Why Hollyhocks Are Old-Fashioned Flowers

"Old-fashioned beauty," "old-fashioned Southern favorite," "definitive old-fashioned garden plant" -- why, when someone says "hollyhocks," does "old-fashioned" precede it? These yesterday were on an island in a strip-mall parking lot: showy, heart-colored; perhaps the popular "creme de cassis" color. I want some! Blossoms the size of a face! I want to meet whoever planted them for our enjoyment. And I want to know why they're old-fashioned.

My brother-in-law just phoned and I told him "hollyhocks" and he said his grandmother mentioned hollyhocks in one of the poems she wrote.

They're originally from China, where they're called "shu kui." Google Translate says "shu" means "book" and "kui" means "God," "chief," or "serious"; Wikipedia says that in Chinese legend, Kui was the inventor of music and dancing. In 15th-century England the plant was named "holyoke." They are neither holy nor oak, but it is said, who knows if it's true, hollyhocks arrived in England from the Holy Land.

Ancient photos show the house I lived in from birth to age 7 (house built 1887; no longer standing; it's a parking lot!) had a tumbledown white-painted arched wooden trellis, with two seats.

Me and Aunt Anna in Sunday best. The car's four "ventiports" identify it as a Buick.

Photograph taken summer 1958 is of me and "aunt" Anna Savin (nee Weiss), a German who during the war dug ditches in Russia. The trellis held morning glories in season, and behind us, outside of the fence, on long bare stems, are hollyhocks. Alongside the house in spring grew violets and lilies of the valley, and in summer,  "four o'clocks," cradling smart black seeds; we also had peony bushes. A lilac bush and orange lilies bloomed out back. My parents planted none of these. All these flowers are still designated "old-fashioned" perennials. There were rambling roses, because I remember the scent and thorns.

Those are all old-fashioned flowers because they're English cottage-garden flowers, and there must have been a time when English was the type of flower garden for a Midwestern householder to have. In the language of flowers, hollyhocks mean "ambition" or "fecundity."

I remember as a kid crumbling between my wondering fingers the corncob-like stamens of the hollyhocks. The flowers in the parking lot in 2020 I did not touch.

It Bloomed

The amaryllis has four majestic blossoms each measuring about six inches across. The stalk is a foot and half tall. It is like an Easter lily but scarlet, and times four, and gorgeous. Thank you to Terri who gave me my first amaryllis starter kit.

Amaryllis

I received an amaryllis as a Christmas gift. I've always wanted one, simply never got around to buying it. I have a plant-free house (all the plants are on the hundred acres around me), except sometimes with bouquets arranged from wildflowers or especially lilacs in spring, but not by design. So I intend to plant this amaryllis bulb and watch it magically grow and bloom. What color will it be? Don't know. Or rather, it'll be the perfect color. Plants are simply magical.

"Flowers Kept Alive"

Cited as one of the most grotesque moments in English literature, Tennyson's poem "Flower in the Crannied Wall" goes like this:

Flower in the crannied wall,
I pluck you out of the crannies,
I hold you here, root and all, in my hand,
Little flower—but if I could understand
What you are, root and all, and all in all,
I should know what God and man is.

What's grotesque about that is he's singing its praises having torn it up by the roots and killed it: very white western patriarchal. Japanese flower arranging (ikebana, meaning "flowers kept alive") was demonstrated at the History Museum and I was fascinated by the arranger's concerns as she made the arrangement seen at the left. Ikebana cares about movement in their arrangements, thus the tall leaves that wave a little. Then she arranged the white flowers, and then said the arrangement needed depth, and thus the pink flowers. I have often arranged flowers to my satisfaction -- with good flowers one can hardly do it wrong -- but the result of this very conscious and minimalist approach mesmerized me. Right now I have purple irises in the lawn I'd love to cut and arrange, but I think the way the irises have arranged themselves cannot be improved upon.

Daffodil, Narcissus, or Jonquil?

At dawn

At dawn I cut daffodils from my snowy meadow and brought them indoors to save them from frostbite, and they rewarded me by filling the room with their sweet scent. What a strange name, “daffodils.” I looked it up.

Native to Spain and North Africa, their name comes from “asphodel,” a legendary flower said to grow in the Elysian Fields—an ancient Greek afterlife of flowery meadows. The“d” in front might come from “de” in Dutch or Saxon. De+asphodel morphed into “daffodil.” Language will do that.

At noon

They’re also called “narcissi” because a young man, Narcissus (a name related to “narcotic”), spent 24/7 by a pond admiring his own reflection. He wasted away, died there, and was changed by the gods into a flower. These, all-yellow with big coronas, are Narcissus hispanicus. Enough Polish vodka and squinting and the blooms do kind of resemble those male models in the magazine ads wearing nothing but tighty-whiteys.

Also on the property are smaller Narcissus poeticus, their short trumpets hemmed in orange; and Narcissus pseudonarcissus (wild daffodil) its bright-yellow trumpet backed by pale-yellow petals.

Some call these flowers jonquils. That name comes from, and I quote, “modern Latin jonquilla or French jonquille, from Spanish junquillo, diminutive of junco, from Latin juncus ‘rush, reed.’”

I’ll have to return outside and identify all the types of narcissus—their generic name—faithfully growing here each spring. The bulbs are poisonous, so moles, voles and squirrels don’t eat them and deer don’t eat the flowers. A daffodil-bulb extract called galantamine is used to treat Alzheimer’s disease.

Rarities of Spring - This Week Only!

Temperatures have hit the 80s for most of March so far, making everyone wonder how monstrously hot our summer is going to be, and sparking April flowers weeks ahead of time. But while living in the now, everyone's crazy 'bout the flowers: spring beauties, dutchman's breeches, redbuds, magnolias, daffodils, phlox (always phlox) and wildflowers, like these tiny, tiny four-petaled bluets (Haedyotis caerulea), an annual which forms mats in my south-facing lawn and won't share its space with other wildflowers. And then wild Dutchman's Breeches (Dicentra cucullaria) behind the garage, the only place they grow on my whole acreage. Like the bluets, getting about 10 days to express their fullest beauty. Their puffy blooms nod in the light wind. Golly. We must all deserve these things! Wildflowers like a pastry shop for the eyes! And just go to the garden section at K-Mart or Wal-Mart! Or rather, don't, right now. It's mobbed by people hungry for plants, greenery, vegetables, divine beauty, and volunteering huge portions of their lives to grow it. Also called "gardeners."

"People Who Never Wear Clothes"

In Girl Scout camp I told the counselors I wanted to become a naturalist. They kind of looked at each other, and one explained, "Those are people who never wear clothes." Embarrassed, I forgot about becoming a naturalist. But they had confused that word with "naturist," another name for nudist. Moral of the story: When you talk to children about their futures, know what you are talking about, especially when you are a camp counselor and an eight-year-old tells you she wants to be a naturalist.

I became a naturalist anyway, and along the road (wearing clothes, mind you) found orchid-shaped, beautiful mauve-and maroon-colored blossoms I couldn't find in the Ozark wildflower field guide, which is arranged by flower color. Color is tricky: different soils produce different shades and intensities, and these could be  described as red, pink, purple, blue, or even brown flowers. I finally said, "Maybe it's not native," but, unable to stand a mystery, went back and plucked a blossom to study it further. No dice. Gave up. On another walk I saw it again, this time with its fruit attached and intact: a bean.

Pleased to tell you this wildly lovely flower is a Wild Bean (Strophostyles helvula) and a native plant. And it's in the field guide, but shown only with the bean!

The Day We've Waited For

Sunday, February 20, was the most blessed day of the year, the one I hope and hope for, the day the first crocuses bloomed-- right in my yard beneath the hickory tree. Here they are! A freakishly warm day, about 70 degrees. Nobody complained! And even better, it was the first day of the calendar year that I heard spring peepers, the world's most wonderful sound. And even better, a pair of bluebirds were claiming the bluebird house in the meadow. That is wealth!

Somebody asked me what was the most beautiful sentence in the English language and I thought a while about the sentence that made me happiest, and then quoted them from a cookbook: "While the second batch is baking, frost the first batch."

Well, that's culture, and here's nature. God am I happy!

Hearts and Flowers

I had more company this rainy morning: the Dutch couple who rented this place before me and who told me when they were moving out, to California, so I could move in. They are great, and visit whenever they get to Missouri to see the cabin they lived in for a decade. She's an artist, he's a professor. When I moved in I saw that kitchen and "dining room" ceilings are stenciled with flowers and hearts. I know immediately who painted them. Pink and blue. What purpose do these little paintings serve? I guess they're just for the spirit. This October it's done nothing but rain.

Somethin Better Than That...

Beautiful day Saturday, took the camera out, and what did I see down by the creek but a wildflower I wait all year to see. This year's first bluebell (Mertensia virginica):

But then God said to me, I got something to show you that's better 'n' that.

Better 'n' that? I said.

So I walked through the woods for a few hours scouting for fungi. Didn't see none. Took a steep way back down, leading me to an unfamiliar backwater of LaBarque Creek. And what did I see there but a whole carpet of hundreds of bluebells. I couldn't believe my eyes:
But then God said to me, I got something better 'n' that.

I said, No way.

But I kept going; now I was headin t'home, when God put in front of me a bluebell that was blue and pink at the same time:

Top that! he said.

Lighten Up

Like candles -- these light up my lawn. What are they? Oh, come on & guess. They're daffodils -- in bud! Still pretty tightly in there. About six inches high. All the same they'll be bustin out with those yellow and cream ruffly drapes and horns and petticoats in less'n two weeks. Then spring is really here. Oh drop to my knees and thank the Divine God it wasn't a bad winter weatherwise.

Don't you love this stuff? Perennials, that always come back, always come back.