A Rose by any Other Name

One of Shakespeare’s famous quoted lines is from ‘Romeo and Juliet’, is spoken by Juliet, and actually goes “That which we call a rose, by any other name would smell as sweet.” Meaning that whatever name we call a thing is less important that the character of that thing.

Everyone loves roses, don’t they?  They are the royalty of the flower world, and I have to admit, they are beautiful. In recent years though they seem to have lost their smell.  The florist varieties have, anyway.  There is always a trade-off in life – If you want perfect blooms on extra-long stems, you have to forego aroma, I suppose. I assume the good old fashioned garden varieties still smell sweet, but since I haven’t had roses in my gardens in years…well I have had those popular ‘Iceberg’ varieties that grow like weeds and that don’t have that ‘rose’ smell…I cannot be sure!

Speaking of weeds, for some reason I find these unwanted plants more to my taste. I like those weedy wildflowers that pop up all over unkempt gardens and wild country-sides after good rains. The lower-class rag-and-bone creatures of the botanical world fascinate me.

Perhaps it is their tenacity, and the fact that they tend to be ignored (except when being persistently expunged from gardens so as not to sap nutrients from the upper-classes), that they have a hidden beauty that is not immediately evident, that draws me to them.

I find it a thrill, when I am unwillingly coerced into trudging along a virgin tract of land, eyes clamped firmly on the ground so that I don’t break an ankle on a shifty loose rock, some small flash of colour draws my attention. I always have to stop to investigate. Tiny pixie-sized perfectly shaped little blossoms have appeared on what was, in other seasons, an ugly, often thorny, mangy piece of brown undergrowth. I marvel that such a sweet beauty survives in its harsh surroundings. It reminds me of hope. That things are never quite as dark as they may seem. “If you, little weed, can still blossom despite your struggles, so can anyone!”

I think this struggle for survival is more evident in parts of South Africa, than, say, in the UK, where wildflowers are probably more closely related to their cultivated cousins. Where water and good soil are more abundant, wildflowers seem to have an easier time of it.  Here in South Africa though, drought years can drag on and on.  Our little wildflower population dwindles, and weeds end up hibernating.  Botany goes into a deep sleep.

Until the great miracle happens!  The cycle completes, and the rains come. Big rain, usually too much rain resulting in floods. But occasionally we get a season like we are having right now.  After some years of devastating drought, this season has brought a blessing of abundant rain. Good rain. Regular rain. Enough to satisfy our thirsty land without washing away the nutrition-filled top layer of soil.

The grateful ground has started rewarding the air with its bounty. This bare brown earth has turned green and lush. And amongst that green, for those who care to look, one will find a surprising world of fairy magic in tiny blossoms, too small for bouquets, too delicate to even be picked, joyfully displaying their crowning glory with pride.

On my early morning walks here on the resort, I have delighted in taking lots and lots of photos of these little rarities.  I am sure they have names, botanical designations, but I have no idea what they are. Perhaps you know? 

If you happen to know any of these, do let me know!

Peafowl update:  Rake has already shed his tail. This is normal, so don’t panic. He will grow a whole new magnificent tail in the spring.

NEXT TIME: A Million Millipedes