brick or a flower or a wall then becomes the starting point for a connected and integrated understanding of what you’ve seen or what you’ve captured with a camera, blending history, social norms, aesthetics, landscape design, botany, even color theory — all parts of “learning to look” as John Stilgoe describes in Outside Lies Magic:
“Learning to look around sparks curiosity, encourages serendipity. Amazing connections get made that way; questions are raised — and sometimes answered — that would never be otherwise. Any explorer sees things that reward not just a bit of scrutiny but a bit of thought, sometimes a lot of thought over years. Put the things in spatial context or arrange them in time, and they acquire value immediately. Moreover, even the most ordinary of things help make sense of others, even of great historical movements.”
“Asia forms the heartland of the wild chrysanthemum, with China the centre of diversity…. In addition to being prized for its beauty, the chrysanthemum was incorporated into the very heart of Chinese culture, in literature, religion and the very rhythm of the seasons, with festivals and traditions linked to their flowering….
“Unlike the relatively simple and largely romanticized ‘language of flowers’ of the West, in China the meaning of individual plants is overlaid not only with historical and cultural association and religious symbolism, but with philosophical attributes associated with flower shape, colour, flowering time and growth habit. In Chinese culture plants may also be combined to make favourable or auspicious groupings; for example the pine, bamboo and plum combine to make the ‘Three Friends of Winter’, or suihan sanyou, and represent longevity and perseverance, which in turn are virtues attached to the ‘gentleman scholar’….
“When the chrysanthemum, bamboo, plum blossom and orchid are combined they are collectively referred to as the ‘Four Gentlemen’ or ‘Four Noblemen’. In this guise they represent the four seasons and the unfolding nature of the year from autumn to winter through spring and summer. This in turn represents the passage through life and its cyclical return.”
Big Weather is threatening us with another snowstorm, “storm” being a bit relative here since a southeastern snowstorm is any amount of snow over a dusting from flurries. I think this one’s less likely than the last one (which I also thought was unlikely — surprise!), and I’m right at the predicted dividing line between snow and not-snow, so I may or may not see any. Even so, it’s much colder than a typical late January — with temps barely creeping up to freezing — so I’m glad to have some warm and fiery red flowers to work on and share.
“From philosophy to art, ceramics to silks, medicine to death: the chrysanthemum winds its way through ancient Chinese culture to the imperial courts of Japan and onto the canvases and pages of Western civilization. Often dismissed as the ‘showman’s flower’ it draws its allure from the gold of the Sun and the rule of emperors, with sunset shades beloved by East and West. The delicacy of its petals, combined with a long flowering period, gained it the affection of the ancient Chinese, who named it Chu, from which comes the name of the ancient city Ta-chu Hsien….
“Coming to Europe with the opening up of Chinese trade in the eighteenth century, the flower was given a new baptism and chu or kiku became chrysanthemum, named from the Greek for gold (chrysos) and for flower (anthos). Ironically, it was not until the importation of ‘Old Purple’, a plum-red variety, that the possibilities of the chrysanthemum were truly appreciated in the West as the cheering yellow colours of the original wild chrysanthemum multiplied into an array of autumnal hues….
“Filling the autumn months, they give rise to associations varying from remembrance of ancestors to the start of the American football season — the latter an occasion to which it was long a tradition to wear a chrysanthemum buttonhole. In America the tradition of Thanksgiving was soon regarded as incomplete without a bunch of chrysanthemums, despite the fact that they only arrived on the continent in the late eighteenth century.”
Dusky red chrysanthemums out of Japan, With silver-backed petals like armor, Tell me what you think sometimes? You have fiery pink in you too… You all mean loveliness: You say a word Of joy. You come from gardens unknown Where the sun rises… You bow your heads to merry little breezes That run by like fairies of happiness; You love the wind and woody vines That outline the forest… You love brooks and clouds… Your thoughts are better than my thoughts When the moon is getting high!
Hello!
Here we have the first of four posts featuring photographs of mums and daisies from Oakland Cemetery’s gardens, that I took in late November and early December. My previous posts with pink and magenta mums and daisies from the same trips are:
As I often do, I’ve organized the photographs by color: this set of four posts features blooms where the color red dominates — and these flowers seem to have produced just about every shade of red you could imagine. Some yellow, orange, and white collections are currently queued in my backlog, just waiting to be set free later this month and beyond.
According to PlantNet (and depending on which photograph you’re viewing), the plants will likely be Hardy Garden Mums (Chrysanthemum × morifolium), Persian Daisies (Tanacetum coccineum), or Indian Chrysanthemums (Chrysanthemum indicum) — so you have a one-third chance of getting the name right, as PlantNet attributes about the same probability to each of these three plant names upon examining my photographs. You could also just call them Asters — from their family name Asteraceae — and of course get it exactly right in all cases.
I was glad to come across the book I quoted briefly at the top of this post because I like discovering new books devoted to just one plant genus, especially if the books dive into the botanical and cultural history of the plants. Chrysanthemum (Botanical) by Twigs Way is part of a series of twenty-seven books, each taking a similar approach to botanical history. In my imagination, I like to think I’ll eventually own the whole series; but realistically, I’ll take a look at certain ones as the blooming period for those flowers approaches. We’re not just about photographs here (not that there’s anything wrong with that), so finding books about the dynasties of lilies, snowdrops (a book just about snowdrops!), tulips, rhododendrons, sunflowers, cherries, roses, and daffodils (forthcoming) — all plants that pose for my photoshoots — turns each nature trip into an exploration of not only photography but of plants and their relation to human histories. We are going to learn so many new things!
From “Dogwood Snow” by Dorothy Thompson in The Music of Silence, edited by Alyssa R. Stokes:
Growing up in the South, It’s such a rare thing To see the snows of winter; That’s why I like the spring.
All the flowers begin to bloom; Colors explode everywhere, Painting a scene of beautiful hues No artist will ever compare.
Most of all I like the woods With trees in green, pink, and white. Looking like God sprinkled the seed With a gentle show of might.
And there you see the Dogwood tree With a history we all know; White petals falling to the ground Making our Southern snow.
Hello!
Well! I don’t get to take photos like this very often, since a photogenic snowstorm is such a rare event here in Middle Georgia. But I knew before even looking out the window this morning that we’d had some accumulation: a layer of snow has a way of softening the sounds of the neighborhood that is unlike anything else. I remember from my childhood years in northern New York — where we used to get tons and tons of snow most winters — that a certain kind of quiet morning meant it had snowed overnight.
Our last notable snowstorm was in 2014 — over ten years ago! — and it was such a disaster, it’s still remembered in great detail by people in the area. The city and state gained well-deserved notoriety for being so unprepared for a two-inch, early afternoon snowfall that the interstates clogged with abandoned vehicles stuck on untreated roads. Stories are still told today of people who had to figure out how to walk home from some random spot on the highway, sometimes walking several miles on the same roads they would normally drive, around all the cars that couldn’t move. If you search Google images for Atlanta Snowmageddon 2014, you’ll see some representative (and very accurate!) images that are part of the collective memory of that storm. We have fared much better this time around, though the overnight hours will likely bring some freezing rain, best avoided by most drivers.
My Little Dog, at six years old, has never seen snow. While I had hoped for a few shots of his perky self bouncing around in the yard while the snow was still fluffy, here’s what actually happened: I opened the back door, he took one look at the yard, gave me one of those well-known dog side-eyes, and trotted to his safe space under my desk. Ah, well, maybe he just knew this: a few minutes later, it started raining, and snow isn’t much fun in the rain….
