Dipping my fingers in dirt

Well, hello! This is the longest I've been away from blogging and actually typing something to be published in a while is giving me some sense of accomplishment already. That's not to say that I've been idle and watching the grass grow all this time -- though the latter sounds like somewhere in the vicinity of my latest preoccupation. More than watching grass grow, I have been finding joy in taking care of succulents. Container gardening is something I have come to appreciate, with cacti and other succulents being my focus.

I thought I'd share two videos from gardening enthusiasts who know their business. One is from Laura of Garden Answer which shows her making a fairy garden, while the other provides some wonderful ideas for mini-cactus gardens courtesy of Christine Kobzeff. I stumbled onto Garden Answer about a year ago in one of my link-hopping sessions on YouTube and simply loved Laura's way of explaining how to go about creating floral arrangements, some of which include succulents. The videos -- particularly the "speedy" versions -- are fun to watch! As for Christine Kobzeff, I think I came across her cactus how-to's when I was trying to learn more about succulent care, and her simple and minimalist dish gardens made me want to try them myself (I haven't yet).

So here they are:

Turning over a new leaf

Well, it's been over a week since I started this post, saving the pictures and deciding to continue another day. For the most part of January I was preoccupied with foliage -- well, plants in general, but to be more specific, plants that could provide cover and protection for particular portions of our home. In a nutshell, someone who seemed to plan to break into our house nearly succeeded, and what could have been his access point into the property was a portion of the fence in which the lantana hedge had thinned out after excessive trimming. Furthermore, the formerly narrow and weak stems of the plant had developed into thick and hardy branches over the course of five years, thereby providing a convenient aid to scale the wall.

So, due to this incident, my concern has been to make our home more secure and less attractive to elements with less-than-noble intentions. Plants with plenty of thorns (and no thick trunks/branches to serve as possible ladders for would-be intruders) were on my mind, and I asked family and friends for ideas. Bougainvillea came up several times; thorns plus the aesthetic factor made it the final choice as replacement for the picture-perfect lantana, which had to go soon. Cacti came to mind, too, and so began the search for (and research on) the perfect kind to suit our purpose.

In the course of all this, Pinterest had also been giving me lots of ideas. I was mentally drooling over pretty floral arrangements and creatively landscaped gardens. What beauty! What's more, the proliferation of DIY projects eventually made those quirky and (mostly) doable stuff appealing and not that hard to accomplish -- even by me! So, short version -- I spent quite a lot of time looking around garden shops to see what's out there, to admire all those floral beauties, and decide on what could go into our garden.

One of the plants I saw and instantly selected had wonderful multi-colored leaves. I had seen a similar plant before but didn't know what it was, and up close the foliage was even more interesting. It feels like autumn in the tropics!

This pink one is among my favorite leaves:

And this has a watercolor feel going on:

A light-colored one, with jagged edging like the pink one earlier:

Several days after being planted in pots, one of the leaves dropped to the soil, dead. And this is how it looked:

By the way, I learned that these are the leaves of a gumamela (hibiscus) plant! At least now we get to delight in pretty foliage and the occasional buds and blooms.

It's amazing how I see ladybugs in artwork always portrayed as red and black, yet I haven't seen a single one with that color combination. Those that I've seen -- one of which I spotted on the pretty leaves -- always look like this:

In the same garden shop where I purchased the gumamela was something else that caught my fancy. The first time I visited the place to look for hanging plants, and on the next visit to buy some potting mix, I had seen a fascinating plant with holes on its leaves.

"Oh, what's that? Did some pest do that or are they natural holes?" I asked the lady who was helping me with the things I needed.

"They're natural," she replied with a smile.

I ended up buying a few of these Swiss cheese plants -- scientific name: Monstera deliciosa. They sure are fascinating, and it's even more interesting to know that those holes aren't there merely for a quirky overall look.
 

By nature

I love to think of nature as an unlimited broadcasting station, 

through which God speaks to us every hour, if we will only tune in.

~George Washington Carver

Look deep into nature, and then you will understand everything better.
~Albert Einstein

Leave the leaves alone... no more

Leaf art -- that's what I have come to call it.

In the last couple of months, the sight of heavily munched-on leaves became more common around our garden -- ubiquitous almost. Admiring the pretty lavender hibiscus blooms, I noticed quite a few leaves with jagged patterns; every morning while waiting patiently for signs of new yellow hibiscus buds to show up in the nearby pot, the number of chomped up greens seemed to increase. I was accustomed to seeing half-eaten leaves; for some time, Oleander Hawk-moth and Vine Hawk-moth caterpillars made the chichirica and a las cuatro plants their home and main source of sustenance. I even made a few of them my pets, keeping them in jars and regularly giving them a stash of greenery for their meals till it was time for them to cocoon. Eventually they transformed into marvelous winged beauties.

But this time it was different. It was like whatever was responsible for the uniquely fashioned foliage plodded on with gusto. The result was almost like art -- munching here and there, never staying on the same spot for long, hence the punctuated surfaces and interestingly irregular edges. It was partly amazing, partly exasperating. Though leaves naturally grew a certain way, who said they had to stay that way, especially when some tiny creatures were designed to feed on foliage?

Even the Dona Aurora wasn't spared from the "bullet-riddled look". At the same time I noticed that too many hairy caterpillars were showing up in our garden. There they were, crawling on the leaves of nearly each of the half dozen potted plants. A swipe of the coconut tree frond mid-rib broom (okay, let's just call it by its usual name -- walis tingting) yielded three or four higad at a time from the santan hedge. And, they weren't simply resting, snoozing, or anything unproductive like that -- most of the time they were eating away, jagged leaves and flower petals presenting the evidence! I therefore concluded that controlling the population of the "backpacker caterpillars" -- the name with which I've come to refer to them as they looked like they carried backpacks -- for the time being was called for.

"Higad lang po 'yan. Hindi nagiging paru-paro," chirped one of the street kids who stopped by our gate, hanging around me as I took snapshots of some plants and being jolted when a backpacker caterpillar reared its hairy body from the santan hedge, almost touching his fingers. "Namaga nga po itong kamay ko nung umakyat ako ng puno ng bayabas tapos nahawakan ko bigla," the little boy added, stretching out his hand to reveal the subsiding inflammation on his right palm.

So, potential skin allergy trigger, plant destroyer, imminent invasion, and non-winged future as a moth or butterfly -- could all these and a potential infestation not point to a need to eliminate the hairy crawlies? I don't know what technically constitutes an infestation but getting to observe several of these little backpackers everyday seems to come close! So, I set to work: I took pictures (I was still fascinated by their atypical physical features) then proceeded to (gulp!) kill each one that I spotted among our plants. This went on for about a week...

A little backpacker and an even tinier one (frankly, I'm not sure if it's an offspring, sibling, or a mere appendage/shed "fur") under a bougainvillea leaf)...

... another one that was making its way around the pots...

A bunch of them that I gingerly picked off with a stick from the foliage (lest one of them give me a taste of the venom from its backpack should my hand accidentally touch the prickly tufts on its back)... and that was it. Till now I haven't seen a single one of these backpackers in our midst.... which I have come to regret after making a discovery three days ago:

The "backpacker caterpillar," I learned, is called the Tussock caterpillar, which -- after cocooning -- becomes a Tussock moth.

Yellow tussock moth

After coming across the discovery online, I felt crestfallen. I've killed about a dozen of them already... I told myself. All those potential moths, gone. Well, I learned two things that day: first, those backpacker caterpillars don't remain caterpillars all their life but become moths; second, always verify your information. Maybe I should let that little boy who hurt his hand from a higad also learn two things like I did if I should ever run into him again.

Oh, there's a third thing I learned (or more accurately, was reminded of) that day: God made everything with a purpose in mind. I've yet to find out if Tussock moths are pollinators, but even if it turns out they're not, is that the gauge we ought to use in determining the importance of their existence?

At around this time, I was also reading a booklet that centered on Laudato Si, Pope Francis' latest encyclical.  And after the vital discovery concerning the backpacker caterpillars, the Pope's words as contained in the booklet "Laudato Si: An integral ecology for contemporary man" -- a Documentation Service publication -- resounded with me:

84. Our insistence that each human being is an image of God should not make us overlook the fact that each creature has its own purpose. None is superfluous. The entire material universe speaks of God's love, his boundless affection for us. Soil, water, mountains: everything is, as it were, a caress of God (...) 

85. God has written a precious book, "whose letters are the multitude of created things present in the universe". The Canadian bishops rightly pointed out that no creature is excluded from this manifestation of God: "From panoramic vistas to the tiniest living form, nature is a constant source of wonder and awe. It is also a continuing revelation of the divine" (...)

So, little backpacker caterpillars, you are again most welcome in our little garden. Now I am not about to allow our home to be infested with hairy, creeping creatures; for now, though, let's just say I appreciate leaf art enough to let those caterpillars live out their gustatory tendencies to leave artistic marks on our plants for more unconventional foliage.

The tiniest Tussock moth caterpillar I've seen so far

You make my heart beat faster: thanks for the scare, you big, black bee

Since discovering the amazing beauty of the flowers in our garden a couple of years ago and finding myself fascinated by the various insects (namely, butterflies, moths and caterpillars) and the way they quietly carry out their "work" day after day, I've come to see the natural world as yet another mirror that reflects God's wisdom. The minutest details have been taken care of, even the ones to which human eyes are oblivious but which are there for reasons only the Creator knows. I have also come to appreciate the little creatures that don't exactly exude breath-taking beauty but which -- so I learned later -- play an indispensable role in the grand scheme of things. Here's one such creature:

After seeing a couple of photos of bees I posted on Facebook, my friend Stef gave me a link to a BBC documentary on just how vital the existence of bees (in this case, honeybees) was to ours. It was mind-blowing. It's here if you'd like to watch it.

Well, a recent experience led me to appreciate these formerly-thought-of-as-ugly creatures all the more, though fear had something to do with my change of heart..

One morning about a month ago, I decided that I would continue my quiet time out in the garden amid the lantana hedge, atop a ladder. The brightly colored flowers were a-plenty, and butterflies and moths had been "visiting" more frequently again, making for a marvelous sight that could probably prompt even the most hardened heart to contemplate the beauty of the natural world. It suffices to say that it can be an immensely tranquil scene to witness.

Top of the world: More accurately, top of the ladder

Done with prayer inside my room, I headed out the front door, set the ladder near the hedge, and tucked my phone securely in my pocket (I figured taking a snapshot or two of a pretty butterfly would be a nice bonus). As I climbed the steps, I already admired the sight before me. Sure, the vibrant colors of petals please the senses, but greenery can be magnificent, too, in its simplicity. Reaching the top of the ladder afforded me a view of the entire hedge. I slowly turned and settled into a comfortable position from where I could continue my quiet time. Things sure look different from up here, I remember thinking while bringing out my phone and setting it on camera just in case some pretty butterfly happened to land near enough.

How relaxing it was. By this time I had grown accustomed to seeing things like hairy caterpillars around our garden that rather than being irked or agitated by the sight of the creepy crawlies, my reaction would be pure fascination.

I snapped away with each remarkable sight. "Now that's something you don't see everyday," I muttered as a hairy caterpillar slowly made its way toward a smaller, non-hairy caterpillar on a neighboring leaf. Would this constitute a petty quarrel in the insect world? A "Match of the Century" of sorts? Caterpillar Armaggedon?

I was content with sitting on my post, savoring the quiet and watching as butterflies zoomed past but none sticking around long enough to photograph. Perhaps I had been there for some 10 or so minutes when a bee appeared at the far end of the hedge. From flower to flower it hovered and landed for a few moments, doing its thing. I wasn't really concerned because I had seen bees all the time, though I admit I was always on the ground and they were up there, far from the ground.

As the bee slowly grew closer, I started taking photos... until I realized it was much too close for comfort. At this point I had visions of being stung by the creature, which of course sent me into a semi-panic (the bee, after all, was not your average bee but a huge, black, furry one. In a span of, oh, 15 seconds maybe, I thought of how best to fall from the ladder so that I don't sustain a broken leg or hip or any of my precious limbs: Wait, should I fall foward, that way I land on these santan bushes, thereby cushioning me a bit? How do I avoid those pots? Should I lean back? Yikes, that will tip the ladder over.  Ack! Here it comes.... oh my God. Maybe I'll shut my eyes so it doesn't sting me there. I don't want to go blind! Oh no.... were the thoughts that raced through my head as the bee hovered closer and the buzzing sound grew louder.
 

At one point, the bee seemed to stare right at me, and I -- with phone a few inches from my face and trying to maintain my balance on top of the ladder -- sat still and all the while wondering if my racing hearbeat would send a warning to the menacing-looking thing. I remember starting to utter the Memorare softly in a pleading tone (and quite rapidly) and then cutting it short to say "Oh, God..." because I thought the bee would actually fly straight toward me.

Well, it didn't.

It turned its attention on the flowers again, hovering over some that were on another part of the hedge. Best moment of the entire experience. My pulse rate decreased and for a few seconds I just sat there.

I think I'm invading their space, I concluded, and with that I slowly made my way down the ladder, still dazed that I escaped a possible stinging from a very big, very black and very furry bee.

"Hindi ka naman aanuhin basta hindi mo sila sasaktan (They won't do anything to you as long as you don't hurt them)," was my mother's casual remark after I related the nerve-wracking incident that left me all sweaty (not from the sun exposure or humidity, but from nervousness). Well, I didn't know that. Besides, I had made up my mind to let the winged creatures frequenting our garden have their own space. You know, respecting the fact that they have their own jobs to do and that I might be interfering even when I think I'm simply admiring them and their realm, and trying to capture them in photos.

Well, now that I think about it, I've captured enough images of the wondrous sights I've been fortunate to see in our small garden. And what ultimately counts doesn't lie in perfectly composed pictures or witnessing butterflies and other little creatures carry out their part in the ecosystem. If I'd ask myself if seeing all this has been keeping me on the path of a virtuous life directed toward Heaven, I would definitely want to be able to say a resounding "Yes!"

But then, keeping hundreds and hundreds (more like over a thousand) of photos of flowers and insects from every angle in my computer doesn't sound very virtuous, so let me share some of them here before I delete them for good.

One sunny day at the lantana hedge

Looking up from under the hedge, this is what I see

One of several kinds of Amata wasp moths

The Common Lime Butterfly, one of the pretty pollinators in our garden

Not so common: lavender hibiscus ("gumamela")

This Philippine Common Snow Flat (I have no idea why it's called that) is pretty rare; I've seen one in our garden only twice so far

The lantana hedge was bursting with color on the day after a thunderstorm

Such pretty leaves providing a resting place for this Great Eggfly butterfly

I see a lot of these wasp moths flying around our garden. This was taken right after it rained.

Army Green caterpillars love the plants in our yard

When the Army Green caterpillar changes color, that means it's ready to pupate soon.

An Army Green Hawk-moth, the morning after emerging from its cocoon!

A bee busy at work, oblivious to any observer like me

I find butterflies and moths with tattered wings truly fascinating as the injury doesn't seem to faze them. This is a Great Eggfly butterfly, which I see a lot of in our garden.

A hairy caterpillar that, I'm told, does not transform into a butterfly or moth but simply remains a caterpillar all its life. Boy, I shouldn't have believed that.

A hardly noticeable honeybee among the santan petals

Charming light-colored lantana

These Skipper butterflies can test one's alertness and patience in photographing them, since they dart from place to place and their rapid movements are quite unpredictable.

June 4, 2013: the first snapshot that got me hooked on these winged creatures

Why I stopped and "smelled the roses"

One day, the harsh words all over Facebook prompted me to get out of the social networking site. The words didn’t have to be directed at me for the abrasiveness to make me go “enough is enough!” They were crass, they were full of contempt. It’s like You want to feel rotten? Log in to Facebook! You’ll get a megadose of anger/condescension/pronouncements on what’s wrong with the world and why everyone is doomed! 

"I'm under the impression that this notion of decency is disappearing from our society where conflicts are made worse on cinema and on television, where people are nasty and cruel on the Internet and where, in general, everybody seems to be very angry," actress Helen Mirren reportedly said. She gets what's happening.

Bad fashion sense, bad English, bad singing, bad taste in aesthetics – complaints about everything surfaced on status messages. The last straw for me at the time was the barrage of below-the-belt remarks ridiculing skin color (guess what shade – it’s definitely not the light one) as well as high-profile people who happened to be born with it.

Self-expression in public had hit an all-time low, and I wasn’t going to stick around to be a willing audience. So I left Facebook.

I didn’t delete my account – I simply deactivated it and stayed away for a month.  What joy! “Detox! Cool!” observed a friend. Yes, that was it – a mental and emotional cleansing from the filth that collective contempt can produce.

This is basically what directed me away from checking out status messages, pictures, news, videos, and endless scrolling that the site tends to make any netizen do. Instead, from the first moment of the day, I devoted my time and attention to real people, real concerns – not images, and not concerns manufactured by news or promotional materials meant to amplify some incident or celebrity, in turn to generate buzz and lead to countless page hits, likes, shares and whatever will send it skyrocketing on the popularity index.

Without the constant digital noise, the early morning minutes I used to spend reading the endless stream of updates had me instead roaming our small garden daily. What little charming flowers we have, I thought, gazing at the hedge right outside our front door as if seeing the lantana blooms for the first time.  They’re little alright, but dozens of the floral beauties spread out across the hedge resulted in an explosion of brilliant colors!

 

“Stop and smell the roses,” we’re often reminded, especially in these times when a really fast pace and the ability to go even faster can make us lose sight of the essentials of a life with meaning. Well, eliminating Facebook from my daily routine was a de-cluttering of sorts, a way to get back to the essentials – the proverbial roses I had come to overlook. No roses found their way into our picturesque hedge, but no matter – pretty soon I realized I was not the only one appreciating the lantana buds that blossomed. If you spend enough time around the stillness of the garden, you’ll see various winged creatures flower-hopping throughout the day. The lantana may not be as fragrant as roses (in fact, they have a peculiar smell) but they sure can draw the butterflies and bees to their lovely petals and keep them coming back throughout the day.


Of course it’s the butterflies, with their fascinating prints and colors, which easily captured my fancy. This was National Geographic up close! Gazing at images of something on a screen and looking at it in the flesh, in all its 3-dimensional wonder, are completely different experiences – even if it’s only the slow wing-flapping of a lacewing perched on a leaf or the flower-hopping of a frolicsome bumblebee.

What I found most reassuring in those sightings of foliage, flora and insects was their predictability. While news of planes crashing and ships colliding was reported, as the world waited with Kate and William for the “royal birth,” while fans and cynics got all emotional over the FIBA games, and as the “pork” situation progressed from bad to worse, the buds bloomed like they were supposed to. The butterflies arrived as scheduled each day and did their job. Through all the good and bad news, other creatures predictably followed their natural course. Even amid unfortunate incidents, life went on -- and beauty was there if one took the time to look around.

One afternoon I noticed one of the black-and-white butterflies, motionless, on a leaf. Its wings were spread open; I took a snapshot. Then I realized parts of its right wing were torn off. Oh no, it's hurt! How will
it fly now? Will it crash in flight? Is it going to die soon?

I was concerned for the little insect. When I left it, it still hadn’t moved.

The next morning it was gone. I hope it’s okay, I thought, wondering if butterflies could grow back damaged wings. Well, what do you know? Hours later, a butterfly that looked just like the injured one – broken wing and all – flitted from one end of the garden and landed on a leaf along the steel fence. Obviously it was not missing any action. Now that’s fighting spirit! I couldn’t help but think how the injured creature displayed more resilience than some people do (myself included) when faced with adversity. This butterfly has nearly half a wing torn off and it flies around as usual as if nothing happened. Talk about rolling with the punches!

In the weeks that followed, I discovered that broken wings weren’t all that unusual among the creatures that flew in and out of our yard.  There was the little tiger moth with a wee part of its left wing damaged. Then there was “Brownie,” another butterfly, whose impeccably edged wings remained awesome despite a missing rounded corner.  And who wouldn’t be astounded by the little beauty that zoomed from one end of the hedge to the other with its remarkably tattered wings? I spied it almost daily; one time it even landed on my outstretched hand.  Whatever tore apart its wings to such a frayed condition apparently did not tear down the insect’s spunk (and curiosity).

This butterfly with the jagged wings now holds my fascination the most. Never mind the asymmetrical form – a delicate creature that insists on being airborne despite its tattered state is all the reminder one needs that tempests are to be faced bravely. Facebook may be full of messages about persistence despite the odds or hardship bringing out the grit in people, but right here before me were more graphic – and prettier— examples of such determination. 

It’s amazing how stopping to “smell the roses” can end up with being shown so much unexpected beauty.  And all I needed was a reason to seek the roses in the first place.