I have drawn inspirations from thirdgeneration's blog to write mine, this one.
As the snow cover melts down, miraculously the alpine valleys at the Himalayan Foothills burst out in a carpet of colors; flowers of all hues and shapes resplendent in myriad color appear covering the entire valley only the Creator of the Universe could have laid down for a mortal to behold. And, that is where I had first seen the Himalayan Poppy, now I see it again as photo ID of thirdgeneration.
I have something more to add here. The wild flowers of the Himalayan Foothills are true Alpine plants with some exceptions like the Himalayan Poppy and a tiny orchid plant I had "discovered" there.
My Himalayan orchid is a terrific plant that deserves an applaud. With the arrival of Spring, there is a race the orchid must win to shoot out of melting snow a small two to three inches of plant; the three basal leaves are mottled, purple on green and the central spike showing off two to three half inch flowers, waxy white with purple spots on the petals and the lip. Within months the plant is dead while its rhizome crawls forward underground an inch or two every year, and that is where its life is preserved.
I had named the orchid "Rhizobium" for its life is in its rhizome and the specis "Hangkhimii".
Unfortunat ely a tragedy occurred on my return journey; my camera was stolen and with it I lost the only photographic evidence I ever had, but I shall ever cherish its memory.
The lawn looks neat freshly mowed and so does the backyard, too. But, how I wish we could let the "garden" grow on its own, the way nature intended it to be. The lawn now looks like "ordered by Keeping Up Appearances"...... all alike..... all neat and clean....... all demanding compliments.
I remember watching a documentary called "Nature's Half Acre", well, more than half a century ago. I grew up loving nature, in the country. Although, I never actually saw a shrike impaling its dinner on a thorn but I know it does. I have carefully watched how a spider weaves its net but I believe even the greatest of our scientists do not understand how strong the gossamer threads he works on he creates from his own excreta.
But, my favourite is the potter wasp. I have seen some of them are working feverishly outside my kitchen window right now. A potter wasp is a born expert, she knows how to 'manufacture' the clay pots, where to find a larva or two and how to stun them and how to drag them inside her clay vessel. She lays a single egg before she seals the vessel and flies away to her own unknown destination. The baby is born inside the vessel, feeds on the fresh meat while
growing as strong and as knowledgeable as her mother ever was,
Now, the mystery part. Where is the father potter wasp?
I moved into my present house only three months ago. I had lived a few more years up there in North Georgia where three Bradford Pears trees were growing in my front yard all their youthful splendor.
Now, we know the Bradford Pears behave in their own mysterious way, they bear fruits once in a while following what biological clock I have never understood. I had never given the fruits much of attention, they are tiny and although I have actually tried to chew at them, they did not appear to have been included by our ancestors among edible fruits for good reason.
In their due season, a few of the tiny pears began to fall down ripened and I used to amuse myself thinking of Sir Isaac Newton that if he had been around, the fallen fruits would have made no impact on our understanding of science.
But, that is when I began to understand why the Bradford Pears are laden with so much ripened fruits. One fine evening a flock of several hundred starlings descended on the trees and as I watched in utter amazement, they cleaned out the trees and within minutes they were gone as if on a given signal to depart to their unknown destination.
I have ruminated gravely over this episode: what do these birds feed on rest of the 364 days of the year? who lead them to these tree just when they are laden with ripe fruits? These tree do not fruit every year, so this can't be embedded in starlings' memory. And, of course the squirrels knew of the impending arrival of the starlings and never tried to steal the fruit. Surely, this must be the divine hands of God.