#Amsonia

[junyphotos]

Amsonia Tabernaemontana

5/3/2024

[nncastle]

Amsonia Storm Cloud

[lethal-autotroph]

TAGS LIST

catching flies - general p>o<sts (my [dr>o<sera's] tag, i p>o<st m>o<st >o<ften s>o< it's the default)

gr>o<wth - replies t>o< p>o<sts (regrubs..?)

p>o<tted plants - answering asks

flower posting .❀。• *₊°。 ❀°。- amaryllis' tag

ladybugging - tempuc's tag

mrrp - felix's tag

PE>O<PLE WHO ARE A PART >O<F MY EVIL SCHEMES:

lamprocapnos

nodiflora

platycodon

amsonia

monostroma

vigna caracalla

FRIENDS:

gladiolus

>O<THER:

echeveria

PE>O<PLE WH>O< SUCK

thevetia

marnieriana

ooc: this part is an edit because i realised i hadn't put a disclaimer in the pinned

this blog is a part of grumblr roleplay <3 tws for unreality and other warnings typical of grumblr apply, though this blog will also deal with religious trauma

[sasa-chan]

[faguscarolinensis]

Amsonia tabernaemontana 'Storm Cloud' / 'Storm Cloud' Eastern Bluestar at the Sarah P. Duke Gardens at Duke University in Durham, NC

[clairehoneybee]

Top 10 Seasonal Stars of the Fall Garden

Spring perennial bloomers are easy. There are so many great spring performers that you always have something blooming all spring long with little effort. Fall can be a little trickier to have a constant parade of colorful bloomers, and I always am looking for new candidates and old favorites. Mums and asters are the usual suspects when people think of fall flowers, but there are so many more.…

[kmomof4]

Awwwwwwww

😍🥰❤️

killian jones requested by @piraterefrigerator

the amsonia flower represents determination, persistence and a strong will- tenets at the heart of a survivor. the blue flower variant, often known as blue star, also represents hope, love, and reaching for the impossible.

🌱🌧️🌼🌧️🌱

[twstgo]

I’ve never really post anything on tumblr (let alone abt my oc) but figured her birthday is a good opportunity to so...HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO LIZ, MY GIRL OF ALL TIME!!!

[a-tale-of-legends]

" You could always quit,"

Red doesn't speak much. And when he does, it's often to a select few, at a few times. To the outside world, it adds to his mystery, this vision of the cool and quiet legend. To those who actually know him, it's just Red. Still, Red is fortunate - Blue almost has an uncanny way of knowing what he's thinking ( until he doesn't), and Leaf always seems to be on the same wavelength as him, despite how....insane, she can get. Though that's just another trait they share, he suppose. Yes, Red is fortunate to have people who can understand him so easily. So even if he wants to speak, he doesn't. Words are unnecessary......with Blue and Leaf.

Red tends to forget that Amsonia can't read his mind. The look of confusion on her face is evident of that.

" Champion," he clarifies. That only seems to confuse Amsonia further, her eyebrows furrowing.

The downside of words being unnecessary is that he ends up not being good with words.

' It's a lot,' he signs, ' A lot of pressure. Feeling like you have to commit when you don't want to'

As Amsonia's gaze softens, registering his words, Red relaxes a little. He continues,' I don't want to see you get crushed by that weight'.

' Just know you could always quit. Don't let anyone tell you otherwise,'

Amsonia stares at him for a bit, then looks away, her face scrunching up in a way that Red has learned means she's thinking particularly hard on something. It reminds him of Kenji, in a way. He sees her eyes flicker from one emotions to another - confusion, frustration, clarity and....humor? Her eyes are back at him, and she's smirking.

' Are you projecting?'

That was not the reaction Red was expecting. A solemn nod, or Amsonia's typical defiance in her face. Not a lighthearted joke at his expense. He opens his mouth to deny her, only to close it when realizing she's right. Suddenly embarrassed, he tips his hat down. Being read like a book by his friends is common practice at this point. Being read like a book by a 12 year old feels like a punch to the gut.

He can hear Amsonia giggle, and feels a gentle tap on his hat. Raising his hat from his eyes, he sees Amsonia smiling at him.

" Thanks," she says quietly, then signing ' I'll keep that in mind,'. Red relaxes once more, sighing to himself before ruffling Amsonia's hair, earning him a hand swat.

' Good,' he pauses, ' You didn't need to call me out like that, though'

Amsonia only shrugs cheekily.

[chaosyippee]

HE IS SO……….

[aisling-saoirse]

Eastern Blue Star - Amsonia tabernaemontana

[petirrojo57]

Last time the cicadas exploded, I remember them clinging to this patch of willow amsonia as it was blooming… I’m guessing that they’re right around the corner as it’s just starting to pop

[lethal-autotroph]

[ ] 33, 23, 18, 13 f[ ]r the ask game ;] [ ]

13. plants. fr>o<m all >o<f them.

pale - lupins

flushed - dahlias >o<r impatiens

pitch - flytraps >o<r >o<ther carniv>o<r>o<us plants. stinging nettle.

ashen - cl>o<vers are >o<bvi>o<us, but there are a l>o<t >o<f varieties that w>o<uld be neat and c>o<uld be pers>o<nalised. white wake-r>o<bins are als>o< nice.

hatefriends - just get me s>o<mething nice. ivy w>o<uld be c>o<>o<l.

18. n>o<difl>o<ra is extremely irritating, extremely d>o<rky, and extremely h>o<t. happy? are y>o<u happy? expl>o<de.

23. pe>o<ple sticking their hands in my flytrap. it's just ann>o<ying and a waste >o<f energy!!!

33. <>/<3

<3/<3<

<3/<3<

and s>o<me crushes i'm TRYING t>o< get >o<ver.

[solhaelan]

Here's my (probably only, sadly) post for Solarpunk Aesthetic Week! Originally made for Andrewism's 2023 Solarpunk Art Collab!

This digital painting depicts the Southern Great Lakes Ecoregion, within the Interior Plateau & Southern Great Lakes Forests Bioregion, within the Temperate Broadleaf and Mixed Forest Biome.

I chose a suburban setting for this piece because I've not yet seen a Solarpunk artwork that features this. I'm aware of the problems with the suburbs, but it seems to me more sustainable to try to adapt them than to demolish them and start over. So instead of lawns I've depicted beds of native Indiana plants, including but not limited to:

Amsonia Tabernaemontana (Eastern Bluestar)

Spartina Pectinata (Prairie Cordgrass)

Echinacea Purpurea (Purple  Coneflower.

The roofs of the houses are either white to help reflect heat, or green roofs. Some of the houses are equipped with solar panels on the south sides, and one is shown with a greenhouse on that side as well.

While perhaps not explicitly ecologically focused, I have shown there to be more art in this setting than is usually found in american suburbia. The sidewalk has a mural painted with hydrochromic paint, which only appears while it is raining. The houses are painted bright colors (white or greige is  considered  'Normal' ) and are occasionally decorated with murals.

This particular area is among the cloudiest in the so-called U.S.A. To reflect that, the weather is overcast and it is currently raining.

Hope y'all enjoy this, and Happy Solarpunk Aesthetic Week!

[mmwm]

LINK FEST: 20 FEBRUARY 2024

Links that may or may not be related to gardens, food, travel, nature, or heterotopias and liminal spaces but probably are. Sources in parentheses. article: Amsonia for the Mid-Atlantic Region (Mt. Cuba Center). Report of their species trials, including pollinator visitations. newsletter rec: The Whippet (McKinley Valentine). This week’s is an example of why it’s, as someone in the comments…

[krysalla]

smoke break.

bo sinclair x gn!reader

word count: 1k

read on ao3

warnings: smoking

You and Bo take a smoke break.

You spend the day tending to the yard. The hydrangea bush you planted beneath the porch is teeming with life. The mopheads burst with rich blues and purples. It had been near death when you found the parent, all of its branches cracked and dying, except for one. The branch almost escaped your notice, but you caught the shimmer of green, it was faint, almost yellow in color, but it was still alive. You came back with a pair of shears from the house and brought the small bundle back home with you. 

From that small cutting, it’s grown like a weed under your love and care. 

Your garden is your pride and joy. Before Ambrose, you knew nothing about gardening, could barely even keep the monstera you were gifted alive. Now the wild, unruly lawn is a paradise. One of the homes on Main Street had dozens of books on gardening. Between that and Bo’s collection of old sci-fi and western novels, it was an easy choice to make. You devoured the books, aching to fight the mind-numbing monotony of being trapped in the same cycle day in and day out. Cook, clean, laundry, rinse and repeat. You’re not some homemaker and you were never built to be one.

Bo is strolling up the hill that leads up to the house, hands shoved down the side pockets of his black coveralls. He whistles a happy little tune, a smile playing at his lips as he comes closer to you. He always wanders back up to you sometime in the afternoon, bored of tinkering with the shitty old Mustang he’s been working on since before you showed up here.

“Hey there, hot stuff.” You shade your eyes as you look up at him.

“What’re you up to?” Bo asks. He’s got a cigarette between his lips.

“Mm, just making sure everything’s okay.” You turn back to your plants. This particular bush of amsonia is worrying you–the leaves are starting to turn yellow and the flowers wilted. You hold out your hand to him blindly, index and middle finger spread in a V-shape. “Let me get one of those.”

He snorts, “These things’ll kill you.”

“You quit and I’ll stop bumming smokes off you.”

“Fat chance, sweetheart.”

“Then don’t tell me not to smoke.” You turn back toward him. His eyes are crinkled in fondness and his responding scoff is more playful than offended. 

He takes the cigarette he’d been puffing on, already half smoked, and slots it between your middle and index fingers and you can’t help but wrinkle your nose when he lights up a new one for himself. As always, nothing gets past Bo, he barks out a laugh and smirks. “That’s a compromise, baby.”

You scowl at him but begrudgingly accept the cigarette. You take a drag. The taste of mint an odd surprise. “Since when did you start smoking menthols?”

“Ran out day before. Didn’t feel like going into town to pick up a carton.” 

You hum. You can see past his vague statement. You know where he got these–the sugar mill is rife with suitcases and backpacks, most of them completely untouched by him and Vincent, it’s not the first time he’s gone through the sugar mill ripping through the dead’s belongings in search for cigarettes or beer or whatever other little vices he can get his hands on so he doesn’t have to drive the forty miles to town. He must be desperate to even be smoking these. Did he get lucky on his first suitcase or did he tear through them with a manic edge trying to find a pack of non-menthols before giving up. He doesn’t like the mint taste, says what’s the fun in smoking if you aren’t going to taste the tobacco and smoke. You think he sounds pretentious.

“What’s for dinner?”

“Hadn’t thought that far ahead. Got any requests?”

“Whatever you want, baby.”

“You’re no help, you know that?” You push yourself up from your squatting position and slide up against his side. His arm slings his arm low on your hips, hand wandering down to grab at the fat of your ass and jiggle it in his grip. You laugh and swat at him. “Bo, knock it off.”

“Can’t help myself, sweet thing. You look good enough to eat.”

You have serious doubts about that. Your hair is plastered to your face and neck, you smell like a lawnmower and your very sensible overalls are smeared in dirt. But you won’t put up an argument, if a man as handsome as Bo tells you he thinks you’re attractive, who are you to say otherwise? 

He takes the cigarette out of his mouth and angles for a kiss. You step out of his arms, avoiding his kiss completely.

“Not happening, I’m busy.”

Bo furrows his brow. “Busy with what? Thought you and I were taking a smoke break?”

“If you haven’t noticed,” you start, “I’ve already finished my cigarette.” You flick the butt on the ground and grind it with the toe of your shoe. “Get going, there’s leftovers in the fridge for lunch.”

“Startin’ to think you love those flowers more than me.” 

“My flowers don’t talk back.”

He growls and wraps an arm around your waist and pulls you back into his chest. Bo kisses your cheek, breath fanning out over your skin. “Watch that mouth of yours.”

Bo buries his face in your neck. You feel him take a deep breath through his nose, sniffing at you and trying to swallow up your scent. He’s so pathetic sometimes it hurts. Jealous of some silly flowers, as if they could replace him. If you acted the same way when he went down to work on his cars, he’s laugh in your face and mock you to no end. You bite your tongue, he’s much too sensitive–not that he would ever admit that–to tease like that and you’re not in the mood to get into a screaming match right now, not when he’s all sweet on you.

“Go on, Bo. Get yourself something to eat.”

“Only if you come with.”

You suppose it wouldn’t hurt to take a longer break. It would be better to water your plants when the sun starts to set and the air begins to cool off a few degrees. You nod and let him drag you into the house.