Category: Cross-cultural

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Purple Waves (III)—Lilac

This entry is part 3 of 5 in the series Trees

Among my pet plants there is a dwarf Korean lilac (Syringa meyeri ‘Palibin’). Since lilac required plenty sunlight and good soil condition, our options of planting locations were limited. I chose a dwarf variety and hid the plant behind a line of boxwoods near our staircase, so passers-by would be able to enjoy the fragrant air but not walk away with the blooming branches. The plant responds to my care with steady growth and plenty of blossoms every year. These light purple flowers have a simple elegance, demure yet content. I always cut a few stems and place them in the lobby.  Their enchanting fragrance fills up the space and brings smiles to people hurrying in and out of the building.

Taiwanese climate was too warm for lilac. So, growing up, I only knew lilac by names. While living in the Midwest, I became familiar with the blossoms and fragrance of lilac. However, it took me a long time to connect the dots.

Unlike paulownia and wisteria, lilac grows mostly in cultivation. The few specimens in the wild are probably escapees or survivors of old gardens. Cultivars are developed for color varieties—from snow white to dark purple, for exquisiteness and volume of blooms, and for intensity of fragrance.[1] Common lilac (Syringa vulgaris), widely grown in North America, has Southeastern European roots.

The variety known as Chinese lilac is a hybrid of common lilac and Persian lilac, discovered in Rouen, France in 1777.[2] On the other hand, references in Chinese language indicate that lilac has been grown in China over a thousand years. Because unopened lilac flowers shaped like tiny knots (on the heart)—心結, they were used as symbols of entangled thoughts or unresolved love in many poems in Tang (618-907) and Sung (960-1279) Dynasties.[3] Images of lilacs, purple and white, came alive in paintings and vases.[4] In 草花譜 (Catalogue of Herbs and Flowers, 1591), 高濂 (Gao Lian) gave detail descriptions as well as cultivation methods of lilac. In 1934 plant pathologist 陳善銘 (Chang Shanming) published “Chinese Lilacs,” documenting classifications and distributions of twenty-two varieties of lilacs originated from China.

Which were the varieties that inspired poets and artists alike for centuries? Which were the ones that scented many a sweet dream? Perhaps we should leave the identification to the experts and allow ourselves to simply enjoy the beauty and fragrance of lilac.

[1] Guides-New-York-Botanical-Garden: A long list of “garden-varieties” lilac.
[2]Syringa-x-chinensis-Mirrouri-Botanical-Garden
[3]There are literary references of lilac from earlier period. Nonetheless, Chinese poetry reached its height during Tang and Sung Dynasties.
[4]Giuseppe Castiglione: Lilacs, white and purple; Vase with white lilac

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Purple Waves (II)—Wisteria

This entry is part 2 of 5 in the series Trees

Wisteria is another kind of purple waves in May that brings me nostalgia. Their images are commonly found in Chinese and Japanese paintings—feminine and refined. In my old neighborhood, there was a house draped with wisteria vines. It later became a tea shop frequented by college students, artists, writers and activists.[1]

Here, trained wisterias grow in gardens and climb around houses. In the wilderness, they lean on rocks or hang from trees in the forests. A friend lives near an unattended woodland by a creek where wisterias cohabit with some great trees. Every spring, their blossoms cascade from treetops to the ground, connecting the sky and the earth. It was their perfume that alerted me of their existence. Since then, I have watched them blooming in the spring and producing long seed pods over the summer. Later in the season, the pods would mature, dry up and pop open, shooting out the seeds.

These seeds have the color of medium-roasted coffee beans. They are smooth and shiny like shirt buttons. With the help of wind, the seeds would jump and fly, crossing water and roads, allowing fates to determine their future. I loved collecting and putting them in small dishes, watching them with the eyes of a child looking at candies.

A few years ago, when building a garden, I put a few wisteria seeds on top of the rock on the northern end of our property. I kept and started training one young plant. This spring it started to behave like a cultivated plant: no runner roots nor out-stretching shoots. The stem became stronger and more upright. Clouds of yellow green new leaves could be seen from the sidewalk below.

It is said that wisteria growing from seeds will take up to fifteen years to bloom. I also notice that, sometimes, in shaded woods, wisteria runners cover the ground but do not bloom. In a New York Times article, the owner of a wisteria-draped brownstone said that maintaining the plant was like owning a pet.[2] I am keeping an eye on my pet and looking patiently into the future.

[1]Wistaria_Tea_House_Taipei
[2] A-Roller-Coaster-Ride-of-Style: New York Times