Summer Flora

Clouds keep promising more rain, but then not following through. So it's still dry. But some flowers are blooming all the same.

All of these shots were taken recently at the still-lush Spring Valley, deep in the heart of the northwest suburbs.

Brookfield Pics

I took my camera to the zoo last week, but didn't have much luck capturing any decent images of any animals. I didn't even get a good shot of the zoo's relatively inanimate Roosevelt Fountain. The fountain, according to the zoo web site, "honors one of the country’s most enthusiastic conservationists: President Theodore Roosevelt. Alfred Hamill, founding trustee, was the guiding spirit behind the creation of Roosevelt Fountain, which was dedicated on May 14, 1954, in the presence of some 700 dignitaries.

"Prior to the celebration, Sylvia Shaw Judson, noted sculptress and wife of then Chicago Zoological Society president Clay Judson, created four statues that still stand today as symbols of the President’s character: statesman, naturalist, hunter, and soldier."

I need to give those statues a closer look sometime, since I think they're the ones ringing the plaza whose focus is the fountain itself. They aren't statues of the president himself -- I would remember that -- but I can't remember exactly what symbols Judson used.

A riot of gorgeous flowers surrounds the fountain this time of year. Lilly was able to capture it.

I think those are coneflowers. The fountain is barely visible in the background, but who cares. The original image reminds me of a picture for some glossy, photo-heavy calendar.

Lilly also hand her hand at some animal pics, and came away with some good shots. Such as a small tower of giraffes.

And a feeding zebra.

I took at least one pic that I like, if only for sentimental reasons. My family in front of the penguins.

I took that pose because I remembered another photo I took, similar in background, but when my family was a little smaller than it is now.

Yuriko and Lilly and the Brookfield Zoo penguins, circa 1999.

Daughter of Earth and Water, Nursling of the Sky

July has been nearly as dry as June was wet in northern Illinois. The grass has turned a summer brown and the weedy Queen Anne's lace (Daucus carota) exults in parts of our yard, especially the spot where a garden used to be.

The back-yard deck is one of my favorite places around the house during summer. Except for those late-morning, early-afternoon cloudless hours when the Sun bears down on it intensely. By mid-afternoon, however, no matter how hot the day, the honey locust provides shade from the solar orb as it burns its way across the sky.

Some days, cumulus clouds float on by. Not long ago, I was able to take this picture, on impulse, sitting in one of the foldable camping chairs we keep on the deck.

Not bad. When I need a moment to put down whatever book I'm reading out on the deck (Digging Up the Dead: A History of Notable American Reburials right now), I can look for shapes in the clouds. I don't see much in this particular image, but often as not I'll see shapes from maps. One of these days, I want to see Sulawesi -- the Celebes, for old-timers -- up there, since it's one of the coolest map shapes there is.

This Cantigny Bower Not My Prison

Back again on July 6. In the meantime, Uncle Sam Wants You (To Use Pyrotechnics).

Besides roses, there were plenty of other flowers and assorted plants at the gardens of Cantigny, including a Begonia Empire that featured nonstop pink, nonstop deep red, nonstop orange, nonstop fire; an Impatiens Kingdom; and a Millet Purple Majesty Realm. But nothing on the grounds pleased me more than the pergola, or if you prefer, bower or arbor. Whatever you call it, the one at Cantigny had several comfortable places to sit. This is the eye-level view from that sitting-place.

And looking up.

When, unfortunately, you have to leave the wonderful pergola of Cantigny, because all things pass, at least there's a nearby pond to walk around. Eventually, on the other side of the pond, you'll get a look at the entirety of the pergola, along with its reflection in the pond.

Stop and Smell the Betty Whites

A part of Cantigny is given over the roses. I don't think I've seen a finer rose garden since visiting the one that occupies a slice of Nakanoshima Park in Osaka, but then again I don't seek out rose gardens with any energy. But when I find one, I go look around. And smell around. "Stop and smell the roses" becomes literal activity at a time like this. A lot people were doing the same during our visit.

According to Cantigny, the 12,000-square-foot rose garden is home to more than 1,200 roses representing more than 55 varieties in 16 different classifications. That sounds like a lot to me -- a wide variety of grandifloras, floribundas, hybrid teas, minis and shrub roses. These had a sweet, pungent smell:

The sign told me they were specimens of the hybrid tea rose "Betty White." Looks like everyone likes Betty White, even rose horticulturists. Nearby roses were named for Julia Child and Queen Elizabeth.

(Very) Local News

A single pink rose appeared suddenly near the driveway gate over the weekend, or so it seemed. We noticed it suddenly would be more like it. But now that it's here, the bloom is hard to miss -- a delicate little flower, pink as a princess dress in one of Ann's books, and flanked by two buds that promise more blooms this week.

It's in a fertile green spot that has given us mint, but it's never been a rose-producing area. I asked Yuriko if we'd put in any roses there. She couldn't remember. I don't either. We've tried planting roses in other spots around the yard, but mostly we've gotten dry, thorny sticks stuck in the ground for our trouble. So do we have volunteer roses? Is that even possible?

I probably should contemplate this little event a little a more deeply. Maybe something Eastern along the lines of, "Does a rose have Buddha nature or not?" Or maybe something Western, acknowledging the unexpected gifts of the Lord. On the other hand, maybe a volunteer rose is a rose is a rose is a rose.

The Dandelions of '09

Been getting some imperative spam lately. Few are more imperative that this subject line: Answer or get cancer. It rhymes, too! Guess they're selling some kind of supposed cancer prophylactic. Either that or they're touchy about people who ignore their e-mails, and have some wicked voodoo at hand to get revenge.

I was able to include this bit of imagery in a recent article: "... since the beginning of 2009, back when Wall Street was sliding down a giant razor blade into a vat of rubbing alcohol." That painful turn of phrase has been wandering some lonely synaptic byways of mine for a long time. I'm not sure where I first picked it up, but it could have been in high school, as part of the rich word-play (for high school) of the speech tournaments I went to. Maybe.

Time for my annual praise of dandelions, since they are a-blooming, with a high concentration in my yard, such as the one scanned here, picked by my own hand today. May divides suburban homeowners in metro Chicago into two camps. Those sluggards who allow dandelions to sprout willy-nilly in their lawns, and those control freaks who have none because they're goddamn weeds.

Call me a sluggard, then. I suspect dandelions were created so that the likes of my six-year-old daughter could stop every day on the way home from school and pick the yellow flowers, or blow seeds into the wind.