Cicero on Friendship

I'm reading his Laelius de Amicitia (translated On Friendship usually). Cicero, speaking through the character of Laelius, contends that friendship is higher than family or neighbor (the relations according to nature), for the very fact that it is not indissoluble. This is radically opposed to our culture's understanding, I think.

Among family, there can be breaches in trust, fidelity, and good-will. Family bonds can be played out partly or entirely on use or pleasure. Yet, family is always family, no matter what. This is why family is a baser form of love. In friendship, however, at the very moment good-will ceases in either one of the two, friendship ceases by definition. And, friendship is not even possible in the first place among those who lack virtue or merely seek to use others for pleasure or social advantages. Relationships such as those are not true friendships at all. Thus, for Cicero, friendship is the highest and rarest love among human beings, requiring more from a man than anything else, such that many or most men are not capable of giving or receiving it.

He says that friendships allow a man to thrive and prosper. In friendship, a man's fortune's are doubled (because two share them together) and his sorrows are halved (because the two share them together). However, it is not for any convenience to himself that a man enters into true friendship (this, again, would be a relationship of use, not friendship). Rather, he who is virtuous makes friends by virtue of his virtue itself, and any benefit is as a side effect.

I'm eager to read more.

Florida Anise, Carolina silverbell, Atamasco Lilies

Spring wildflower season is still in full swing.

Florida anise (Illicium floridanum) belongs to a group, along with Magnolias, of some of the most ancient lineages of flowering plants. It is not closely related to the culinary anise, but has the name because many species in the genus Illicium have an anise-like fragrance. (Star anise - from Illicium verum - is a spice from China). I was just reading that Illicium is derived from the Latin verb illicio, meaning "entice, seduce".

Florida anise, though cousins with the enticing star anise, is not itself enticing, at least fragrance-wise. The anise scent upon crushing the leaves has overtones of rotten fish that persisted on my fingers for quite some time. The flowers, however, are quite lovely. One finds these in the woods in damp shady areas and near streams.

Florida anise (Illicium floridanum)

Florida anise, flower.

Florida anise, close-up.

Another spring beauty found in shady spots near streams is the Carolina silverbell (Halesia carolina). It's a small tree that flowers in spring, followed by wing-like fruit in summer.

Carolina silverbell (Halesia carolina)

Carolina silverbell - aptly named.

Just over the bank from the silverbell I spotted a large colony of Atamasco lilies - the largest I've seen yet. I took off my shoes, rolled up my pants, and crossed to the other side. It was a magnificent sight for wildflower hunters like me.

Atamasco lilies (Zephyranthes atamasco)

They were growing along what looked like an old creek bank, at the base of an oak tree.

Atamasco lilies everywhere.

I couldn't get enough. I filled my camera card.

Haec Dies in Old Roman and Gregorian Chant

I suppose there's something about being a man that relishes in comparison. When I study plants, comparison is pretty much all I'm doing. Taxonomy can be thought of as comparison elevated to a science.

Today, I'm relishing in the comparison of the Easter chant Haec dies, in both the Gregorian style and the reconstructed Old Roman style. Gregorian Chant is really a medieval synthesis of various early Christian chant lineages, including Gallican and Old Roman. Gregorian Chant, as we have it today, is largely due to the revival and restoration efforts of the Solesmes Benedictines in the 19th Century.

There have been more modern efforts, however, to restore Old Roman chant, a chant lineage pre-dating Gregorian Chant. The group Ensemble Organum has made some attempts and released a few albums.

So, for comparison, is more or less the same chant: Haec dies, and one can hear how they are related, although the Old Roman version sounds, to me, more Byzantine, esoteric, mystical, while the Gregorian sounds more austere, simple, tranquil.

I really love the Gregorian; in its sobriety lies its beauty, and from there ascends to ecstasy.

Here's the Gregorian:

And here's the Old Roman:

And here's the translation:

This is the day which the Lord hath made: 

let us be glad and rejoice therein. 

Alleluia.

verse for Easter Sunday:

Give praise to the Lord, for he is good: 

for his mercy endureth for ever. (Psalm 118:1)

[Christ our Passover was sacrificed for us.]

verse for Easter Monday:

Let Israel now say, that he is good: 

that his mercy endureth for ever. (Psalm 118:2)

verse for Easter Tuesday:

Let them say so that have been redeemed by the Lord,

whom he hath redeemed from the hand of the enemy: 

and gathered out of the countries. 

(Psalm 107:2)

Chewacla with Friends and Red Buckeyes

Yesterday, after work, I met two old friends who are in town and their baby at Chewacla. I asked if she (the baby) had been to Chewacla before. Not outside of the womb, they said. I think I was with them in Chewacla while she was in the womb, too. I suppose Chewacla is our place.

It was beautiful yesterday. I was there to identify all the plants; my friend was there to identify all the rocks (at the park one finds 1.2 billion year old foundation rocks and 900 million year old "new" rocks from one of the periods in which Alabama was covered in sea).

In any case, I had my camera and took photos of plants. The red buckeyes (Aesculus pavia) were amazing in bloom. I took (too) many photos of them. I selected three:

Red buckeye (Aesculus pavia)

Bumblebees loved the red buckeye. I've read hummingbirds love them, too, but didn't see any.

The forest floor was covered in red buckeye for as far as you could see.

A few weeks ago I posted photos of violet wood-sorrel (Oxalis violacea). Now one of her yellow cousins is blooming. There are several yellow species that grow in Alabama, and I am having a hard time distinguishing them. Based on photos, this one looks like the tufted yellow wood-sorrel (Oxalis priceae). Some may have heard of oxalates, which can form kidney stones. The dianion is named after Oxalis.  

A yellow wood-sorrel, possibly the "tufted" species (Oxalis priceae)

Other sights:

Native azalea, probably Piedmont azalea (Rhododendron canescens) growing in the wild. Fragrance level: intoxicating honeysuckle.

View from the highest point in the park, Chewacla Creek below. Ugly water tower in the distance.

Chewacla Creek (or a branch thereof)

Cherokee Rose

Dad took cuttings from Cherokee roses growing in the woods and planted them along our fence. Their fierce thorns augment the barbed wire. The Cherokee rose (Rosa laevigata) is the state flower of Georgia, but it's actually native to southern China and persists here as an invasive. The plant has canes that cling to trees with their thorns, growing long enough to scale a pine tree. Single while flowers cover the vine in spring.

Cherokee rose (Rosa laevigata)

Cherokee rose

Other beauties of the day:

Blue toadflax (Nuttallanthus canadensis), a native relative of snapdragon.

Blue toadflax, next to the pond.

Atamasco lily (Zephyranthes atamasco), our native Easter lily.

Triune Atamasco lily

White oak (Quercus alba) new leaves unfurling.

Resurrexi

I am risen, and I am always with you, alleluia; you have placed your hand upon me, alleluia; your wisdom has been shown to be most wonderful, alleluia, alleluia. O Lord, you have searched me and known me; you know when I sit down and when I rise up. 

Monk Grown Flowers

Happy Easter! My Benedictine friend who blogs at The Cloister Garden shared some flowers with me that he has grown, part of a new initiative of his. I love his concept and labeling. He sent me three large, healthy-looking canna rhizomes and a packet of celosia seeds, old fashioned flowers that make me think of my great grandmother!

Abbey Flowers

I also took a few other photos this weekend:

'Admiral Semmes' azalea still going strong in dappled sunlight, with blue woodland phlox in the background.

These are flowers of the common pawpaw (Asimina triloba). They smell like the fruit do: sweet/banana/tropical-like.

Fava beans in flower. I will have to try these again another winter. I think with inoculation, mulch, and earlier planting, they could be more prolific. I find the flowers interesting.

Fava bean plants. Good for the soil.

Fava beans (Vicia faba) are not technically beans, but rather a species of vetch. Black-eyed peas and cow peas (Vigna unguiculata) are not technically peas, but beans. It seems gardeners have got their legumes all mixed up!

Good Friday

At lunch today, I passed St. Vincent de Paul parish. I saw cars outside, so I stopped. I walked in the tiny church and found myself interrupting the Fourteenth Station of the Cross. I knelt and waited for the end. A member of the parish introduced herself to me in the closet-sized narthex. Then she introduced me to the priest. Apparently Hornsby is a big name around there, but I am not closely related to any of the ones they mentioned. I also found out that my dad's former boss, from whom he bought our business back in 1984, is a parishioner there. Small world.

I was listening to a funeral motet by Victoria and started crying. My cousin Rusty had a stillborn daughter whose funeral is at 3:00 today at the little church a mile from where I work, where all my immediate family is buried.

I will go to the Good Friday liturgy tonight and watch The Passion of the Christ afterward with a few friends.

Chapman's Rhododendron & Friends

A rhododendron or an azalea? As with many plant common names, the distinction is somewhat arbitrary, though it has some basis in morphology and genetics. All azaleas and rhododendrons belong to the genus Rhododendron. Chapman's rhododendron (R. chapmanii), sometimes known as Chapman's azalea, is an endangered species native to Florida. It is an evergreen shrub closely related to some of the other Southern rhododendrons, R. minus and R. carolinianum. (Some classify Chapman's azalea as R. minus var. chapmanii.) They have a few growing at the arboretum in Auburn.

Chapman's rhododendron (Rhododendron chapmanii)

A few deciduous native azaleas were also in flower.

Piedmont azalea (Rhododendron canescens)

Piedmont azalea close-up

Holy Thursday

Sometimes it seems that, when an important time is coming, such as the Triduum, either something within my psychological state, or an evil spirit, wants to sabotage all my good efforts. I remember, in my first full day of being Catholic, Easter Sunday, I already needed to go to confession. It was a sobering and humiliating start to my supposed convert honeymoon period.

In the past few days it seems like most of my good habits fell through, and bad habits got worse. I woke up this morning and thought, "Is this really the way I want to begin the Triduum?"

But God's power is made perfect in infirmity, and every time like this shows me that my salvation is not a present I give myself, not a product of my own genius and willpower, but something first and foremost initiated and nurtured by God, for His own glory. 

'Admiral Semmes'

The 'Admiral Semmes' azalea I planted a few years ago is blooming now.

Rhododendron 'Admiral Semmes'

It's a native azalea hybrid. Raphael Semmes was a Catholic Confederate naval officer of international fame (or infamy) in the War Between the States. On the CSS Alabama, he captured 65 U.S. merchant vessels and destroyed the USS Hatteras. After the war he settled in Mobile. I made a little "pilgrimage" to his grave in the old Catholic cemetery there a few years ago.

The Narcissus I crossed and grew from seed is flowering also. It was the first plant I crossed and raised myself, and the first time I started bulbs from seed. The flowers are dime-sized, but profuse and very fragrant.

Narcissus "Ross's strain"

Pepper watched me garden.

Silence (Shusaku Endo)

Last weekend I met someone who is coming into the Church this Easter. We were talking about interests and favorite authors. He mentioned Jesuits and Japan, so I threw out Shusaku Endo's novel Silence as a book he might like to read. I saw him two days later, and he said the book already arrived from Amazon and he was 30 pages into it. I saw him again two days after that, and he had finished it.

We started talking about the book, and I realized he was under the impression that I had read it (sometimes I recommend books I haven't read yet. I suppose that's a misleading habit). I bought the book two years ago while I was visiting Indiana, but it has remained dormant on my shelf since then.

Shusaku Endo was a Japanese author, born and raised Catholic in Japan. The novel is about Portuguese Jesuit missionaries in Japan during the brutal persecution of Catholics that led many to apostatize, even some missionaries themselves. (Almost every thing I've read about him as a novelist compares him to Graham Greene).

After our conversation, I took up the book, and I saw that Martin Scorsese has made a film from the novel, which he has apparently had in mind since the early 90s, set to be released at the end of this year.

Silence, a film adaptation of Shusaku Endo's novel, to be released this year.

So, now I'm finally going to read Silence, and I'm looking forward to the film.

Ethical choices

I was tempted to intervene with the life of a tree my dad planted, but I won't do it. It's his property, after all, and he is my father. Applying the golden rule, I would not want someone who thinks he knows better than me making executive decisions about my property in defiance with my wishes ... therefore, the ethical choice is obvious.

Sonny Boy

I went to dinner with my dad and his two best friends. They told stories from the good old days. 

Dad's grandmother Mamaw never learned how to drive or got her license. Papaw got his license but never learned how to drive. After his third wreck his license was revoked. Their last house had electricity but no running water. Dad was eleven at the time. 

"Sonny Boy, if you take me down to the store to get some beer I'll give you one."

Dad - Sonny Boy, as Papaw used to say - drove him there from age eleven onward, having to peer through the steering wheel for the first few years. 

***John said the general store owner wouldn't sell you alcohol or tobacco unless you could put your chin over the counter. There was another man, though, whose only qualification was green paper, with no questions asked***

The deputy sheriffs used to pull Dad over sometimes. "Nigel, get your ass back home," they'd say, shaking their heads, "You know you're not supposed to be on the road."

Then he'd head on back with Papaw's five pack and Sonny Boy's one. 

Not Early Music: The Cranberries

A friend sent this to me for St. Patrick's Day. I had forgotten about this song. I like The Cranberries, though. Those do's!

The Cranberries - Ode to My Family

Dwarf Pawpaw

The dwarf (or smallflower) pawpaw (Asimina parviflora) is like the common pawpaw (A. triloba), but has tiny flowers and fruit and only grows to be a shrub or small tree. This is the kind of pawpaw I see in the woods around here. Zebra swallowtail butterflies use it as a host plant. It's flowering now. My common pawpaw at my mom's house is not far behind.

A Walk in the Woods

The woods were especially stunning on my walk this morning. Little fishes flapped over the dam of the pond. Bees and flies buzzed around. Flowers opened.

Red Buckeye (Aesculus pavia) in bloom.

The sun made its way out.

Carolina jessamine (Gelsemium sempervirens)

The fragrance is incredibly sweet. I see large trusses of this vine on both sides of the road on the way to work.

Atamasco lily (Zephyranthes atamasco), always one of my favorites. It's not actually a lily, but more closely related to Amaryllis. My grandmother calls them Easter lilies; there was a field of them beneath her childhood church.

Violet wood-sorrell (Oxalis violacea). Charming.

Close-up.

Unhardened Hearts

I'm writing this mostly for sensitive people. I am a sensitive person. Everyone is susceptible to having a hardened heart, but the sensitive person is especially susceptible. I have seen some in my family enter into old age with bitterness and coldness, seemingly impervious to authentic emotion, and all of them were the very sensitive from the beginning. My question is, how can I prevent a hardened heart from forming within me, since I am one of them? Since, as a sensitive person, I am particularly prone to a long memory, and to be aware of (perceived) injustices, and rash thoughts, preventing myself from having a hardened heart will require more diligence than a normal person would have to exercise.

First, I think it's worthwhile to try to sympathize with those who have hardened hearts. A hardened heart is actually a great asset in many ways. Primarily, it protects a wounded person from further wounds. It makes a person impervious to harsh treatment and insults. It allows a person to exercise a degree of power and control. The hardened heart provides a significant survival advantage for those who adopt it, especially in worldly affairs. It is like scar tissue on the soul, a sort of instinctive defense mechanism within the psyche.

But, having a hardened heart comes at a cost. At the price of being in a position of power, being impervious, being invulnerable, a person with a hardened heart also loses a part of his humanity. He becomes a bit of a shell of a human being: Incapable of being molded or changed. Incapable of learning and growing wise. Incapable of loving and being loved. The "hardened" attribute is accurate.

To refuse to have a hardened heart, then, will come at a price. It means to be vulnerable. It means to surrender power and control. It means to become susceptible to the whims of others. It will, in some ways, put one's very survival in peril. The one who wishes to make it out of life unscathed, unduped, unhumiliated, will sacrifice his humanity to achieve this. Having a meek and soft heart is not for the faint of heart.

When I look at the icon of Christ the Bridegroom, I see a Man who did not wish to make it out of life unscathed, unduped, unhumiliated. I see a Man susceptible to the power and control of others. I see a Man who can and will bleed, can and will be spat upon and mocked. He did not have to take on any of this; He could have been imperturbable, invulnerable, unmovable; He is God. He chose otherwise, though, when He took on our humanity in its fullness. There was never a Man more a human being than Christ. He is the Image of Man glorified. He is Man glorified. By His own words, He is "meek and humble of heart."

This places in perspective all of His sayings about turning the cheek, being radically and readily forgiving, and giving more than one thinks he can give. The Gospel is not a survival plan for those who want to make it out of life unscathed, or want to save face. The Gospel shows us how to be fully human. For the glory of God is the living man, and the living man is he who has and follows Christ, meek and humble of heart.

Grainy Twilit Photos

I'll probably be taking a lot of plant photos now through the beginning of summer. Here's some I took yesterday after the sun went down.

Narcissus 'Silver Chimes'
This has become of my favorite narcissi, perfect for a spring twilit garden. The flowers are wonderfully fragrant, the foliage deep green, velvety, strap-like. It is well adapted to the South, increasing year after year. If and when I have a garden of my own, I plan on planting large swaths of these.

Dogwood beginning to flower.

Narcissus 'Trevithian' still looking and smelling magnificent.

Narcissus 'Hillstar'
This is one of the first daffodils I planted at my mom's. It comes back reliably every year, but hasn't increased at all. Like 'Trevithian' it is a jonquilla hybrid and fragrant, but not as vigorous as the former. Still, I love the reverse coloration. The flowers grow whiter as they age.

Narcissus bulbocodium var. conspicuus
The hoop-petticoat daffodil. This tiny narcissus sends up a tuft of grasslike foliage every year, but does not flower very heavily. I suspect it would do better with more sun.

Camellia japonica 'Nuccio's Pearl' still going strong.