[I originally posted this entry as early access for my Patreon patrons on 19 October 2024].
A Lathyrus odoratus plant in one of my client's gardens.
marguerite in bud
[I originally posted this entry as early access for my Patreon patrons on 17 May 2024].
of gorse
[I originally posted this entry as early access for my Patreon patrons on 21 March 2024].
a year later... or thereabouts.
So, it's been a year since Mum passed. Well, kind of.
I mean, she died at 06:10 on 1 March 2023 AEDT, but for me, that means her time of death was actually 19:10 GMT on 28 February 2023.
So, for me, that should mean the anniversary of her passing was on 28 February 2024.
Except that this year is a leap year, so 06:10 AEDT on 1 March 2024 was 19:10 GMT on 29 February 2024.
Confused yet?
If I base the anniversary on the date she passed away in Australia (as that's where she was), then I'm posting this late. But it's still only 1 March 2024 here in London, so I guess I get longer to mark the anniversary.
Has anyone noticed I possess a certain sentimentality and a penchant for marking such important dates at precisely the right moment?
Though I didn't have a chance to post about it at either of the potentially recognised moments, it's been on my mind for some time, particularly during the evening on 28 February when it felt like I should acknowledge the passing of a year since her death.
Dad and I acknowledged the anniversary within the hour of her passing on 1 March 2024, his time, in our family WhatsApp chat.
Yesterday afternoon, a little before and a little after my day's sitting with Francois ended, and before I left for my first sitting of the year with my regulars, I edited these two photos to share with this post acknowledging the anniversary.
Although I don't think she had any particular preference for daffodils (I don't remember them appearing often within bouquets she bought or received), her death will now be inextricably linked to them in my mind because of her passing on St David's Day and, in particular, because of her Welsh ancestry.
So, I was already thinking ahead to today when I photographed these two specimens in Frank's backyard the last weekend I sat him in mid-February. Knowing there would be photographs of daffodils as part of my tribute to her this year, as I have access to very few photos of her, and most I've already shared. While thinking ahead to the date and time conundrum as the impact of this leap year had already occurred to me by then.
One thing I didn't get to do while I was visiting Dad was to pore over their photo albums. Two weeks isn't a long time when you're working part-time, sorting through your deceased mother's personal effects and catching up with family you haven't seen in person in about three years.
I didn't know how I would feel one year on. If I'm honest, I still don't.
I mean, there's definitely been a sea of emotions surging around me for the past week or so.
I initially hoped to write my thoughts on the "exact" anniversary (for me). But practical matters had to be dealt with. So, instead, I sort of softly welled up thinking about it without having the time or capacity to put the feelings into words. But knowing I would when I could.
I know it's cliched to say it feels like less than a year, but in the same breath, to say it feels more than a year. But it does.
It's been less than a year since we said goodbye as a family and scattered her ashes.
It's been more than a year since she and I last spoke. Or rather, I spoke to her, as she didn't have many words left by then.
So, the passing of time since her passing has been warped and bent. Though that's not uncommon. I know others feel similarly about the passing of their loved ones, even without the added confusion of leap years interfering with their marking of time.
I wrote a lot about her last year. And I don't doubt I will write more in time. I took photos while visiting my family in Australia that triggered memories, anecdotes, and so forth that I hope to capture in words. Some I'll capture for myself. Others I'll share.
In the meantime, as Spring drags its feet returning to England, the daffodils rush in and bloom on the verges and traffic islands, in suburban gardens, central London parks, cemeteries, the local supermarket, the vase in the entry to our building placed there by my Welsh neighbour who lives downstairs. And in my mind.
For Mum. In her memory.
post-floral
blood red
Two of my self-portraits - one from my wallflowers series, the other from my plush series - are included in Issue #123: Color 2024 of F-Stop Magazine, and both feature floral motifs: the wallpaper in one and my dress in the other.
This photograph, which I took in my parents' garden in Redland Bay in 2009, of a Cordyline fruticosa (commonly known as a ti plant) doesn't include a floral motif. But the leaves are so vibrant with the backlighting that they fit the colour theme I submitted to.
Since I've already shared the two photographs included in F-Stop Magazine, I thought I'd share this one alongside the news.
granny's nightcap
[I originally posted this entry as early access for my Patreon patrons on 26 January 2024].
An Aquilegia vulgaris (also known as common columbine, granny's nightcap and granny's bonnet) I photographed in Jo and Becky's backyard in Cotton End while sitting Meg and Mog in August 2022.
stinking willie
[I originally posted this entry as early access for my Patreon patrons on 21 January 2024].
A Jacobaea vulgaris (also known as ragwort, common ragwort and stinking willie) I photographed in Jo and Becky's backyard in Cotton End while sitting Meg and Mog in August 2022.
a single perfect snowflake
[I originally posted this entry as early access for my Patreon patrons on 17 December 2023].
of red bows and holly
[I originally posted this entry as early access for my Patreon patrons on 7 December 2023].
singapore graveyard flower
[I originally posted this entry as early access for my Patreon patrons on 1 December 2023].
Whilst staying with my uncle and his partner in the southern suburbs of Brisbane, shortly after arriving in Australia in June, I ventured out to purchase various devices I lacked.
I had never needed a UK-to-Australian adaptor outside my Apple travel kit, but I relied on a Windows laptop from my day job on this visit. I also needed a replacement cable for my iPhone to feed into my Apple adaptor as my existing cable was lightning to lightning, not lightning to USB, and the adaptor was many years old.
All that is beside the point, really.
The point is that I walked from my uncle's to one of the three plus shopping centres "nearby" (all were at least a 20-minute walk) to get such items, and I took my camera, foreseeing that I could capture something of the local area.
My uncle was somewhat sceptical of what I might find to photograph along the way. Which was, in fairness, understandable. Except my idea of photogenic is often not the same as others’.
These and other flowers I photographed in parkland near my uncle's home were more traditionally photogenic. But, had I not had my camera with me, I wouldn't have captured them (well, I would have, with my phone, as I did, but not at the same quality).
The odd thing, though, has been coming back to these photos months later, knowing they are frangipanis and having Wikipedia tell me that Australia recognises a different tree as a frangipani.
This genus is the only frangipani I know as someone who grew up in Canberra, Brisbane, Darwin, Melbourne, country Victoria, and later in life lived on the Gold Coast, and I photographed these in a park in Sunnybank Hills, Brisbane.
We had what I believe to be a plumeria obtusa on the nature strip at the front of the house we rented in Darwin. I remember the fragrant flowers and climbing into its branches to lounge whilst listening to Madonna's album, Like a Virgin, playing from the cassette player I'd fed out my bedroom window onto the table on the balcony.
I looked up where our house used to be in Rapid Creek (or Nightcliff, as we knew it to be at the time), and though the house is long gone (I already knew this from previous searches of former homes), I'm pleased to say the frangipani tree was still standing in 2021.
granny-pop-out-of-bed
[I originally posted this entry as early access for my Patreon patrons on 17 November 2023].
This post isn't the first time I've shared a photograph of hedge bindweed for my series, a floral tribute. And I'm sure this won't be the last.
Despite being considered a noxious weed in the US and being able to overwhelm and pull down cultivated plants, including shrubs and small trees, and potentially toxic to humans and animals, I think the flowers are beautiful. I tend to photograph them in most places I find them.
In particular, because they're often found in the least beautiful places: by railway lines where people have tossed their trash, growing by or over derelict structures, in the overgrown perimeters of parks and other tended spaces (often alongside brambles and, in this case, stinging nettles).
Reading more about them, they seem like something out of a horror film: they can self-seed, and their seeds can remain viable for as long as 30 years. And whole plants can regrow from discarded roots. Apply those concepts to "dead" humans, and you have the storyline of many of my favourite horror films and novels.
old man's mustard
[I originally posted this entry as early access for my Patreon patrons on 25 October 2023].
Once again, my photography introduces me to new things. I learn from it all the time.
I had difficulty deciding on a title for this post based on the various names for Achillea millefolium: yarrow or common yarrow.
According to Wikipedia, it has many evocative alternative names, including arrowroot, nose bleed, death flower, eerie, hundred leaved grass, knyghten, sanguinary, seven-year's love and snake's grass.
I settled on the one I spoke out loud and chuckled at as I read it.
Apparently, in Ireland and Great Britain, it was believed to be able to foretell your romantic future.
It appears ingesting it has positive and negative effects on humans and animals.
And, for a kid growing up in the 80s, I was amused that yarrow was used to make pick-up sticks. (Though, if I remember correctly, ours were brightly coloured plastic).
These particular specimens were obviously at the end of the season. I photographed them on 10 September 2020 in Pondwicks Meadow in Old Amersham.
darwin’s barberry
[I originally posted this entry as early access for my Patreon patrons on 16 October 2023].
I took this photograph of Berberis darwinii a few streets from where I sit my "regulars" on my birthday this year.
This plant is a perfect example of my argument that "weeds are just plants in the wrong place".
From Wikipedia: It is a popular garden and hedging shrub in the British Isles. The Royal Horticultural Society has given the species its Award of Garden Merit.
and
Berberis darwinii is regarded as an invasive plant pest in New Zealand that escaped from gardens into indigenous plant communities via its bird-dispersed seeds. It is considered a serious threat to indigenous ecosystems throughout New Zealand and is listed on the National Pest Plant Accord.
sundae fraise
[I originally posted this entry as early access for my Patreon patrons on 6 October 2023].
Some Hydrangea paniculata I came across while wandering through Bounds Green in August.
I believe these particular ones are Sundae Fraise.
armenian grape hyacinths
[I originally posted this entry as early access for my Patreon patrons on 25 March 2023].
The last of the (live) flowers I photographed in St Kilda General Cemetery during a visit in September 2007.
Muscari armeniacum or Armenian grape hyacinths.
passiflora caerulea
[I originally posted this entry as early access for my Patreon patrons on 28 February 2023].
I knew the floral name passiflora through a Flickr friend's username over a decade ago but had never seen one or really even knew what they were.
But then, on a photo walk late last year with Sarah, another Flickr friend I met around the same time as I met Mary Elise, we noticed some Passiflora caerulea overhanging a fence facing onto a park that is literally around the corner from the first two flats I lived in when I moved back to London in 2011.
They are beautiful, intricate and eye-catching flowers.
I was pleased to capture a couple of photos of them that day, though the daylight was starting to fade as we passed through Nightingale Gardens.
lamb's tongue (one o'clock gun)
[I originally posted this entry as early access for my Patreon patrons on 4 November 2022].
moth orchid (magenta)
moth orchid (yellow)
[I originally posted this entry as early access for my Patreon patrons on 6 September 2022].
Here are some beautiful Phalaenopsis or moth orchids I photographed the weekend before last in the home of a woman I regularly cat-sit for.
My own have also been flowering, and I captured them a month ago when some of the flowers were still in the bud. I'll share images of those in my next instalment of a floral tribute.
I'm playing 'catch-up' again after returning from my latest cat-sitting gig and dealing with some personal bits and pieces.
There may be a break in my regular cat-sitting for a bit, so that will mean fewer hiatus here, hopefully.
I absolutely adore the kittehs and love spending time with them. But the laptop I use when I'm away isn't great for editing photos (or anything creative). Aside from anything, the screen is too small.
I also feel like I should savour every chance for kitteh snuggles when cat-sitting. So, sitting at a desk instead of reclining on the lounge where I'm more likely to attract those snuggles seems silly.
The impact of my vitamin deficiencies has also been heavily felt lately. I'm thankful I'll have a follow-up appointment with my GP next week as I imagine she will start me on B12 injections, and then maybe I can start to get my energy back. The lethargy and fatigue I fight are becoming... well... tiresome.
I hope you're all doing okay. Feel free to leave a comment to check in and say hello!