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

Iris domestica: From Summer to Fall (2 of 4)

From “The Genus Belamcanda” in The Iris by Brian Mathew: 

“It is generally accepted that this interesting genus contains only one species…. The one frequently grown species is B. chinensis, easily recognized by its flower which has six equal reddish-spotted perianth segments, not differentiated into falls and standards as in an Iris. Furthermore, the three styles are slender like those of Crocus sativus, with a terminal stigma, not expanded and petaloid like those of irises in which the stigma is a flap on the underside of each of the three style branches. Apart from this, the habit of growth is similar to some irises….

“In cultivation in Britain
Belamcanda presents no problems if given reasonably good soil with plenty of humus in sun or semi-shade. It does not like a very warm dry position and should have plenty of moisture in the growing season. I find that it is completely hardy in Surrey but is not a long-lived plant. It is however easily raised from seed and flowers in two or three years from sowing….

“The inflorescence is widely branched with about three to twelve flowers about 4cm in diameter. These have six equal perianth segments which are a yellowish or orange-red colour mottled with red or blackish-purple spots. They have hardly any perianth tube at all and the pedicels are jointed just below the ovary so that the whole flower quickly falls off from this point if it is not fertilized. The three style branches are slender, not petaloid….

“Unlike irises, the capsules split open and the three locules curl outwards leaving the central axis exposed. The large blackish seeds stay attached for a considerable time before falling, this feature having given rise to the common name of Blackberry Lily.
Belamcanda chinensis is a native of Japan, China, eastern Russia in the Ussuri region, Taiwan and northern India. It occurs in sandy meadows near the sea, in moist scrubland and in shady places from sea level to about 2000 metres altitude.”

From “Farm Gate” by Uys Krige in The New Century of South African Poetry, edited by Michael Chapman: 

Blood-red the aloes flank
the winding road.
As if aflame with leaping sparks each fire-lily glows.
But nothing, nothing stirs… only
a breeze that flows
that seems to pause and waver there
the grass-seed grows.

Above, the blue, blue sky;
and far below, the falling stream
drifts through the orchards with
a flash of green.
And no sound breaks the hovering peace
of this still mountain scene….

The gate stands in
a maroola’s shade.
A wholeness in me, harmony
and no bitterness, no hate.
I lift the catch… and in my heart
open a gate.


Hello!

This is the second of four posts with photos of Iris domestica that I took at Oakland Cemetery during the summer and early fall. The first post is Iris domestica: From Summer to Fall (1 of 4), where I describe my annual trips to photograph this plant, detail some of its unique characteristics, and provide a three-part illustration of its lifecycle.

Below I show several more batches of orange-spotted Iris domestica — the variant that honors leopards and their markings by calling them Leopard Lilies or Leopard Flowers (among other common names) — where I have zoomed from wider shots showing the plants’ surroundings to macro photos that reveal the colors and intricate structures of one or two individual blossoms. With close-up photos like these, you could read through the excerpt describing Iris domestica‘s botanical architecture (published in 1990, when it was still called Belamcanda chinensis) at the top of this post, follow the links to Wikipedia definitions for any unfamiliar terms, and easily identify different parts of the plants.

In the first five photos below, you’ll see batches of Iris domestica thriving near some of Oakland’s large Yucca plants, and in front of a field of ferns in the last four photos. Placements like these are not only visually interesting — providing both color and texture contrasts, as well as a sense of depth — but also show how Iris domestica thrives in the company of other plants while being surrounded by their horizontal spread. Iris domestica emerges from the ground on a single stem even among such plants, then splits into separate branches with multiple smaller stems (pedicels) hosting clusters of flowers — or inflorescences — that will all stand tall against their backgrounds as long as the flowers continue blooming.

Thanks for taking a look!
















Iris domestica: From Summer to Fall (1 of 4)

From “Blackberry Lilies” in Garden Bulbs for the South by Scott Ogden:

“There is a speckled Asian irid that offers something of an analog to the American tigridias. The old botanical name for the plant is Pardanthus (‘leopard flower’). In the South these rich orange, purple-spotted blossoms have long been familiar as blackberry lilies, for the round, black seeds that persist clustered like blackberries after the fat pods open. Most garden literature refers to these perennials as Belamcanda chinensis, a Latinized version of their Asian name, balamtandam, and their home country, China. Recently, however, DNA-wielding botanists have assigned this distinctive plant the more pedestrian title Iris domestica.

“This flower was once common in gardens, but is now more often seen as an escape, growing on damp, acid soil. Like many other deserving plants, this easy-growing irid has yielded its place to more obvious blooms. Jefferson had it at Monticello, where he knew the colorful blossoms as Chinese ixia.

“The ephemeral flowers, appearing on slender stems above short fans of matte green foliage, continue over a long summer season. After the pretty flowers fade, the capsules enlarge to form the handsome ‘blackberries,’ which persist over winter and as cut decorations for autumn vases. The fleshy roots develop offsets that may be divided for increase, and the seeds, when sown, often flower the first season.

“In addition to the common purple and orange of the wild
Iris domestica, nurseries provide a pale yellow selection, ‘Hello Yellow,’ and several hybrids with the Mongolian I. dichotoma.… Usually sold as pardancandas or candy lilies, they come in a wide range of exotic, warm-colored pastels. All grow readily on damp ground and make showy, but short-lived perennials. They grow easily from seed and mix cheerfully in borders of white phlox, yellow daylilies, or blue mistflowers….”

From “A Poem About Icebergs and Planting” by Susan Ingersoll in The Backyards of Heaven: An Anthology of Contemporary Poetry:

let there be
blackberry lilies,
starry mountain bluets…

let the cycle of renewal
rumoured at another season
be complete

now the earth will turn again
toward the light

let the bee balm return, and the bee,
and the honeysuckle
and the sun

these seeds are shiny black
like shot, messages
sent underground to the future,
that august should see…

belamcanda chinensis

in the name of faith in
the name of magic


Hello!

This is the first of four posts with photos of Iris domestica — a plant with many fun common names like Leopard Lily, Leopard Flower, Blackberry Lily, Candy Lily, Freckle Face, Butterfly Lily, and Fire Lily — that I took at Oakland Cemetery during the summer and early fall. I first discovered roving packs of Iris domestica at Oakland in 2022 (see Leopard Flower Variations), returned to photograph them in 2023 (see Iris Domestica, the Leopard Flower or Blackberry Lily (1 of 3)), and again returned to photograph them in 2024 (see Iris Domestica Fireworks (1 of 2)).

Across those years, I experimented quite a bit with rendering their colors in different tones, varying white balance to demonstrate how that shifts orange and yellow between warmer and cooler shades, and isolating the flowers on black backgrounds to show off the structure of their petals, stems, and leaves. Each new batch of the plants gave me an opportunity to try new photographic treatments but also to learn more about them, as I uncovered fascinating stories about how they were introduced at Thomas Jefferson’s Monticello gardens in the early 1800s; how their scientific name changed from Belamcanda chinensis to Iris domestica just twenty years ago; that they were determined to be members of the Iris family and are not lilies at all; that there are cultivars whose appearance contradicts the common names Leopard Flower and Leopard Lily by having eliminated the dark spots that established the plant’s “leopard” nickname to begin with; and — from the Scott Ogden book excerpt above — that Iris domestica behaves as an escaped plant impervious to human intent to constrain its spatial growth as it ventures out beyond any borders. This last point is evident in how I’ve seen the plants make their way around Oakland, from a couple of defined clusters at the boundaries of several garden pathways that I encountered in 2022, to randomly appear in new locations from one year to the next.

One of its cultivars — Iris domestica ‘Hello Yellow’ — made its debut at Oakland just this year, appearing in this memorial scene as a crowded mass of flowers whose density increased as the summer went on:

I was out photographing daylilies on the morning I came across these, and almost passed them by because from a distance they looked like yellow daylilies, which I’d already photographed abundantly. Once I realized they were an Iris domestica variant — the flower shape reveals their identity — I spent plenty of my shoot time photographing these from various distances and angles to study their characteristics and observe more about how different they are from the plants that produce spotted orange flowers. Over this post and the next three, then, we’ll look at two sets of photos featuring plants with orange petals and leopard spots, and two sets of photos featuring Hello Yellow, while we explore their botanical similarities and differences in some detail.

June and July are peak bloom times for most Iris domestica variants, and in the past, I’ve shared their photos during the summer — but I held off this year to capture the plant’s full growth and reproductive cycle from buds and blooms, to seed capsule generation, then finally to the production of “blackberries” represented in the “Blackberry Lily” common name.

The first five photos below this paragraph show the orange-spotted variant during its blooming period (I took these photos toward the end of June), where even here you can see some fully opened flowers, some that have not yet opened, and a few whose flowers have twisted into the tight spirals that are one of Iris domestica’s distinctive features. This range of development states is common to many flowering plants and represents a timed blooming that occurs sequentially over several days to present multiple opportunities for visiting pollinators. The flower twisting that Iris domestica produces, though, is quite uncommon, and represents a transitional stage for this plant, where the flower is closed to pollinators because of its reduced visibility. The twisted flower — which is quite stiff to the touch — also serves as a protective mechanism for the seed packet that will grow to eventually push the desiccated flower off the stem.

By the middle of July, the same plants have entered the second stage of their lifecycle, where all of the flowers have been replaced by seed capsules. While not especially photogenic (three photos seemed like enough to show this stage), the capsules are botanically and biologically significant, as their blackberries are growing inside. Some of the capsules are quite large — up to an inch in length — and as fat as a thumb. The third photo emphasizes their size, but also shows a tiny “pin” at the top of each one, from where the twisted flower has completely dropped off. The green capsules continue to grow for several more weeks, through the end of summer and into early fall.

Fast forward to October (I took these photos just last week, on October 6), and now we can see what has happened since the seed capsules have dried up, split open, and gotten discarded: the berries of Blackberry Lily fame appear as clusters at the ends of many stems, somewhat protected by what remains of the capsule and the dried leaves where the flowers once extended from the stems ends. The berries will be picked up by flying seed dispersal agents like birds, or scattered by the wind, or brushed off the plants by humans or other animals passing by — to find their way into the ground and enable the plants to spread into their next seasonal cycle, taken root and germinating wherever environmental conditions are suitable.

Here in the Southeast, the appearance of Iris domestica berries is one of the first indicators that autumn has arrived, even before frosty temperatures kick in and other plants, trees, and shrubs start producing the colors of fall. And for those of us already thinking ahead to the upcoming winter holidays, the contrasting blue-black colors of the berries surrounded by yellow-gold leaves might trigger early thoughts of Christmas decorations, especially Christmas picks and sprays whose designs are often based on the shapes and colors of plants like Blackberry Lilies, and whose cuttings fill our mantles, windows, tables, and vases from November until the new year.

Thanks for reading and taking a look!










An Amaryllis Family Gathering (4 of 4)

From Garden Bulbs for the South by Scott Ogden:

“The most popular of the spring growers is Lycoris squamigera, an old garden selection known as the magic lily. One rarely finds a more beautiful flower possessed of such an undemanding disposition. It’s nearly ideal for gardens in the middle and upper South, and even into the cold climates of the Midwest. On both sandy acid soils and heavy alkaline clays, L. squamigera thrives.

“Sometime after the Fourth of July, rainfall triggers the thick scapes of surprise lilies to bolt upward from the ground. They rise swiftly, in four or five days expanding to crowns of succulent, lilac-pink buds. The clustered blossoms open to look like small amaryllises, shimmering with lavender highlights on their broad rounded petals.

“Like the triploid
Lycoris radiata, this strong-growing species enjoys an extra set of chromosomes, which fuel unusual vigor. Genetic evidence suggests that these were acquired through hybridization….

Lycoris squamigera reportedly came to America with a certain Dr. Hall of Bristol, Rhode Island, who grew the flowers in his garden in Shanghai, China, prior to the American Civil War. Several other spring-growing lycoris have made their way to North America, but none approach Lycoris squamigera in prominence or widespread adaptability….

Lycoris incarnata is occasionally offered as well; its rose blooms are accented by electric-blue petals…. [They] have gray-green spring foliage and produce flowers in late summer along with Lycoris squamigera….”

From “The Metaphysical Garden” in Collected Poems (1930-1973) by May Sarton:

It was late in September when you took me
To that amazing garden, hidden in the city,
Tranquil and complicated as an open hand,
There among green pleasances and descant of fountains,
Through walled paths and dappled loggias
Opening to distant trees,
We went conversing, smoking, often silent,
Our feet cool in sandals, nonchalant as the air.

It was at the end of September, warm for the season.
Nothing had fallen yet to bruise the grass.
Ripeness was all suspended,
The air aromatic and fresh over sun-drenched box.

Critical as Chinese philosophers,
We performed the garden by easy stages:
Should we move toward shade or toward sunlight,
The closed dark pool or the panoplied fountain?

Clearly each path had a metaphysical meaning,
Those rustic steps, that marble balustrade.
It was late in September when time,
Time that is not ours,
Hid itself away.


Hello!

This is the fourth of four posts with photos of Amaryllis family plants that I photographed during the summer. The previous posts are An Amaryllis Family Gathering (1 of 4), An Amaryllis Family Gathering (2 of 4), and An Amaryllis Family Gathering (3 of 4).

The series features photos of Amaryllis family members Crinum bulbispermum, Lycoris squamigera, andย Lycoris incarnata. The first two are well-known and common historical garden plants, while the last —ย Lycoris incarnata, or the Peppermint Spider Lily — is a bit more mysterious but nevertheless delightful to have encountered and photographed.

I’m posting this on the last day of September, so I was glad to find a poem — “The Metaphysical Garden” by May Sarton — that seems to capture the sense of exploring a historical garden on one of those days marking the transition from summer to fall. I excerpted just the opening four stanzas; but it’s much longer than that and you can read the whole poem here, if you’d like.

Thanks for taking a look! See you in October!