Backyard Nature Wednesday: Carolina jessamine

Carolina jessamine (Gelsemium sempervirens) is a native evergreen vine. It is a part of the natural ecosystem from Texas east to Florida and as far north as Virginia. It is a robust grower that has no serious diseases or pests and yet it is relatively easy to control with pruning and pulling up "volunteers."

The vine is sometimes mistakenly referred to as Carolina "jasmine," but jasmines actually belong to a completely different genus, Jasminum.

Carolina jessamine puts on a truly spectacular display at this time of year. The vines are covered in masses of fragrant yellow trumpet-shaped flowers.

This vine is on a trellis next to my patio, so when I sit outside these days, I'm able to enjoy its wonderful fragrance.

From every angle, the vine is covered in its wonderful blossoms.

My vine is in full sun and that's where jessamine is happiest, but it will also grow in partial shade or even full shade. And though mine grows on a trellis, it can also be allowed to sprawl and used as a ground cover.

Carolina jessamine is a drought-tolerant plant. In this area, it almost never needs extra water, but in the drier areas west of here, it could benefit from occasional supplemental watering.

This vine can grow as high as 10 to 20 feet and as much as 4 to 8 feet wide. It will thrive as far north as zone 6 and will easily adapt to a wide variety of soils.

The blossoms are fairly long-lasting, but when they finally fall, you get a carpet of yellow.

Poetry Sunday: Don't Hesitate by Mary Oliver

How about we share another Mary Oliver poem? After all, you can never have too many of those. In this one, the poet seems to acknowledge that it is often hard to simply live in and enjoy the moment, perhaps because we are afraid it can't last. She urges us to give in to that moment and fully experience the joy. Although "much can never be redeemed, still, life has some possibility left." Don't Hesitate by Mary Oliver If you suddenly and unexpectedly feel joy, don’t hesitate. Give in to it. There are plenty of lives and whole towns destroyed or about to be. We are not wise, and not very often kind. And much can never be redeemed. Still, life has some possibility left. Perhaps this is its way of fighting back, that sometimes something happens better than all the riches or power in the world. It could be anything, but very likely you notice it in the instant when love begins. Anyway, that’s often the case. Anyway, whatever it is, don’t be afraid of its plenty. Joy is no...

Poetry Sunday: Blackberry-Picking by Seamus Heaney

My mother was a farm wife and a prodigious canner. She canned fruit and vegetables from the garden, even occasionally meat. But the best thing that she canned, in my opinion, was blackberry jam. Even as I type those words my mouth waters! Of course, before she could make that jam, somebody had to pick the blackberries. And that somebody was quite often named Dorothy. I think Seamus Heaney might have spent some time among the briars plucking those delicious black fruits as well, so he would have known that "Once off the bush the fruit fermented, the sweet flesh would turn sour." They don't keep; you have to get that jam made in a hurry! Blackberry-Picking by Seamus Heaney Late August, given heavy rain and sun For a full week, the blackberries would ripen. At first, just one, a glossy purple clot Among others, red, green, hard as a knot. You ate that first one and its flesh was sweet Like thickened wine: summer's blood was in it Leaving stains upon the tongue and lust ...

Poetry Sunday: Hymn for the Hurting by Amanda Gorman

You probably remember poet Amanda Gorman from her appearance at the inauguration of President Biden. She read her poem "The Hill We Climb" on that occasion. After the senseless slaughter in Uvalde this week, she was inspired to write another poem which was published in The New York Times. It seemed perfect for the occasion and so I stole it in order to feature it here, just in case you didn't get a chance to read it in the Times . Hymn for the Hurting by Amanda Gorman Everything hurts, Our hearts shadowed and strange, Minds made muddied and mute. We carry tragedy, terrifying and true. And yet none of it is new; We knew it as home, As horror, As heritage. Even our children Cannot be children, Cannot be. Everything hurts. It’s a hard time to be alive, And even harder to stay that way. We’re burdened to live out these days, While at the same time, blessed to outlive them. This alarm is how we know We must be altered — That we must differ or die, That we must triumph or try. ...

The Nature of Things

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