Bay Area Blooms — a summer soirée
(All pictures below shot by the author using a handheld mobile device )
Here in the SF Bay Area where I live, we had a spell of unusual warm days. The morning coolness fades quickly leaving any plants animals and humans outside to bake in the scorching heat. The blooms from spring have nearly vanished. The roses died on the vine. The red bristly bottle brushes are wilting and last traces hang onto the craggy branches like old memory. The purple ice plants in the hell strips beside sidewalks left with no trace. Nature just wiped its canvas clean and started fresh.
The hills nearby shed their verdant green and turned into the dry California Golden that earned the state its moniker. We had a better than expected wet season. Now wild grass and weeds grow aggressively in the few open patches, and throw city workers and bureaucrats in a tizzy, who have to worry about the wildfires. Nature is angry. There was a time weather and climate was small talk. Now conversations on climate can lead to fist fights.
One of my favorite things to do is to walk my neighborhood accompanied by my labradoodle Tommy. Tommy and I stop frequently — he to sniff and pee to mark his territory and me to smell and see the flowers and trees. I never get tired. Every day affords a new sight or a different species. Trees never get tired either. They stand at their spots unmoved, offering shade, value, and beauty and never seem to get annoyed or throw a tantrum. I read somewhere that plants and trees are the most spiritually evolved. Those of us who can fall into that space of silence and equanimity will get turned into a tree.
It gets hot early, and Tommy pants easily, sticking his tongue out to do as dogs do to cool themselves. The dry heat stings my skin.
But it’s not all gloom and doom. Nature is at work. There is constant recycle and renewal. Red and white, pink and blue adorn the skyline.
The mimosa (silk tree) that was bare, a couple of months back, has now grown a glorious green canopy. It’s beautiful fern-like leaves stir in the breeze. The circle of life turns. Wispy pink flowers float in the air like little pom pom’s cheering all the life around. It’s a fiesta, baby!
The mimosas (Albizia Julibrissin) came to the States from China in 1745. I wonder sometimes how species spread. Some urban planner made a decision one day, to import an ornamental tree in newly minted neighborhoods. What was that day like? Was it a person or a group? Did someone research in dimly lit libraries to find out hardy species that will tolerate the Mediterranean climate here? Did they kiss their wives or husbands when they walked out of their house that morning? What might have been an ordinary day, a day that was hard to tell from other days in their lives, has now ushered in extraordinary joy for someone else. I stand beneath and look up through the opening in the branches to the blue sky. There are a few mimosas in the neighborhood. One among them has been growing slower than others. The leaves came late. And the flowers are slow to bloom. Ochre blemish on its branch glistens in the sunshine as it grows indifferently on the hillside unhurried and nonchalant.
The jacaranda (Jacaranda mimosifolia) blooms this time of the year. The alley where the local farmers market pitches its tents is lined with a row of jacarandas. Vibrant purple flowers cover the canopy, petals drop silently and form a layer of purple below, the odd one gently clinging onto hairs and shirts of wary merchants and bargain shoppers who are too busy haggling for fresh produce and striking a good deal. A horticulturist named Kate Sessions introduced these trees in San Diego in 1892 as a deal with the local government to turn a barren patch of land into a green public space. That place is now Balboa Park where Sessions’ statue reminds visitors of her contribution to the flora of the state. Sessions passion and love for plants made an exotic species find a home in California from South America.
I walk past neighborhoods with different colors of oleanders (Nerium Oleander) overflowing fences and walls. Fragrant shades of pink, red and white oleanders flutter in the breeze as if giggling like irreverent teenagers. Hard to believe a tree with such beautiful flowers is packed with a cocktail of toxins. Ancient Roman and Greek texts have plenty of mention of oleanders and its many uses. Those civilizations ended and left us their plants to tend. The house where I grew up had a Mexican Oleander tree with yellow trumpet-like flowers and a close cousin of the Nerium Oleander. I have a special connection with these flowers.
Green ashes prosper and provide much-needed shade at parts of my route.
The crepe myrtle has started appearing. It’s a beautiful tree even without the flowers. The smooth trunk reminds me of guava trees that I grew up with.
White pristine magnolias play hide and seek amidst leathery leaves of the many trees that dot the neighborhood. They are ancient trees from the time when dinosaurs roamed the earth. The creator took time to create such beautiful creatures.
Not to be outdone varieties of shrubs, plants and vines are blooming to add to the colors and beauty. Lily of the Nile are blooming and visible at every corner of the neighborhood. I managed to find a white variety, unlike the ubiquitous purple ones.
Blue beautiful plumbago has started to appear by the roadside.
Hibiscus and bougainvillea continue to please with their enchanting shades of red and pink.
And creepers and trumpet vines grow on walls unkempt and free.
Peaches and plums and lemons growing in neighbors backyards overhang the fence onto sidewalks. It’s a time of abundance.
As I stop to taste the wayside plums and wonder at sunlight streaming through young green foliage, Mary Oliver’s poem swirl in my mind.
WHEN I AM AMONG TREES
- Mary Oliver
When I am among the trees,
especially the willows and the honey locust,
equally the beech, the oaks, and the pines,
they give off such hints of gladness.
I would almost say that they save me, and daily.
I am so distant from the hope of myself,
in which I have goodness, and discernment,
and never hurry through the world
but walk slowly, and bow often.
Around me the trees stir in their leaves
and call out, “Stay awhile.”
The light flows from their branches.
And they call again, “It’s simple,”
they say, “and you, too, have come
into the world to do this, to go easy,
to be filled with light, and to shine.”
I trundle along my path and rub the sweat on my forehead from the long walk. Tommy and I are tired and satisfied. We hurry back home for the cool shade inside while the world outside shines brilliantly.
Hope everyone is having a great summer.
