Even a person who is deaf, dumb and blind to the wonders of the
natural world must observe the California poppy with some
admiration. If you grew up in California, it was probably the first
wildflower you could identify. After a while though, it was just
… there
– an unnoticed part of the world around you.
Even a person who is deaf, dumb and blind to the wonders of the natural world must observe the California poppy with some admiration. If you grew up in California, it was probably the first wildflower you could identify. After a while though, it was just … there – an unnoticed part of the world around you.
But take a second and longer look at the poppy and your respect will grow. I must admit that as I took an interest in wildflowers, I turned away from the familiar ones in order to learn to recognize the less common flowers. Seeing a larkspur, a shooting star or a columbine seemed like such a special discovery compared to the ubiquitous poppy. A poppy? Big deal. They’re everywhere.
I had stopped seeing the poppy with a beginner’s mind. Then one day I took a second look. When I got down on my knees and looked closely at the poppy’s four delicate petals, I saw for the first time that this flower is not just orange, it’s ORANGE! Nothing can reflect such a brilliant color, I thought. It must be projecting light from some internal source. There must be a cord running to some hidden electrical source. How else does one explain such brilliance?
One would think that the brightest wildflower would balance its brilliance with a brief springtime appearance, but not the poppy. In late winter when it is still too cold and early for most flowers to appear, the poppy is there. Months later, in the desiccating heat of summer, when the less hearty have come and gone, the California poppy continues to bloom. As the season progresses, the blossoms grow smaller and less brilliant, but they keep coming when all others have gone to seed.
All of the poppy’s special beauty and longevity does not require some particularly fertile soil. Surprisingly, they flourish in the most forbidding locations. Between cracks in rocks, in bare rock-hard soil that a pickaxe would glance off of, they are there happily making blossoms in July’s windy heat. Heck, I’ve got poppies growing from cracks in my driveway.
Barry Breckling recently told me that in the 25 years he has been the ranger at Henry Coe Park that this may be the worst year for wildflowers he has seen. The sudden early end to the rainy season has cut the springtime show short. But the poppy doesn’t seem to mind. Like temperamental rock stars, other wildflowers won’t appear unless their every necessity is met. But the poppy has no such selfish demands. A little water, some sunshine, and it’s there. Coming home from San Jose, notice the display between the north and southbound lanes. Every year is a good year for poppies.
When I used to see poppies growing in gardens, I resolved to add them to mine. Several times I bought California poppy plants in one-gallon containers and transplanted them into my garden. Each time, they died despite my careful attention. How could these wildflowers that seem to thrive in the most difficult locations, die in the well-watered loamy soil I provided for them? One day, a more experienced gardener explained my problem. Poppies don’t like to be transplanted. They grow readily from seed.
How perfectly in keeping with the personality of this easy-to-please plant. There’s no need to carefully transplant and nurture an already established plant. Just pick up a ninety-nine cent pack of California poppy seeds, spread them on some nasty rocky bare spot in your garden, and next spring, you’ll have poppies. The following year, the seeds from those poppies will make yet more poppies. And so on.
How nice it would be if all living things could give so much and ask so little.
