Perky pollinator

A tui, sighted perched on a flower stalk (korari) of the flax commonly found along the south coast - wharariki or Phormium cookianum.  I don't know who was more surprised, the agile bird feeding on nectar from the handily beak-shaped flowers, or me.  A few seconds later this bird had flown - but not before I had done my paparazzi act.  The bird's pose looks staged, but it was just in brief freeze mode before it flew - my attention apparently unwelcome for this perky performer.

There are noticeably more tui (Prosthemadera novaeseelandiae) around Wellington since a predator-free sanctuary was created.  They are engaging birds, very vocal and good at mimicry (cellphone ringtones, for example!).  From a distance they look a glossy black with a little tuft of white feathers at their throats and a light dusting of white feathers on the neck like a lacy collar.  Closer up you can see that there are soft brown patches of feathers on the back and above the legs, and that the dark feathers have a greenish-blue iridescent sheen.  The orange patch above its beak is pollen from the flowers it has been feeding on -

Wharariki flowers, showing the prominently positioned sticky bright orange pollen - as seen in the patch above the tui's beak.  The pollen is placed so that it will brush on the visiting bird's head and thus be conveyed to another flower - cross pollination is required, and the flowers are shaped so that the feeding bird drinks deep into the flower.  Very neat!

Holding on

I do wonder what the coast would have looked like before it was so disturbed by our activity and our mostly accidental plant introductions which are at times plant invasions. You might wonder, why worry about introduced weeds if they are colourful and pretty, or even just if they are successful in difficult terrain?  On one hand, they can be enjoyed and appreciated.  But on the other hand, a successful newcomer can do harm to a whole environment - to the survival not just of the original plants, but also of animals that are adapted to those environments.  Replanting and conservation efforts give us a glimpse of what we could lose if we don't care for the native plants that belong here.  The native ice plant Horokaka, or Disphyma australe, copes with tough coastal conditions - salty winds, dry shingle or sand.  The pale pink flowers open and close with sunlight, and the creeping succulent branches and leaves lie close to the ground.  Although introduced forms of ice plant which are larger in form and flower can threaten the horokaka, it has been replanted and is doing very well along the coast here.

Like many native plants it is rather shy and small-flowered, but its delicate beauty belies its toughness and capacity for survival - provided we give it a chance. 

Pretty hairy

Introduced plants that find their footing along the south coast are by necessity equipped with features that make them survivors against the salty air, the desiccating wind, and so on.  Hairs on leaves are such a feature - creating an effective protective coating.

The pictured leaves are covered with fine hairs which give them a velvety appearance and enhance their soft green which looks particularly lovely in the morning light.  They belong to a mallow plant growing on the south coast.  But what is its name?

My research leaves me a bit unsure - it looks very like the mallow which is a weed along Australia's coast, and was called Malva dendromorpha, but this name was preceded by Malva arborea and Lavatera arborea, and it could be Malva maritima.  I guess all I can say is that it has the characteristic pretty flowers and upright growth and soft palmately lobed leaves of... shall I call it a tree mallow?

Whichever it is, this plant belongs to a family of plants with medicinal and culinary uses, and some forms are used in gardens.  With its capacity for survival it has the qualities to be a notified weed, although it seems not to be listed as such for New Zealand - yet. 

A backlit flower stem in bright sunlight shows the pretty pinkish purple mallow flower, purple buds and the hairy stem and leaves.  This plant is growing beside Princess Bay, battered by the salty wind and looking quite undeterred.

Turbulence

I have learned to accept, mostly, the marked turbulence of spring - tender new growth appears on plants, the days lengthen, there is more sunlight, even warmth - it feels expansive, the sap rises literally and metaphorically.  But the wind shifts, the temperature plummets, we hunker down again, seeking warmth, covering up and sheltering, a time for retreat and protection.  I used to rue the damage wrought by those winds - snapping the stems of tomato seedlings, bruising new leaves.  I rationalise, and it is mostly true, that those plants that survive are more likely to be resilient.  And I am more realistic about what I plant, when I plant, providing protection, and so on.  These weather patterns of turbulence and calm are quite like the patterns in our lives - periods of equilibrium and periods of disruption - and how we learn to respond and care for our plants are lessons we might apply to how we care for ourselves and all that is around us.  On the south coast there is a beauty in the impact of the storms...and a relief when, as today, the warmth and calm begin to return.

A couple contemplate the southerly swell from the rocky shore of Houghton Bay, on Wellingon's south coast, looking towards Taputeranga.  Life and the weather - times of turbulence and times of calm.  And beauty in all of it.

Pretty and prolific

A colourful spring display which appears each year, on a hillside by Wellington's south coast - pretty plants which are potential problems:  Centranthus ruber or false valerian, a garden escapee of Mediterranean origin in white, pink, and crimson - it grows in all kinds of inauspicious places, such as stone walls or highly alkaline soils, and produces a great profusion of tiny seed;  Lupinus arboreus, tree lupin from California, with its yellow spires - often planted to stabilise sand dunes, its seed pods pop explosively scattering seed widely;  Senecio glastifolius, holly leaved senecio or pink ragwort with its pink and purplish daisies, from South Africa - toxic to stock, a great coloniser of disturbed soil, it highlights any such areas with its massed flowers.  All great survivors.  All with the potential to overwhelm vulnerable native plants.  This great display is not just for our pleasure!  But in this case they have not taken over, in fact the area they fill is dwindling, so I enjoy them while they last.

Golden

At sunset, when the sun is just about to disappear behind a headland, the golden light seems to be particularly intense - perhaps the contrast with the deepening shadows makes it seem so very bright, able to burnish and beautify almost anything.  Along the south coast between Island Bay and Owhiro Bay the road is right beside the rocky shore.  At the road's edge is a footpath and a strip of impoverished soil supporting native grasses, flaxes, and coprosmas, but also introduced grasses and wildflowers.  Plants are called weeds when they are growing too successfully in places we don't want them to.  These wildflowers are a symptom of a disrupted environment - but I very much doubt that they are the reason the native vegetation is so limited, and I don't just think of them as weeds.  It seems that we humans try to impose our ideas on the natural environment in all kinds of ways, usually when we become aware of our unthinking impact.  Even within New Zealand some of our native plants are being regarded as weeds after flourishing too well when planted in places beyond their normal habitat.  Introduced plants have certainly caused problems but they are also part of the production, beauty and diversity of life here.  As for these little golden plants, however you regard them, the lacy froth of the flowers and the textures of the grasses are very pleasing to my eye.

Grasses and wildflowers, backlit by the golden evening light, along Wellington's south coast, with a distant view of the South Island.

Full moon fly-past

The full moon is rising in the early evening, up into a soft pink sky over the hills along the south coast from Island Bay to Houghton Bay.  The island, Taputeranga, is out of the picture to the right and shelters the waters that we are looking across - but the weather is more settled anyway, and the skies have cleared.  It is a peaceful time, a transition, muted sounds of distant traffic, the ebb and flow of the water, and the sharp scent that conveys the salty dampness of the seashore.  A noisy formation of seagulls flies past, saluting the end of the day.

Light effects

The morning light broke through some rather dramatic clouds and made a brief display of "god beams" which act like searchlights, focusing on the landscape and bringing into contrast the soft shapes of the Orongorongo foothills, viewed from Island Bay.  The only evidence of human activity are the little white dots which are the two Pencarrow lighthouses, sitting by the eastern entrance to Wellington Harbour.  The upper one was New Zealand's first permanent lighthouse, first "lit" on 1 January 1859.  Mary Bennett and her husband had tended a makeshift beacon, but after he drowned (the "New Zealand death" for early settlers) she became the first and only female lighthouse keeper in New Zealand.  Low fog was a problem for the lighthouse on the hill - it is in a much more exposed position than it seems from this angle - and the second was built down by the shore in 1906.  The lights burned together until 1935 when the Baring Head lighthouse, further along, took over.

The little white structures remind me of all kinds of things - the might of the sea, the courage of the keepers and people who take to the sea, the drama and changeability of the elements, and how a simple thing like a beam of light can mean so much and be so important. 

More shy flowers bold leaves

Another grey day, but Coprosma repens - taupata or "mirror plant" has a fresh and sparkly look because of the very glossy leaves which also make it such a successful coastal plant, and this cultivar has the added zing of multicoloured leaves in green, gold, yellow, orange and red.  The flowers, on the other hand, are shy and tiny - clustered together on the stem behind the leaves.  These are male flowers (you can tell by the dangling stamens).  Although Coprosma repens is apparently dioecious - separate male and female plants - I am sure that I have seen male flowers on a plant which also produces the lovely orange drupes (berries) which the birds love to eat.  Must check again...

The shy flowers and bold leaves of Coprosma 'Painter's Palette'.

A breath of fresh green

At Otari (Otari Native Botanic Garden - to give it the full name which I never hear used) the diversity of New Zealand native plants can be so readily accessed and enjoyed it is easy to escape the sense of being in a city.  There are areas of more natural bush in Wilton's Bush, but for a brief visit and sense of renewal Otari meets my needs beautifully.  I read some time ago about the Japanese term "shinrin yoku" which was translated as "forest bathing" - the idea of becoming immersed in a forest environment for health purposes.  (This is apparently a relatively recent concept from 1982, originating in the Akazawa Natural Recreation Forest in Agematsu.)  Research has looked at the elements which might be helpful (such as chemicals released by the plants, textures, scents, sounds, temperature and light patterns) and the impact that walking in the forest has on people's stress levels, immune response, and so on.  The benefits seem to be substantial.  I don't need a health reason, I just like to breathe it all in...

The path wanders through the fresh greens of the mixed NZ native plants, glistening after a rainshower - climbers decorating the trunks of the trees which tower over the treeferns, shrubs, rengarenaga lilies and other perennials.  Ahhh.