
These elegant trees angle across the path in the Cook County Forest Preserve. They’re just moments away from the Leaning Tower of Niles. Coincidence?
Um, yes, probably.


These elegant trees angle across the path in the Cook County Forest Preserve. They’re just moments away from the Leaning Tower of Niles. Coincidence?
Um, yes, probably.

Starring in this scene is a beautiful flower with a less-than-luscious name, the scabious. Yes, bad as that: it is related to “scabies”; and even though it commemorates the flower’s power to cure, much nicer not to be reminded of that most unpleasant situation. Apparently it also goes by “pincushion flower”, for the sloping dome at its center. And one cultivar, Scabiosa atropurpurea, is the hauntingly folkloric “mourning bride.”
Whatever we call them, the moths don’t mind. Scabiosa is rich in nectar, and you’ll seldom see one without a butterfly or moth nearby.
The other star here is northern sea oats, Chasmanthium latifolium. On the end of long lamppost stems, it shows lovely flat little heads, pleated like origami packets tight around the seeds inside. Powerful seeds held there: like its sibling grasses it is firmly territorial, and spreads its seeds with lebensraum abandon.


This is the hillside where I spotted this nasturtium, trailing toward the bay. I love its shady, pooly green tranquility, but I do wonder what it would look like in full sun, with all those blossoms blazing firelight…
And this is the last of my photo parade from San Francisco. As soon as my beloved little camera is replaced, I’ll have new moments from around Chicago to share with you. It’s time—the city’s wild flowers are in their glory just now, and we will celebrate them all together.

Another bird, another flower. In my mind, it’s always going to be spring in San Francisco.

I could look up what kind of bird this is, perched in the lovely datura branches. But unfortunately I’m apartment hunting, and I can’t spare the time away from compuslively refreshing craigslist. When that spacious, air-conditioned 2-bedroom treehouse comes on the market, I need to be the first to know. So meanwhile, nice bird, nice flowers, and so on. Enjoy.

Back in San Francisco, this time for just this drift of wild leaves, lit big by the sun, full of sun to bursting.

| 1:15 p.m. The construction site next door. In a spirit of optimism, snuck in and cleared the trash and the weeds along their side of the fence we share. Turned up the soil and set in these two little cucumber vines to grow.
4:30 a.m. Woke up puzzle-headed. How can one blare of a car horn last ten minutes and more? Answer: The car is on fire. Directly beneath my bedroom window. Watched the flames towering bright and strangely quiet, until the fireman reached the alley, blasting with hoses, powering gallons of water and charred debris in a southerly direction. Onto my newborn cucumber plants. |
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Today they are looking wilted, beaten. We will see.

| Nasturtiums, growing wild on a hillside near Fort Mason. I grow them every summer on my little balcony, double blessings, double explosions of firecracker color and hot peppery savor.
I saw them growing leggy and wild in East Africa, and told my guide Tumaini that they were popular to eat here at home. He found this quite eccentric. |