Backyard Nature Wednesday: Butterfly iris

Some years ago, a friend gave me some corms of butterfly iris. (There are several species in the genus. Mine are Moraea grandiflora.) I planted them in a bed that surrounds my old concrete birdbath in the front yard. It's a place that receives quite a lot of shade since it is located between two large live oak trees. The plants formed clumps of narrow, sword-like foliage that remained green right through our mild winters. Even when we had a couple of winters when our temperatures temporarily dipped below 20 degrees F, they still flourished. The foliage grew 2 1/2 to 3 feet high. But the plants never bloomed.

I had given up on them ever blooming and decided just to enjoy the lush, structural background they provided in my bed. Imagine my surprise then when I glanced out my window a few days ago and saw what appeared to be a bloom among the foliage. I walked out to the front yard for a closer look, and sure enough, there were a couple of the butterfly-shaped blooms among all that green foliage. After all these years!

Each flower of the butterfly (also called African) iris lasts about two days. Then they form large seedpods that are reminiscent of Louisiana iris. The flowers are fairly large and do, in fact, somewhat resemble butterflies. Once established, the plants are quite tolerant of dry conditions and will do well in a bed with other drought-tolerant plants such as rosemary, Hamelia patens (Mexican firebush or hummingbird bush), and autumn sage (Salvia greggii).

And even if the plants never bloom, the foliage itself is quite attractive and makes a nice background in a bed. The flowers, when the do come, are a bonus.

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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