Some corner of a foreign field

Remembrance Day. Poppy Day.

Poppies grow, between the crosses

Nasturtiums, Cistercians? What's the difference, he says

Foreign also takes me to the original Carol at MayDreamsGardens Bloom-Day, which I choose to use as a record of this month’s foreign flowers in my garden. Usually roses, but as this is their month, they are getting their own posts. So, Not Roses. The nasturtiums, called Cistercians by the Ungardener. Orange day lilies and lemon yellow iris came with the garden. 

Day lily and iris

Thanks to Jack I know this cosmopolitan wildflower as hawkweed. Ten thousand microspecies says Wikipedia! A rosette of leaves, lots of flowers dancing on tall stems at knee height, buttery sunny petals with a picotee edge, wildlife friendly. I’m rather fond of my free spirited plant (not a weed this!)

Hawkweed

Our smelly old socks daisy  has been deadheaded hard and is turning to a second lighter flush. Delicate feathered leaves, the weird smell is in the flowers. Think of chrysanthemums. And the little herb feverfew (Tanacetum / Chrysanthemum / Pyrethrum parthenium). New Hampshire Garden Notes suggested Pyrethrum. Argyranthemum from the Canary Islands (the climate is right), Marguerite or Madeira daisy. Or is it a Persian chrysanthemum Arash?   Susan in the Pink Hat at Ink and Penstemon also has a large white mysterious daisy?

Argyranthemum Madeira daisy?

Our apple trees have blossom. What we eat, is mostly foreign. Off the top of my head all I can think of local, is waterblommetjies and madumbis (‘wild’ potatoes)! Not just locally grown, but literally indigenous/native. 

Apple blossom

I wanted, an indigenous blue water lily. What I have, is foreign, pink. And that tiny pond weed is invading again. The lonely South African today is blue Plectranthus neochilus.

Water lily

This is a flower designed by a committee. Lots of bits that are attached, but don’t belong. Tuberous begonia is here for its glorious asymmetric leaves, a hand with fingers reaching wide. Tall coral flowers were a surprising bonus. One of my mother’s pot plants set free in a shady corner.

Begonia

Following the lead of the Prunus nigra which is laden with cherry sized fruit, the real plums are coming on slowly. So the colour wheel turns from red orange yellow, to white, thru deepening pinks to plum. Meeting at the crimson and scarlet boundary. A Red Cross.

Edible plum, Prunus nigra

Post title from Rupert Brooke’s poem The Soldier, written in 1914. He is buried in an olive grove on the island of Skyros in Greece.  

Pictures and words by Diana of  Elephant's Eye 

- wildlife gardening in Porterville, near Cape Town in South Africa

(If you mouse over brown text, it turns shriek pink. Those are my links.)