Tag: aster

From A History of Zinnias: Flower for the Ages by Eric Grissell:

“Zinnias fall into a class of plants that are generally self-infertile. This simply means that a single zinnia flower will not pollinate itself and requires pollen to be carried from another flower to induce fertilization and seed production. But with purebred parents, random crossing cannot be allowed or there will be a complex recombination of genes and loss of identify for each strain, a mongrel if you will. In commercial production, different purebred strains or series must be kept separate from each other if each is to remain stable and produce seed. This means that plants must either be hand-pollinated in isolation, an expensive option, or that each strain must somehow be isolated from other strains and be openly pollinated by natural elements such as bees….

“This method of seed production is achieved by growing each selection in fields distant enough from other such strains to prevent bees or butterflies from carrying pollen from one field to another. If color is not important but retaining the characteristics of the strain is, then colors can be mixed in a single field, which may be separated from a different strain by as much as five hundred feet of bare soil or interplanted with other flower species to prevent cross-strain interbreeding. If color is important, then within each strain each color must be planted in separate patches isolated from one another. This all requires acres of land or different locations to keep strains and colors pure and to ensure that pollinators do not travel between patches….

“Although zinnia flowers are a dazzling sight in themselves, one of their major advantages is a penchant for attracting other equally beautiful life forms to the garden…. With the exception of seed-feeding birds, most visitors do no cosmetic harm to zinnia leaves or flowers, as they merely feed on the nectar and pollen sources….

“Bees, whether solitary or social, visit only to collect nectar or pollen for their young…. In spite of the fact that there are hundreds of kinds of zinnias in all shape, sizes, and colors… there is no one answer as to which zinnia is the best for attracting butterflies, bees, or birds. The number of species and the diversity of wildlife attracted depends on where the gardener lives, which regulates what is available to visit a garden….”

From “Transition” in Collected Poems (1930-1973) by May Sarton:

The zinnias, ocher, orange, chrome and amber,
Fade in their cornucopia of gold,
As all the summer turns toward September
And light in torrents flows through the room.

A wasp, determined, zigzags high then low,
Hunting the bowl of rich unripened fruit,
Those purple plums clouded in powder blue,
Those pears, green-yellow with a rose highlight.

The zinnias stand so stiff they might be metal.
The wasp has come to rest on a green pear,
And as fierce light attacks the fruit and petal,
We sigh and feel the thunder in the air.

We are suspended between fruit and flower;
The dying, the unripe possess our day.
By what release of will, what saving power
To taste the fruit, to throw the flowers away?

---

Hello!

This is the first of three posts with photographs of Zinnias from Oakland Cemetery that I took in August and in October — a timeframe that demonstrates the long blooming cycle for these members of the Aster family, whose wide variety of different colors is well-known among floral connoisseurs and well-described in the poem I excerpted at the top of this post.

As far as I know, Oakland has but one collection of zinnias, which start to appear in late summer in a location I previously photographed during the spring (see Land of Azaleas and Roses)…

… and proceed to gradually replace the roses, irises, and greens you see in this photo with their tall, densely-leafed stems. By September and October, Zinnias will have filled out the section at the top of the wall and popped through the sandy hillside next to it, leading to displays like this (taken from atop the wall at the same location), where you can still see some of the rosebush branches they’ve crowded out:

Whenever I’ve photographed these Zinnias, the entire scene is very busy with pollinators, typically small moths, butterflies, and a variety of bees. Just watching their movements, without even taking pictures, becomes a nature study in itself — an experience similar to visiting a butterfly sanctuary and one that is unrivaled elsewhere in the gardens. A couple of years ago, I focused one of my posts on the striking orange and black fritillaries traveling from flower to flower (see Zinnias and Fritillaries from 2023); and this year, I was able to capture several other pollinators. The first group of photos below shows a honeybee, a small orange-brown butterfly that is most likely a Fiery Skipper common to the southeast, and a Black Swallowtail noted for its dark colors with iridescent blue shading.

The flowers in this first post show one of several distinctive Zinnia forms, a single-flowered zinnia — where “single flower” refers to the flat row of petals surrounding the pear-shaped seed structure at the center that’s topped with tiny composite flowers (often yellow or orange ones that look like flowers growing out of other flowers), which attract pollinators and lead them to both the nectar- and pollen-producing segments of the plants. In the second post, we’ll see more of this single-flowered form but in different shapes and colors; and in the last post, we’ll look at double-flowered zinnias featuring multiple petal rows that are typically shaped liked and about the same size as a golf ball, but a pretty one.

The circular flower petal row in the single-flowered Zinnia makes a convenient landing pad for our pollinators, providing one of the reasons Zinnias attract so many different kinds simultaneously. They help the flowers transmit pollen and seed the ground with future generations, something that leads to propagation of next year’s crop even if the original plants are annuals rather than perennials. The quotation I included at the top of this post covers these concepts in some detail, illustrating how the plants provide biological diversity through their attraction to multiple pollinators, which also explains why this crop of Zinnias expands every year even if the garden’s landscapers don’t plant new ones at the start of each season. Unlike their counterparts that are bred in separate fields to maintain genetic distinction and isolate specific colors and forms for distribution and sale, however, these Oakland Zinnias are more likely to cross-breed and share genetic characteristics — thereby blooming in a variety of different colors and blended forms that give them a more random appearance, like a vibrant patch of wildflowers growing on the side of a road.

Thanks for reading and taking a look!

---

---

---

---

---

---

---

---

---

---

---

---

---

---

---

From “The Essence of a Garden” in Ambiguous Dancers of Fame: Collected Poems 1945-1985 by James Erwin Schevill:

Between form and force of color to find
the illuminating place of order
where fruit trees soar no longer bare
and brandish oranges, figs, mangos
above Birds of Paradise sailing in place,
orange flower-ships of natural grace,
gladiolas pointing bluntly through green blades
above red zinnias buttoning up their patch…

until luscious fruits and flowers are too much
and the fertile garden shrivels, picked, dead,
dazed in silent time of sun and stone,
waiting dumbly for the sacred time of rain
when nature and man kindle care
into color-bursts again, and rejoicing air
crystallizes with bright, dying revelations
to teach our eyes wonder, art of glory.

---

Hello!

This is the third of three posts with photos of zinnias from Oakland Cemetery’s gardens, taken in late October and early November. The first post is A Collection of Zinnias (1 of 3) and the second post is A Collection of Zinnias (2 of 3).

We have only red ones here (though you might see some soft swatches of orange or pink) so I found a poem about red zinnias and posted it up-top.

Thanks for taking a look!

---

---

---

---

---

---

---

---

From “Of Marigolds, Dahlias, and Zinnias” in A History of Zinnias: Flower for the Ages by Eric Grissell:

“From a botanical and evolutionary perspective, there is no doubt whatsoever that zinnias have grown in Mexico for eons. After all, species of this genus are endemic to the region and, having evolved in the area, would have been known to any peoples who viewed and valued the countryside in which they lived. If a plant had any use at all, whether ornamental or material, the inhabitants would have explored the possibilities of making it service their needs. [A] question is whether the Aztec peoples [cultivated] these zinnias in their gardens. The answer is almost certainly ‘yes,’ but… there appears to be little written evidence from the period….

“As with zinnias, multiple species of dahlias and marigolds are also endemic to regions of Mexico and are found growing under similar conditions — hot, dry, and even somewhat hostile. These are all members of the family Asteraceae (once better known as Compositae), and in their original wild or natural forms each group of plants was attractive enough to warrant attention: a common dahlia (Dahlia coccinea) with single red flowers, marigolds (Tagetes of several species) with yellow or orange flowers (some mixed with burgundy petals), and zinnias (of several species) with pink, yellow, or reddish flowers. Thus, the trio — dahlia, marigold, and zinnia — may be taken as a unit with regard to their potential inclusions in Aztec gardens. Certainly they all find their place in today’s gardens, but these plants were viewed in different contexts in their own times….”

From “The Tangled Garden” by Julie Dennison in Landmarks: An Anthology of New Atlantic Canadian Poetry of the Land, edited by Hugh MacDonald and Brent MacLaine:

I used to worship East to West, imbibing light,
air, water; forming seeds too heavy for the wind and,
sturdy, rough, a firm stalk, an unconscionable desire
to burst into the sky. Thick with ochre now, and umber,
thirsty for the water I no longer have the strength
to bear, leaves parch and rustle. Turn a countenance
that used to rival Sol’s from sunlight to the medium
on which I root: see zinnias, still scarlet, blooming.

Orchards bow and apples dream of falling. I am spent
and crackled, dry but full of seed; I hear the clamour of
a tangled germ of voices from within. The earth demands
ascetic posturings: I bend, but wryly — only from the neck —
not to the soil, but to the fallen smell of shrivelling leaves, to
summer’s end, its gathering, hiss and crumble — to necessity.

---

Hello!

This is the second of three posts with photos of zinnias from Oakland Cemetery’s gardens, taken in late October and early November. The first post is A Collection of Zinnias (1 of 3).

Since these are close-up photographs, it’s not apparent that they grow in a garden space that resembles the “hot, dry, and even somewhat hostile” environment described in the quotation at the top. The stone wall shown in the first three photographs may give the impression of flowers popping up in a sweet, cool spot — but in August and September it’s one of the hottest sections in the gardens (which is why I’d rather photograph them on cloudy days!) The wall also belies the fact that they’re actually growing on a hill, one graded at about forty-five degrees and mostly filled with loose, sandy soil.

The first time I encountered this zinnia patch a few years ago, I didn’t quite understand why they didn’t just slide down the hill along with the grains of sand that would roll onto my feet every time the wind blew. But they’re more resilient than that — and it turns out that they have a fast-growing fibrous root system capable of wide horizontal spreads with additional root-shoots that help stabilize them (and the soil) under these conditions. And since the root system typically goes no deeper into the soil than a twelve inches, they’re able to snag plenty of water from any rainstorm (or gardener’s hose) before it runs into the nearby road. The bees, the butterflies, and The Photographer certainly appreciate that!

Thanks for taking a look!

---

---

---

---

---

---

---

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

“Zinnia: Among the most effective of summer-blooming plants, they flower well until autumn, their blooms not easily injured by inclement weather, but retaining freshness and gay colour when many flowers present but a sorry appearance. In mixed borders, beds among sub-tropical plants, well-grown Zinnias are always attractive, but require a deep loamy soil and a warm open situation….

“Seed should be sown in gentle warmth. Nothing is gained by sowing before the middle or end of March, as, if the young plants have to stand before being planted, they become root-bound and seldom fully recover. If the tissues once harden so much as to bring the young plants to a standstill, there will be little chance of rapid progress when finally set out. It is not advisable to plant them out much before the second week in June, as they are sensitive to atmospheric changes, and are completely ruined by a few degrees of frost.”

From “On the Roundness of Everything” in Duties of the Spirit by Patricia Fargnoli:

At midnight
in the cooled air
there was the moon.

And before that, in the hot day, many were the moons of zinnias.

And the whole time there was the moon of my thoughts in its skull basket.

One was the color vermillion
and others the red and yellow of celebration.

One swallows the universe
like snow swallows a field…

---

Hello!

This is the first of three posts with photos of zinnias from Oakland Cemetery’s gardens, taken during the last few weeks. I’ve photographed and posted them once before (see, for example, Zinnia Elegance (1 of 4) from last year), and while these aren’t substantially different from the previous photos, they are new — which counts for something, too! After I took the first six photos, the sun slipped behind some clouds — so while those first six look a little like I used a camera flash (I didn’t), the rest are more to my liking because the lighting is more balanced yet the colors still shine through.

With temperatures remaining very high this fall — nights in the 60s and days pushing 80 — there hasn’t been a lot of traditional fall color (you know, red, yellow, and orange filling the trees) so far this year, so taking new photographs of zinnias, asters, mums, and daisies is fulfilling my autumn color needs instead. My favorites of the zinnias are the ones that resemble tiny pineapples, but the others are pretty sexy too — especially those with yellow threads stitched around the centers of the flowers.

Thanks for taking a look!

---

---

---

---

---

---

---