What Is Old Is New Again (Soon)
I love visiting really old landscaping that hasn't been changed in decades. It's a time capsule of past plant fashion. Since gardens are so ephemeral--they are constantly changed and updated (around here, anyway), seeing plantings that were done back in the '50s or '60s fascinates me.
When I first saw the Ficus elastica amidst the other shrubberies at an apartment complex, I thought perhaps a former vacating resident had stuck it in amongst the other shrubs to get rid of it before moving. Then I saw quite a few others scattered throughout the complex, and realized they were part of the original design. I've not seen this plant used lately outdoors, but it's ripe for a comeback, don't you think? Very contempo-hipster, seems to me. This group of big healthy old specimens was inland quite a ways, so it can probably handle a bit of frost.
While I have a horror of anything Ficus due to their monsterous surface roots, I thought they looked pretty sharp. What is old will soon be new again, no doubt.
What was once new is now old. The day we got the young adult Hoover, nearly fourteen years ago, the rescue group representative dropped him off. Hoover walked briefly around the house, keeled over like a axe-felled tree, and was instantly and deeply asleep. He decided he was home. Fourteen years later, he's started doing that again. He eats dinner and is so worn out by the effort, he falls over by his dish and takes a nap. We're both exhausted these days. He needs much care. What was once new is now old.
Time passing. The Urginea maritimia is blooming, as it does about this time every year. It's finally split into two, so we have a double bloom, ivory against the marine-layer ivory sky. In a few years it will split again, into four, and hence eight and sixteen, should no one decide to dig up the bowling ball-sized bulbs. Long may it divide.
I'm still awaiting the boat-mast-sized bloom stalk on the Agave desmetianas out front. It looks as though they will outlive Hoover. In both cases, there will be a new pup replacing the old. Time passes. Not always gracefully, but sometimes so. Here in Southern California, it is September that seems like the start of a new year.