white flowers

The Pleasure of Faded Blue Genes

~ shoreacres ~ 67 Comments
Attwater Prairie Chicken Refuge

 

Although I’d never considered the Attwater Prairie Chicken Refuge as a source for bluebonnets, an impulsive decision to swing by for a visit revealed acres and acres of the flowers covering the land.

These weren’t the Lupinus texensis of central Texas’s gently rolling hills, but Lupinus subcarnosus: the sandyland bluebonnet. Declared the state flower in 1901, Lupinus subcarnosus competed for years with the larger and showier Lupinus texensis for pride of place. In 1971, the state legislature resolved the conflict by declaring that the Texas bluebonnet (Lupinus texensis) and “any other variety of bluebonnet not heretofore recorded” also should be considered the state flower; today, six recognized species share the honor.

As I walked into the field, the appropriateness of the name ‘sandyland’ became obvious; the covering of loose sand reminded me of barrier island prairies. The sandy conditions also suggested I was seeing white prickly poppies in the distance, but walking farther in I discovered something quite different: bull nettles. One of the nastiest plants I know, the flowers are lovely, and butterflies visit them without fear, but the sting from the hairs covering every other part of the plant is remarkably painful. Having learned about that sting in the past, I looked, but didn’t touch.

Texas bull nettle ~ Cnidoscolus texanus

The day’s greatest delight was a scattering of white bluebonnets throughout the field. I’ve occasionally found one or two white flowers, but on this occasion I counted a full dozen in the area I explored.

What I’d never before seen were pale bluebonnets: lovely, soft hues that were immensely appealing.

Even more fun were the variegated bluebonnets blooming in the middle of the field. Whether variations are more common in Lupinis subcarnosis, or whether other conditions caused them to appear, I can’t say, but I’m certain that any budding genticist would have had a field day in this field.

 

Comments always are welcome.

One Lily, Two Views

~ shoreacres ~ 56 Comments
Evening rain lily  ~ Zephyranthes chlorosolen

If rain lilies forcing their way through a construction site’s packed dirt exemplify nature’s energy and exuberance, this solitary lily is pure elegance.

Blooming undisturbed and undamaged at the Brazoria Wildlife Refuge, it seemed to demand a photo session. After all,  for white flower lovers, there never can be too many rain lilies.

 

Comments always are welcome.

Life’s Force

~ shoreacres ~ 93 Comments

Recent rains, sufficient to leave roadway puddles and the occasional flowing ditch, have enouraged new plant growth everywhere. Crepe myrtles are reblooming, shrubs are leafing out as though it were April, and the voice of the lawnmower is heard in the land.

From our schoolyard lawns to the highway medians of Galveston, one of the most prolific bloomers just now is a native rain lily (Zephyranthes chlorosolen). Aptly described by an online acquaintance as “all those little white flowers that come out of nowhere right after it rains,” they might also be described as “those little white flowers that bloom anywhere they darned well please.”

This small group had pushed its way through the hard clay of a construction site in what I imagined to be a natural call-and-response. The rain called, the flowers responded, and everyone who’s noticed is exclaiming in delight at their sudden appearance.  

 

Comments always are welcome.

Never Say Never

~ shoreacres ~ 52 Comments
New growth emerging from freeze-damaged branches

Despite its name, the Mexican Olive, or Anacahuita, doesn’t produce true olives. A member of the Borage family, Cordia boissieri is more closely related to flowers such as Comfrey, Heliotrope, and Forget-Me-Not. 

Butterflies and hummingbirds frequent the blooms, while the fleshy fruits — which do resemble an olive in shape and color — are palatable to birds, deer, and cattle. Don’t add one to your martini or tapenade, though; the fruits’ slight toxicity makes them unfit for human consumption.

Native to only a few counties in far south Texas and to portions of northeastern Mexico, the plant rarely exceeds a height of twenty feet. It tends toward shrubbiness, but can be pruned to become more tree-like. No matter its shape, it blooms through most of the year with showy, trumpet-shaped flowers that glow against its dark leaves.

Pest and disease free, Texas olive’s greatest downside is its dislike of cold weather. In the normally frost-free region of south Texas, Mexican olive thrives, but survival in areas like Austin and San Antonio is less certain. At that northern limit of its range, the trees often are smaller, and deciduous or evergreen depending on the weather.

After Texas’s state-wide freeze last February, the single specimen tree at the Brazoria Wildlife Refuge seemed to have succumbed to the harsh conditions; its leafless branches suggested it never would survive. Then, I noticed a few leaves, followed by small but perfectly formed buds. In time, normally-sized flowers once again bloomed: delighting my human eyes as well as the bees, butterflies, and hummingbirds that find it so appealing.

 

Comments always are welcome.

Brookweeds Will Not Brook Being Ignored*

~ shoreacres ~ 53 Comments

While I found the fully-opened flowers of the Limewater Brookweed (Samolus ebracteatus) charming enough to be featured in my previous post, I was equally taken with their plump little buds, and the interesting, vase-like form of the flower when seen from the side.

Like flowers of the dewberry or rain lily, they can be touched with a hint of pink which fades as the flower matures.

 

Comments always are welcome.
* While the construction ‘brook no’ is old and generally uncommon, it still shows up in phrases like “He would brook no criticism” or “She brooks no dissent.” It means not to allow, tolerate, or accept something.
The etymology of ‘brook’ in this sense is interesting, as this condensed passage from the LanguageHat blog demonstrates:
The Old English strong verb brúcan is historically the same as the German brauchen and has the same meaning: ‘to make use of, have the enjoyment of, enjoy.’  A specialized usage is found in the Oxford Annotated Dictionary’s second sense: “To make use of (food); in later usage, to digest, retain, or bear on the stomach.”  Citations of early usage include Thomas Raynalde (Roesslin’s Byrth of mankynde, 1540): “If she refuse or cannot brooke meat.” The first OED citation is found in Palsgrave’s 1530 “Lesclarcissement de la langue françoyse”: “He can nat brooke me of all men.”