Plants Are More Than That

Resindot sunflower with gulf fritillary
In 1976, I was given a rooted piece of a rice cactus from a fellow graduate student and even though it is not an exceptionally beautiful plant, I have kept it since that time. I've moved it with me everywhere I have lived. I almost lost it one year from severe neglect and managed to bring it back to health much to my relief. Plants are a major part of my life and I find that a significant reason for this is that most have stories attached to them. While the wildlife that visit my yard are not "mine" in any real way, my plants are. I have purposely planted them. For many, I have propagated them from seed collected in my various wanderings. Others have been given to me by friends or have been purchased from nurseries - also with memories of road trips and the anticipation of their purchase. Plants to me are much more than plants; they are memories and those are always extra memorable. When I lose a plant, I always feel that I have lost a connection to a special day, event, or person. I once was given a pink-flowered Florida anise (Ilicium floridanum) by a good friend and mentor, Mike Kenton. It was the last one he had when he gave it to me and it was a special plant that I had always associated with him. He showed it to me a great many times over the years, so when he made it a gift, this plant was extra special to me. I planted it with care and did my best to keep it alive over the next decade. When I left my former home, I did my best to transplant it, but it died. When it did, I felt that I had lost my last connection to my dear friend who has also passed. Plants die and they can be replaced, but finding a new one never is the same. It has new stories and memories associated with it. It's really no different from losing a pet. The new one can't replace the one lost. Right now, my last resindot sunflower (Helianthus resinosus) is blooming and I have high hopes that it will produce seed. The pollinators in my yard are doing their best to help me with this and I sincerely appreciate their efforts.  In the nearly 35 years that I have lived in Florida and grown native plants, no one has ever propagated this sunflower but me. Like the anise, it is not more beautiful or functional than other sunflowers in Florida available in the trade, but this one has a story that connects me to both a time and a place. Losing it, will disconnect me from those memories. When my oldest son, Tyler, graduated from boot camp at Fort Benning in Georgia, I drove up there to be a part of his special day. I stayed overnight in a motel and the area behind it was undeveloped. On top of the hill were these sunflowers and I found a handful of ripe seed. From this, I have propagated a number of resindot sunflowers over the years and each reminds me of the trip, the graduation and my son.  My landscape that is developing here is full of such memories. Very few are simply "plants" and even those are developing their own stories as they grow and mature. I don't understand those folks with landscapes of meaningless plants that have no memories, but perhaps they will never understand the passion I have for mine.
   
 



















































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