Sunday, September 24, 2006

Indian summer



This Sundays post is about the berries which grow wild in our forest. I've put the remaining pics on another page because not everyone is interested in my gardening posts. If you want to see the berry pics then click here and the pics will open in a new window and download while you read the rest of this.

There is a high pressure dome sitting over the Northwest. High pressure systems circulate clockwise and bring hot air from inland out towards the coast. (Low pressure circulates counter-clockwise and sucks cold moist air in from the ocean.) The temperature outside right now is 65F - 25 degrees warmer than last night. The day time high yesterday was 95F in the sun and 80F in the shade on the veranda. The heatwave is supposed to last for a week but sometimes the high pressure dome lasts for a month or more at this time of the year. Indian summer always seems to happen just after you add another blanket to your bed because the nights are dropping below 40F.

This heat makes me crave juicy berries and we have plenty of berries. The berries are almost past their prime and the birds are busy eating everything that has not already been eaten - fattening up for winter.

When I first moved to Oregon and went shopping for native Oregon plants to grow in my yard, all the nurseries offered me salal berries and huckleberries and flowering red-currant (ribes sanguinem - which is grown for its flowers not its insignificant fruit.) I had already seen that our forest was full of salal berries and two kinds of huckleberries and I jokingly offered to sell them to the nurseries. But I did not realize that I also had a lot of flowering red-currant so I bought one only to find that there was a whole herd of them behind the well storage-tank. Here's a flowering red-currant which is the first plant to bloom each year in January. The rest of the pics are here.

Sunday, September 17, 2006

We are all kafirs now

To the Muslims we are all kafirs (Arabic for "infidel") but, when I was still a kid in South Africa in the late 1940s, we used to call black Africans kafirs. In the 1950s kafir was replaced with "native" because kafir had come to be seen as a derogatory term. In the 1960s, with the implementation of the "native homelands" known as "Bantustans," "native" was replaced with Bantu. In the 1970s the American "Black consciousness" movement arrived in South Africa and the native South Africans began to call themselves "blacks" but the word kafir was used up until the 1990s (when it became illegal to use the word in South Africa) as an adjective to describe many different South African flora and fauna. The Afrikaners spell the word with one f and pronounce it with a long a as "kahfir." The British spell the word "kaffir" and pronounce it with a short a as "keffa."

Here's some info on the word kafir from Wikipedia:

By the 15th century, the word kafir/kuffar was used by Muslims in Africa to refer to the non-Muslim African natives. Many of those kuffar, who were enslaved and sold by their Muslims captors to European and Asian merchants, mainly from Portugal, who by that time had established trading outposts along the coast of West Africa. These European slave traders adopted that Arabic word to refer to their captives, and eventually changed it into many forms.

[...]

The earliest use of the term in English is by Richard Hakluyt in 1589, who used the name Caffar for the inhabitants of southern Africa, a region roughly coinciding with the present territories of Zimbabwe, South Africa, and Mozambique.

The word was used officially in this way, without derogatory connotations (apart from the implicit generalisation), during the Dutch and British colonial periods until the early twentieth century. It appears in many historical accounts by anthropologists, missionaries and other observers, as well as in academic writings. For example, the Pitt Rivers Museum in Oxford originally labelled many African artifacts as "Kaffir" in origin. For another example, the 1911 Encyclopaedia Britannica made frequent use of the term, even to the extent of having an article of that title.

[...]

Kaffraria was the descriptive name given to the southeast part of the Cape Province of South Africa. Kaffraria, i.e. the land of the Kaffirs, is no longer an official designation. It used to comprise the districts now known as King Williams Town and East London, which formed British Kaffraria, annexed to Cape Colony in 1865, and the territory beyond the Kei River south of the Drakensberg Mountains as far as the Natal frontier, known as Kaffraria proper.

The word was used thus:

The Kaffir Wars or Kafir Wars of South Africa which are now known as the Cape Frontier Wars.

Kitchen Kafir or Fanagalo, a pidgin or creole spoken in South Africa which is sometimes known as "kitchen Zulu" because it is derived mostly from that language.

Kaffirs, a nickname for shares of South African gold mining companies used in the London Stock Exchange.

Kaffir Duiker, a species of tiny antelope - the smallest in the world and so cute that all of us kids wanted one as a pet. "Duiker" is Afrikaans for diver. They are called that because they live on river banks and dive under water to escape.

Kaffir Finch ("Kafirvink"), the Red Bishop bird, Pyromelana oryx.

Kaffir Rail, the bird Rallus caerulescens.

Kafirlemoen or Kaffir watermelon, either of two species of melon, Citrullus caffer or C. vulgaris which we now know as the watermelon.

Kaffir orange, a shrub or small tree of the genus Strychnos pungens, or its fruit.

Kaffir tea, the plant Helichrysum nudifolium.

Kafir corn, an obsolete name for durra, a millet-like grain. This is a breakfast staple in South Africa. It looks like dark brown grits and has a delicious nutty flavor.

Kafirbrood or encephalartos is a genus of cycad native to Africa. Several species of Encephalartos are commonly referred to as bread palms or Kaffir bread since a bread-like starchy food can be prepared from the centre of the stem.

Kaffir date, Kaffir plum or Kaffir's scimitar tree, is a South African tree, Harpephyllum caffrum, family Anacardiaceae. When I was a kid growing up in Zululand, these were also known by the Zulu name - amatingulu - and grew everywhere. They are very tasty but have a sticky white sap which turns black on your lips.

(From Wikipedia: Anacardiaceae is a family of 72 genera of flowering plants bearing fruits that are drupes. Some species produce the irritant urushiol. The type genus is Anacardium, the cashew. Other species included in this family are mango, poison ivy, sumac, smoke tree, and pistachio. The latter is sometimes placed in its own family, the Pistaciaceae.)

Kaffir tree, or Kafirboom is a South African leguminous tree, Erythrina caffra, known as Coral Tree in Hawaii to which it was imported and where it thrives (as do most South African plants.)

Kaffir lily is the name given to two distinct species: clivia miniata (sometimes known as Flame Lily) and schizostylis coccinea.

Pictures from top to bottom:

1 and 2) kafirduikers - alive and dead - which are commony used for food.

3) Kafirbrood

4) Kafir plum

5, 6 and 7) Kafirboom which only flowers when the leaves fall off the tree during the dry winter.

8 through 17) Clivia miniata. I used to grow these in California but cannot grow them in Oregon because the lush foliage is evergreen and will be destroyed by frosts. They have naturalized all throughout Golden Gate Park in San Francisco. I could grow them in containers and bring them inside in winter but that's too much like hard work.

18, 19 and 20) Schizostylis coccinea. I can grow these in Oregon because they are deciduous and lose their leaves in winter. They start blooming in early Spring and keep blooming all summer. They are in bloom right now in all shades of pink from pale rose to salmon.







































Saturday, September 16, 2006

La Divina



Maria Callas was born Cecilia Sophia Anna Maria Kalogeropoulos on December 2, 1923, in New York. She died of a heart attack 31 years ago in Paris on September the 16th 1977 at the age of 53. Some say that she died of a broken heart because Aristotle Onassis had dumped her (to marry Jackie Kennedy) after they had lived together for 9 years. (There were rumors that Callas bore him a child who died soon after birth.)

Some say that she weakened her heart by drastic dieting for most of her life. Callas was a large rather plain woman before she met the movie director, Luchino Visconti, who got her to slim down and turned her into the elegant woman we came to know. I can't find a picture of the fat Callas but I recently saw one in a documentary about her. She was so plump that she had bags of fat hanging under her arms and she had a moustache. She was not a pretty young woman but she sure made the most of herself and became, to me, one of the most beautiful women ever.

People either hate or love Callas. There are plenty of opera-lovers who hate her. I am one of those who worship her. Yes, her voice was not perfect but it was passionate. Some of her notes were harsh and her large nose gave it a nasal quality that many opera-lovers do not like. Callas was a serious musician more than an opera diva. She brought gravitas to an opera genre, bel canto, that was not traditionally known for profundity.

Callas' voice was so "big" and her dedication to music was so strong that she was taken seriously enough to sing Wagner. In fact her big breakthrough occurred in 1948 when she was singing Brunnhilde in Wagner's "Die Walkure."

From Obituaries Today:

After an engagement in La Gioconda in Verona, she traveled to Venice to sing Brünnhilde in Die Walküre for the 1948/9 season with Tullio Serafin conducting. I Puritani would be performed in Venice shortly after starring the Italian soprano Margherita Carosio as Elvira. One night, Maria got tired of Brünnhilde's Ho-jo-to-hos and began sight-reading Elvira's music. When Serafin's wife heard Maria, she immediately called her husband and requested that Maria sing for him also. She did just that but Maria did not know that Carosio had fallen ill and that a replacement would be needed. The following morning, Maria sang for the Musical Director of the Opera House who decided that Maria would be the best choice as Elvira. She was given one week to learn the entire opera, a week which contained three performances of Die Walküre. After the first I Puritani on January 19, 1949, Maria became the talk of Italy. It was a huge success, even though she had made some small mistakes.


Callas went on to become the most famous soprano of all time. Here is a description of her death from the above obituary:

On 16 September 1977, Maria woke up late in her home in Paris. She had breakfast in bed, then got up and started towards the bathroom. There was a piercing pain in her left side and she collapsed. She was put back into bed and drank some strong coffee. After failing to get a hold of any medical help, they called Maria's butler's doctor who started out immediately for Maria's residence. She was dead before he arrived. She was 53.

The first six pictures are of Callas in some of the many roles that she sang. For me, no other soprano has ever come close to her interpretations of Tosca, La Traviata, Norma, Medea and Turandot.

The next six pictures are of Callas off-stage but her personal life was just as dramatic as the roles she played on stage. The penultimate pic is of her with the great love of her life, Onassis, who cared little for her singing and treated her as a trophy to show off in public. (She first met Onassis at a party in honor of Winston Churchill.) The last pic is one of her soon before she died.























Sunday, September 10, 2006

Annuals

The top three pictures are not of my garden. Sure, I'd like a garden like that and I'd definitely like whimsical "flowerbeds" like these. I have had formal gardens in the past but they take a lot of time and back-breaking work.


















































When I first started gardening at the age of nine it was because we needed cut flowers for my mother's florist business. I grew a lot of zinnias which are almost as dramatic as dahlias but not as fussy. (Zinnias, being annuals, are less rewarding than dahlias which are tubers and keep coming back every year.) But my all-time favorite annual is the sweetpea. The next four pics are of zinnias and sweetpeas.









































































Apart from the roses and fuschias in my "sissy patch" in front of the house, my current garden is a "wild" garden. By that I mean it is too big to have dainty little flowerbeds and I don't have the time to fuss with delicate plants and weed and water them all the time. I grow mostly South African lilies and native Oregon shrubs like rhododendrons which tolerate our summer drought and don't need to be watered ever and I plant them on the edge of the meadow where it meets the forest.

The only annuals that I grow are native Oregon wild-flowers. I'll just scatter a packet of wild-flower seeds in spring and see what pops up. Fortunately my favorite natives like clarkia (named after Clark of Lewis and Clark and commonly known as godetia) and escholtzia (commonly known as California poppy but which grows all up and down the West Coast) keep reseeding themselves because they are so tough. (California poppy has now been declared a noxious weed in Australia.) The next five pics are of clarkia and escholtzia and some mixed wild-flowers.


























































































The last pic is the way my "garden" looks right now after the summer drought has killed the grass and the South African lilies have all bloomed and died back and the only "flowers" left are the dandelions sprouting up from the dead brown grass in the meadow.

Sunday, September 03, 2006

Taking out the trash

This morning I had to drive the hour round trip down to my trailer park to throw out the last piece of trash. Actually it's not really a trailer park but an RV park. I just use trailer park because it sounds more dramatic and alliterates so well with the word "trash." Most of my tenants are senior citizens living hand to mouth on social security. Many are disabled veterans or injured loggers and former professional fishermen. They've earned their keep through the years doing some of the most dangerous jobs there are. I treasure them and take good care of them but I've had my share of trash in the park.

When I first bought it three years ago, I had to kick out a bunch of trash and since then the park has gotten a good reputation and I have a waiting list of people wanting to live there. However I also made my own share of mistakes with new tenants. During my first winter there I had so many vacant spaces that I could barely make the mortgage payments so I started letting people move in even when my instincts told me that they were trouble. Also, I'm a sucker for anyone who claims to be a veteran and I got burned badly by a few of them before I learned that not all veterans are honorable men. A couple of weeks ago I decided that I had enough people on a waiting list wanting to move in that I could start throwing out the few remaining peices of trash. I found out that three trashy tenants were tweakers and evicted them. That left only one piece of human garbage to toss out.

In July I let a guy move in against my better judgement because he claimed to be a disabled veteran. I did not like him from the get-go. He was just too full of bravado. He claimed that he had been a bouncer for 12 years and would help me take care of problems with trouble-makers. Now, the guy stands about six feet six inches and is about four feet wide and weighs over 300 pounds so I believed the bouncer story but there was still something about him that I couldn't put my finger on that made me not trust him. He claimed to be a veteran of the Gulf War and was not obviously a totally trashy person so I let him move in.

As soon as he moved in, he started drinking and was drunk before noon everyday. I can't do anything about that if he stays in his own home and doesn't cause trouble. I can easily throw out druggies because they are committing a crime but I can only throw drunks out if they commit a crime like being drunk and disorderly in public. So, I tolerated his drunkeness but kept a wary eye on him to see what other trouble would ensue.

Then it happened. Two weeks ago he told me that he couldn't pay all of his rent on time and asked if I could wait until he got his disability check in two weeks. I agreed to let him pay two weeks rent instead of a month but told him that that was a favor which I only granted to people whom I had known for years and who have had a good record of paying rent on time and that, as a result of the bad impression this had made on me, he could not remain after the two weeks was up and had to move out.

His rent ran out today and he was supposed to move out by 11 am. So I put on a brave face and my best silk shirt (I figured I might as well be a well-dressed corpse) and drove down to the park to make sure he had left. While I was driving down to the park, I ran through a couple of scenarios in my head. Most of these trashy folk are very predictable. They all have similar sob stories and the same old tired excuses and many of them threaten violence when cornered so I prepared myself and decided that, if he threatened violence, I would tell him to go ahead because I'd have him thrown in jail for assault. I was certain that, unlike the druggies, he would simply threaten violence and not do anything so I didn't need a gun.

When I got to the park, I saw that he had not left. My assistant manager told me that he had paid for an extra day and would move out tomorrow. I went to his trailer to let him know that check out time was 11 am and that, if he was not gone by that time, I would tow his trailer out of the park and have it impounded. Yes, he was just as predictable as the rest of the human garbage I've had to deal with in my life. I had drunken trash in my own family and learned at an early age how to survive.

He said: "I'll leave when I want."

Me: "No, you'll leave when I say you'll leave."

Him" "Don't make me come over there and beat the shit out of you."

Me: "Come on. Do it."

Him: "You think old an f...er like you can take me on?"

Me: "Maybe I could but I won't. Just come and take a punch at me. Come on. I promise I won't punch you back because the moment you lay a finger on me you'll be in jail for assault. I've been beaten up before and had my nose and jaw broken and it's painful but not the end of the world. Come on, big boy. Come and smack your daddy. Take a swipe at this old f...er."

As predicted he didn't but instead started whining that I was a "filthy capitalist pig" and he would not go to jail for hitting a piece of shit like me. I told him that I would be back tomorrow morning at 11 am and he'd better be gone or I'd tow his trailer and then I walked away, came home, had a cup of tea and took a short nap to get rid of the tension that had built up in my body. I'm not scared of being punched and, thanks to my dad insisting that I learn boxing, I know how to protect myself in case my assailant goes ape but obviously I feel some fear which causes tension.

Tomorrow I'll go back but this time I'll take Andy with me as a witness in case he threatens violence again. Threatening violence is a misdemeanor and, while the cops arrest him and throw him in jail, I'll tow his trailer out of the park.

He's the last of the trash in the park and, from now on, I will not let myself be suckered by someone just because they claim to be a veteran. It's the third time a socalled "veteran" has burned me and the last.

If anyone thinks I'm a filthy cigar-smoking capitalist pig who sits on his lazy bum all day counting my shekels, they are welcome to come and do my job. So much for Labor Day - well, I've always had to work on holidays ever since becoming a self-employed capitalist pig.

Here are some pics for your amusement.

One: I wish trailer trash looked like this but they usually look like

Two: This (I added the caption.)

Three: No my park does not look like this. It looks like

Four: This.