SPRING BRINGS MESSAGES OF AZALEAS

When Basho, the celebrated Haiku poet, was eating lunch at an inn at Lake Biwa, Japan, he saw our favorite spring flower blooming and wrote: “Azaleas arranged in a pot/Chopping cod in the shade/A woman.”

In New Iberia, Louisiana, and most southern states—Georgia, South Carolina, Alabama—azaleas are blooming apace, not in pots but in yards where these lovely plants have been growing for years. And, alas, their delicate petals will last only a few weeks during warm southern springs. But while those red, white, and pink shades bloom, we celebrate their proliferation. 

Azaleas probably carry more meaning than Basho’s reference to a woman chopping cod in the shade while azaleas bloom nearby in a pot. According to Apocrypha, the meaning associated with this beautiful flower is femininity and mother’s love. But if you have one blooming in your yard now, you’re probably anticipating good luck and sudden happiness. Red azaleas symbolize the magic of life, but woe be to those who receive gifts of yellow azaleas as these symbolize hypocrisy and are sent to people who have insulted you. Also, don’t taste this beautiful flower because it’s poisonous. However, for those who like an evening glass of wine, Koreans tout a non-poisonous wine made from azaleas called dugyeonju.

Azalea bushes are seldom bothered by insects. (If they’d only bloom all year and repel mosquitoes here in Louisiana). They seem to get enough water while blooming in swamp country, and although their reign is short, they’ll always bear the name of “Royalty of the Garden.” 

Then there are the “Late Bloomers,” an orange ground cover azalea, and the yellow flowering azalea called “Weston’s Lemon Drop,” both of which bloom in late summer. Later, in the early fall, look for a variety called “Sweet September,” which bears a pink blossom. 

While Coronavirus rages, we continue to trust the predictions of good luck and happiness associated with the flowering of this beautiful plant. And we continue to search for more haiku some ancient Japanese poet may have written about this sweetly scented shrub we southerners enjoy with the advent of a Louisiana spring.

 

Photograph by Victoria Sullivan