Sunday, February 5, 2012

Kinship

or Window Dressing

Western sand cherry (Prunus besseyi)


I.
Simon was not happy, and as the boxes, furniture, and odd lots gradually disappeared into the back of the moving van, his unhappiness grew.  Change can be a worrisome thing at the best of times.  When you're blind, and elderly, and the change is not one of your choosing, and you've been shunted aside into the back yard for the duration, out of harm's way but also away from the reassuring presence of your family, worry can explode into panic.  Simon responded in the only way he could, really.  He barked.  And barked, and barked—piercing cries of desperation.  His miniature poodle soprano would have done even a wolf proud as he gave voice to the bone-deep fear of his species, the fear of abandonment and aloneness.  Poodle, pointer, or pit bull—all of those shapes and sizes are just different ways of housing the need to belong.

(The last I saw of Simon, he was sitting in the cab of the van in the arms of one of my former neighbors, eagerly sniffing the air through the open window as they all drove out of view.)

Rio Grande cottonwood (Populus wislizeni)

II.
For me, at least, blogging is basically a way of dressing up the word "Wow" for company.  Whether a tiny event in the garden or a magnificent scene in the wild, something awe-inspiring or beautiful or intriguing or comical, that moment of Wow is what prompts me to pick up camera, paper and pencil, and to look for ways to share the essence of that moment with you all.  I may have published 161 posts so far, but at heart they're almost all the same—I've just written the same post in 161 different ways.

Gaura lindheimeri

III.
It's been a while since I've waxed rhapsodic about stems.  As winter moseys along, though, and the flowers stay away, stems and branches and trunks grab your attention—and then you remember just how fascinating they are.

French marigold (Tagetes patula)

I was looking up some information on stems the other day, as one does, and was astonished to find out how alike their innards are, no matter what their surface differences, at least across large classes of plants.  The striping along a sand cherry branch, the rugged crags of an old cottonwood, the lithe wands of gaura, the nubs on marigold stems in their tidy rows, and the Kool-aid purple of rue in winter—all that variety is just so much window dressing for one essential process:  moving nutrients around.  The outer portions of the stem or trunk protect the interior, vascular tissue—the xylem, which carries water and minerals upward from the soil, and the phloem, which carries carbohydrates downward from the leaves.  The outsides of plants may have scads of different strategies to cope with their environment, to prevent dessication and protect from disease, but at heart they're all remarkably akin.  The same processes are at work in the 80-foot tree as in the tender annual.

Rue (Ruta graveolens)

All to say—wow.
________________________

Thanks, everyone, for the kind and supportive comments and e-mails over the last couple of weeks!

22 comments:

  1. Replies
    1. Thanks, Kathy. :) I was trying to include a photo of a dracaena trunk from the plant you gave me lo these many years ago when you and D moved (?), and which by now is taller than I am. But it's a monocot, alas, and doesn't work quite the same way.

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  2. Phloem and xylem - words that whisk me staight back to school and biology class (with dear Mrs Toomer) and amazing cross section photos taken with electron-microscopes. Wow, indeed.

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    1. I never did take a biology class, alas, on account of the frogs. (Actually, I think it was because of a scheduling issue, but the frogs make a better story.) I certainly enjoyed discovering some of those photos online, though--they're amazingly artistic, with all that patterning.

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  3. Wow, Stacy, so eloquently put! Are you going to get on to photosynthesis next?

    I feel for Simon. We try to reassure our Freya when she's whisked off to the vet for annual vaccinations that everything is okay. She knows better...just by the smell.

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    1. Oh, now there's a challenge, Janet--hmm. (She said, non-commitally...) And thank you!

      When you try to understand from a dog's perspective how inexplicable the human world is, you realize what amazingly good sports they are.

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  4. Just 161 ways of saying the same thing, she says casually. Now that earns a WOW!

    I was going to send out a search party, but I saw a comment from you yesterday. And here you are Back at Work. Hope you are refreshed and revitalised?

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    1. Diana, when you start with a very simple theme, the variations are pretty easy to come by...

      Ah, thank you. I'm not quite revitalized, but my brain is functioning again, and that counts for a lot. Now to dive into that long list on Google Reader...

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  5. Yes, the garden wows us, and we in turn, blog. :) Love the purple rue! That deserves a Wow post! And the workings of nature and the human body is truly incredible.

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    1. Holley, I LOVE the rue! It's so unassuming all the rest of the year, and then in winter it puts on this wonderful show. Usually the leaves turn purplish, too, but this winter is apparently the exception to all the rules.

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  6. I would say those 161 posts disguised as very different wonderful messages is certainly an accomplishment worthy of another WOW...I agree that I find my attention driven to the other aspects of the plant that are lost in spring and summer due to the flowers...

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    1. Donna, thank you. Really, when wonder is your starting point, all the rest more or less just follows. As much as winter is not my favorite (though this one has been perfectly pleasant), I do like that it gives us every encouragement to see things in a different light.

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  7. Glad you're back! - poodle, stems and all. I was here in January and wrote 4 posts, you were away but still managed to write 6. Wow!

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    1. Thanks, b-a-g--it's good to be back. There's something to be said for a weekly posting schedule over twice a week...

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  8. Stacy, I'm often awestruck by the photos I see in garden blogs, but have never been able to articulate that. It must be the "wow" factor. Thanks for bringing to light. Hope you're doing better.

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    1. GirlSprout, one of my favorite things about the garden blogging community (readers and bloggers) is how ready people are to say "wow".

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  9. Stacy, I've been immersed in my own little bubble for over three weeks, taking care of family in England. I just had a few minutes free today so read back over the few posts of yours which I had missed. I'm so sorry to hear about your health struggles and wish you well in your recovery/recuperation. You have my email so please keep in touch through that.
    Your observations and images are inspirational to us all - thank you for what you have shared. Hugs.

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    1. Karen, even though we've e-mailed, I can't leave your comment here all alone. Thanks so much for your wonderful, warm thoughts. And more hugs for good measure!

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  10. Ah! This is wonderful! All of it. I found you through Sheila at Green Place, and I'm so glad I did. I was an actress for many years, and two of the fundamental lessons taught to us were: "Be astonished by everything" and "Have an insatiable curiosity...never stop asking questions." That is precisely what you seem to be doing with your work!

    Stunning photography and very thought-provoking words. So glad I found you. I look forward to exploring the rest of your blog.

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    1. Aimee, thank you so much, and welcome! If every one were taught those two fundamental lessons of yours as children, the world would be an (even more) amazing place. I'm still not out and about in the blogging world as much as I'd like to be, but I'm looking forward to getting acquainted with you and your blog--I loved what Sheila said about Red Garden Clogs!

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  11. Lovely posts, and lovely photographs. I really enjoy your blog.

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  12. Thank you, Hoover Boo! I've enjoyed seeing the floral bits and pieces of California through your eyes lately, too.

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