Ravenala madagascariensis

 

 

DSC_4982_sm_ca

DSC_4975_sm_ca

I apologize for including something on this blog that may be of use to someone, as it is not my wont to educate; nevertheless, there are times that such bonhomie, such¬†unstinted desire to share, such generosity of spirit is practically inevitable–the case (and casing) of the ravenala seed being one of those vainglorious examples.

The seed, velvet-black, and almost certainly evil, is covered in a heavenly blue wax, as though having been embalmed by a secret gathering of funereal hands.

By-and-by I will get to the useful information promised, but first we must linger a bit longer in language’s sandbox. When you are ready, we shall begin (unless we are sidetracked by some impromptu exegesis on the part of this blogger, who, some may have noticed, is prone to explaining–at the drop of a clunky cowboy hat–the many iniquities which befoul our peripatetic planet (it puts on a pair of Nikes in the morn and walks around the sun all day, after all)).

So here are the steps to planting your own Ravenala madagascariensis (Travelers Palm).

1) Befriend someone in Madagascar (for obvious reasons). This may require the exchange of intimate photographs, but the internet is a safe and wonderful place.

2) Ask for seeds (among other things).

3) Go to post office and chat with the fluttery-eyed postmistress. Return home when after several hours it becomes apparent that your letterbox is as empty as a banker’s heart.

4) Repeat trips to post office till you either receive an offer of marriage or till your seeds arrive. If the latter, continue to point 5.

5) Store photographs in a safe place. Remove seeds from package. Admire your purchases.

6) Scrape away the blue wax to expose devilish seed.

7) Plant seed in a pot (if you need to be told to add soil you are at the wrong place). Hope for rain.

And that’s it.

DSC_4994_sm_ca

 

 

 

The final product:DSC_4968_sm

 

 

Below is my grass replacement experiment. I think Truman Capote hated grass too, but this may be simply a projection from my agitated mind. (In case you ask, it’s some moon-white Zephyranthes stolen, if memory serves,¬† from a Texan in the dreary summer of 2032).

DSC_4959_sm_ber

Advertisements

An Island Moment

 

Adenium obesum, Bermuda

Dear viewer,

Whenever I post something without much text (as opposed to posting something having long, characteristically brilliant swatches of text ), I get comparatively more views–a message not altogether lost on me; consequently, you will not be hearing about how or why this beautiful flower, of Saudi Arabian origin, is overtaking the island and making it unbearably wondrous.

With tingling sincerity,

Prospero

 

Red Adenium (this title lacks originality and should be replaced by a flashier one, but since I am rather busy today, what with the toad infestation and the sudden deafening noises, I elect to do nothing about it–please accept my apologies)

DSC_4873_sm

Nobody wants more gardening advice, but I’m in that kind of mood. My adenium bloomed today and I will share some of that joy with you.

Adeniums are also known as Delores–the dishy girl at the ice cream counter–or, more drearily, desert roses. Colorwise, they are mostly Prescient Pink (check your Crayola box); nevertheless, there are other colors, none of which are gaudy or in any way reminiscent of a bad nightmare. My adeniun is red.

There are several ways to get a red adenium. One involves messy biology, sex organs, lures (you can message Gregor Mendel if you get into trouble, but don’t expect an answer in the evenings, as he works at a busy though reputable massage parlor) and the other is to use lipstick. Naturally the second method is preferable.

34 steps to growing Darwin’s favorite plant

vft1

I was going to tell the story of an erudite fellow, formerly a grammatician, formerly a bovine grief counselor at an abattoir, who, at some prepubescent soccer game, where the word incompetence passed involuntarily from parent to parent, was regrettably caught streaking: he stood in the middle of the field, dangling his modifier.

Instead, I have returned to my favorite subject, ecclesiastical studies. But since developments in that sphere have been slow in the last several months, I have sought green pastures.

The 34 steps to growing Darwin’s favorite plant

Early in the process of writing this article, I made the strategic decision to skip the first 33 steps, as the handling of catarrh and buffalo faeces is not everyone’s cup of tea. Incidentally, buffalo dung tea is excellent with manuka honey–make sure to have handy a fly swatter though.

The legal maneuvers to procure carnivorous plant seed and import them to this island (which is by all measures much nicer than the Galapagos) make the bureaucracy of Jarndyce v Jarndyce look feeble in comparison.

I am a great admirer of CD (not Dickens, the other CD), even though some of his conclusions strike me as absurd, as we surely did not evolve from primates. This stupefyingly dumb theory is so typical of 19th century thinking–or rather, 19th century fantasizing–fostered in part by the infamous lingerie catalogues of the day, mostly originating from Paris, where bipedal fashion is made scintillating–and at times positively chimpanzeesque, if I can coin a term. Nevertheless, Darwin’s Origin of the Stiletto Heel is incomparable. But the more cogent theory that the whole shebang we call life was willed, is far more likely to find favor in the minds of so-called Millennials, including those perplexed by the notion of gender and who have difficulty making binary choices. What goes around, comes around. Incidentally, I once knew a man who thought himself a woman, only to later think himself a man. Please note that this is a far different person that the one who thought himself to be a man without ever revisiting the subject.

Clearly, I do not wish to split porcupine quills over the issue of gender. What is self-evident to me may not wash on Main Street, O.W.G (One-World Government).

Fright in the depths of a burgeoning kakistocracy

fright

Eerily, while taking my tripos paper at the University of Lake Erie, I was mistily reminded of an incident which happened to a colleague of mine whilst trying to commit hari-kari with a mint-flavored toothpick. Naturally, he was unable to draw a single gout of blood, but the experience was, in his words, transformative, so much so that it leapfrogged the sum-total of the miasmic flashpoints in his nearly pointless life, till, sadly to report, on a day of obnoxiously pristine clarity, he was hit by a city bus, broke several latin-sounding bones, dented the bus’ fine armature, and died agape of fright, starting in motion the cloak and dagger machinations of competing insurance companies and several legal challenges, proving once again that Lady Luck, that star-eyed trollop (sorry Anthony, not a Trollopean allusion) beclad in a tantalizingly tawdry tunic, still roams around, picking flowers willy-nilly from unguarded gardens or hopscotching through city traffic.

 

 

 

 

Sun, greenish sprigs, a puppy

Meanwhile, Ariel ponders the universe.

dsc_3574_ba_sm

Thank you, Nicole. I had such a wonderful time cleaning up after you, you with your penchant for drama, your deluded self-image, your inimitable flair for disorder, which can only be matched by your bent-headed arrogance, your total lack of manners (etiquette not being part of your vocabulary, limited though it may be), your lowbrow ways–bordering dangerously on salaciousness, and your annoying habit of caterwauling at my door, like a stray, intent on wheedling her way into the relative calm of my private sanctuary.

colocasia

Nicole passes through my colocasia garden, leaving in her hateful wake twisted metal and laying waste to a perfectly good and colorful collection of foulards.

pineapple

This is what Nicole thinks of pineapples (la vieille folle).

bananabanana2

Nicole hates bananas and I hate Nicole.

papaya

Aside from having a distaste for bananas, Nicole does not care for papaya.

bamboo-palm

Nicole, this may be what your hair looks like in the morn, but this contagion is an outrage?

pear

Your black heart has blackened my pear tree’s once green leaves.

aloe

Was this necessary?

fig

You couldn’t burn the figs up like the leaves? For shame.

Inca peanut.JPG

The Inca peanut vine was too lush for your taste?