Rob Perez
Consider the Lupine. Intriguing for many reasons, including its pronunciation. In spite of the way it’s spelled, don’t call it a Lou Pine unless you enjoy being looked at funny, over reading glasses. ‘Loo-pin is the correct way to say it. Got it? Good.
Now – the Lupine is a purple flower, though some are red-purple, and some are blue purple. A few Lupines are pink, white and/or blue. Those are rare and considered, in the scientific community, not purple.
Should you find yourself looking to slip the Latin name for the Lupine, Lupinus, into your conversation, perhaps you might reconsider your choice of dinner companion. Also, you might want to brush up on social graces that existed before the pandemic, certain niceties that suggested you might want to keep Latin out of it.
The Lupine is a vertical flower, growing straight up on a single stem. Some plants have very good posture, while others have what the late, great PBS painter Bob Ross, called “the leaniesâ€Â. I would add that some stems also have “the bendies†®, though I have also overheard hushed conversations about “Lupine disfunctionâ€Â.
The buds start about two thirds the way up the stem, jut straight out, and look kind of like a space station that looks really cool but is actually completely impractical. Some stems have only a handful of rows, but others have over twenty. Those with more buds are, according to me, better.
The Lupine, as far as I can tell does not eat anything. At least I’ve never seen them eat anything. But if I had to guess, I’d say they were herbivories, which makes them, in the plant kingdom, hippies. Some consider the Lupine a flower; others consider it a weed. I am not a botanist, nor would my editor let me write a story about weeds that live in a ditch so I’m going with flower. Also, I went to college with many a Grateful Dead fan and I can tell you that ditch weed is a very different thing altogether.
The most notable thing about this purple flower is that, like songs of the siren, it seems to call to passing cars. Drivers, almost without realizing it, put their hazards on, pull over, and answer the call. Shooters corral small children – or any passenger, really – to pose with these purple blooms, both photographer and subject trying to pretend they’re not in a ditch. (Did I mention the Lupine likes to live in a ditch?)
The Dance of the Ditch begins with the supercilious shooter demanding the subject to be one with the flower. The puzzled subject points out: you want me to stand in a ditch? Nonetheless, subjects are coaxed beside the ditch, to lean over the ditch, onto an incline of the ditch, to straddle the ditch, and even to stand in an inch of water at the bottom of the ditch. It’s a wonderful dance.
Lupine season is upon us. Just don’t call it a Lou Pine Season – and maybe toss some waterproof dancing shoes in the car, just in case.