One day it occurred to me that if one was searching for variety amongst plants, leaves were quite as interesting as flowers, though not nearly as gaudy. I began collecting pictures and suddenly realized that I was likely to clog my archives with zillions of leaf pix. It was time to publish and get over the obsession!
How about a strawberry leaf for starters. When this image was blown up, the little hairs on the leaves were quite apparent -- and highlight the edges, a plus for the photographer. The nasturtium leaf (below) is quite distinct, being round with the stem in the center instead of one end. Good in salads, too.
English ivy leaves are darker than many, also being rather leathery, not to mention evergreen, no doubt a major reason for the popularity of the vine. Apparently, ivy is given to spontaneous generation of leaf varieties; I noted a new branch on my porch with spikier lobes just this morning.
An object for size comparison is really needed when you present a honking big hollyhock leaf. Say, a baseball mitt or small sauce pan. But then everything about the hollyhock is somewhat supersized.
The coral bell leaf is a rounded shape like the hollyhock, but smaller. Again, note the general fuzziness. BTW, why all those highlights? The plant had just been watered.
A leaf group from the emery oak, our local evergreen tree oak which produces Gourmet Acorns -- nuts that are edible when they fall to the ground. Quite unusual for an oak; the rule is that acorns have to be retted to
get rid of the bitter tannin.
The scrub turbinella oak is a totally different creature. For example, take a look at those spikey leaves, which remain spikey when they've been in the mulch heap for a couple of years.
In Arizona, one is advised to wear garden gloves at all times! Scrub oak is one of the reasons.
It always cheers me up when these big cotyledon leaves pop open in my garden pots. The first sign of morning glory, these distinctive leaves were curled up inside the seed.
The next leaves are usually these heart-shaped affairs, tho some reds grow highly lobed leaves (below).
The lacy leaves of scarlet gilia, a plant that colors the roadsides near Flagstaff a brilliant red in the fall.
Mountain mahogany, with spent flowers about to produce those curlicue seeds that glow in the sunlight. Another evergreen, with quite small leaves.
A total mystery, a grey ground cover from the nursery. Up close, the leaves look to have been produced by knitting.
Dandylion, either a weed or a food plant, depending upon your point of view.
And why am I closing this post with a sprig of paintbrush? First, because it is bright R.E.D. But also because the bright red parts are actually modified
leaves which enclose the small flowers, which you can distinguish if you look carefully.
I am quite the opposite of the rose garden fetishist; I believe in the easiest roses possible. Especially when you consider that my "soil" consists three or four inches of decayed granite on top of more or less solid rock on a hillside. So I make do with pots. And not those big, beautiful, pricey pots, either, but pots of a modest size.
Nor do I buy my roses at the nursery. No, I buy around Mother's Day or some other sentimental holiday at the local supermarket. You know, those little containers with miniature roses that make such thoughtful gifts that usually dry up to be thrown away. But put the plants in an eight or ten inch, three gallon pot and they'll grow into a modestly sized bush, rewarding you with flowers throughout the warm months.
They're not those big, lush roses that fanciers prefer but instead pretty little blossoms, like my yellow and pink above.
Another solution is an Arizona wild rose. Next my front landing, which is one flight up the hill, I've a lusty bush growing in the hillside soil quite happily; I just make sure it gets a bit more water than would happen naturally. It rewards me with simple 5-petaled pale pink flowers in late spring.
You do have to be careful, of course; wild roses specialize in nasty little thorns.
At this time of year, the wild roses are spent, leaving me with a fine crop of rose hips. There's only one slightly domesticated rose that might survive, possibly prosper on my land -- those wonderful yellow Henderson roses (below) brought to Prescott by the pioneers. They border the Sharlot Hall Museum grounds on Gurley Street and I've seen them here and there in town. Unfortunately, they multiply only by sending out runners. No seeds or I could easily start a plant as I did the wild rose.
The nurseries do not carry these old fashioned favorites, as they are in demand only during that brief two or three week window when they bloom at Sharlot Hall. But they are survivors -- I recall two huge bushes along Iron Springs Road in Skull Valley that had been neglected for years, but they thrived. My kind of plant!
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