Sustaining memories of spring - winter flowering hoop petticoat daffodils

The weather has been grey and cold outside - very wintry although it is a week or two away from official winter.  On a windowsill, though, little white flowers more reminiscent of spring are emerging.  

These wee daffodils are either a white form of Narcissus romieuxii, which flowers in winter and is therefore more likely, or they are a white form of Narcissus bulbocodium. 

I have lost track of which of my little hoop petticoat daffodil bulbs are which, and it seems I haven't mastered the art of tending Narcissus bulbocodium - the bright yellow spring flowering ones have never appeared for me.  But whichever one these are, they are happy in a little quite shallow container which fits neatly on a kitchen windowsill and gives me lots of unexpected pleasure.  The flowers are almost white and when you look closely there is a delicate sparkle on the inner surface of the trumpets. 

Long may these little frosty flowers light up the wintry days.

Japanese maples in autumn glory - a Botanic Garden treat

How lucky I was to visit the Wellington Botanic Garden two days ago, for a short time in the afternoon.  It was a bright clear day.  Because it is late autumn the rays of sunlight are at a lower angle, creating contrasty and dramatic effects, intensifying colours and shapes.  So when I walked through the gate my attention was immediately caught by the drama of brilliant orange-red foliage in the rock garden.

Japanese maples!  I love seeing these little trees, with their delicate beautifully coloured leaves.  They are precious to me too because in my windy exposed garden the leaves would rapidly become a dessicated crispy brown - alas, there is no point in my trying to grow them.  But what a sight!

A combination of the light and lucky timing - peak brilliance. 

Further into the gardens, a collection of mature trees provides shelter and shade.  Some larger Japanese maples were lighting up a path in glorious gold, orange and green.

And on a very shady bank beside a little stream, the theme of gold, orange and green was repeated - bright Japanese maple leaves beside the rich green of clivia foliage and ferns.

That night and since then - gales blowing, grey grey grey leaden skies (get the picture?) and torrential rain. 

I am so happy that I seized the time and could enjoy the transient glory of this autumn foliage (koyo in Japanese.)

Autumn butterflies - Monarch and Yellow Admiral - on koromiko flowers

We have had cold weather, and the days are definitely getting shorter.  But so far there is little evidence of the rich colours of autumn foliage.  Not to worry - the tiny white flowers of koromiko have been lit up by the rich orange of some autumn butterflies. 

A Yellow Admiral...

And a rather age-worn Monarch (male, in case you wondered).

The koromiko is a New Zealand native shrub commonly found in the North Island.  These ones are self-sown in my garden, and they are most welcome - their profuse flowering attracts butterflies, bees, and other pollinating good-guys. 

Its botanical name was Hebe stricta, revised to Veronica stricta.  But taxonomists always have a tough time convincing people to accept plant name changes, and since there are about 90 "Hebe" species native to New Zealand I suspect we will be using the old names for quite a while.  Whatever we call them, they are evidence again of nature's bounty.

Listen to the wind

Here in Wellington we are being buffeted by strong winds - around the time of the autumn equinox our normally active air is even more turbulent.  When I first lived here it upset me - it is hard on the plants and the soil dries out so quickly.  But I have learned to enjoy the wind to some extent, and to protect precious plants as much as I am able with windbreaks, mulch, and attention to the soil. 

And the wind can have a beautiful impact - in the morning the wind was creating ever-shifting patterns over Island Bay - clouds scudding across the sky, shifts of light, ruffled water.

Much more concerning is the impact of very intense wind - most recently the devastating damage by cyclone Pam in Vanuatu and Tuvalu.  Around the earth we are already experiencing more extreme weather, the impact of climate change.  Fortunately, human action can help prevent the devastating climate change that lies ahead if we continue on the current trajectory.  We are being warned.  We can take action.

Let's listen to the wind.

Autumn colours - scarlet rata and tree ferns at Pukekura Park

The equinox.  People are celebrating spring in the Northern Hemisphere while suddenly here it is very clear that the days are shorter and, just in case we hadn't noticed, a very cold southerly has blasted through along with the turbulence caused by Cyclone Pam.  Autumn is here.

At this time of year WOMAD is held in New Plymouth, and going to it means I also get to see Pukekura Park again.  This park is a real treasure of a place, underappreciated I think, with a rich collection of plants. 

A reliable sight is the brilliant red of scarlet rata (Metrosideros fulgens), a New Zealand native vine which flowers in autumn and winter.  It contrasts wonderfully with the rather greyish green of a lot of our shrubs and trees, and makes a wonderful display, climbing up to 10 metres.

This one is growing up the long trunk of a tree fern - probably a mamaku - after first clambering up some shorter tree ferns at its base, in a quiet corner by the Fountain Lake.

Closer up you can see that the clusters of flowers are like a forest of red stamens.

Bottoms up!  Heads down and busily feeding, two honey bees enjoy the flowers too.

Hokianga summer - sand, sea, sky

Late summer can be a very special time, a time of "golden weather."  Unfortunately, drought is taking hold in many parts of the country - a good summer for some is not a good summer for all.  Despite my concern about drought, I find that memories of the heat and bright light of summer warm me up through winter's cold grey times.  So I am really pleased with catching this memory prompt - an image of the Hokianga Harbour on a blue sky/bright sunshine day.

The Hokianga is on the west coast of the northern North Island.  This photo, taken at Opononi, looks towards the harbour mouth.  Between the green of the southern head and the high sand dune of the northern head you can just see the white foam of some waves breaking - due to the notorious boat-wrecking sandbar (or to the lashing tails of the taniwha  guarding the mouth of the harbour.)  The sand hills on the north side are 150-170m high.

It is a long estuarine harbour, reaching far inland.  Now a quiet area, it has a rich history.  I am particularly taken by stories of Kupe, the great Polynesian ancestor/explorer who is said to have sailed from Hawaiki, around the North Island and part of the South Island, then settling here.  Some years later he left to return to Hawaiki.  The name for the harbour - "Te Hokianga Nui a Kupe," commemorates this.  It is usually shorted to "Hokianga."  The story and the translations vary, but his description "Te Puna i Te Ao Marama" - "the spring of the world of light" seems very apt too.

I am lucky to be able to return to Hokianga, in memory at the very least.

Morning mist and bright reflections and thinking about what's important.

This year I have been slow to post - frankly dispirited by the size of the suffering that we humans keep creating for ourselves and for the planet.  I've been thinking - what can I do, what shall I focus on?  But while I was on holiday further north in the North Island, nature provided me with some encouragement.  At Kaihu, near Dargaville on the Kauri Coast, sunrise briefly coloured the morning mist a soft pink, and burnished the bush with golden light.  A strangely coloured but to me gorgeous scene, uplifting, delightful - I've never seen it quite like that before.

At the end of another day, at Lake Taupo, more lightworks.

This is a very big lake.  It partially fills a caldera (collapse crater) of Taupo Volcano, a "supervolcano."  Fortunately the eruptions are not frequent.  The caldera's current size is a result of the Oruanui Eruption, which devastated much of the North Island about 27,000 years ago.  There were many smaller eruptions between that and the Taupo Eruption 1800 years ago, the most violent eruption known to have occurred in the world over the last 5000 years.  The ash plume reached the stratosphere and covered New Zealand in least 1cm of ash, and it is possible that this ash was the cause of red sunsets recorded by the Romans and Chinese at that time.

The surrounding Taupo Volcanic Zone is still active, and the Taupo Volcano is regarded as dormant. 

Hmmm.  I think there is a lesson here about our size in the scheme of things. 

But being tiny is not a reason to feel powerless - the Dalai Lama quote comes to mind - "if you think you are too small to make a difference, try sleeping with a mosquito."

Bee watching on a sunny summer evening

One of those special times - a balmy summer evening when the sunlight is bright and low in the sky and thus providing light at an interesting angle.  It was illuminating a profusion of oregano flowers growing by the verandah, making a bright halo around them. 

The vision was not just attractive to me.  Several honeybees were busily feeding. One of the bees caught my eye.  It seemed rather tiny and very determined. 

The backlighting made its abdomen appear to glow.

It fed, buzzed, landed, fed - appearing very focused...the epitome of the busy bee, reaching ever more of the flowers.

Oops, acrobatics were required when one of its feet appeared to get hooked in the plant.

But it was only seconds before its balance and feeding resumed.

I was happy drinking in the pleasure of watching this little bee, and it was in turn drinking what I hope was good nourishing nectar.  Bees are so precious now - we keep identifying more hazards, arising from our impact on the environment, the way bees are used and exposed to pests, the use of poisons on the plants they visit.  At least I do know that the herb plant had not been sprayed and there were no neonicotinoids used in that area. 

This is a plea to all who read this - do take care of the environment so that bees can recover and flourish.

A vibrant sight - pohutukawa in flower

The end of the year is nigh.  Christmas has been celebrated and the pohutukawa - Metrosideros excelsa, the "New Zealand Christmas tree" - have been blessing us with their beautiful rich reds, ranging from crimson to scarlet.  This one is at Greta Point, but it seems that everywhere you look here in Wellington they are adding their vibrance to the bright summery weather.

Although they did not naturally grow in Wellington they have been used a great deal in amenity plantings in the city and in the suburbs.  They thrive almost too well here (as they do to the point of being weeds in places like Spain and California) and there is a cooling down on their use.  Instead we are encouraged to plant a relative that grew here naturally - northern rātā, Metrosideros robusta. 

But when the pohutukawa are in full flower the rich redness is appreciated and welcomed, not least because it is associated with a festive time.  Judging by the number of cameras and smartphones that I see being used, I am not alone in my delight.  And although picturing the pohutukawa flowers is a seasonal cliche, I am happy to celebrate them and with them the pleasures that summer and the end of year can bring.

High cloud at sunset and a light and colour show

Yesterday Wellington had a lovely summer's day that was actually warm (24 degrees!) and sunny with clear blue skies and almost no wind.  As the day ended, halo phenomena became evident in the high cloud that had developed.  I could see what looked like one side of a halo, with the rest hidden by the headland at the southern end of Island Bay.  I think the bright spot (which is in line with the position of the sun) was a parhelion or sundog.  Here the arc of light is seen reflected in the calm water of Island Bay.  Some divers in the water, the rocky shore, and the island Taputeranga are all in silhouette as is the misty outline of distant mountains in the South Island.  The arc of light appeared brighter than in the photo, and you can just see the characteristic reddish tinge on the inside. 

The sun was low in the sky.  It was too bright for me to try and photograph its position in relation to the arc of light.  As the sun continued to set the halo was less evident and the colours of sunset started to take centre stage. 

First a soft golden light contrasted with the rocky shore, coast road, and South Island in the distance.

Then the colours warmed up - pinks, apricots and gold, and the sky darkened - seen from a vantage point further from the beach.

But it didn't stop.  A feature of high cloud is the way it captures colour after the sun has gone down - and sure enough, the wait was worthwhile.  A fiery red was the finale.

Now I am accustomed to the idea that a red sky at night, "shepherd's delight", signifies good weather the next day.  So I was surprised to read that high cloud like this, which colours red at sunset, can be a sign that the weather is going to deteriorate, that there may be an approaching front of a depression bringing rain in the next day.

Sure enough, mist and rain today.  Oh well, it was lovely while it lasted!