Sunday, April 1, 2012

Ephemeral

or A Moment of 'Meh'

A fever that lasts for a day—that's what ephemeral used to mean.  In the 14th century it was a medical term to describe illnesses of short duration.  Only later, over the course of several hundred years, did the meaning of something gone in a flash extend to flowers and insects and experiences.  (I do like a word with a past.)

When we talk about "spring ephemerals" I wonder idly sometimes whether we're really referring to the season's colorful, short-lived flowers, or whether we're back to human fevers that last for a day.  Such heady, dizzy excitement for this flash-in-the-pan experience—like gold fever, only without the prospectors and picks and mules and claim-jumpers and boom towns.  (But other than that, just the same.)  We work ourselves up to fever pitch when those first leaves appear and savor every minute of growth and bud and bloom.  We know that a few too many weeks of yellowing leaves will follow, but they will have been worth it for the short-lived, intense enjoyment of those flowers.  What we don't want is to work ourselves into a state of hopeful excitement for something that turns out to be—

But let's start with the enjoyment.  Take the Lady Jane tulips (again).  (Apparently, they are not really Tulipa clusiana, in case that matters.*)  As buds and half-open flowers, they exude delicious elegance.


When they open fully, though, their secret life as wildflowers is divulged, and they have a kind of carefree rough-and-tumble to them that I love.


The weeks of anticipation are worth the few days of pleasure—Lady Janes are beautiful for every minute until they pass their prime.

The 'Persian Pearls' (T. humilis) only last for four or five days and then efface themselves quickly, leaves and all.  If none of their blooming days falls on a weekend, I don't get to see them open in the sunshine, but never mind.  Just knowing that they can outshine stained glass and that I might see them doing so makes up for a disappointing year now and then.  You live them up when you can.


But now we come to the Tulipa tardas.  I had such high hopes for these small flowers (they only get two to four inches high).  The buds were promising, with a complex array of glowing colors.


But then the flowers turned out to be a bit of a mess.


Granted, they are luminous in the sun, and anyone lying flat on the concrete patio can certainly enjoy that effect to the full.


When they open—at high noon, for half an hour or so— (what more do they want than a full morning of high desert sunshine?), they're mighty cheerful, as you can tell if you're standing directly over them and looking straight down. 


From the Adirondack chair on the patio, though, you mostly just see mess.  I feel a bit disillusioned.  Spring flowers are not supposed to leave you with a feeling of...well, for lack of a better word, meh.

I don't usually adopt the latest words of the moment.  Not out of principle or anything; they're just ephemeral enough that by the time I figure out what they mean they've begun to fade from popularity anyway.  But a flash (in the pan) of insight today suggested that "meh" was just made for unimpressive tulips.  Both of them are here and then gone, without anyone getting too worked up either way.  I can handle that tepid, evanescent nothingness in a word—not all words can have the longevity of "ephemeral," after all.

But I don't see the point of it in a tulip.

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* The long stems of Darwin and other hybrid tulips often break in the spring winds around here, so regional growers recommend wildflower or species tulips instead.   (For what it's worth.)

20 comments:

  1. The pix are beautiful. I don't know how you have the patience to wait for the right moment.

    I noted that you mentioned you would miss the flowers if they bloomed during the week. Does that mean you are able to work? (if too snoopy, please forgive me).

    Blessings to you today and always.

    We have a native peonie and it only blooms for a few days. If it rains, it ruins it:(

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    1. Elaine, thank you--believe me, I'm not really very patient! I try to spend every possible minute outside, though, so that gives me lots of opportunities.

      You're not being snoopy at all! I've let go of my career, but do have a gentle part-time job working with about the nicest people on the planet. Sometimes it's about all I can manage. I'm really grateful still to be working.

      Blessings and a big, warm hug to you, too, and I hope your peony blooms during a nice sunny stretch this year!

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  2. Though I would be more than happy to lie flat on your patio concrete, (as I'm sure, all visitors to your garden would be), I agree that the T. tardas are a little .... wishy washy? I'm just sorry they didn't grab hold of you and make you breathless. Meh? Not a 'word' I know, Stacy, so I had to google it. More of an initial syllable, isn't it? Or the sound you might make when a peanut goes down the wrong way. I suppose I might happily be using it in time. Meh? Though perhaps not. Dave

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    1. I ought to get some big cushions, Dave, for such accommodating hypothetical garden visitors as yourself. Cushions and/or more interesting flowers. I think "Meh" comes from the TV show The Simpsons, which means it's probably been around for decades and I'm just now catching on. Kind of a mix of an exclamation and a sigh, if one can muster the energy. I hadn't thought about the peanut sound but will get one of my nephews to model the effect. Meh might be handy on some drizzly day when you're trying to decide whether to weed?

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  3. Love this word meh..it can mean so much depending on the way it is said...lately I can spot even a small bloom 100 miles away...waiting for my early tulips hoping they don't leave me saying meh as well...with the frost and now another freeze it may be mush...or if the deer get to any others it will be sneering and muttering under my breath.

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    1. Donna, I must live far too sheltered a life, because I've never actually heard anyone say meh in conversation! Some of my hip and happenin' Facebook friends use it all the time in their posts and comments. But no, it's not nearly strong enough to use if the deer get your tulips. Even sneering and muttering might be a little too benign!

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  4. I see what you mean about Lady Jane losing her grace ...
    I've obviously been spending too long in the blogosphere because I haven't heard of meh either. Maybe you should plant the Adirondack chair amongst the tulips.

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    1. She's not quite as Ladylike later on, b-a-g. In an odd way, though, the open flowers remind me of the cornetts the nuns wore in The Flying Nun (a TV sitcom that was in reruns when I was little).

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  5. it's an across the pond word. If you draw it out, you can express the full depth of your disappointment. On the other hand - in a pot on the patio table, where you can enjoy it while eating lunch?
    I enjoy collecting words on blogs - I have the Orcadian peedie from Wind and the Wellies. Which would fit your tulips, just so. And the Spanish giggle might fit too? Jejejejeje ;~)

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    1. Diana, I was thinking about trying them in pots--something to raise them closer to eye level, where their peedie sweetness can be appreciated for what it is. They are very like a set of giggles, now that you mention it!

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  6. PS I still think Lady Jane has the most exquisitely patterned buds! Most truly ephemeral.

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    1. The extra- nice thing about Lady Jane is that it lasts quite a while for a tulip--maybe 10 days. The pink turns darker as it ages--a little too dark by the end, I find, but for several days the color just gets more beautiful against the snowy white interior.

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  7. Sorry your tardas didn't turn our well for you. I guess that's why we have to try many things in our gardens before we find the perfect plants to grow. Just mark them off the list, and be happy they didn't last long. Can you imagine having those frustrating blooms in your garden all summer?!

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    1. Holley, if they were the equivalent of Knock Out roses I'd be in trouble! I already have plans for what to put in the tardas' place next year...

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  8. These are gorgeous blooms. I have taken note of a few of them. I am especially taken by the Lady Jane tulips...just stunning.

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    1. Michelle, the Lady Janes are really lovely, and they mix well with other flowers, too. I first saw them in a container with some sort of violas, and they were charming together.

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  9. Oh you've made me laugh!! Yes Tulipa tarda may be disappointing to anyone over 4" tall - maybe keep them for containers? Actually my favorite tulips are those with interesting foliage such as Calypso, Juan or Red riding hood, all of which are dwarf and look perfect in container plantings. But yes 'meh' otherwise.

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    1. Karen, thanks for the suggestion of the Calypso tulips and the others! I love the color of Calypso. Interesting foliage would be a nice change of pace in a tulip, too... I haven't done much with bulbs in containers before--just limited room for the containers, but I hate to throw out perfectly good bulbs like the tardas just because the plants are short!

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  10. In our garden conatiner grown tulips come in two groups. There are the tall elegant trumpet flowers all more or less the same size in deep glowing colours that I gaze lovingly at. And then there are the pots that look a mess or have poor colour and the tulips are nothing like the picture on the packet. Very "meh" in fact...

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    1. I'm beginning to think there's no happy medium in a tulip, Janet--they're either breath-taking or blah, but never just "OK, fine, whatever." I'm beginning to see the point of containers, as you can whisk them out of sight when the leaves start to turn brown.

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