Category: Nature

flowering Venice

January 26, 2026 21 Comments

As I noted in my last post, the poet/philosopher/Viking raider/diamond cutter/prima ballerina assoluta (who knows if it’s a woman?) “Anon” mentioned the three sublime elements that have remained to us from paradise. The second is flowers.

If anyone were to imagine that Venice is made only of stone, brick and water, I’d like to correct that notion. Here is a very limited assortment of flowers I’ve seen in or near Venice over the years and seasons. Does it seem like a lot? I could have done more. They say that when “War and Peace” was on the verge of being published, Tolstoy suddenly cried out “A yacht race! I left out a yacht race!” In this case, I have left out the magnolia and plum and pomegranate and daisies…. I had to stop somewhere, as Tolstoy must also have regretfully realized.

Winter flowers sounds like a contradiction (experts know it’s not) but I was astonished one freezing winter day years ago to find myself walking through a cloud of perfume. That was my introduction to what Lino calls calycanthus — I discovered later that it is “Chinese winter bloom” (Chimonanthus praecox). This is not that particular tree; the one I discovered was almost completely hidden behind a different wall which only made the moment even more magical. If the fragrance wafts past you some frigid night, it verges on celestial. I read that this essential oil is used in some “quality perfumes.” It’s sheer quality all by itself.

It begins to bloom in December. Break off a little low-hanging branch, and in the few brief days before the flowers start dropping off your house will smell divine. No, I’m not exaggerating.

Lino knew a few places where the shrubs were easy to reach, so he would bring me a few twigs.

The violets make their first appearance lurking among the spring shadows.

Then everybody wants to get into the act.

Late February and early March bring mimosa.

Moving toward Easter (which also moves every year, try to keep up), the peach blossoms arrive, often from Sicily, or even from somewhere in the Veneto. It must depend on the weather. I only see them at the Rialto market.

Then the wisteria steps into the spotlight. It seems to be everywhere but I count on seeing it in the little campo behind us.

The Ristorante in Paradiso in the Giardini facing the lagoon never disappoints where its wisteria is concerned. I don’t know about the food.

On April 25, San Marco’s feast day, Venetian men go for the rose — the “bocolo” of a rose — and the longer the stem and redder the petals, the better. Your lady-love has to have one. Or else. One year we decided to take mine for a ride.

An abandoned bocolo does not bode well,either for the couple or for the rose.

Toward the end of April the forsythia takes center stage. This is an approximate date, of course; it comes out when it’s good and ready to come out.

Poppies are everywhere for too brief a time.

Yes, artichokes are flowers. These are a few castraure (cahs-trah-OO-reh) of the renowned Violet Artichoke of Sant’ Erasmo. Each is the very first bud that appears at the apex of the artichoke plant. People await their appearance sometime between April and May as if a special esoteric treasure is about to be bestowed. Because they now have reached a sort of cult status, it’s truly amazing how many castraure somehow show up in the market. After all, just one per plant … There are various recipes for them, of course, but considering that their primary attribute is their tender youth, they are especially delectable raw, sliced extremely fine and enhanced simply by salt, pepper and the best olive oil you can find. The supply only lasts a mere two weeks or so, then the botoi (BOH-toe-ee) move in.

Botoi are the flowers that bloom after the castraura has been removed. They are more flavorful, but they have no PR agent to rhapsodize about them so nobody makes a fuss about botoi the way they do about castraure. Also, there are many more botoi than there are castraure, so they don’t seem quite so exceptional. More than one expert prefers them to castraure, but to each his own mania.

To review: The upper crate contains castraure, the lower crate has botoi. They are both delectable.

Before we move on, let me alert you to the fact that Italy is rife with artichokes. You will find these on sale in Venice: Castraure from Tuscany. At a very reasonable price, too — another hint that you might have left the Sant’ Erasmo sector. (Castraure from that island, at least the first few days, can cost as much as 2 euros each.)

Accompanied by their botoi, noted as coming from Livorno (Tuscany). They actually look just the same to me. But the whole point of this interval is that artichokes are flowers.

Tamarisks love salty soil. Besides being lovely they are also very useful; on Sant’ Erasmo they serve as windbreaks around the asparagus and peas and other spring treats.

At just the right moment, the artichokes, poppies and tamarisks (here they are not pink, as you see) are all out together. Tamarisks also manage a faint perfume, which is charming.

Going to be figs when they grow up. I put this picture in just because I think it’s so cool, but then my rudimentary research reveals that figs have flowers, but are to be found inside the fruit. That seems grotesque but it obviously works so never mind.

This luxuriant sweep of shrubbery at the Giardini is Pittosporum tobira. My source says it is “native to eastern Asia and is widely grown as an ornamental plant in Mediterranean climates. The plant produces small, inconspicuous greenish or whitish flowers that grow in clusters in the leaf axils.” Until late May its only virtue is being green. But then the flowers begin to open up and become conspicuous. My source says the flowers are known for their “intense fragrance,” and that is an understatement.

Aren’t those little buds lovely? And their first aroma, after the long winter, makes you want to open your arms and invite them to your home and bring them cool drinks and expensive snacks and ask them if they’re happy and insist that they tell you if they need or want anything. That’s the first week or so. But like “The Man Who Came to Dinner,” they settle in, become obnoxiously comfortable, and decide they don’t ever want to leave. As the late spring days pass, they lose their early charm and frankly they don’t care.

Time passes, and as the buds mature in the sunshine the fragrance becomes denser, heavier, more aggressive. The perfume that once was so ingratiating begins to evolve into a sort of murmured menace. No longer delightful, the odor verges on nauseating. And that’s not the point at which they fade and die. No, they remain at that stage until they get bored revolting you, and then they stay for a while longer. This extraordinary plant travels the world under various aliases: Australian laurel, Japanese pittosporum, mock orange and Japanese cheesewood. Call it what you will, let it pass by. Turn off the porch light, lower the blinds, pretend you’ve had to leave unexpectedly for Kiribati. Or at least stop using the Giardini vaporetto stop and just walk to wherever you’re going.

Honeysuckle (Lonicera tatarica) at Sant’ Elena.

Oleander (Nerium oleander). I hope they leave it alone, it’s perfect just the way it is.

Limonium narbonense comes out in mid-August. Various relatives are called sea-lavender, statice, caspia, or marsh-rosemary.

Late summer brings out the Erica; I do not know which of the hundreds of species this one may be. These are generally called “heath” or “heather.” That’s all I can tell you, apart from the fact that they are protected and you really should resist taking any home.

This flowering shrub on the Vignole may be fleeceflower, or it may be silver lace vine. I hope some knowledgeable reader will settle this for me. Meanwhile it’s beautiful, and it lasts for weeks. Too bad it’s probably invasive, but we all know people like that. You take the fluffy with the bad.

Nature

windowboxes gone wild

September 1, 2024 18 Comments

The rebellious hedge was one thing, but here the plants are taking over. I’ve been watching this installation grow over the past few years, and while I applaud the owner’s commitment to the natural look (English- v. French-garden style), I think having what may turn out to be an actual tree growing in your windowbox is pretty audacious.

I’m just glad to see that they all can manage to get along together.

The creeping shadow may be the only brake (along with water) that has any effect on this extraordinary assortment.

Windowboxes, I feel I ought to note, are a late bloomer in Venetian life. They certainly weren’t common in Lino’s childhood. “People didn’t even have food,” he states. “Who had flowers?” Little vegetable allotments were not unheard-of, but flowers? Only in their natural state, out in the fields and in the wild, on the barene and lagoon shoreline.

But now that windowboxes are flourishing — or running hogwild, as above — let me share a bit of their color and cheer as we stagger toward the end of a hideously hot summer.

The flowers are best of all. Second-best is the ingenuity of putting them in a bucket, seeing that there is no other place for them. But special mention goes to what the bucket is hanging from: The handle and its support of the long-ago doorbell. The small hole at the top of the metal strip was where the metal wire was attached (the wire that stretched upward to the relevant dwelling, where the other end was attached to the bell itself. Yes, you just pulled it and it rang like crazy up in your friend’s apartment.)

I love so many things about this arrangement, but it wouldn’t be so wonderful without the sticker still stuck to the pot.

Somewhere on Sant’ Erasmo, somebody wanted to do this. I’m guessing it’s a pet’s grave, but I’ll never know. The place needed flowers, and flowers there are.

Burano, obviously. I admire anyone who can think of putting flowers out to coexist with walls whose color is measured in decibels.

Leaves that looks like petals, or vice versa. Nice.

Enjoy your flowerbox before it dries up.

Nature

Yes, there will be spring

February 25, 2023 11 Comments

I don’t know who needs to see this, but nobody refuses delivery of the very first forsythia blossom on the entire bush. Or in the entire world.

Seen at the Morosini Naval School. It’s probably way, way out of order. No shore leave for a month.

Nature

Mooning the tides

February 25, 2023 1 Comment

Returning to the topic of the Venetian tides, which scared everybody because it seemed as if they had lost their mind — or minds. Do they have more than one?

Anyway, let’s see what the Tide Center forecast is for today and the next few days:

As we can see, the tides are really smoothing out.

Let’s show why this is happening by consulting one of the most important meteorological influences: The moon. The greatest jumps between high and low tide occur when the moon is full or when it is new (or “dark,” as they say here).

The full moon on Feb. 6 got the ball rolling, so to speak.

There was a pause on the 14th, not to celebrate Saint Valentine but because twice a month, when the waning or waxing moon is at the half, the tides scarcely change at all for the space of about 24 hours. Venetians call this the “morto de aqua,” or death of the water. Fun fact: For that brief interval, there is often unsettled-to-bad weather. I always imagine that the moon, which spends most of the month keeping the weather on the rein, so to speak, takes a break and the weather just runs around and does whatever it likes. In fact, for the next few days a violent northeast wind is expected to blast through here.

The evidence is before us: After February 14, moving toward the new moon on the 20th, the tides went to exciting extremes. But now look at the moon from Feb. 27-28, and compare flattish tide forecast.

So arm yourself with a barometer (high atmospheric pressure = lower water), the Tide Center forecast, and the phases of the moon, and no canal will ever be able to sneak up on you ever again.

The moon has its own official fish.