A PRIMITIVE FLOWER?

Five million years ago, the beautiful Japanese Magnolia took its place among the ancient tree species of southwest China; however, the first trees sent to America were from Japan. Our resident botanist, Dr. Victoria Sullivan, says Japanese Magnolia are "primitive flowers." According to Apocrypha, if the tree blooms out of season, you might be harboring anxiety in your home. Perhaps, but I think these trees are just signaling an early seasonal shift—it's called "spring."

The lovely purple blossoms that appear on the trees around New Iberia, Louisiana, could be a variety known as Jane Japanese Magnolia. Still, I'm not a horticulturist or botanist, and to me, they're just blooms that not only enhance the Cajun landscape, they also carry a delicious fragrance I enjoy while sweeping the backyard patio. Some of these Japanese Magnolia blooms can grow up to 12 inches across, and the petals form a shape like a goblet or Communion cup, so I own a tree of sacred vessels.

Fortunately, my Japanese Magnolia was planted behind my home because this location symbolizes that it's in the right place to bring financial security. But I'm warned not to sleep under a blooming Japanese Magnolia tree, or the fragrance would kill me. And what a way to go!

I'm supposed to be on the lookout for Japanese beetles, slugs, and leaf miners, but the weather has been too cold for me to do daily inspections, and I'm assuming that the cool temps have deterred their proliferation. Some garden enthusiasts prune their Japanese Magnolia trees after they flower, but renegade gardener that I am, I allow it to have its way in the backyard. So far, it has been a "long laster," blooming during its appointed season since the late 1970s.

I don't know if the new fence we built (to ward off the hounds that were slipping through a wire fence into our backyard) has bothered our long-growing magnolia beauty. Still, so far, nothing has deterred the blooming of this spectacular flower. It's taller than the fence and thumbs its nose at the barking dogs beneath.

P.S. In a few weeks, I'll get to see another spectacular spring display in my backyard at Sewanee, Tennessee—yellow and white daffodils. As Basho writes: "How I long to see/among the morning flowers/the face of God."

 

Photograph by Victoria Sullivan