A Wayside Wonderland

Bulbinella nutans, 12 September 2020. Copyright 2020 Forgotten Fields. All rights reserved.
A Bulbinella in bloom. (B. nutans)

During my excursion with botanist Dr Chris Whitehouse a few weeks ago, I mentioned to him the field guide I use to identify fynbos1 species. He quickly reminded me that the area in which I live has predominantly Renosterveld2 vegetation rather than Fynbos (though there is an overlap, since here one transitions into the other) and recommended to me a brand new field guide on that subject by Dr Odette Curtis-Scott (whom I also hope to meet).

Following the exchange, I ordered a copy directly and collected it on 4 September 2020, the beginning of Spring in my country, South Africa. During the trip, the first part of which takes one through the countryside upon a dirt road, I stopped frequently to admire and photograph the countless species in bloom—most of which I saw for the first time—charmed as always by the kind that fascinate me most: those most dainty and unassuming.

Your humble amateur botanist was soon engrossed, attracting baffled glances from passersby; but, with new species flowering by the day, I was determined not to miss a single bloom. Unable to write this update that weekend, I spent whatever hour I could spare during the two weeks since working through my photographs (of which there were hundreds) to identify species and select the most interesting to include in this text.

Bulbinella barkerae, 4 September 2020. Copyright 2020 Forgotten Fields. All rights reserved.
Bulbinella barkerae (left) and possibly B. nutans (right)

Beginning then with 4 September, I spotted Bulbinella barkerae first, a flash of white against the hill so impressive I had to stop; and once I did, my gaze was fixed to the ground, marvelling at all the other species in bloom—like the desperately yellow Hemimeris racemosa, a flower no more than 5 mm (0,2 in) wide, and Lessertia frutescens, its blossoms ten times larger in striking red, like small flamenco dresses. For half an hour, I was transfixed.

Hemimeris racemosa, 4 September 2020. Copyright 2020 Forgotten Fields. All rights reserved.
Hemimeris racemosa
Hemimeris racemosa, 11 September 2020. Copyright 2020 Forgotten Fields. All rights reserved.
H. racemosa
Lessertia frutescens, 4 September 2020. Copyright 2020 Forgotten Fields. All rights reserved.
Lessertia frutescens

Hundreds of Heliophila pendula adorned the scene, flowers so dainty, there were dewdrops larger; I could not help but laugh with delight! Too minute to photograph from any distance other than up close, some blossoms but 2 mm (0,079 in) wide, they all but disappeared to the lens. (In the accompanying photograph, it appears as if the flower is set upon a blade of grass, but look closely for the slender vertical stem that holds it there.)

Heliophila pendula, 4 September 2020. Copyright 2020 Forgotten Fields. All rights reserved.
Heliophila pendula

Where the earth was most disturbed (by roadworks), patches of what must be either Delosperma, Disphyma or Drosanthemum carpeted the ground as if to repair it—some in bloom, others not. Nearby flowered what I believe to be Drosanthemum striatum—according to the guide, a vulnerable species—in a location somewhat insecure, growing directly below a barbed wire fence at the feet of a group of young invader species trees.

A member of the Aizoaceae (Ice Plant) family, 4 September 2020. Copyright 2020 Forgotten Fields. All rights reserved.
A member of the Aizoaceae (Ice Plant) family. Possibly Delosperma, Disphyma or Drosanthemum.
A member of the Aizoaceae (Ice Plant) family, 4 September 2020. Copyright 2020 Forgotten Fields. All rights reserved.
As above.
Drosanthemum striatum, 4 September 2020. Copyright 2020 Forgotten Fields. All rights reserved.
Drosanthemum striatum

I also saw a relation of Nemesia lucida—that family fast becoming a favourite after seeing it some weeks ago for the first time—N. barbata, so named for the tiny white hairs at the top of its deep blue and equally beard-like lower lip (barbata is Latin for “the bearded”). These were plentiful, shaking their little heads in the breeze. In the second photograph of this set, it is looking longingly at what I think is Geissorhiza inflexa.

Nemesia barbata, 4 September 2020. Copyright 2020 Forgotten Fields. All rights reserved.
Nemesia barbata
Nemesia barbata and Geissorhiza inflexa, 4 September 2020. Copyright 2020 Forgotten Fields. All rights reserved.
N. barbata (left) and Geissorhiza inflexa (right)

Then there was Diascia, a species related to Nemesia—one sees the resemblance in the captivating little flowers about 7 mm (0,28 in) wide—but which, I cannot tell, since none of the petal shapes in the guide quite resemble it (the closest match is a species listed only as Diascia sp. (“species”, to indicate that it is not yet described)); and near it, Zaluzianskya divaricata with its remarkable flowers, equally small.

Diascia sp. and Zaluzianskya divaricata, 4 September 2020. Copyright 2020 Forgotten Fields. All rights reserved.
Diascia sp. (left) and Zaluzianskya divaricata (right)

For Dolichos decumbens, I was all but prostrate—and appropriately so, for decumbens is Latin for “lying down”—to admire and photograph its orchid-like flowers (about 10 mm or 0,39 wide), deftly painted with violet and white.

Dolichos decumbens, 4 September 2020. Copyright 2020 Forgotten Fields. All rights reserved.
Dolichos decumbens

I also happened upon another Cyphia, possibly C. digitata, a relation of the one I saw on my excursion with Dr Whitehouse, entwining itself with Clutia polygonoides whose modest blossoms it shamelessly upstaged.

Cyphia digitata and Clutia polygonoides, 4 September 2020. Copyright 2020 Forgotten Fields. All rights reserved.
Cyphia digitata (purple) and Clutia polygonoides (yellow)

Similarly twining was Microloma tenuifolium whose waxy flowers were so intensely and luminously red that had I not seen it, I would not have believed it. (I should note that I make only minor adjustments to my photographs to show as closely as possible what I saw with the naked eye; thus, the red here is true to life.)

Microloma tenuifolium, 4 September 2020. Copyright 2020 Forgotten Fields. All rights reserved.
Microloma tenuifolium

Happening upon a specimen of Eriocephalus africanus in a more accessible spot, I was better able to capture it, this time with its furry seed heads exposed, covered in the morning dew, giving yet more credence to its common name, the Cape Snow Bush. I found another still in bloom with near perfect flowers.

Eriocephalus africanus Seed Heads, 4 September 2020. Copyright 2020 Forgotten Fields. All rights reserved.
Eriocephalus africanus seed heads
Eriocephalus africanus Flowers, 4 September 2020. Copyright 2020 Forgotten Fields. All rights reserved.
E. africanus flowers

Lachenalia too is now in bloom. The first, possibly L. perryae, I photographed on Saturday and the second, either L. lutea or L. orchoides subspecies orchoides, that seemed to glow with an inner light, on 4 September. The third and fourth (also photographed Saturday), are both incarnations of L. rosea.

Lachenalia, 4 September 2020. Copyright 2020 Forgotten Fields. All rights reserved.
Lachenalia, possibly L. perryae (left) and L. lutea or L. orchoides subspecies orchoides (right)
Lachenalia rosea, 4 September 2020. Copyright 2020 Forgotten Fields. All rights reserved.
L. rosea

At intervals, a solitary Gladiolus liliaceus (whose praises I have sung before and shall reluctantly refrain from reciting here) would wave from an unworthy dirt road bank or ditch, and elsewhere on the route, from a sea of sedges, Gladiolus tristis would summon me to its side—whom I duly obeyed.

Gladiolus liliaceus, 12 September 2020. Copyright 2020 Forgotten Fields. All rights reserved.
Gladiolus liliaceus
Gladiolus tristis, 12 September 2020. Copyright 2020 Forgotten Fields. All rights reserved.
Gladiolus tristis amid possibly Cyperus textilis
Gladiolus tristis, 12 September 2020. Copyright 2020 Forgotten Fields. All rights reserved.
G. tristis

There were also birds to be seen, including Buteo rufofuscus, the majestic Jackal Buzzard, which I recently photographed, and Ardea melanocephala, the Black-headed Heron, near a waterhole (just out of frame), tolerant of my presence but flying off once it tired of posing for the camera.

Ardea melanocephala, 4 September 2020. Copyright 2020 Forgotten Fields. All rights reserved.
Ardea melanocephala
Ardea melanocephala, 4 September 2020. Copyright 2020 Forgotten Fields. All rights reserved.
A. melanocephala

This weekend past, I ventured out again, greeted by yet more species in bloom. Amongst others, a relation of the exquisite pink Ixia scillaris that first stunned me in the summer of 2018, almost certainly a white Ixia flexuosa, a pendulum swaying to the slightest movement of the air.

Ixia flexuosa, 12 September 2020. Copyright 2020 Forgotten Fields. All rights reserved.
Ixia flexuosa
Ixia flexuosa, 12 September 2020. Copyright 2020 Forgotten Fields. All rights reserved.
I. flexuosa

There was also a little Lyperia antirrhinoides with its dark purple face paint; Babiana patersoniae with a lilac stigma (unlike the white shown in the guide); and Colchicum eucomoides, yet to open and reveal its strange flowers, which I hope to revisit and photograph this weekend.

Lyperia antirrhinoides, 12 September 2020. Copyright 2020 Forgotten Fields. All rights reserved.
Lyperia antirrhinoides
Babiana patersoniae, 12 September 2020. Copyright 2020 Forgotten Fields. All rights reserved.
Babiana patersoniae
Colchicum eucomoides, 12 September 2020. Copyright 2020 Forgotten Fields. All rights reserved.
Colchicum eucomoides
  1. Fynbos (Afrikaans for “fine-bush”, pronounced [feignboss], with a shortened version of the [o] in “or”)—so named for the relative fine-ness of the shrubbery in the Western Cape province of South Africa—is an extremely heterogeneous heathery vegetation also known as Cape Flora, exclusive to the region.
  2. Renosterveld (Afrikaans for “rhinoceros-field”, pronounced [RhnossteRfelt], with a trilled [R])—so named for the Renosterbos (Afrikaans for “rhinoceros-bush”, pronounced [RhnossteRboss], with a trilled [R] and a shortened version of the [o] in “or”) (Elytropappus rhinocerotis) its predominant shrub, in turn, named for the rhinoceros, now extinct in the region, seen by European settlers—is in some ways a lesser Fynbos, equally heterogeneous and endemic, but almost wholly supplanted by agriculture for which vast swathes of it was cleared to create “the breadbasket of the Cape”, as this region (the Overberg) is known. Consequently, it is estimated that only 5% of the original Renosterveld remains, wherefore I have sworn to do what I can to help preserve it.

A Ramble

Fynbos in the Kleinriviersberge, 21 August 2020. Copyright 2020 Forgotten Fields. All rights reserved.
Whilst the scenery was spectacular, it was the flowers that captivated me.

Last Friday, I walked up the Little River Mountains range, which often appears in my writing and photography, in the company of Dr Chris Whitehouse, a botanist who owns—or rather stewards, as he reverently puts it—a swath of land upon one of its eastern slopes.

A fount of knowledge—how envious was I of his command of botanical names1—he introduced me to many species that bloom there this time of year (the end of winter in South Africa), waiting patiently whilst I admired and photographed the flowers and scenery2:

The mountain was laden with Leucadendron whose green conquered the slopes in spectacular fashion.

Leucadendron on the Kleinriviersberge, 21 August 2020. Copyright 2020 Forgotten Fields. All rights reserved.Leucadendron on the Kleinriviersberge, 21 August 2020. Copyright 2020 Forgotten Fields. All rights reserved.

Rocks and rock formations, expertly composed by Nature’s hand, created intricate visual scherzos.

Rock Formations of the Kleinriviersberge, 21 August 2020. Copyright 2020 Forgotten Fields. All rights reserved.Rock Formations of the Kleinriviersberge, 21 August 2020. Copyright 2020 Forgotten Fields. All rights reserved.Rock Formations of the Kleinriviersberge, 21 August 2020. Copyright 2020 Forgotten Fields. All rights reserved.Rock Formations of the Kleinriviersberge, 21 August 2020. Copyright 2020 Forgotten Fields. All rights reserved.Rock Formations of the Kleinriviersberge, 21 August 2020. Copyright 2020 Forgotten Fields. All rights reserved.

At times, the cliffs were surreal in photomontage-like contrast with the surrounding landscape.

Rock Formations of the Kleinriviersberge, 21 August 2020. Copyright 2020 Forgotten Fields. All rights reserved.Rock Formations of the Kleinriviersberge, 21 August 2020. Copyright 2020 Forgotten Fields. All rights reserved.

In their seams, Ikebanaesque arrangements burst forth whilst lichens freckled their faces.

Fynbos Ikebana in the Kleinriviersberge, 21 August 2020. Copyright 2020 Forgotten Fields. All rights reserved.Lichens on a Kleinriviersberge Rock, 21 August 2020. Copyright 2020 Forgotten Fields. All rights reserved.

We would often encounter my beloved Lobelia, mostly L. Pinifolia, in violet and white.

Violet Lobelia pinifolia on the Kleinriviersberge, 21 August 2020. Copyright 2020 Forgotten Fields. All rights reserved.White Lobelia pinifolia on the Kleinriviersberge, 21 August 2020. Copyright 2020 Forgotten Fields. All rights reserved.

I also saw for the first time, Gladiolus debilis, a lily my mother sometimes recalls from her childhood3.

Gladiolus debilis on the Kleinriviersberge, 21 August 2020. Copyright 2020 Forgotten Fields. All rights reserved.

Other first sightings included Cyphia volubilis winding up the slender stems of a reluctant Restio;

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Drosera cistiflora and D. pauciflora with their delicate petals distracting from tentacles below;

Drosera cistiflora on the Kleinriviersberge, 21 August 2020. Copyright 2020 Forgotten Fields. All rights reserved.Drosera cistiflora on the Kleinriviersberge, 21 August 2020. Copyright 2020 Forgotten Fields. All rights reserved.Drosera pauciflora on the Kleinriviersberge, 21 August 2020. Copyright 2020 Forgotten Fields. All rights reserved.

Salvia africana, its scruffy flower perching with a twig in its mouth (a protruding stigma);

Salvia africana on the Kleinriviersberge, 21 August 2020. Copyright 2020 Forgotten Fields. All rights reserved.

Manulea cheiranthus with its small yellow starfish flowers cavorting atop the stems;

Manulea cheiranthus on the Kleinriviersberge, 21 August 2020. Copyright 2020 Forgotten Fields. All rights reserved.

and a little Nemesia lucida4, most delightful of all, which, were it not for the attentiveness of my companion, I would have missed! Its adorable expression so captivated me that, reflecting upon it yesterday, I composed to it a little ode—a sketch for a future anthology!

Nemesia lucida on the Kleinriviersberge, 21 August 2020. Copyright 2020 Forgotten Fields. All rights reserved.

  1. In retrospect, I should have taken notes there and then—supplementing my DSLR photography with iPhone shots, which I could have annotated in the moment—saving me the subsequent search for botanical names (my occupation these past few days, hence the delay of this update), some of which I will doubtlessly have gotten wrong. Incidentally, Dr Whitehouse identified the mysterious flower I discovered two weeks ago (mentioned in “A Buck, a Bush and a Lily”, the fourth image in that update): a member of the genus Roepera, most likely Roepera fulva.
  2. Photographed with the encumbrance of a visor (due to the pandemic), the images are not as good as I would have liked, but I trust they convey some of the beauty of the mountain and its flora.
  3. She would pick “armfuls” of them when she was young, on her way home after a day of watching the sheep on the Little River Mountains. Incidentally, I used an iPhone 11 Pro to take the photograph above (I wanted to share the encounter with my mother in the moment, but there was no service) and must recommend it for detail and ease of use; it captured the delicacy of the tepals, lost in the Nikon images (of which I include one below, for comparison).Gladiolus debilis on the Kleinriviersberge, 21 August 2020. Copyright 2020 Forgotten Fields. All rights reserved.
  4. The closest match in my reference book is Nemesia macrocarpa which this flower does not resemble. Other sources lead me to believe it is N. lucida.

A Buck, a Bush and a Lily

Grey Rhebok (Pelea capreolus), 14 August 2020. Copyright 2020 Forgotten Fields. All rights reserved.

A Rhebok (Pelea capreolus), yesterday, in an ocean of wheat. It stood in the very field wherein I first saw one of its kind in 2017—who knows, it could be the same antelope! It stood stock-still as irreverently—at least, so it always feels in these moments—I photographed it. Not once did it stir; a most extraordinary thing for these famously shy creatures!

I also managed to photograph up close the flowers of the shrub I saw last week. I am convinced it is Eriocephalus africanus, the Cape Snow Bush1. The common name is fitting, the flowers do resemble snow from afar. My original guess that it was part of the Sutera family then was quite wrong; it is in fact a member of the Asteraceae (Daisy) family.

Cape Snow Bush (Eriocephalus africanus), 14 August 2020. Copyright 2020 Forgotten Fields. All rights reserved.

I did not mention this at the time, but last Friday, in a field that usually attracts no attention to itself, I glimpsed several lilies amongst the vegetation. Their shape and colour struck me, but the moment prevented me from taking a closer look2. Yesterday, I inspected them properly and beheld for the first time Gladiolus hirsutus, the Small Pink Afrikaner3.

Small Pink Afrikaner (Gladiolus hirsutus), 14 August 2020. Copyright 2020 Forgotten Fields. All rights reserved.

Another first sighting in the same field was of a white flower (below) that grew low upon the ground, that I am yet to identify4. There were some familiar faces too, however, most notably Lobelia tomentosa, its delicate violet flowers, no bigger than a fingertip, fluttering in the breeze. Look closely: a tiny, almost translucent spider is hiding behind its lower lip!

Unknown Flower, 14 August 2020. Copyright 2020 Forgotten Fields. All rights reserved.Lobelia tomentosa, 14 August 2020. Copyright 2020 Forgotten Fields. All rights reserved.

  1. “Cape” is taken from “The Cape”, the colloquial name for the Western Cape province of South Africa.
  2. I managed only to take the unfortunate photograph below from several metres away before hastily having to move on: Lilies in a Field, 07 August 2020. Copyright 2020 Forgotten Fields. All rights reserved.
  3. “Afrikaner” is Afrikaans for “of or from Africa” (pronounced [uffRikaahneR] with the [u] in “bluff”, a trilled [R] and the [i] in “in”), a word you would arrive at were you to add the “-er” in “southerner” to “(South) African”: “Africaner”.
  4. At first, I thought it was a relation of Hibiscus aethiopicus, which I encountered for the first time in 2018, but that species is alone in its genus. Scour as I might my reference book, I see nothing that resembles the flower.

Pretty Pink Pipes

Tritoniopsis lata, 7 May 2020. Copyright 2020 Forgotten Fields. All rights reserved.

On Thursday, I was struck by flashes of bright pink in a field thick with fynbos. Upon inspection, I discovered a flower I had not encountered before, Tritoniopsis lata. Some of the specimens were deep pink (visible in the out-of-focus background) whilst others, like this one, were considerably lighter. Tritoniopsis lata blooms from March to May (autumn in South Africa) and is related to Tritoniopsis triticea, which blooms from January to April (midsummer to mid-autumn in South Africa).

March Lilies in February

March Lilies in February, 7 February 2020. Copyright 2020 Forgotten Fields. All rights reserved.

After an extended period of drought, the Western Cape province of South Africa has experienced a rainy summer. So unusual is this that wild autumn lilies have sprung from the ground a month early!1 Expected only after the first rain of March, this is the Belladonna lily (Amaryllis belladonna) blooming in early February—high summer in South Africa!

March Lilies in February, 7 February 2020. Copyright 2020 Forgotten Fields. All rights reserved.
March Lilies in February, 7 February 2020. Copyright 2020 Forgotten Fields. All rights reserved.

  1. The South African autumn begins in March and ends in May.

An Antelope and a Lily

Aandpypie (Gladiolus liliaceus), 19 October 2018. Copyright 2018 Forgotten Fields. All rights reserved.
Gladiolus lileaceus (Taken 19 October 2018)

A delightful fact I neglect to mention is that my beloved Gladiolus liliaceus, commonly known as the Large Brown Afrikaner and Aandpypie1 (“little evening pipe”2), has yet another common Afrikaans name: the Ribbokblom3, that is, the “rhebok flower”!

Whence the name, I can only speculate—perhaps because the rhebok itself is as rare, or that both are found on hillsides and are brownish-grey? Nonetheless, what are the odds that two of my favourite things—an antelope and a lily—should be thus connected!

  1. [aahnd-paypee]
  2. After the flower that opens at night.
  3. [Ribbok-blom] with a trilled “R” and a short [awh] version of the “o” in “or”.

Lilies in the Morning

Gladiolus liliaceus, 15 September 2019. Copyright 2019 Forgotten Fields. All rights reserved.
Gladiolus liliaceus

I encountered one of the first Large Brown Afrikaner lilies (Gladiolus liliaceus) of spring this morning. It stood on the same wayside where I saw another (of the cream-coloured variety), last October. Once home, I invited my mother to return to the flower to admire it. Upon her suggestion, we strolled further up the dirt road and what should we see but another of the same flower, precariously blooming on the verge!

Gladiolus liliaceus, 15 September 2019. Copyright 2019 Forgotten Fields. All rights reserved.
The first lily I saw.
Gladiolus liliaceus, 15 September 2019. Copyright 2019 Forgotten Fields. All rights reserved.
The second lily on the very edge of the road bank, still mauve and open on the overcast morning, likely to turn brown (or cream) and close when the sun appears.
(If you listen carefully at the 15 seconds mark, you can hear one of the Clapper Lark species, Mirafra apiata marjoriae, flap its wings and whistle in the distance.)

We then crossed the road, and there in the field, were more lilies scattered amongst the bushes! These I did not photograph; they were at some distance, and I did not have the right lens (it never occurred to me to use the iPhone). My mother told me how, when she was a child, on the first school day of spring, they had to bring a wildflower to class. She would come to that very field to pick a lily, three kilometres from her home!