You're my starlin', darlin'

My garden is full of starlings. For some unknown reason, I've developed an affinity for them. The poor things are so misunderstood. Mostly they are thought of as "pest birds" to be driven away so that the songbirds can feed. But these iridescent birds do have a song, several in fact, and can also mimic other birds and sounds like their cousins, their mynas. Mozart had a pet starling and proclaimed his song to be beautiful. I can see why.

Very late in the winter, while I was at the Botanical Garden, I heard a mysterious bird song above and just ahead. One bird. It was enchanting. When I looked to where it was coming from, there was the starling. As I drew nearer, it flew to the next tree, urging me forward. Its tune was in my head, rolling around like an unfinished symphony. I followed the starling all through the garden as the sky began to dim. At home, even now, the song is still in my mind. You're my starlin', darlin', singing to me all night long......

Now I like orchids

Being a hapless houseplant killer, I never thought much of orchids. Didn't dislike them, just never thought about them much at all. I'd see them in the indoor plant section of the garden center and say to myself, "Gee, that's pretty; wonder how long it'd take me to kill it?" But this weekend I stumbled upon the Orchid Show at the Missouri Botanical Garden. WHAT on earth was I thinking? Or not thinking? Why had I not fallen in love with orchids until now? They are fascinating. All the more so coz I know I can't grow them. I can, however, shoot them. Check out some of the enchanting flowers from the display here: Eye Spye

Little Fish, Big Fish, Swimming in the Water

Sunday I found it exceedingly difficult to snap a good fish foto. Were the fishes shy? Or just being koi?

The rest of Shaw's Garden was perfect for a weekend stroll. Overcast and chilly, like mid-November should be, but the blazing fall colors were still mostly in tact. The chance of rain kept some of the crowd away, leaving many pathways deserted. Makes you feel like you own the place. The Missouri Botanical Garden became my vast estate, left to me by my good friend Henry Shaw. Mine to paint, mine to roam, mine to photograph, mine to drink in until I burst with sensory overload. Someday I would like to spend a whole week at The Garden. Go there every day and take time to experience it fully. Sit on the soft carpet of needles underneath the white pines by the fountain and slowly drift off. Or write down every plant along the dry river bed planting, deciding which to try at home. Or wade through the tall prairie grass that's as high as an elephant's eye. Or sit and read in the Linnean House soaking in that hyper-oxygenated air that all those camillias give off. Or maybe just plunk down my quarter for a handful of fish chow and feed those shy fish.

I can't do that

Water lilies are amazing. Ethereal. They glow. And I can't grow them. That's the magic; if it's something I can't do, make, grow, or conceive, then I am in awe. It's like going out to a restaurant. Why would I order something that I make at home? Classical pianists, can't get enough of 'em. The wheel was never my friend in school, so hand thrown pottery makes me stop and stare. Court reporters, how do they DO that? Some things you can learn how to do. Most things, really. But some things you have to have a knack for. Even if you learn how to play piano, no amount of practice will make you into Emanual Ax if there's not that something else there. Some people are indoor plant people, some are outdoor plant people, some are cactus people, and some are pond people. If it's outside in the ground, I'm good. Everything else, I inadvertently kill. What a shame it would be to put a water lily in my care. That's why God made the Missouri Botanical Garden.