WATER HYACINTH – PLAGUE OR CLEAN-UP DETAIL?

Water Hyacinth
(Eichhornia crassipes)

Yesterday, I heard from many readers who enjoyed the essay on the Japanese magnolia tree, a tree that brightens the late winter landscape and heralds the beginning of spring in south Louisiana. Today, I thought I’d do a counterpoint feature on one of the Deep South’s not-so-well-received plants – the noxious water hyacinth.

Boaters and fishermen in south Louisiana often encounter and utter a few expletives about the exotic water hyacinth, so aptly described in Dr. Victoria I. Sullivan’s new nature guide, Why Water Plants Don’t Drown. This book covers the survival strategies of aquatic and wetland plants and includes a beautiful illustration of the prolific water hyacinth, the bane of Louisiana boaters.

According to Sullivan, the water hyacinth was introduced at the International Cotton Exposition in New Orleans, Louisiana in 1884 when visiting members of the Japanese government distributed souvenir water hyacinth plants from Venezuela. Those who received the beautiful flowering plants with their purple-petaled blooms and yellow bull’s eye nectar guides regarded them as treasures and transferred the plants to garden and farm ponds near New Orleans. Of course, they quickly multiplied, and people began to dispose of them in the nearest lakes and rivers to get rid of them.

Water hyacinth clogging
a waterway

It seems that water hyacinth can form mats that double in size within a few days, and the leaf blades of the plant catch the wind like sails, moving them over the water. The rafts of plants can become entangled in boat propellers and stall the boats of fishermen. State and federal governments in southeastern states budget billions of dollars annually to deter the spread of water hyacinth. The rafts of the plant are large and thick, and deprive photosynthetic organisms under them of light, thus reducing their oxygen production. But water hyacinth release oxygen into the water through their roots.

Boaters and fishermen may regard the water hyacinth as a nuisance, but this exotic plant does benefit other plants and animals. Seeds of the water-spider orchid and water primrose germinate and grow on the large, thick mats of water hyacinth, and the feathery roots of the plant form habitats for small animals. In addition to these benefits, water hyacinth help clean water that has become polluted by household waste and fertilizer run-off.

This feature about the water hyacinth is included in a section entitled “Floaters” in Why Water Plants Don’t Drown, which features plants that float on the surface of the water and have roots that hang freely in the water.

The two arresting illustrations in this blog were rendered by Susan Elliott, an artist, ecologist, and writer who lives in Montrose, Colorado – Elliott illustrated Why Water Plants Don’t Drown and note cards featuring some of the plants contained in this nature guide.

Copies of Why Water Plants Don’t Drown and packages of cards featuring some of the plants can be ordered from Pinyon Publishing either online or by mail at 23847 V66 Trail, Montrose, CO 81403.

FIRST SIGNS OF SPRING

A sight that inspires us to believe “if winter comes, spring can’t be far behind” is that of a Japanese magnolia tree in bloom. Here in the South, the blossoms signal the end of winter and hint at an early spring. The blooming tree also tells us that azalea, dogwood, and redbud blooms aren’t far behind.

A tree touted to be the oldest tree known to man – 50 million years old – the Japanese magnolia was introduced to English speaking countries by the Japanese, but it’s actually native to southwest China. The beautiful tree has large, tulip-shaped, purple, pink, and sometimes white flowers that need feeding in late winter. (My backyard tree must have starved at some time or another, or was killed off by frost because it is sans blooms; however, others in the neighborhood are heavy with blossoms).

Some varieties of the Japanese Magnolia, like Verbanica, with its light purple blooms, show good frost tolerance during the time of blooming. The tree loves early morning because at that time the sun’s beams aren’t as strong as those during the afternoon, and the goblet-shaped blooms almost seem to be cupping the soft light to greet the day.

I’ve searched through many plant books and journals, looking for information about how the Japanese magnolia trees got across the pond and introduced into our yards and gardens but haven’t turned up any data yet. I’ve even searched through Haiku poetry volumes, hoping to find an appropriate Haiku about the fragrant, stunning blooms of this tree and find numerous mentions about the plum tree, but no reference to the lavender/purple blooms of the tree that we call Japanese or Saucer magnolia.

Japanese magnolia trees thrive in semi-tropical climates like our Louisiana clime, and we start sending for seed catalogs or moving toward garden centers when we first see the blossoms in late January and early February. On these gray winter days, the trees make a lovely contrast to a lead-colored sky, and I can’t imagine the Chinese or Japanese poets missing an opportunity to write Haiku about these spectacular trees. Actually, I’m inclined to include a Haiku poem in this blog, written by the Japanese poet, Bundo, who does a brushstroke description of the plum tree in Haiku, Seasons of Japanese Poetry edited by Johanna Brownell. Brownell says that the Japanese are riveted by the purity and beauty of nature and have historically expressed this in their Haiku, “through a subtle sense of emotionalism that avoids abstract reasoning and human valorization…”

Most Haiku focuses on a landscape or scene that can be interpreted in many ways, so this Haiku poem by Bundo could be attributed to our southern Japanese magnolia: “A heavy cloud hangs low – /a cloud of blossoms o’er the land, /Pink, like the sunrise glow.” (In my lexicon of definitions, I often refer to this kind of poetry as “snippets”).

P.S. If you have a digestive problem, the bark of the Japanese magnolia tree has been used to treat this malady. My own treatment for a case of dyspepsia: stand and look at a Japanese magnolia tree in bloom for thirty minutes daily.

Photographs by Victoria I. Sullivan

PROMPTING THE MUSE WITHIN…

At a recent poetry reading, “A Midwinter Night Poetry Reading” at A and E Gallery here in New Iberia, where I read alongside Julie Kane, Louisiana Poet Laureate and Lafayette poet Clare Martin, I met several new writers and editors who are promoting creative writing in the area. One of them, Jonathan Penton, is a poet and editor of “Unlikely Stories, Episode IV” an online literary journal and a coordinator of Acadiana Wordlab, “an uncensored weekly writing workshop” in Lafayette, Louisiana. I sat across from Jonathan at the dinner following the reading and was briefly introduced to the idea of Jonathan’s weekly literary drafting workshop in Lafayette.

I had no idea that I was being “auditioned,” for lack of a better word, but yesterday I received a message from Jonathan inviting me to be a February presenter at the Wordlab. The Lab requires no formal membership and serves as a space where people can gather every Saturday from 2 p.m. to 4 p.m. to work on their writing craft at Cite’ des Arts in Lafayette. It focuses on art as a writing prompt, but the prompts aren’t confined to literary art – visual artists, filmmakers, and musicians have contributed to the work of the Lab.

The relaxing component of the Acadiana Wordlab is that it’s a drafting workshop, rather than a critique workshop. A presenter features a work of art, a lecture on the craft, or a discussion of art and then asks participants to respond by writing for twenty minutes or more. After writing, the participants read their creations aloud, and if time permits, the presenter makes a second prompt, followed by more writing and reading aloud.

I understand the process because about fifteen years ago, I formed and coordinated a writing group called “The Reflections,” an adult education class at the Episcopal Church of the Epiphany in New Iberia, Louisiana. At meetings in the “Upper Room” of the parish hall, I’d present a short lecture on a spiritual book, request members of the group to respond for twenty minutes, then to read their “reflections.” The results were amazing – illuminating quick sketches that I called the “feminine face of God” – spontaneous, poignant, strong and nurturing responses written in the spirit of both pathos and humor, which reflected the essence of the female soul. As I wrote in the chapbook, Meditations of My Heart, that we later produced, “they educated my own heart and enriched my spiritual journey.” Other members of the group said that the experience engendered the same responses in them.

Four members of the Reflections group of twelve participants went on to become authors of books: Margaret Simon, author of the young adult book, Blessen; Dr. Victoria Sullivan, author of the speculative fiction, Adoption and of the nature guide, Why Water Plants Don’t Drown; Mary Wyche Estes, author of Mending of the Heart and of Bass Reeves, Deputy U.S. Marshal, 1875-1902; and Janet Faulk, author of Road Home, a collection of essays about growing up “southern.” One “Reflections “songstress has become an outstanding voice in the music group, “Blue Merlot,” and co-wrote, with Grammy Award winner “Bubba” Murrell, the lyrics and music for the recording “Women at the Well.” Folk artist Jean Wattigny continued her work as an artist of whimsical paintings for which she has gained regional recognition.

Here’s a passage I read from The School of Charity by Evelyn Underhill:”We too have our share in the creative process. We live and die within the workshop …accepted as pupils and partners with our first movement of generosity in action, prayer, or love…we, in our measure, are allowed to stand beside Him; making little things, contributing our action to His great action on life. So we must use the material of life faithfully, with a great sense of responsibility…”

And here’s Jean Wattigny’s response to that passage: “When we speak of creating, I think of the creative process as action – doing, not comparing. There is no creation without full emptiness – total immersion in the present moment. Looking back to see what should have been done and looking forward to see what we may have ahead of us makes us nothing in the Now. If we’re thinking too much about the painting when we’re mixing the colors, we’re ahead of the process – we’ll only have muddy colors. Creation is in the moment of doing and doing is God’s work, God’s way.”

I might add that my own writing catapulted ahead light years following this two-year experiment in prompting the Muse!

Cover drawing of Meditations of My Heart by Paul Schexnayder, renowned New Iberia artist.