Category: Memoir

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Gourds

I love going to farm stands or greenmarkets in the fall, looking for decorative gourds. Small or large, smooth or lumpy, symmetrical or twisted, colorful or pale, collectively, they showcase the infinite possibilities that nature offers us. Individually, they perk one’s imagination in various ways.

The only gourds that I knew before coming to the States were calabash gourds. (Not to be confused with the fruits of calabash trees.) Imagine butternut squashes in the color of Granny Smith apples. Some of them would have larger and rounder bottoms. Some of them would have two evenly shaped globes. The young fruits are edible. When allowed to mature and dried, their skin turn golden.  The hardened shells make them perfect carriers for water or liquor, and hence the name of “bottle gourds.”

The pronunciation of their Chinese name “hulu” (葫蘆) is similar to luck (福) and prosperity (祿).  “Hu” also sounds similar to “protection” (護).  Therefore, it is believed to have protective power.  Bottle-gourd-shape charms are common gifts for newborns and children.

Taoism, which centers around the existence of the universe and the transmutation of space and time, holds bottle gourds in high regards.  The two globes of the gourd, representing the heaven and the earth (or, in some interpretation, the sun and the moon), linked by the hollow neck, intermingling with each other—resembling the creation of the universe.  In paintings, Taoist immortals often carry a gourd around their waists.

In addition to being carriers of elixirs, bottle gourds are believed to contain healing energy.  The idiom 懸壺濟世, meaning “hanging the bottle to bring relief to the world,” is used to describe the charitable actions of medical doctors and appears in acclamatory messages.

Being a symbol of blessing and benevolence, bottle gourds play an important role in Chinese feng shui.  Supposedly, hanging them at the right location can bring harmony and good fortune to the household.  Nevertheless, my parents probably never thought much about feng shui when they planted gourds near our front windows.  They were easy going and fast growing.  Their large leaves, covering the pergola, created a green canopy to the front room.  The white flowers were simple but pleasant.  Gradually, the blossoms transformed into little jade pendant like fruits.  We watched these little toys balloon into sizeable squashes.  Since we didn’t grow them for food, they would be left to dry on the viens.  For years, mom kept the better shaped ones around the house.

I don’t know any symbolism attached to the Western decorative gourds.  But, to me, they herald the arrival of a harvest season.

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Visions fugitives

Photograph by P. Tan

Late spring, friends set a new planter out by their front door with cuttings of a few dark green stems. Their distinctive shape—a familiar image—made my heart leap to joy. Epiphyllum oxypetalum! I hadn’t seen them since moving to the States.

They are a type of cactus. In warmer climates, they can be grown outdoors. More often, they are kept as container plants. The flowers are about the size of a child’s face. Oxypetalum, the ones with white flowers, are commonly grown in South Asia and China.  What makes them special is the fact that they only bloom at night. As soon as the flowers open fully, they will begin to close up. The flowers are extremely fragrant: elegant yet permeating.  They are often called “queen of the night” and in Chinese “beauty under the moon” (月下美人).

Dad kept an epiphyllum near our front porch. It was about four feet tall, supported by a few bamboo sticks. Whenever tiny red buds appeared at the leave joints, the excitement of anticipation began. The buds would first extend a few inches. Then their stems would gradually thicken, lengthen and start to shape like ladles. The small cone-shape buds would swell up like stretched-out cotton candies.

We would be allowed to stay up late watching the unfolding of the blooms—a silent ceremonial dance, as if the flowers knowingly took their time, savoring the admiration from the audience and giving away their power of beauty only reluctantly.  Often, we would invite friends and neighbors over for the special occasion. They would arrive shortly before the moment of full bloom. Photos would be taken. The house would be filled with joyful noises and perfuming scents, as the flowers retreated into their own world.

With good care, my friend’s new plant branched out quickly and bloomed twice within weeks, bringing memorable evenings for their young family. Chinese people use the idiom 曇花一現, literally “an appearance of epiphyllum,” to describe a fleeting moment of glory or fortune. No matter how long a beautiful thing will last, it is up to us to treasure its existence.