#spreading phlox

[emperornorton47]

Spreading Phlox

[mountrainiernps]

Despite some late season snow last weekend, subalpine areas like Paradise are melting out fast. Large patches of snow remain, with snow-covered trails at higher elevations. Please stay on trail or on snow instead of skirting around snow patches! It may look like muddy ground, but many meadow plants are starting to emerge and stepping of trail tramples the wildflowers you may be coming to see.

Once snow melts away, wildflowers start blooming quickly. Look for numerous avalanche and glacier lilies in subalpine meadows. Common along roadsides, spreading phlox (Phlox diffusa) can also be found on talus slopes. This patch was photographed near the Eagle Peak Trail saddle. Phlox blooms are bluish-white at first, transitioning to pink as they age.

For updates on what’s blooming where visit https://go.nps.gov/RainierWildflower

Unfamiliar with Mount Rainier’s wildflower species? Check out the wildflower guide at https://go.nps.gov/RainierWildflowerGuide

NPS/A. Wotton Photo of spreading phlox along Eagle Peak Trail, 6/15/23. ~kl

[vandaliatraveler]

Update on the native wildflower shade garden . . .

Since my last post about the sharp-lobed hepatica several weeks ago, the wildflowers in the shade garden have made a significant push. All of the live plants I put in the ground last fall have made it through the winter, and many of the seeds I planted have germinated and sprouted. Quick survey:

Top: the spreading Jacob's ladder (Polemonium reptans) is mounding beautifully and positively dripping with violet-blue, bell-shaped flowers. The plant lures many pollinators, including bees, flies, butterflies, moths, and beetles. And that foliage is so lush and green . . .

Next one: woodland stonecrop (Sedum ternatum) has established itself in the nooks and crannies of one of my rock features and is getting ready to bloom.

Next two: although the sharp-lobed hepatica (Hepatica acutiloba) has nearly finished blooming, the real joy starts for me when the leathery, thrice-lobed leaves with their often deeply-variegated patterns begin to unfold. This is flat-out one of the most unique and gorgeous wildflowers of North America.

Next one: creeping woodland phlox (Phlox stolonifera) makes for an enchanting ground cover and will spread quite rapidly in the right conditions. I have strong feelings for all the native phlox species, but this one has stolen my heart. It's native to a narrow strip of the Appalachian Mountains from Georgia to Pennsylvania. In the spring around here, it absolutely lights up streambanks with its dainty pink to rose-colored flowers.

Next one: dwarf-crested iris (Iris cristata) is another lovely groundcover but beware - it spreads like wildfire. The lavender and yellow to orange-crested flowers are a treasure to behold from late April to early May. And its arrow-like foliage provides much-needed contrast in the garden.

Next: among the seeds I planted, the yellow pimpernel (Taenidia integerrima) is making the strongest push. The plant produces yellow-flowered umbels similar to golden Alexanders and is a high-value nectar source for many pollinators. It's also the host plant for the black swallowtail and Ozark swallowtail butterflies.

Next two: anyone who visits this Tumblr regularly needs no introduction to heartleaf foamflower (Tiarella cordifolia), my unofficial poster child for Appalachian spring. I simply would not have a native wildflower garden without it. One of my foamflowers is a hybrid (sugar and spice) cultivated for its deeply dissected leaves and intense variegation.

Last (but not least): my eastern red columbine (Aquilegia canadensis) pretty much takes cares of itself - it's one of the best starter wildflowers for beginner gardeners, hardy and undemanding. But man, does it produce loads of beautiful red and yellow, bell-shaped flowers.

[greenwitchcrafts]

April 2024 witch guide

Full moon: April 23rd

New moon: April 8th

Solar eclipse: April 8th

Sabbats: None

April Pink Moon

Known as: Breaking Ice Moon, Budding Moon of Plants & shrubs, Budding Tree Moon, Eastermonath, Frog Moon, Green Grass Moon, Growing Moon, Hare Moon, Moon of the Red Grass appearing, Moon When Geese Lay Egss, Moon When thd Ducks Come Back, Ostarmanoth, Planters Moon, Seed Moon, Sucker Moon & Wind Moon

Element: Fire

Zodiac: Aries & Taurus

Nature spirits: Plant Faeries

Deities: Anahita, Bast, Ceres, Cernunnos, Hathor, Herne, Ishtar, Kali, Tawaret & Venus

Animals: Bear & wolf

Birds:  Hawk & magpie

Trees: Bay, forsythia, hazel, lilac, pine & willow

Herbs:  Basil, chives, dandelion, dill, dogwood, dragon's blood, fennel, geranium, milkweed & thistle

Flowers: Daisy & sweetpea

Scents: Bay, bergamot, patchouli & pine

Stones: Angelite, beryl, diamond, garnet, malachite, quartz, ruby, sapphire, sard, selenite & zircon

Colors: Blue, brown, crimson, gold & green

Energy: Authority, balance, beginnings, change, fertility, growth, leadership, opportunities, overcoming obstacles, personal skill development, re-birth, self-evaluation, self-reliance, spirituality, temper control & willpower

April’s full Moon often corresponded with the early springtime blooms of a certain wildflower native to eastern North America: Phlox subulata—commonly called creeping phlox or moss phlox—which also went by the name “moss pink.” Thanks to this seasonal association, this full Moon came to be called the “Pink” Moon.

Other celebrations:

• Walpurgis Night - April 30th

Also known as: May Eve

The origins of the holiday date back to pagan celebrations of fertility rites & the coming of spring. After the Norse were Christianized, the pagan celebration became combined with the legend of St. Walburga, an English-born nun who lived at Heidenheim monastery in Germany & later became the abbess there. Saint Walpurga was hailed by the Christians of Germany for battling "pest, rabies, & whooping cough as well as against witchcraft". Christians prayed to God through the intercession of Saint Walpurga in order to protect themselves from witchcraft, as Saint Walpurga was successful in converting the local populace to Christianity. Although it is likely that the date of her canonization is purely coincidental to the date of the pagan celebrations of spring, people were able to celebrate both events under church law without fear of reprisal.

Walpurgis Night is still a traditional holiday celebrated on April 30th in northern Europe & Scandinavia. In Sweden typical holiday activities include the singing of traditional spring folk songs & the lighting of bonfires. In Germany the holiday is celebrated by dressing in costumes, playing pranks on people & creating loud noises meant to keep evil at bay. Many people also hang blessed sprigs of foliage from houses & barns to ward off evil spirits, or they leave pieces of bread spread with butter & honey, called ankenschnitt, as offerings for phantom hounds.

Sources:

Farmersalmanac .com

Llewellyn's Complete Book of Correspondences by Sandra Kines

Wikipedia

A Witch's Book of Correspondences by Viktorija Briggs

Encyclopedia britannica

Llewellyn 2024 magical almanac Practical magic for everyday living

[talshiargirlfriend]

@hjea said we deserved more adorable half-Vulcan baby and that is 100% correct. So here’s what can be considered a missing scene or if you prefer you can say 🖕 to canon and consider it the opening of a fix-it.

Phlox had been notified of their imminent arrival, but nothing could have fully prepared him for the sight that greeted him as the doors to Sickbay parted. A pinched-face Commander T’Pol clutched an infant protectively to her chest as she strode in, flanked by Captain Archer and Commander Tucker. Commander Tucker had a hand on her back and concerned eyes focused on the baby’s profile. A brief look of pain flashed across his face indicating to Phlox that he may soon have two patients. Captain Archer wore his fight face. Behind them trailed a stricken Ensign Mayweather and a stoic Lieutenant Reed. All of them appeared dirty and dishevelled. 

The tiny girl stared at everything around her with wide blue eyes reminiscent of her father’s as she chewed one chubby fist. It brought to mind Sim as a baby, but of course there was no time to dwell on that now. The upswept brows and delicately pointed ears were all her mother, the doctor noted. 

“Well, what have we here?” Phlox greeted T’Pol when she stopped before him. He passed a handheld scanner in front of his young patient. 

“She is gravely ill, Doctor. Her immune system appears to be severely compromised,”  T’Pol informed him as she gently bounced the baby in her arms. It was somewhat less graceful than her usual movements in Phlox’s estimation, but he could nonetheless see the care in her touch. The baby gave a rattling cough as if to confirm her mother’s assessment. 

“I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask everyone who is not a patient - or the parent of a patient - to leave,” Phlox ordered as the scanner whirred. 

Lieutenant Reed nodded at T’Pol and Phlox, and then whispered something to Commander Tucker before giving him a supportive squeeze on his shoulder as he passed. The resulting grimace on the engineer‘s face confirmed Phlox's earlier suspicions about patient count.  Ensign Mayweather had evidently already had the good sense to slip out unnoticed.

 “You’ll inform me as soon as you know anything,” the captain confirmed as he briefly caught the doctor’s eye. “I’ll check on you all soon.” 

T’Pol gave no acknowledgement as she rubbed the baby’s back rhythmically to soothe her. 

“Take care, Trip,” Jonathan added with an encouraging smile. 

“Aye, Cap’n,” Trip responded with the ghost of a smile as he briefly tore his eyes away from T’Pol and their child. 

Phlox glanced down at the scanner in concern before he addressed the new parents. “She has a respiratory infection. We’ll start with some medication - a mild analgesic, antibiotic, and expectorant. I’d like to see that fever reduced quickly. Depending how she responds over the next hour we may move onto a more aggressive treatment for her lungs including placing her in an oxygen rich environment.” 

As he moved across to the cabinet to prepare the medication Phlox could hear the soft timbre of Commander Tucker’s voice. “She’s heavier than she looks. You want me to take her for a bit?”

“I’m fine,” T’Pol said softly. Trip must have looked ready to argue because she continued quickly, “you are injured, Trip. I will hold her… but perhaps you’d like to touch her or speak to her?” 

When Phlox returned he was loath to interrupt the scene before him. The two parents stood close with their heads canted toward each other. The baby had dropped her head against her mother’s chest and was drooling peacefully as her father stroked her hair and cheek and whispered quiet words of reassurance. In less fraught circumstances Phlox would have taken amusement in the sight of the normally impeccably groomed Vulcan with a patch of spittle spreading on her clothing. 

“I’ve got an injection ready,” he said as he approached the family. “This should ease her discomfort and allow her to sleep more soundly. I’ll also take a blood sample.”  

The child made an irritated squawk when the needle pierced her skin and she shifted her head to give Phlox the most dignified look of pouty-lipped disdain he’d ever seen on a baby. 

Apparently she would take after both her parents in temperament as well as appearance, Phlox thought wryly.

 “Shhh now, you’re all right, little one. I know it’s no fun getting jabbed, but the doc here is gonna help you feel a lot better.”

T’Pol turned pleading eyes toward the doctor as she gently rocked the baby. 

He would certainly do his best. 

“Commanders,” Phlox said gently as he prepared to analyse the blood of Enterprise's newest resident. “This will take some time. I won’t ask you to rest now, but it would be a good idea to refresh yourselves somewhat and get comfortable…” he trailed off as he nodded toward the chairs along the wall. 

Their reluctance to leave was palpable. Phlox could understand it well, but they would be better able to care for their newfound daughter if they first looked after their own needs. 

He glanced back to see the two commanders locked in an apparent staring contest. Before he could make a stronger appeal, Commander Tucker gave a faint sigh. 

“All right. You two go sit in one of Phlox’s comfy chairs.  I’m gonna go wash the moon dust off and grab a cup of coffee. When I get back I’m gonna bring you a change of clothes and a cup of tea, and you’re gonna take a break for ten minutes,” he informed T’Pol rather intensely.  Phlox expected Vulcan indignance, but instead she only nodded in response. That was interesting. 

Satisfied, Trip leaned down to gently stroke his daughter’s cheek. “I’ll be right back. You be good for your mama,” he whispered. T’Pol’s eyes widened slightly, and he gave her a faintly bewildered smile. “I know. It's surreal. But you’re her mom.”

“And you are her father,” she replied seriously. 

A bright grin spread over Trip’s face. “I am,” he said, wonder evident in his tone. His voice dropped back down,”You’re doing great, T’Pol.” He rubbed her arm. 

“Ok, Doc,” he said a bit louder. “Keep an eye on these Vulcan girls for me. I’ll be back in twenty minutes, tops.” He paused to kiss the sleepy infant on her head and the startled mother on her lips. 

Phlox politely averted his eyes and hid his grin as he focused on the screen at his workstation.  “Commander,” he called out as Trip reached the door. “I'm going to take a look at that shoulder when you get back.” At the dark muttering he heard in response, Phlox allowed himself a small smile before frowning at the data loading before him. 

The baby’s eyes were starting to drift closed, and he could hear T’Pol speaking quietly to her as she paced.

“Your father is very physically affectionate.” There was a pause. “We will adapt.”

“You still need a name,” T’Pol murmured to the child. “I have something in mind. We will discuss it with your father when he returns.”

[rosieofcorona]

Ortolan

Angels, darlings, besties, I present to you the most evil thing I’ve ever written. The first chapter of a little gothic story about our favorite vampire ascendant and his beloved consort. Named, of course, after the bird that is born and bred to be eaten whole. Horror ensues. Also on AO3, if you prefer. Thank you for reading!

All her life Tav had lived in the palm of the palace’s shadow, its black spire-fingers stretching and reaching into the corners of the city when the sun dipped low. She had never known then how it held her, that distant, haunted thing, had never thought its eyes might watch her when she wasn’t watching back.

She watches everything now.

From its high balconies, she can see all of the Gate spread out below. The streets, the shops, the city center, the painted roofs and cobbled roadways— all in miniature from here, like little playthings from her childhood. The people move like dolls beneath her, in and out of the castle’s black hand, and on the days time seems to dilate in a widening, infinite loop, she thinks she sees herself among them, walking freely in the sun. 

She could make the lower city in an hour, if she hurried. 

It’s not so far, she thinks. Just far removed.  

Half a league and a lifetime away.

*****

Where Tav feels out of place in their new home, Astarion thrives. 

He stalks the halls with newfound confidence, cold command in every step, making note of things he’ll have their servants change. He seems to know the place inherently, every floorboard, every stone, while Tav gets lost with alarming frequency by comparison. 

She only explores at Astarion’s urging– Until it feels like home, my darling – but the halls are narrow and labyrinthine, stairways twisting into darkness, secret passages that lead nowhere or loop back to where she started. When learning the layout seems impossible and makes her feel like a rat in a maze, Astarion reminds her that all the prior spawn, including himself, had done it. 

Even an animal, she wants to say, can learn its way around a trap.

It’s not all awful, she supposes. She loves the libraries and the moon garden, with its fragrant phlox and foxgloves, and the oratory, too, when she gets brave enough to enter (Astarion promises more than once that she will not burst into flames). 

In fact most of the rooms, when she discovers them, are beautiful, pristine save for a gauzy shroud of dust left over centuries. Others have fallen to neglect, or to irrelevance. There is no need now for the garderobe, the vanity, the ice house, for the dovecote where no living birds remain. 

She finds the kitchen and the larder and the buttery standing useless– though the rats, if they could speak, might disagree. They’re busy gnawing at the stock of moldy scraps still in the pantry, hardly minding her approach until she’s on them. 

Her eyes track them as they scatter, like a hunter, like a predator. An instinct she’s developed since her death.

She is stronger, swifter, sharper– as Astarion had promised– but there is violence softly shimmering beneath. She wants to tear at something, always, wants to follow something home. She wants to bite down hard enough to make her jaw ache.

She never tells him out of fear he will encourage it. 

Tav dreads the day she knows is coming, the day he’ll send her out to hunt. He loves her bloodlust when he feeds her– Such an eager little thing– and keeps her hungry to incentivize her finding her own victims. 

But a rat is not a victim, says her instinct. 

She follows one into the back half of the kitchen past the storerooms, to a passage she has never seen before. The rodent slips beneath a door that hangs half-rotten on its hinges, as if no one has been through it in a century. It is unlikely, it occurs to her, that even Astarion knows it exists.

The door creaks open with her touch, the air beyond it thick with odor– wine and earth and slow decay, with something coppery beneath. She pricks her ears toward the sound of little claws upon the stonework, of a heartbeat in the dark that’s not her own. 

The rat has vanished out of sight, but it’s no matter. She can trace it by its movements, by its scent. As she creeps farther down the passage, the metallic scent gets clearer– copper, yes, but also parchment, like the binding of a book. Hints of mushroom, hints of honey, hints of soil, mold, and… rat blood .

The realization feeds her drive and her disgust in equal measure. Turn around , she tells herself. Let the poor thing go . 

But she moves on as if compelled, down one long staircase then another, winding deep beneath the palace where it’s damp and dark and cold. At the bottom she stops to listen, stops to take a deep breath in. 

There is a foulness deep below– the unmistakable scent of death– and still, the rat blood, like a top note, rises over the decay.

She hurries blindly into the blackness, her feet following her nose until she loses track of how many times she pivots and pivots back. They move underground until the air gets moist, the stone floor slick beneath them. Her own feet stick each time she pulls them up, as if walking through mud, or through gore. 

We must be deep beneath the earth, she thinks, for it to be so wet. 

The creature ahead of her stops suddenly, its breath heavy and exhausted, running one way then another, side to side. Dead-ended by a wall, no doubt. It finds no way ahead.

She can make out the trembling shape of it, her eyes black with lack of light, and then another shape between them, and another, and another. They look like piles of festered meat left in a storeroom, long-forgotten, and for a moment she believes that’s where she is.

Tav takes a step around a pile and something crunches beneath her heel. A bone, or shard of bone, she notes, the flesh long-rotted off the marrow. Another step, another crunch, a skittering sound like a stone being kicked. 

She kneels to touch the little object, to bring it closer to her face. Another shard, it seems, an animal tooth, the one end needle-sharp and hollow…

The realization swells and hits her like a wave. 

Her single-mindedness is banished as she looks around the room, no, not a room, a crypt– the crypt!– where Cazador locked all of his spawn before the ritual. Whatever is left of them coats the floor, their blood, their hair, their shattered teeth, and Tav can smell it now, their stench, beneath the rat that she’s all but forgotten. 

Her own voice screams above the instinct. I should not be here.  

She turns and runs in the direction she came from, at least, the direction she thinks she came from– and should she turn left here, or right? There should be stairs, where are the stairs, where are the stairs? 

She runs until she can run no more, until she corners herself in a corridor, caught between the way she came and a bolted door. She tries to stop herself from shaking, not from cold or damp, but terror, the idea she might be left in here until she is nothing but rot. 

But what she has learned from getting lost is that he will find her. 

She’s never asked him how he does it. She isn’t sure she wants to know. 

He always does, she reassures herself. I only need to wait. 

She doesn’t know how long she huddles there in the bleak and soundless gloom, doesn’t know how long she listens for his footfall. 

At last a voice slips through the darkness. A pale hand reaches for her own.

“You’ve wandered far this time, my darling. I could hardly trace your scent.”  

A horror scurries down her spine like little claws upon the floor. That’s how I tracked it when it ran, she shivers. Parchment, mushroom, honey.  

It’s how he finds her now, no matter where she runs.  ***** It is hours later when she asks him, with his blood still on her lips, how it feels to wring the life out of a creature, drop by drop. 

“You ought to know,” he answers absently, completely unperturbed. He is preoccupied, deciding on the perfect place to bite her, fingers tracing every vein beneath her skin. “You’ve killed a thousand times, my love, have you forgotten?”

“That was different. Not for blood.”

“No, gods forbid,” Astarion laughs. “Most times for gold.” 

She feels annoyance, like a spider, creeping up the back of her neck. “Do I hear judgment?” “Certainly not.” He makes a show of looking scandalized, a hand fluttering over his heart. “I’d never begrudge you a little violence, you know that.” 

As he moves further down the bed his touch trails with him, hands and mouth mapping a blue line down her body, along her breast and hip and thigh. He settles there and moves her legs apart so he can kneel between them, makes her shiver in familiar delight.

She wants to lose them in this moment, those poor creatures in the crypt, wants to put them from her mind for now and always. But with every touch she feels Astarion’s hunger, still unsated; with every kiss, she feels the sharpness of his teeth.

Like animal teeth, she thinks. Like theirs, like mine.  

“But do they suffer? When you drain them?”

Astarion sighs like rustled velvet, looking up at her from his knees.

“Such a soft heart, still,” he murmurs. “Did you suffer, my beloved?”

How easily, how often she forgets that he has killed her.

If there was suffering she can’t recall it now, no matter how she tries. The memory’s far off in the distance, formless, fogged by ambiguity. If she moved toward it, maybe she could make out certain details…

But his tongue is on her now, and she welcomes the distraction. It is unpleasant, after all, to relive dying. He drags it slowly over the soft flesh of her thigh above the artery until she hums a little sound of satisfaction. 

“Would you like to?” He asks, in that same, soft voice. His eyeteeth shine like pearls in the rising moonlight.

“Please,” she whispers. It is all the urging he needs. 

She cries out at the breaking of her skin, the rush of blood into his mouth. The feeding has always been pleasurable, even when she was alive, but it is heightened now that they are bound together. She can feel him from the inside now, coursing through his body, she can fill him and fulfill him with blood alone. “More,” she pleads, when he pulls away to look at her. Already he is bright with her blood. “Astarion, more.”

If this is suffering, she wants it– every evening, every hour– until whatever light still shines in her eyes goes out.  ***** In her dreams she finds her way back to the black mouth of the crypt, its iron gates swung wide on their hinges as if to swallow her entirely. She’s running frightened, like a rabbit , like a rat from something watching, someone whispering her name into the dark.

[lunadreamsdespondently]

More of my beloved Spreading Phlox

I just love it so much!!

[blackswallowtailbutterfly]

My Garden Flowers Part 7

All photos mine, unedited.

In order of appearance:

181. Early Goldenrod (Solidago juncea) She's named for flowering earlier than most goldenrods, which tend to flower in late summer to fall, but not all! I've seen others flower earlier.

182. Canadian Fly Honeysuckle (Lonicera canadensis) Wasn't expecting her to flower this year, but there she was in the spring! No berries, though, sadly. Maybe next year!

183. Sweetshrub (Calycanthus floridus) Not pictured as she hasn't flowered yet.

184. Burning Bush (Euonymus atropurpureus) Not pictured as she hasn't flowered yet.

185. Mapleleaf viburnum (Viburnum acerifolium) Not pictured as she hasn't flowered yet.

186. Veiny Meadow Rue (Thalictrum venulosom) Not pictured as she hasn't flowered yet.

187. Wild Hydrangea (Hydrangea arborescens) Not blue like the ones that enchanted me the time I visited my aunt in England, but still very nice.

188. Beggar's Lice (Hackelia virginiana) I didn't plant her and don't keep many now that she's popped up. She's a handsome enough plant but her fruits stick to EVERYTHING and leaves can get sickly from time to time.

189. Boneset (Eupatorium perfoliatum) Not pictured as she hasn't flowered yet and probably won't this year because my landlord cut that area. (:

190. Squashberry (Viburnum edule) Not pictured as she hasn't flowered yet.

191. Snowberry (Symphoricarpos albus) Not pictured as she hasn't flowered yet.

192. Virgin's Bower (Clematis ligusticifolia) Not pictured as she hasn't flowered yet.

193. Largeleaf Waterleaf (Hydrophyllum macrophyllum) In my opinion she should be named for her rhizome rather than her leaf. The leaves aren't that big but the rhizomes are huge.

194. Twinflower (Linnaea borealis) Not pictured as she hasn't flowered yet, but she is spreading in a nice little mat.

195. Alpine bistort (Bistorta vivipara) Not pictured as I haven't got pictures yet.

196. Rough Cinquefoil (Potentilla norvegica monspeliensis) I didn't plant this, but she is there regardless! Not pictured as I haven't got pictures yet.

197. Sweetfern (Comptonia peregrina) Not a fern. The leaves are just kind of fernlike.

198. Sundial Lupine (Lupinus perennis) Not pictured as she hasn't flowered yet. New area for her and we'll see if A) she survives and B) if she doesn't turn out to be bigleaf lupine again.

199. Gray Goldernrod (Solidago nemoralis) Not pictured as she hasn't flowered yet.

200. Blue Vervain (Verbena hastata) She gets fairly tall and the flowers come up at the top.

201. Scarlet Runner Bean (Phaseolus coccineus) Another one that's not native to the area and can't survive the winter, but has been grown here in the summers long before colonization.

202. Tall Cinquefoil (Drymocallis arguta) Very strawberry-like flowers that sit atop the plant.

203. Early Saxifrage (Micranthes virginiensis) Not pictured as she hasn't flowered yet.

204. American Sweetflag (Acorus americana) Not pictured as she hasn't flowered yet.

205. River Beauty (Chamaenerion latifolium) Not pictured as she hasn't flowered yet.

206. Large cranberry (Vaccinium macrocarpon) Don't know if she'll flower again this year, but she did make a couple of berries last year!

207. Heart-Leaved Aster (Symphyotrichum cordifolium) Not pictured as she hasn't flowered yet.

208. Trout Lily (Erythronium americanum) Not pictured as she hasn't flowered yet.

209. Little Sweet Betsy (Trillium cuneatum) This was supposed to be a different species, but that's okay. She's still native to the range I accept. Her leaves have a lovely natural variegation to them.

210. Woodland Phlox (Phlox divaricata) Nice blue flowers that thrive in shady spots.

[konjaku]

芝桜[Shibazakura] Phlox subulata

芝[Shiba] : Zoysia, lawn, turf

桜[-zakura|Sakura] : Cherry blossom

It was blooming in spots in the grass on the sunny roadside in a rural area. The flowering season is usually in spring, so this is apparently 狂い咲き[Kuruizaki](off-season flowering.)

It is so named because spreads and thrives on the ground like a lawn and its petals resemble those of Sakura. It is native to North America and is favored as a groundcover because adapts well to the Japanese environment, requires little effort, and is virtually free of pests and diseases. When it grows densely and blooms all at once, looks like a carpet of flowers.

Another name is 花詰草[Hanatsumekusa] . 花 means flower, 詰[Tsume(-ru)] means to fill and 草 means grass or herb.

[clementine-kesh]

enterprise nx-01 10-year reunion barbeque hosted at archer’s suburban san francisco duplex where his husband shran has a few too many bud lites (the only thing archer drinks) and starts trash-talking vulcans while trip (who’s alive don’t worry about it) gives him the death glare and covers elizabeth’s ears (also alive again don’t worry about it) and t’pol retorts with cutting little barbs that shran just ignores. malcolm and hayes are also there (they’re “roommates”) and so are phlox and his three wives (who keep trying to recruit people into the polycule). hoshi and travis are drinking together in a corner and taking bets on who wins in the inevitable fight (which knocks over the table holding the huge spread of food archer spent hours on and he’s genuinely very upset about it) (t’pol wins)

[imthepunchlord]

Random Story Setting Idea (you don't have to do anything with this if you don't want to, I just want to see writers' thoughts when they hear these prompts):

The whimsical and charming garden with topiaries and fountains in a world where people can see into the future.

Jasper Phlox has gotten through life with his cunning, charm, and confidence in knowing the human nature. It was his key as a master manipulator, the Maven of Shade, Overseer of all Shadows. And part of his success was the lack of faith. In Exaltare, if any discovered what he was, there'd be chains upon his wrists, if he was lucky. His mother had long warned that faith was a dangerous thing. If he was to keep his head, he'd keep enemies closer than any fancy of fondness.

But a month into their contract, Lady Calypso Tenebrae was working to unravel it.

The quiet but quirky noble insisted she could share the truth of fate, the reason she crept her way down in his lair, why she brought a prospect of a deal.

The Maven of Shade agreed to her contract out of amused curiosity. All the juicy information his heart desired, for an elusive ticket out of Exaltare. She even insisted that she'd know more than his spies.

It was a comical claim, until her words bore fruit.

And upon the acting of a weak whim, where his curiosity stood too strong against reason, he asked for her secret.

She already knew his, and he suspected she was the same.

But all she said was that she'd take him to the Garden of Insomnio. That his answer was there.

Which was surprising.

Before the day Arensia bore their metal and rule upon Exaltare, the Circle of Insomnio were the suspected royal family of Exaltare, the Sowers of Chaos. Before the Great Banning, they were the chessmasters of Exaltare. Nothing they did made sense to anyone but themselves.

So respected and feared, the Imperial family sought to honor their power and wisdom with the Garden of Insomnio. The only mercy they offered as all were slaughtered.

Through a passage way very few knew (of course Lady Tenebrae did), Jasper slowed as he took in the garden. It had the classic flowers of all kinds, various fountains stationed through the path, and a spread of owls made of stone and leaves, the symbol of Insomnio. At this time, the evening was around the corner, but it wasn't dark enough to light the lanterns.

Lady Tenebrae leaned out from the shadows, doing a quick look around, then telling him it was clear. She took the leaf, leading Jasper to the grandest foundation, though it bore the smallest owl, it's big eyes pointed skyward, little mirrors set for it's eyes to always reflect what it sees.

"Here," Lady Tenebrae decided, plopping down on the rim, glancing back to watched long finned koi lazily swim through the water.

In a cheeky tone, Jasper asked, "Is this where you reveal you're the long lost descendant of Insomnio?"

His smile grew at the flat scowl she gave him. She corrected, "I'm here to have you talk with an Insomnio."

That time Jasper didn't hold back his laugh. "Talk with one? You know a surviving Insomnio?"

Oh the Imperial family would be twisting in their silk to learn they missed one.

"No, she's dead like all the rest."

Jasper paused at that, the realization hitting him.

So he was right in his suspicions, just not what her magic was.

Lady Tenebrae held out her hand to him, bare and small. With a small frown, he pulled his own glove off, flashing the scars and nicks that covered his, setting his hand upon hers, letting her link their fingers. She was warm and smooth, easily dwarfed by his own.

He felt the tickle of magic, cold in contrast to the playful warmth of his. His vision blurred and his hearing seemed muffled. Disliking the shift in perception, he clutched her hand tighter, letting her ground him. When his senses cleared, Jasper gasped.

They weren't alone in the garden as he initially thought.

All around them were slightly see through people in robes, with hair all uniquely reflecting the colors of the sky, and all bore black starry eyes. It seems, in this garden meant to honor them, is where all of the Insomnio haunted.

"You brought me the Maven of Shade, just as I asked."

Jasper turned, coming face to face with an older woman, her hair reflecting the colors of twilight, her black eyes locked onto him, glittering with tiny little stars. She offered him a warm smile, and gave a small bow.

"I greet you, Overseer of Shadows. Would you like to know the coming future?"

[mountrainiernps]

Many wildflowers are starting to bloom at lower elevations in the park. The eastern half of Stevens Canyon Road (from Stevens Canyon Entrance to about Stevens Creek) already has good displays of paintbrush, penstemon, monkeyflower, and more. The western half of Stevens Canyon Road, climbing up to Reflection Lakes towards Paradise, still has snow though flowers like spreading phlox are starting to show as the snow melts back from the edges of the roadway. This patch of harsh paintbrush (Castilleja hispida) is one of several bringing color to the canyon. Paintbrush “blooms” are actually modified leaves, called bracts, and leaves along the stems can also have color. What wildflowers are you observing in the park?

For updates on what’s blooming where visit https://go.nps.gov/RainierWildflower

Unfamiliar with Mount Rainier’s wildflower species? Check out the wildflower guide at https://go.nps.gov/RainierWildflowerGuide

NPS Photo of paintbrush blooming along Stevens Canyon Road, 6/6/24.

[vandaliatraveler]

Update from the native wildflower beds: the creeping woodland phlox (Phlox stolonifera) is now in full, vigorous bloom. This graceful, shade-loving perennial has a mat-forming habit that makes it an ideal ground cover. The plant's hairy, red-tinged stems, which sport delicate, spoon-shaped leaves, spread freely and need an occasional manicure to keep them from taking over. Also in bloom are the heartleaf foamflower (Tiarella cordifolia) and eastern red columbine (Aquilegia canadensis), whose tall, elegant flowering stalks are producing masses of flowers (it must like the location). The wild geranium is also loaded up with flowers (photos to come).

[spunknbite]

South Downs, revisited

The garden faces south.

Wisteria and lavender. Borders of delphinium. Brilliant violet asters, peonies and shock-white hydrangeas. Hostas that could use splitting come spring. Hollyhocks thriving, standing ten feet easy. Lady’s Mantle, climbing roses, snap dragons. Yarrow, a lot of yarrow.

Grow you a garden. Start from seed, from the beginning, the inception. Dirt under fingernails, cracked terracotta pots, noon sun high. Watch stalks rise and flowers bloom, creation, something new and whole and yours.

There’s lattice-work arches too. A little neglected, water-warped wood imprinted with decades of climbing tendrils tattooing the grain. The clematis has fallen back, overstretched and thinning at the apex, but still the stains of its vines remain on the wood, revealing past summers. The patio stones that dot the perimeter are smoothed almost slippery from years of use and rain. Initials are carved in the trunk of the overgrown birch that shadows the back gate. SM + RB dug deep in testament, a fine layer of moss creeping at the edges.

Loved, this garden was loved by its former caretakers. Could be loved again, certainly.

There’s room enough to spread out. Add some colour — daylilies, cosmos, bellflowers. Coax some ivy up the brick. Mint as ground cover, along with flowering thyme, lily of the valley, phlox. 

He could build an awning off the back wall, offer some more cover. Move the hostas – they’d be happier under the protection. Plant some astilbes, coral bells, some begonias in the summer. Add a few lounges, a place for an angel to read while it storms. 

Maybe an apple tree, if he’s feeling bold.

-----

“I quite miss the country,” Aziraphale says one afternoon. A sip of tea, the familiar clink of cup on saucer. “It’s been centuries.”

“Tadfield?”

“Centuries since I’ve holidayed properly. The occasional day trip hardly counts.”

“You can’t leave this shop.”

“Not permanently, maybe just to get some air. See the sky again.” Saucer meets desk. A smile his way, blue eyes alight,

“And I will make thee beds of Roses  And a thousand fragrant posies,  A cap of flowers, and a kirtle  Embroidered all with leaves of Myrtle”

“For Satan’s sake, you’re invoking Marlowe of all people?”

“And why shouldn’t I? Just because he’s been a smidge overshadowed by —”

“You know he was an atheist, angel?”

“Even a broken clock is right twice a day.”

“And that broken clock can write poetry too?”

“Quite.”

The bell above the shop door rings, and Aziraphale is off. 

-----

The third bedroom is just a nook really; it peaks out of a dormer window overlooking the back garden. It has built-in shelves along one wall, inset and bordered with the sort of colonial crown moulding that Crowley imagines only Aziraphale would truly appreciate. Grandmotherly; shelves seemingly meant to house sun-faded doilies and ceramic cats.

But it could be a library. Granted, a small one, but there was space enough for a collection of the essentials with room to spare under the window for a desk. An angel must keep up with his correspondence, after all. 

Dear angel, he’d written once, centuries ago. Then scribbled it out.

Dear angel, he’d written again, not long after. Then burned it.

Dear angel, he’d written again and again and again. Wasted paper made pulp made paper again, never sent.

-----

He buys the damned cottage. 

Dumb idea. Impulsive, really. Like a lot of what he did, what he still does — gets a notion in his demonic skull and just charges on, unencumbered by reflection. As if he trusts some higher power is looking out for him, has his back – the absurdity of it. Once upon a time before the beginning of the world, he’d sauntered vaguely downward without really considering all the consequences, the ramifications of it all; hadn’t weighed and measured, worked out the celestial maths. No, he made a choice and paid for it without knowing the price.

(he would have kept sauntering on anyway, knowing where it would ultimately lead — earth and humans and their wonderful cars and Aziraphale and and and — but he hadn’t known then, couldn’t have known, just what shape his damnation would take, and that was rather the point; he was a careless idiot)

Here too, on earth. We can run away together — Alpha Centauri. Get an idea, a cocked up, stupid thought and go all in on it. 

The Bentley, raging down London streets. A sharp, nearly blind corner. Is there oncoming traffic? Could he stop if he wanted to? Who’s even in control, has he ever been? Has he gone from one master to another to another?

You go too fast for me, Crowley.

So he buys the damned cottage, because what else can he do?

-----

Aziraphale gets in the elevator and Crowley gets in the Bentley. He doesn’t know where he’s going, but it’s not South Downs.

Also on ao3 for anyone interested.

[poppiesandpromises]

Fall into the phlox with

A purple-hearted wonder

Allow the warmth to flood into

Your hollow places

This is healing— sobbing and

Singing and mourning and

Yet— you may have borne

A loss bad enough to

Break your bones, still

Here you are, with branches

Spread, sipping the light

That nests in your soul like

A happy hummingbird

The flowers will return

Inside their softened splendor—

You'll be blooming too

[bethanythebogwitch]

Native wildflowers collection pt 2

Continued from part 1

Wild white indigo. These grow seed pods and then break off and tumbleweed around to spread their seeds.

Blazing star. There are several species of this and I think this one is prairie blazing star

Culver's root

Daisy fleabane. This was burned and the ashes were used as a flea remedy.

Joe Pye weed

Elderberry. You can chop up the branches of this, put them in the ground, and as long as there's enough water, they will grow into new bushes.

Wild petunia (left), wild geranium (right), and wild hyacinth (bottom). I like them more than the ornamental cultivars

Showy tick trefoil. These seeds are easy to collect. Walk through the prairie for a while and you'll have a few hundred stuck to your clothes.

Tall bellflower

Heal-all

New England aster or aromatic aster. I don't know how to tell them apart. Usually purple, but sometimes you find a bright pink one.

Evening primrose

Wild onion

American bush clover

Rose mallow (left) and halberd-leafed rose mallow (left). The latter gets smaller flowers and different shaped leaves.

Tall boneflower, which is a name I'm totally using for an undead plant in D&D

Great blue lobelia

Smartweed. These are absolutely tiny.

Spring beauty, a cute little spring ephemeral

Bloodroot. These are cool, they have giant rhizomes and bright red sap.

Wild violet. These are usually purple, but sometimes you find a yellow one

Trout lily.

Virginia bluebell

Trillium. You don't get as many of these around here as we'd like because the deer go absolutely wild for them

Woodland phlox

Wild hawthorn

Continued in part 3