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The Joy of Paper Flowers The Joy of Paper Flowers
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NASHVILLE — My mother spent every winter thumbing through seed catalogs and gardening books. “What Flower Is That?,” an encyclopedic volume by an Australian writer named Stirling Macoboy, was her favorite. Mom fell asleep by eight every night, even with all the lights on in the house, even with my father and all three of us kids watching television in the big bed beside her. But she got up before dawn every morning, long before the rest of us, and if I ever happened to wake up early myself, I could find her on the living room sofa with “What Flower Is That?” open in her lap. It contains more than a thousand color photos of flowers from around the world.NASHVILLE — My mother spent every winter thumbing through seed catalogs and gardening books. “What Flower Is That?,” an encyclopedic volume by an Australian writer named Stirling Macoboy, was her favorite. Mom fell asleep by eight every night, even with all the lights on in the house, even with my father and all three of us kids watching television in the big bed beside her. But she got up before dawn every morning, long before the rest of us, and if I ever happened to wake up early myself, I could find her on the living room sofa with “What Flower Is That?” open in her lap. It contains more than a thousand color photos of flowers from around the world.
First published in the United States in 1971, the book has an unusual taxonomy that may have been one of the reasons Mom spent so many hours with it. Instead of being arranged by region, light needs or plant type, as most gardening books are — or even by the color of the bloom, like many field guides — “What Flower Is That?” displays its subjects in strict alphabetical order. Of their scientific names. So the North African trailing flower Convolvulus mauretanicus (a species of morning glory) appears between the European bulb Convallaria majalis (lily of the valley) and the New Zealand shrub Coprosma baueri ‘Picturata’ (Looking Glass plant).First published in the United States in 1971, the book has an unusual taxonomy that may have been one of the reasons Mom spent so many hours with it. Instead of being arranged by region, light needs or plant type, as most gardening books are — or even by the color of the bloom, like many field guides — “What Flower Is That?” displays its subjects in strict alphabetical order. Of their scientific names. So the North African trailing flower Convolvulus mauretanicus (a species of morning glory) appears between the European bulb Convallaria majalis (lily of the valley) and the New Zealand shrub Coprosma baueri ‘Picturata’ (Looking Glass plant).
My mother, a housewife in the parlance of her day, was not a trained botanist. She may not have known the scientific name of a single plant, in fact, but she knew on sight every flower native to Alabama, even if it wasn’t blooming, and every plant introduced to Alabama by unwary gardeners, too. I think she must’ve loved “What Flower Is That?” because it introduced her to plants she’d never seen before, plants she was unlikely ever to see in her life.My mother, a housewife in the parlance of her day, was not a trained botanist. She may not have known the scientific name of a single plant, in fact, but she knew on sight every flower native to Alabama, even if it wasn’t blooming, and every plant introduced to Alabama by unwary gardeners, too. I think she must’ve loved “What Flower Is That?” because it introduced her to plants she’d never seen before, plants she was unlikely ever to see in her life.
Paying the light bill was enough of a challenge. The idea of making it to Japan in time for the cherry blossoms would not have entered even her dreams. But in the same way that passionate travelers now grounded by the coronavirus are studying travel guides in quarantine, longing to be heading for the airport once more, Mom could spend hours and hours, across years and years, poring over “What Flower Is That?” Long-loved books often fall open to favorite passages, but Mom’s copy doesn’t open to any particular page. The binding is so thoroughly broken that any page could have been her favorite.Paying the light bill was enough of a challenge. The idea of making it to Japan in time for the cherry blossoms would not have entered even her dreams. But in the same way that passionate travelers now grounded by the coronavirus are studying travel guides in quarantine, longing to be heading for the airport once more, Mom could spend hours and hours, across years and years, poring over “What Flower Is That?” Long-loved books often fall open to favorite passages, but Mom’s copy doesn’t open to any particular page. The binding is so thoroughly broken that any page could have been her favorite.
I did not inherit my mother’s unerring green thumb or her interest in exotic flowers. In my own yard, I plant flowers to feed the pollinators and provide habitat for wildlife, not to please the human eye, and my garden includes a scruffy mix of flowers that can be found growing wild along any roadside in Tennessee. (If you’d like to turn your own little postage stamp of native soil into a conservation effort, Douglas W. Tallamy’s new book, “Nature’s Best Hope,” is a great place to begin.) The seeds that I take great pains to cultivate, cold-stratifying in the refrigerator and starting under grow lights to get the earliest possible jump on the growing season, are flowers that my mother would have pulled out of her perennial border without a thought. Many are actually designated as weeds by their common, if not scientific, names: milkweed, Joe Pye weed, pokeweed.I did not inherit my mother’s unerring green thumb or her interest in exotic flowers. In my own yard, I plant flowers to feed the pollinators and provide habitat for wildlife, not to please the human eye, and my garden includes a scruffy mix of flowers that can be found growing wild along any roadside in Tennessee. (If you’d like to turn your own little postage stamp of native soil into a conservation effort, Douglas W. Tallamy’s new book, “Nature’s Best Hope,” is a great place to begin.) The seeds that I take great pains to cultivate, cold-stratifying in the refrigerator and starting under grow lights to get the earliest possible jump on the growing season, are flowers that my mother would have pulled out of her perennial border without a thought. Many are actually designated as weeds by their common, if not scientific, names: milkweed, Joe Pye weed, pokeweed.
But like my mother before me, I spend hours with seed catalogs and field guides, especially in winter. Long before it’s time to plant, it’s time to plan the planting, and planning is one of gardening’s real pleasures. “After all,” Katherine S. White notes in “Onward and Upward in the Garden,” a collection of her legendary New Yorker columns, “winter reading and winter daydreams of what might be — the gardens of the mind — are as rewarding a part of gardening as the partial successes of a good summer of bloom.” And field guides, with their glossy photos of weedy wildflowers, offer a promise: Spring is coming. But like my mother before me, I spend hours with seed catalogs and field guides, especially in winter. Long before it’s time to plant, it’s time to plan the planting, and planning is one of gardening’s real pleasures. “After all,” Katharine S. White notes in “Onward and Upward in the Garden,” a collection of her legendary New Yorker columns, “winter reading and winter daydreams of what might be — the gardens of the mind — are as rewarding a part of gardening as the partial successes of a good summer of bloom.” And field guides, with their glossy photos of weedy wildflowers, offer a promise: Spring is coming.
“Wildflowers of Tennessee, the Ohio Valley, and the Southern Appalachians,” the official field guide of the Tennessee Native Plant Society, is my “What Flower Is That?” I am no more a botanist than my mother was, but I am learning the difference between tickweed and tickseed, between breadroot and snakeroot, and I take as much pleasure from learning those homely names as Mom must have taken from learning that the morning glories she planted on our lamppost came to her by way of Africa. Her book taught her the flower’s botanical name. My books teach me the flower’s botanical name and also that morning glories, like other vines in the bindweed family, can be invasive here in Tennessee.“Wildflowers of Tennessee, the Ohio Valley, and the Southern Appalachians,” the official field guide of the Tennessee Native Plant Society, is my “What Flower Is That?” I am no more a botanist than my mother was, but I am learning the difference between tickweed and tickseed, between breadroot and snakeroot, and I take as much pleasure from learning those homely names as Mom must have taken from learning that the morning glories she planted on our lamppost came to her by way of Africa. Her book taught her the flower’s botanical name. My books teach me the flower’s botanical name and also that morning glories, like other vines in the bindweed family, can be invasive here in Tennessee.
I feel very lucky to have a small yard to putter in during this lengthy quarantine, and I am spending as much time out there as I can. But state parks in Tennessee are closed now, and the city greenways and urban parks, though open, are often too crowded now for safe passage during a time of social distancing. Some Nashville women reportedly hiked a nearby trail wearing hoop skirts to enforce a safe perimeter, but I would not be caught dead wearing a hoop skirt. So I am missing spring in the woods this year, something I have never done before in my life, and I find myself returning to my flower books for solace, just as though it’s winter again.I feel very lucky to have a small yard to putter in during this lengthy quarantine, and I am spending as much time out there as I can. But state parks in Tennessee are closed now, and the city greenways and urban parks, though open, are often too crowded now for safe passage during a time of social distancing. Some Nashville women reportedly hiked a nearby trail wearing hoop skirts to enforce a safe perimeter, but I would not be caught dead wearing a hoop skirt. So I am missing spring in the woods this year, something I have never done before in my life, and I find myself returning to my flower books for solace, just as though it’s winter again.
Flipping through one book inevitably poses a question that can be answered by another, book after book, like a garden path meandering through dappled shade to a sunny meadow and then back to the dark tree line. One book leads to another, and memories lead to dreams, just as flowers lead to caterpillars in the real world, just as caterpillars lead to butterflies. With a field guide in my hands for an evening, I’m not in the middle of a pandemic anymore. Without ever stepping out of the house, I’m in the middle of life itself.Flipping through one book inevitably poses a question that can be answered by another, book after book, like a garden path meandering through dappled shade to a sunny meadow and then back to the dark tree line. One book leads to another, and memories lead to dreams, just as flowers lead to caterpillars in the real world, just as caterpillars lead to butterflies. With a field guide in my hands for an evening, I’m not in the middle of a pandemic anymore. Without ever stepping out of the house, I’m in the middle of life itself.
Margaret Renkl is a contributing Opinion writer who covers flora, fauna, politics and culture in the American South. She is the author of the book “Late Migrations: A Natural History of Love and Loss.”Margaret Renkl is a contributing Opinion writer who covers flora, fauna, politics and culture in the American South. She is the author of the book “Late Migrations: A Natural History of Love and Loss.”
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