July 2009

Buffalo Gourd Portrait

Buffalo Gourd (Cucurbita foetidissima)
West Odessa, Texas

One of the most common wild plants here is the buffalo gourd which produces a baseball size fruit and as the Latin name indicates is pretty darn stinky (think B.O.). Today I learned that a plant can live to be up to 40 years old and its large taproot can weigh as much as 100 pounds!

For all that, though, looking at the bloom and leaf closely suddenly the stinky, old gal looks awfully pretty to me.

Lantana pillows

Lantana (Lantana sp.)
West Odessa, Texas

I love looking at these common (common here anyway) flowers with the camera. Suddenly they become a whole other world.

P.S. My mom is here visiting for a couple of weeks. All is lovely.

Pic needs a caption

White Beauty

"White Beauty"
West Odessa, Texas

A surprise. For us both.

Indian Rush Pea

Indian Rush-pea (Hoffmanseggia glauca)
West Odessa, Texas

I have to explain that, while out taking photos, I periodically take photos of intersections, highway signs, street signs, whatever so that when looking back through the photos I have an idea of what area I was in when I took them. (Good idea, eh?)

So, today I was going through some batches of my photos and noticed something in one of those marker type photos. I noticed that in a mere two days the Indian rush-pea had exploded. Take a look at these two photos of almost exactly the same area to see what I mean. The first one was taken June 30, the next one on July 2nd. Amazing what a little rain will do. Rush pea is right.

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Lemon Horsemint for Jomamma

Close up of Lemon Horsemint (Monarda citriodora)
Coke County, Texas

I've had a great time looking at Jomamma's West Texas photos (so far she's posted part 1 and part 2) taken while she visited her brother's ranch recently. There were photos of fish, longhorns, vinagroons, tarantulas, fishing, fire arms, breakfast tacos, a pet bobcat, fishing, a stinky dog, er, Stinky the Dog, a tire swing, catching the first fish of the day, and more. Every photo depicts family having a great fun being together. And did I mention, photos of fishing?

And while there, I spied a flower that I wonder if was the one she commented that she wanted to know the name of. I took these photos along the roadside back in May when we went camping. And say, we were fishing, too!

Reading up on this showy native flower, it seems like it should be in every Texas garden. It's supposed to be easy to grow, not picky about soil type, will fill in any unused spaces, and even though it's an annual, should pretty much self-seed. When you crush the leaves they smell lemony (it's part of the mint family) and the First Peoples and Settlers made tea from the boiled leaves.

According to my newly purchased 1928 Texas Wild Flowers by Ellen D. Shulz -- I'm so tickled pink I found a copy -- the beekeepers of Texas at that time considered this plant one of the most important. And if you keep chickens (that would be you, Mom, er, Bobbie) Shulz writes that the dried plant put in the hay of their roosts will keep away mites and fleas.

I also was suprised that Linnaeus himself gave the plant its genus name! Monarda is after the Spanish botanist Nicolas Bautista Monardes who, while never actually visiting the Americas himself, did study them. Ok. I know this last bit is rather botageeky, but I thought it was cool.

A Flower for Sweet Irene

Common Passionflower (Passiflora caerulea)
On my western fence
West Odessa, Texas

If you haven't seen this flower before it's going to look a little unbelievable, but believe it or not, it grows quite well in my yard, providing me with blooms continuously from April until sometimes as late as November.

The Passion Flower created quite a stir when it was first seen by Spanish explorers of South America in the 17th century. Priests at that time gave the flower the name we use today, assigning various parts of the flower to symbols of the Passion of Christ. Wikipedia outlines the various symbols quite nicely:

The unusual shape of the flowers has led to the plant being associated in Christian symbolism with the passion of Jesus; the three stigmas representing the three nails used to nail Jesus to the cross, the ovary and its stalk represent the chalice of the Last Supper, the five anthers represent the five wounds, the corona represents the crown of thorns, the ten 'petals' (actually five petals and five sepals) the apostles (save Judas the traitor and Peter the denyer); the old leaves also represent the hands of those who persecuted him, the young leaves the point of the lance used to stab him, and the tendrils the whips of those who beat him.

There are quite a number of species of the passiflora genus, almost 500, each seemingly more exotic than the next. Three species are native to Texas: Bracted passionflower (Passiflora affinis), Fetid passionflower (Passiflora foetida) and the really beautiful Purple passionflower (Passiflora incarnata) which I tried to grow, but sadly placed it in one of the places where my dog Dixie likes to stand guard to bark.

The passionflower, a vine, is the exclusive food of the caterpillar of the Gulf Fritillary butterfly. Throughout the year, I enjoy the butterfly company just nearly as long as the blooms. By the end of the summer, the hungry caterpillars can have the vine looking pretty ragged, though. The price of enjoying butterflies; you must also enjoy, or tolerate, caterpillars. You can see butterfly eggs in the picture above, the little orange specks on the bud on the left.

The fruit is edible. On my plant the fruit is rather bland-tasting, but nothing that adding a little sugar, some spices, and throwing into a pie crust wouldn't cure. However, I've not yet gotten enough fruit at one time to ever try that idea out.

Now I think you know everything I know about the passionflower vine.

Except how heavenly it is scented.