The Ceiba

Last week when I arrived at Rancho San Benito after a five-day absence, I was presented with bouquets of flowers.

This is the ceiba, sacred tree of the Maya people, also known as the kapok tree. This example grows smack dab in the middle of the stone-walled corral.

I'd expected to see ceiba flowers this week because on my last visit, the buds on its branches were obvious. Not having lived near one of these trees, I hadn't quite expected this sort of show.

After admiring the glowing pink of the blossoms in the warm morning sunshine, I noticed the number of birds. Among others, I counted three hummingbirds in the tree at once and a pair of Altamira Orioles. A squirrel cuckoo, with its earthy-red body, flashy fan-tail and characteristic squirrel-like hopping behavior, was lurking nearby. The usual crowd, mainly jays, big-beaked Groove-billed Anis, blackbirds, grackles and a variety of other birds I still cannot identify, foraged among the blossoms as well.

But the most impressive visitors to the ceiba were the bees. Thousands of bees. They were busy going about their business, and the loudness of the hum was startling. As I stood beneath the tree, what was even more fascinating was the quality of the sound, which seemed to be everywhere. It was directionless and enveloping, as if the atmosphere itself was humming and vibrating.

I went about my work, carrying buckets of water for thirsty coconuts and lemon trees and packing compost and leaf mulch around their trunks to help the roots stay moist in this rainless season. I checked the plum trees, which budded last week and also are in flower now, and they're doing fine. I cleaned out the one-room house near the corral, which needs a new roof, door and some structural repairs before I can move in. The cleanup is in preparation for measuring and a full inspection prior to starting that project some time this spring.

Then, after the twenty-minute walk back into the village, the afternoon's agenda consisted of lunch with neighbors and a siesta.

That's pretty much how the days go around here right now.

Text and images copyright 2016 by Marc Olson

Wanderings: The Hills of Querétaro

A horse grazes along the edge of a cornfield, Tenasdá, Querétaro

San Ildefonso Tultepec, Querétaro -- Every summer I spend a few weeks here in rugged high country of the Municipality of Amealco, along the southern border of Mexico's Querétaro state. I come to the area to teach, but always have free time to explore and enjoy the countryside.

The weather is changeable and the air a bit thin in this place more than 2600 meters (8500 feet) above sea level. The earth is red, and during the summer rainy season the land is green. The verdant hills and mountains, fields and forests loudly call an observer's attention. However I also find myself lowering my view. Everywhere there are wonderful things at my feet.

At this time of year, dozens of species of flowers are visible along roads and trails.  Sometimes one solitary bloom is all I ever see of a particular variety.

Other types of flowers grow in vast colonies that carpet the ground with yellow, pink, red, purple and blue. The blooms may last a few days, or as long as a week or two. Later-flowering varieties replace those past their prime, so the color patterns are constantly changing.

Other flowers grow in small clusters. This is interesting country because although during this season the land can be waterlogged and muddy, the area also experiences a cool, desert-dry winter when grays and browns are the dominant colors. Cactus and other plants common to arid climates are common.

The nopal, or prickly pear cactus grows well here, and this is the season when the tunas (fruit) ripen, offering a sweet treat to passers-by willing to deal with the large nail-like spines on the leaves and tiny hairlike needles found on the tunas themselves.

I was tempted by this cluster of perfectly-ripe tunas, and picked a couple for myself and my companion. I enjoyed the delicacy, but paid for it afterward, spending about ten minutes pulling the tiny spikes from my fingers.

Tender young leaves of nopal also are good eating. With spines carefully shaved off and the leaves diced or cut into strips, nopal makes a nice addition to salads and cooked dishes, with a flavor and texture slightly reminiscent of asparagus.

Several varieties of champiñones (mushrooms) pop up around here during the dampest days. I saw these growing under a fallen log. Not being an expert on mushrooms, last week when I spotted them I took nothing more than this photo.

However, when I came into the city of Querétaro Friday for a weekend off, I found myself dining on tacos of champiñones a la mexicana (local mushrooms fried with tomato, onion and green peppers) and sauteed nopal at a local restaurant.  

I have been trying to improve my diet by eating more natural and vegetarian foods. I'd had flor de calabaza (squash flower) tacos a few days ago. Perhaps the unfinished business of wild nopal and champiñones had stayed unconsciously on my mind all week.

The "Beach Onions" Mystery

"What a strange thing. It's an onion!" I heard my friend Victor call out in Spanish, as we walked along the beach.

On a late December afternoon we were walking along the Yucatan's northern fringe at water's edge, kicking at chunks of coral and scanning the tide line for something interesting, when suddenly we stumbled upon this object.

As soon as I'd processed the day's "language learning moment," realizing that my friend was not talking about a certain strong-tasting edible root, but rather in general about plant bulbs (of which onions are just one example), I bent over to take a look.

Although it did resemble an edible onion in color and texture, obviously this bulb was something different. It still had the remains of green leaves at its top, and some threads of root remained attached to the base. As we walked further, we found quantities of these uprooted plants, strewn among shells and seaweed clumps along the shore.

Victor commented that they looked a lot like the wild lilies that grow near the coast. He in the past had pointed out these plants growing here and there near beach access roads and in dunes along the Yucatan coast, although I've never seen them in flower.

But what we kept wondering was, "how did these bulbs get here?" It was pretty obvious that they'd floated awhile and then washed up on this spot. Did someone dump them? Why did they dig them up in the first place?

As we speculated, we decided to collect a few, so as we beach combed we selected those in better condition and piled them where they would be visible and easily found as we returned to the car. Some were rotted and badly damaged, but we gathered about a dozen good ones for a little experiment.

The bulbs were planted in my garden a few days later, and within two weeks had begun to sprout new leaves. They did greatly resemble the wild lily plants commonly seen along beach areas around here.

As they grew, what was surprising to me was the size of these plants. After about six months, the leaves have reached a length of more than a meter (40 inches). Then they began to flower in late June, exactly six months after being put into good soil. The blossoms confirmed that these are the local plants we suspected they were.

 And what a fantastic thing the blooming of these plants is. It is not a flashy flower, in fact it is so spindly that from a distance it might easily be missed. Its six swordlike petals have a look reminiscent of orchids to my eyes. The stamens and anthers, with bright orange pollen at their ends, lend the flower a spidery, delicate elegance. This sizable bloom measures about 23 centimeters (9 inches) across. The stalk which supports this flower has had at least eight buds, which seem to bloom one at a time, consecutively. A flower lasts a day or two, with a new blossom opening as its predecessor wilts.

As for the "Beach Onions" mystery, I believe that coastal erosion is the reason that these bulbs are washing up on the shore. It seems to be an indigenous plant, common along the coasts, and this area of the Yucatán coast north of Mérida has some serious problems with erosion of beaches. I am guessing as beaches recede and dunes wash out, that some of these plants might manage to survive by floating to new habitat. However I imagine, from seeing the many damaged and rotted bulbs along the beach that day, and from the slim chance that a bulb would be tossed high enough up a beach to root and thrive, that the majority do not survive.

If my readers have other theories or information, or can help with identifying this plant, I'd appreciate comments.

Fall Colors: Not what you think

This morning I was reading a family member's blog in which she published a photo showing the snowline edging down the mountain, the cold mist and weak sunlight yesterday in my hometown of Juneau, Alaska. After signing off I walked out of my house, into the cool but comfortable morning, and was immediately reminded why I like living

where I do this time of year. When my friends and relatives up north are wearing sweaters and parkas and already exercising their snow shovels, in Yucatàn I am still enjoying fall colors.

NOT the "fall colors" they might expect. As I went out, I immediately noticed the first purple blossom of the

thumbergia that grows up one wall of the house. Buds are forming all over this huge plant, whose climbing branches can reach 45 feet/ 14 meters in length, and soon it will be full of cascades of hanging flowers. Seeing it, I went back inside and grabbed my camera. This is what I saw around the back patio this morning.

Way out back I saw that there are still some flowers on the neighbor's white plumeria, here known as Flor de Mayo, which hangs over my garden. True to its name, this tree usually begins flowering during the month of May. This one just keeps on going, although by this time of year the blooms are getting scarce. Near it, the sensuous flaming-orange blossom of the granada, or pomegranate, above, is the first one this year that has not shriveled and fallen off before reaching maturity.

Bougainvillea, bugambilia in Spanish, blooms just about all year round. The peach variety, above, is in a small planter and has never grown much. The hot pink plant was just a little stick when I put it in about a year and a half ago. Now it measures over 12 feet/4 meters high, and is growing like crazy. It is hard to prune due to its sharp thorns.

Yellow irises continue to produce fresh blooms for months. The one seen here unfolded shortly after I took this image. Pink and yellow mandevilla, below, will grow together but are quite different. The pink is extremely delicate; the yellow very hardy and grows at a dramatic rate.

I thought astromelia was a smaller bush. This one has grown to be way above my head.

I do not know what this wildflower is. I suppose the seed was dropped by a bird. Several have sprouted in the garden. One reached more than 3 feet/1 meter across and had hundreds of blossoms.

Two fruit-producing plants: creamy white papaya flowers with yellow centers; strong pink nopal cactus flowers perched atop their tunas, or fruits, which make good eating when mature if you are very careful about their needle-fine spines. Hummingbirds love the nopal flowers.

This is known locally as Copa de oro. This plant reproduced like crazy. I started with a couple tiny pieces of root, and now have dozens of them. Hummingbirds visit these, too. They actually perch on the flower and come to rest while feeding.

Does anyone know what this is? A friend gave me some seeds months ago, and it has produced hundreds of flowers. The blooms last one day, and usually drop off by evening. The good thing is, there are always more.

I only know about these plants what friends and neighbors tell me. If anyone reading this has more information or better names, please leave a comment or email.