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In the annals of color there are innumerable greens. There are countless shades and hues of red. There is a rainbow of yellows: ictarine, mustard, ochre, lemon, and saffron. There are mysterious purples which haunt the imagination and are as different from each other as day from night. Then there is orange. For some reason, there are not a great many different named varieties of orange. Ferrebeekeeper has blogged about safety orange (international orange) which is used for marine rescue equipment and experimental aerospace equipment. Then there is coral, vermilion, and tangerine…and after that the oranges are a bit thin on the ground.
Part of the reason for this paucity of orange vocabulary is that pale oranges tend to be seen as flesh colors, and dark oranges are styled as “brown”. However there are also some orange colors which are quite lovely which are only now getting stylish fashion names.
In a long-ago post Ferrebeekeeper has featured one such hue of orange: bittersweet, which is named for berry-producing vines of the woody vine family “Celastraceae.” I said berries, because the glowing pinkish orange berries of bittersweet look like some celestial dessert fruit. Alas, the berries are toxic to people and domestic animals (although some sorts of wild animals and birds seem able to break down the eunonymin which causes such distress to dogs).
Bittersweet is grown in gardens because of the beauty of the berries. There is a native bittersweet vine in America, Celastrus scandens, however, there is an even more luminous orange pink variety of bittersweet vine from Asia named Celastrus orbiculatus. As will surprise no one, this ornamental bittersweet has escaped from the flower garden and crafting supply store and is now outcompeting the American bittersweet or hybridizing with it to make strange new wild cultivars. The story of how we have introduced a non-native vine with beautiful albeit slightly toxic berries for no reason other than their pretty color is not necessarily a story of ecological prudence or forbearance, however it does speak to the loveliness of this orange-pink.
The Fortingall Yew
It’s 2015 and anything is possible these days, but Ferrebeekeeper was still surprised to see a stolid old friend showcased in the international media for changing gender! A while ago (for us humans) I blogged about The Fortingall yew, which may be more than 5000 years old (and may also be Great Britain’s oldest living thing). The Fortingall yew is a male and has been so for several millennia. However, this year the ancient tree started to produce berries from a limb near its crown. Yews tend to be male or female, though it is not entirely unheard of for male conifers to have a female branch. Of course the Fortingall Yew predates Christianity (and possibly the pyramids)…and it has returned from the dead, so a bit of gender bending may not be so noteworthy considering its astonishing nature. Hopefully the berries will be fertile, I would like the tree to have some known offspring (although probably most of the yews in Great Britain are already descendants if it has been around for so long).
The Fortingall Yew then and now: partying with Victorian dandies in 1822 on the left, and switching gender at present time on the right
Allegory of Autumn (Workshop of Boticelli, ca. late 15th century, oil on canvas)
Here in the Northern Hemisphere, September 23rd is the Autumnal Equinox in 2015. Summer is officially over and autumn has begun. Now summer is my favorite season, and, more than ever before, it vanished like a racer snake diving into a thicket. I will miss it…and I worry that future summers will seem even shorter (if possible). But whatever the case concerning the swift passage of summer, autumn is not without its own substantial and fulsome delights. To celebrate the incipient season of harvest and abundance…and of winnowing and ending…I am putting up a gallery of fall crowns. Most of these are wreaths made of berries, chrysanthemums, and falling leaves, but a few are made of copper, bronze, and semi-precious stones.
A Bride Wearing an Autumn Crown (Photo by Nikki Cooper Via Love My Dress)
Amber Autumn Fairy Circlet Tiara Crown (by Thyme2dream on Etsy)
Crown for the Autumn Queen by “Up from the Ashes”
Man’s Wreath of Rose Hips, Berries, & Leaves (by BloomStudio of Etsy)
Autumn Leaves Crown (by hanatsukuri of Deviantart)
I feel like this prop crown from “A Game of Thrones” should count
Fall Wedding Crown by “thehoneycomb” on Etsy
Autumn oak-leaf fairy crown and third-eye jewellery made (and sold) by “Atlantic Fae”
Golden Santos Doll Crown with Amber Rhinestones
I am surprised at how many autumn wedding pieces there are! It gives one hope! And additionally I am gratified by the number of beautiful wreathes and handmade pieces available on Etsy…which also gives one hope. Maybe society is not wholly the mass-produced over-marketed aesthetic fiasco it seems like in the New York Times. Enjoy autumn! It is a beautiful season and there are many amazing things both fair and dark to come here on Ferrebeekeeper (and probably in the world too).
Sunflower and Wild Wheat Crown…again by “BloomDesignStudio on Etsy…gosh, those guys are the best!
A Rowan Tree (Sorbus aucuparia) beside a road in Ireland
Rowan trees are beautiful little trees which are part of the rose family. The tree is are also known as the sorbus trees (the genus is named Sorbus” from a Latin word meaning red brown), the quickbeam, or the mountain ash–although they are not closely related to the true ash trees. Because of their delicate beauty and great hardiness, rowan trees are a great favorite of landscape gardeners. The trees are covered with pretty five-petaled flowers in May and the flowers mature into large bunches of beautiful red or white berries in late summer. Rowan berries are too tart for human tastes when uncooked (plus the raw berries can be dangerous if eaten in huge quantities) however they can be cooked to make jams, jellies, chutneys, and teas. Birds are particularly drawn to the berries (which is the primary way that rowan trees distribute their seeds). Rowan trees have alternating pinnate leaves of a handsome medium green.
Rowan tree in bloom
Rowan trees of different species have spread through the northern hemisphere, however they seem to have originated in the mountains of west China (which is where the greatest genetic diversity of Rowan species is found). The berries of some of these Chinese species can be orange, pink, cream, or white.
In addition being loved by landscapers for their prettiness, Rowan trees have a special place in European folklore. Rowan trees were connected with the pre-Christian Scandinavian/Germanic goddess Sif, a golden haired beauty who was goddess of fertility, family, wedlock, grain, and beer (and basically everything worthwhile). Even after northern Europeans stopped worshipping Sif, the rowan tree kept its magical associations. Throughout the middle ages it was believed to prevent witches, bad luck and lightning. Sailors wore rowan charms and travelers invoked it for luck.
The Goddess Sif with a Rowan Bough and a Beer
The first house my parents bought when I was three was built by an Irish builder/developer who planted a rowan tree in the front yard. That tree featured vividly in my childhood (the berries were perfect for playing and throwing) and I still dream about it sometimes. It stands beautiful red and green near the center of the garden of my imagination.
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