Where have all the flowers gone? – long time passing…

When I was 5 years old my my father sent me  a postcard of Claude Monet’s Poppies painted near Argenteul.  Ever since I have been in love with poppies and actually all wildflowers generally. I remember turning the postcard every which way in my childish hands and dreaming about the life of the two people descending through the lush field. Who was this full-skirted woman holding an umbrella and her child whose upper body barely edged above the wild blooms? And who was the nearly identical twosome further back?  Times have not changed for me and I still have the tattered postcard, stamped in Paris. Surely there is nothing in the world as romantic as that image with its red in a swirling sea of green, or is it the green in a swirling sea of red?

Right now I sit here in Masia Lavanda, a Sunday afternoon in March, entombed in thermals, gloves and a long colourful scarf.  Although it is sunny, a bitter cold wind is circling the house like a deranged howling dervish, banging my stone walls menacingly. Instead of the gentle patter of much needed rain, I am being treated to a cacaphonous symphony that sounds surprisingly metallic. At a loose end, and a bit anxious, I look back at my flower photos from years ago around these parts and feel a kernel of worry tinged with longing for what seems gone.

In El Maestrat the apricot and almond flowers of late February are a welcome burst of cheer amidst the fading winter grey. They herald the demise of dormancy and the start of nature’s growth. But nothing can compare to the poppies of late spring that last for weeks.  They bring pockets of beauty to unexpected places; a piece of wasteland, a fallow field, a plot of land with a long faded “se vende” sign.  The predominately blue-green vista of olive and oak shrub is brightened by the waving fields of vivid reds. These are gradually joined by a singsong of wildflowers, intermingling with the poppies in May, then taking over as they die.

But that was then. Not an “is” anymore.  Overnight it seems the poppies broadly disappeared, followed by the wild flowers. The land has taken on a charred look and even the ubiquitous grey greens are subdued. I can remember nothing in the last three years.  The almond trees still flower, albeit more sparsely while my apricots have bloomed sporadically. It would be so easy to forget the healthy lushness of this area without these photos to remind me.

Where have all the flowers gone? –  I ask no one but myself out loud. ” Young girIs”  have picked them everyone”, sang  Pete Seeger in 1955.  No, not young girls, more likely mankind as a whole. Through global warming?  Let’s blame global warming for everything!

The truth is it could be anything. Pesticides, herbicides, too many artificial fertilizers, a tilt of the planet? Even on my land which is virgin in every aspect, they have practically disappeared, along with the underlying nuisance plants. But the winds have not disappeared. They have become relentless after months of too hot weather and are forming the plants to their will.

It is said there are more species of wildflowers in the upper regions of Spain than anywhere else in Europe. The poor, yet calcium laden mountain soil and sparse population has much to do with it.  Above me, they still prosper where it is cooler and humid of a night, but here, not so much. If this continues we will lose so many rare and valuable species.  I think of the Sahara Desert; it is hard to believe it was once covered in green.  Here we are embarking on a  third year of extreme drought. Don’t poppies and wildflowers thrive in dry conditions? Yes, but not this dry I guess.  Please let us parrot the Indians who used to do rain dances in the wilds of America centuries ago.  Poppies and wildflowers in late spring.  Apricot and almond blooms at the tail of winter. What magic! Please let them come again!  I live in hope and dance…

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