eBook_25471_55007385 Flowers for the Meaning of Life

8/2/2019 eBook_25471_55007385 Flowers for the Meaning of Life

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Flowers For the Living of Life


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Flower Power. You never need a special reason to use it.Now will do just fine

by Dr. Jeffrey Lant

I was at the grocery store the other day; you know, the Shaw's Market at Porter Square, Cambridge.My helper Aime Joseph was doing his usual efficient job of unloading the groceries onto the

conveyor belt. I was holding the flowers so they wouldn't get crushed.A tired looking lady was at the cash register, a woman of a certain age. She never looked up to catchmy eye... but when ringing up the flowers she brightened: "Someone's lucky today," she said.

And without missing a beat, I said: "You!", whereupon I took a fervent red rose from the bouquetand handed it to a now very surprised, rather embarrassed but thoroughly delighted, lady.

Flower power, a little bit of greenery, some blazing color, had done their work again. And they'llwork as well for you, too.

Flower from the Latin flos, from the Old French flour

According to my ever useful dictionary, flower means "A blooming plant." It also means, and this Ithink more useful, "The brightest, finest, choicest part, period, or specimen of anything." Thus, whenyou give flowers, you give "the brightest, finest."

Flowers transform the mundane into the memorable.

We are living through difficult times. Millions are afflicted by a punk economy, by unemploymentand job loss, by house foreclosures and pension shrinkage. If Charles Dickens were alive today, hecould well and truly write, "These are the worst of times". He might well leave off the other half ofhis famous line, "These are the best of times" as being manifestly untrue.

However, we, the living, must do the best we can... and flowers undeniably help.

Don't wait for a "special" occasion.... call up the power of flowers now.

I am always amused when on such holidays as Valentine's Day and Christmas, I see the long lines atthe florist shoppes. It is good, of course, that they are there; any time is a time that flowers brighten.But these are folks (usually male) who haven't quite glimpsed the power of the unexpected flower.They are there,in that never-ending line, to cover themselves, lest they be accused of forgetfulnessand insensitivity!

Rather, I applaud the person who, quite clear on flower power, delivers flowers today simplybecause it is today, no further reason being needed. I think I saw such a person the other day walkingdown Massachusetts Avenue in my neighborhood. A bit sheepish, he held his bouquet high, a

mixture of pride and embarrassment. I was hopeful there was no other reason for those flowersexcept to say "because you're you..."

Know thy florists

Personally,I make it a point to know and try all the florists in my neighborhood. I like to see theirvery different approaches to the business of brightening the world.

At Trader Joe's, for instance, there is always an eye-catching variety which in the Trader Joe'stradition is limited... but always good value. It is a pity they are rather inconveniently located for myvisits.

http://www.FutureProsperityZone.com Copyright Barbara Buegeler - 2012 3 of 27

http://www.futureprosperityzone.com/http://www.futureprosperityzone.com/


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Tommy at the Montrose Spa added flowers to his convenience store line about a year or so ago.They are not his priority and as such he lets them sit too long, petals and leaves falling off,woebegone and in need of caring homes quickly. But Tommy waits too long to bring the price downand so there are always moribund flowers in the corner, sad, their powers diminishing by themoment.

There are two florists in Harvard Square, both conveniently located. However, I don't patronizethem unless it's an emergency. The folks at Brattle Street Florist always seem too rushed to help. I

like to have a good look-see... and always appreciate the considered opinion of the proprietor. I alsolike to know when the roses came in, to be sure I am getting them at their prime. I'm a stickler forfreshness.

John at Petali, handy in Forbes Plaza, tells me what I need to know, but he never quite focuses andthough he waves to me on days when he bicycles past my house, I sense he is distracted, with otherthings on his mind. I feel like going into his shop and buying flowers for... him. He would smilethen.

Then there's the Central Square Florist. I never go there in person. (Central Square is another worldfor me. Denizens call it "between the brains", because Harvard is one subway stop further on andMIT is one subway stop before.) But I have ordered so regularly over time they sent me a special

"frequent flower" card. I keep it in my wallet, but always forget to use it. However, they seem toknow me when I call... and perhaps they give me a discount since I am a member of their club. Inever ask.

This brings us back to the flowers from Shaw's Market. They always seem a tad brash, bold. Butthey are handy, reasonably priced, and employees are happy, when I ask, to give me extra plantfood, which I never hesitate to thank them for and take, sometimes forgetting to use it after all.

Don't forget the card

Flowers, despite the power of plant food, do die in due course, despite my many ministrations. Butthe card that accompanies them can last forever.

After my mother died, I found amongst her many effects, a few of the cards she found meaningful,from long-ago events. Often she had taped or stapled one of the flowers from that bouquet to thecard. In her copper-plate hand she annotated the back of the card... which touched and reminded mehow much I missed her. Even long-dead flowers and their cards can do that. This is why I shallnever stop buying flowers and giving them to the people I care about... or even total strangers whoseem to need them and always smile at the gift.




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Thoughts on the plucky crocus... determined, colorful, theharbinger of spring. We need to know you better.

by Dr. Jeffrey Lant

For over 60 years my dreary mid February days have been graced by a small visitor about whom I,too slothful and sadly oblivious, have known too little.

Abashed, this year I decided, belatedly, to greet my little guest in proper style, not with just a nodand cursory thanks... but knowledgeable, the better to render suitable homage and ample gratitude.In short, no longer to glance at and pass by but to know my annual visitor as some dear friend,valued and appreciated.

This year, therefore, in its too brief time, I intend to know the crocus better, and to salute its gracefulpresence which has, despite my neglect, always shed its color and bold courage on me, and millionsmore.

Some facts about the Crocus longiflorus

The crocus (plural crocuses or croci) is a genus of perennial flowering plants. It is native to a largearea including coastal and subalpine central and southern Europe including, interestingly enough,the islands of the Aegean; also North Africa and the Middle East, across Central Asia to WesternChina. In short, it has moved, by inches, a vast area to colonize, its sway far more than Rome's andAlexander's, Tamerlane's and Genghis Khan's.... combined. And all with our hardly noticing.

The genus Crocus is placed botanically in the iris family (Iridaceae). It grows from corms, whichconstitute its handy food supply, providing what it needs to get through the winter and the energy itrequires to push through snow and ice, and so be present, timely, to astonish us and cause thethought, "Spring is just around the corner!" Then smile.

There are dozens of crocus species; my sources widely differing in just how many. One said 80,

another 300. It seems my experts need to know the crocus better, too. Perhaps only the croci know....In any case, some 30 varieties are cultivated, all distinguished (whether of the fall or springblooming type) by three stamens. Three things secure our attention to the croci: when they arrive...and how they look... and the flavorful uses to which (particularly the autumn blooming variety) canbe put.

Crocus plants, determined to be seen, either arrive (in the spring) before any other floweringplants...... or (in the autumn) after all the other flowering plants. This forces us to see them as theyare, without distractions or competitors. When the croci are here, it is just them... and us. It's the waythey like it.

Its colors

The first thing we notice about the crocus is its shoots, rising up, inexorably, through mud and snowand ice, determined to show these symbols of the past that the better, warmer future is on its way.To no other flower do we pay such close attention as it pushes up towards the sun, but this onespeaks to us of the springtime soon to come... or (in the autumn variety) urges us to fast prepare forthe certainty of winter, close at hand.

Either way, spring or fall, the crocus dazzles us with its enormous array of colors... of which lilac,mauve, yellow and white predominate. Don't just glance and rush distracted on your way, as mostpeople do, seeing so little. You need to bend down and look carefully.... for the crocus delights inholding back some aspect of its hues, until you stop, stoop, and take a minute, patient, to




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scrutinize... and truly see.

The useful crocus, flavorful, medicinal.

You can, if hungry, eat crocus bulbs. You can boil them, bake or cook. But it is the crocus (saffron)that is the most utilitarian. Its snout with stamens is valuable in medicine, seasoning... and even dye.This crocus variety is the most cultivated (with Spain the leader) as a savoury spice. It can easilycost $1 for one gram. This means, too, that saffron is worth counterfeiting... and people do,substituting the far cheaper tumeric (a good spice but no challenge) for saffron, the most expensivespice on earth.

Saffron has a bitter-spicy taste and a pungent smell. In the Middle East particularly it is used formeat, fish, seafood and rice. It must be used alone (for it does not mix well) and should only be usedin very small quantities. If you over use... you can easily spoil your dish, for in larger quantities,saffron delivers an unpleasant, bitter taste... and a very irritated eater.

By the way, should you wish to try this spice... do not use just any crocus to do so. Proper saffron,the king of spices, can easily be mixed with meadow saffron, which is very poisonous. I wonder howmany bargain hunting saffron fanciers discovered this... too late?

All this is worth knowing, but this spice derives from the fall flowering crocus... and this story mustfocus on the spring variety... for it is that I pass every late winter day, until now in ignorance. It isalso this variety which has caused poets, mostly pedestrian, to put pen to paper... and create apaean... though their sentiments are perhaps greater than their poetical abilities.

Arguably the most famous poem ever written about the crocus is by Harriet Beecher Stowe (d.1896). Here's what Abraham Lincoln said of her when they met in 1862: "So, you're the littlewoman who wrote the book that made this great war." (The book, of course, is "Uncle Tom'sCabin", published 1852).

She uses the crocus as a metaphor for resurrection in her poem "The Crocus." (Publication dateunknown.)

Beneath the sunny autumn sky, With gold leaves dropping round, We sought, my little friend and I,The consecrated ground, Where, calm beneath the holy cross, O'er shadowed by sweet skies, Sleepstranquilly that youthful form, Those blue unclouded eyes.

...

In blue and yellow from its grave Springs up the crocus fair, And God shall raise those bright blueeyes, Those sunny waves of hair. Not for a fading summer's morn, Not for a fleeting hour, But for anendless age of bliss, Shall rise our heart's dear flower.

***

Such certainties the Victorians possessed, which we do not share. We know the crocus will comeagain... but are less sure than they about the return of our lamented loved ones or their eternal bliss.

Still, I can be sure about the return of the crocus, year in, year out. It is good, in our world ofturbulence and disturbing changes, to know that this reassuring event will recur, something we cancount on and look forward to.

In a moment or two, I shall step out to quaff the frigid air for it is winter still. I have here beenincased too long... and on my way I shall surely take an extended moment to consult the crocus'upward arc. Confident, It looks to the sun.... as I do, too... this hardy pioneer promising me, yetagain, that spring -- and warmth -- and new life, too, all these are coming soon, mine to cherish yet




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again and gladly so.




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'and dances with the daffodils.' March 18, 2011

by Dr. Jeffrey Lant

My Cambridge, Massachusetts neighborhood, hard by Harvard University, is accustomed to thebrightest of regalia, gowns, flags, pennants; they all catch the eye and remind all our pageantry is ofan ancient type and all our own. Even so, we take particular notice when the daffodils parade,outfitted in the vibrant yellow hues once reserved for the Chinese emperor alone. They are alwayssharp, chic, dramatic, their presence announced by its central trumpet from which one expectsHandel or Purcell at least and would not be surprised at all to hear them, sharp, regal, ceremonius.The daffodil seems tailor-made for this.

For the last several days, house bound with a cold, I have been impatient to behold the arrangementsprogress, the insistent growth of the stalks, the bulging stems where, very soon, the yellow trumpetwill emerge to capture every eye.

There is excitement in the air.

I feel it, and am glad to see these lordly daffodils hard at their work... for they come but once a yearand but so briefly stay. They are right to call to me and remind that their time is coming, and I mustbe ready; ready to behold, to enjoy, to savor, their time brilliant, memorable, but always far tooshort.

Named after the most beautiful boy in the world.

Daffodil is the common English name for this stylish flower. But it is not its real name. Likenoblemen treading carefully in our democratic days, daffodils possess a sense of when to employtheir common name, whilst never forgetting their true pedigree. They are in fact Narcissus, thebotanic name for a genus of mainly hardy, mostly spring-flowering, bulbs in the Amaryllis familynative to Europe, North Africa, and Asia. The publication "Daffodils for North American Gardens"cites between 50 and 100 wild species.

The story of Narcissus comes from Greek mythology. There a comely youth of unsurpassed beautybecame so obsessed with his own absorbing looks that, when observing himself in a pool of water,he fell in and drowned. In some variations of the myth, the youth died of starvation and thirstbecause he couldn't bring himself to do anything but marvel at himself.

We all know such people.... but the gods did not commemorate their mesmerizing looks andfoolishness as they did Narcissus' by marking the spot where he lay with the stunning Narcissusplant.

The daffodils, cautious, sensitive about Narcissus' foolishness, relate this story (and their trueidentity) to uncritical admirers only; they are just "daffodils" to all the rest. I am such a vetted

admirer, sensitive; thus they have shared with me, discretely but with pride. It is rare, they say, to beso commemorated by the gods of Olympus, and so it is.

Description

As every daffodil attests, theirs is a good looking appearance, a "stunner". It features a centraltrumpet-, bowl-, or disc- shaped corona surrounded by a ring of six floral leaves called the perianthwhich is united into a tube at the forward edge of the 3-locular ovary. The seeds are black, round andswollen with hard coat. The three outer segments are sepals, and the three inner segments are petals.

Of course, while every daffodil knows these facts precisely (and many more), they understand thatyou may not be of a botanical turn of mind. Thus, they demand but one thing from you: unqualified




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admiration. It seems little enough to require for such a luxuriance of color and joy. Should youdemur, they are not above reminding that all Narcissus varieties contain the alkaloid poisonlycorine, mostly in the bulb but also in the leaves. A hint of this usually garners the deferredcompliment. Daffodils are inured to lavish compliments, and are not above reminding you shouldyours prove insufficient. It is often such with the abundantly, extravagantly, dazzlingly beautiful,constantly lauded... they have their high standards to maintain, making sure we adher. We give themunqualified obeisance; they cast the benediction of their beauty on us. We are glad to do so; suchbeauty is rare and too soon gone.

The love affair between daffodils and poets.

Poets, for whom a thing of beauty is a joy forever, have but to see a field of daffodils to wax, well,poetic. In 1807 William Wordsworth published in "Poems In Two Volumes", words he had firstwritten in 1807. Every daffodil knows, and joyously too, these magnificent words of beauty,optimism, and contentment:

"I wandered lonely as a cloud That floats on high o'er Vales and Hills, When all at once I saw acrowd A host of dancing Daffodils; Along the Lake, beneath the trees, Ten thousand dancing in thebreeze.

The waves beside them danced, but they Outdid the sparkling waves in glee: -- A poet could not butbe gay In such a laughing company: I gazed -- and gazed -- but little thought What wealth the showto me had brought:

For oft when on my couch I lie In vacant or in pensive mood, They flash upon that inward eyeWhich is the bliss of solitude, And then my heart with pleasure fills, And dances with theDaffodils." Other poets, and those of hopeful, poetical tendencies, have presented the daffodils withtheir efforts, too.

Amy Lowell (d 1925) was not as sleek and stylish as daffodils prefer; her words were heavy laden inthe Victorian manner.

To an Early Daffodil..."Though yellow trumpeter of laggard Spring! Thou herald of rich Summer's myriad flowers..."

It is not their favorite poem... but they honor the poet notwithstanding. She meant well.

They prefer Robert Herrick's (d. 1674) To Daffodils

"Fair Daffodils, we weep to see You haste away so soon..."

Herrick can make them maudlin and sentimental. Dead so soon, they prefer such notions -- andobsequies -- be private. Always near the surface of their beauty is the reality of death and too soonoblivion.

e.e. cummings' (d.1962) "in time of daffodils" is a poem of declaration and purpose. It keeps themfocused:

"in time of daffodils (who know the goal of living is to grow) forgetting why, remember how"

They cherish their history and all the poets who expand and burnish it.

Still on any day of their too short annual sojourn, they like this best; "April Showers" sung by AlJolson (1921).

"And where you see clouds upon the hills, You soon will see crowds of daffodils."




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And, always,

"and the daffodils looked lovely today Looked lovely." (From the "Daffodil Lament" by theCranberries, 2002.)

Indeed they do.




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'And if I kiss you in the garden, in the moonlight....' Thetulips are coming! April 5, 2011.

by Dr. Jeffrey Lant

Author's note: You will get the most from this article by listening to "Tip Toe Thru' The Tulips"before you start, or as you read. Search for the subject at any search engine. There are many

renditions, both old and new. After all, not only is the tune perky and upbeat but tulips are theembodiment of springtime... and no one can get enough of that!

Spring on the calendar perhaps...

Yes, I know what the calendar says; that we've had spring in New England for 2 weeks now. Butwhat do these folks know? I checked my calendar and discovered it was printed in Tennessee. Whatdo they know about the fickle weather hereabouts? So far ours has been a typical "spring", a mixtureof snow, mud, and exasperation for the fact that winter just won't let go, ornery and tenacious asever.

The crocuses came, of course, and lovely, too. I noticed a new shade of purple this year, or, more

likely, I took the trouble to stop, look and finally see what those industrious croci had laid before meso often before. So determined are they that they would find a way to ascend, even if the snow wererooftop. I love them.... but they don't mean spring quite yet; what's more the birds have had theirway with them, per usual. They know just where the saffron is to be found... and they leave hardlyany.

The daffodils hold sway right now, but they, too, while arriving just after spring has been declareddo not necessarily mean spring is actually here. Like the students of the Harvard Law School acrossthe street, the ones wearing short pants and playing frisbee in the mud, daffodils put on a braveshow, none braver.

However, like the students with their visible shivers and white, white legs with veins picked out in

unnatural blue, to see daffodils against the dirty snow causes one to check the calender again andverify that yes, it is spring, though we still are dubious.

Tulips mean spring, almost.

Now the first shoots of this year's tulips are up; I have seen them for, what?, 3 days now. They areso small and tender; my heart goes out to them, as yours would, too, if you were here and took thetime to see. Do they know how eagerly the world awaits them... and what a brief, brief life they'llhave? Or, like youth everywhere, are they oblivious, focused solely on the all-consuming businessof being young, beautiful, exuberant and truly glad to greet every passerby with a joy whose secretis youth's alone?

Tulips, you see, are not just harbingers of the real spring near at hand; they are a bridge to memory.When we see a tulip blowing proudly in the wind, we remember (and grateful too) springtimes longgone and smile as we recall how blissfully we spent those seasons in tulip time, glad to be alive!Tulips know their work, know how much we need their magic. They therefore stay a little longerwith us than the flowers which precede. And as our memories are sweet, we thank them...

Some facts.

The tulip is a perennial, bulbous plant with showy flowers in the genus Tulipa, which comprises 109species. The genus's native range extends from as far west as Southern Europe, North Africa,Anatolia, and Iran to the Northwest of China. The tulip's center of diversity is the Pamir, Hindu




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Kush, and Tien Shan mountains.

Depending on the species, tulip plants can grow as short as 4 inches (10 cm) or as high as 28 inches(71 cm). The tulip's large flowers usually bloom on scapes or subscapose stems. Most tulips produceonly one flower per stem, but a few species bear multiple flowers on their scapes.

Origin of the name.

Although the Netherlands is the country most associated with tulips, commercial cultivation of the

flower began in the Ottoman Empire. The tulip, or lale l(from the Persian) is indigenous to much ofthe area ruled by the Ottoman Sultans. The word tulip ultimately derives from the Persian"dulband", meaning turban. Look closely at the shape of the tulip and you can see, if your eye isfelicitous, the turbanned faithful answering the call from the minaret to prayer. Squint your eye andbehold...

No one actually knows how, even where, the first tulips entered Europe. Some say they were firstbrought to and planted in Vienna, by 1573. Others opt for Holland. Experts like to quibble, andtulips, who know the facts historians seek, do not disclose them; they, like us, enjoy being the centerof unceasing attention. The plain fact is, wherever people saw tulips, they wanted tulips. This lead,not long after tulips became known in Europe, to the mad phenomenon called "Tulip Mania."

One bulb, valued at 10 times the annual wage of a skilled craftsman.

No event shows man at his most venal, greedy, and stupid than the Tulip Mania of 1637. It isgenerally regarded as the first recorded speculative bubble, where the rarest bulbs could fetch theprice of a house in Amsterdam's finest district -- for an instant. Timing here, as with all economicevents, was everything. Privately, tulips admit they enjoyed being the focus of such overwroughtenthusiasm; they think it's just what they deserve... and have memorized long passages aboutthemselves from British journalist Charles Mackay's book on the matter, "Extraordinary PopularDelusions and the Madness of Crowds." (1841). Historians doubt some of his conclusions, but to thetulips his every word is sacrosanct.

A poem disapproved, a tune embraced.Unsurprisingly, given their continuing popularity, tulips are frequently the focus of poets, authors,lyricists. They faithfully encode all this and are effusive in their thanks. Admittedly, they don't likeeverything said about them. Sylvia Plath's poem "Tulips" (posthumously published in 1965) at firstgave general offense:

"The tulips are too red in the first place, they hurt me. Even through the gift paper I could hear thembreathe Lightly, through their white swaddlings, like an awful baby."

Tulips take their cheering task with grave seriousness. Plath's reaction to a gift whilst in hospitalaffronted. Like the rest of the literate world, by the time they knew of the lady's many afflictions of

heart and soul she was dead (1963). The general consensus is that if she'd had more tulips, shewould have had less angst. I agree.

Tip toe...

The tulips tell me they adore a peppy little number called "Tip Toe Thru' The Tulips" and are alwaysready to sing it as the warm breezes of spring waft. Written in 1926 by Joe Burke, with lyrics by AlDubin. It brightened the 1929 hit "Gold Diggers of Broadway". Years later, the calculated oddnessof Tiny Tim (born 1932 as Herbert Khaury) brought it again to America's attention:

"And if I kiss you in the garden, In the moonlight, will you pardon me? Come tiptoe through thetulips with me!?




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Tiny Tim died too soon, in 1996. Every tulip remembers him fondly... a man who knew a likelylyric when he heard it and brought smiles to the faces of millions. "Knee deep in flowers he'llstray..." The flowers will be tulips of course.




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'And yet I say unto you that even Solomon in all his glorywas not arrayed like one of these.' (Matthew 6:28) EasterLilly, 2011

by Dr. Jeffrey Lant

It is today Easter Sunday. Easter came late this year, April 24. And it came into a world that was

dismayed by our elusive springtime; temperatures low, hints of snow and even some late flakes, andthe bone chilling winds that convince you January has never left, though in fact it is 55 degrees inCambridge, Massachusetts.

My house is awash with flowers, many more than usual. I saw some lovely orchids at Shaw's marketin Porter Square; they were reasonably priced, too. And so then having nothing blooming inside, Ibrought them home. It is now two weeks and a couple days since I acquired them; they are fadednow, of course. But they still have traces, and proudly too, of the tasteful colors that made me snatchthem up.

Doyle Taylor, a perceptive friend, saw that I was preoccupied one recent day and tended to be more

caustic than usual. Doyle is a man who not merely believes in saying it with flowers but doing sopromptly with a most thoughtful card signed by him and his new wife Casey. They were high schoolsweethearts who lost touch, married others... then after fate had dealt with them, rediscovered andmarried each other. They are charming, intelligent, delightful. One can never know too many suchbut life delivers them sparingly.

Then there is my most recent floral acquisition, the mandatory (for some) Easter Lily. I got it onlyyesterday (when I inquired a week ago I was told they came in only a few days before the holiday. Ithas one flower open and many buds promising good value and good looks, too. It is of this plant andits Easter Lily -- Lilium longiflorum -- that I wish to speak for it is, verily, the symbol of the day andits world-changing events.

Many Easter lilies, not just one.

We speak in common parlance, as people do, of an "Easter lily," but in fact there are several such.First, of course, lilium longiflorum, the clear winner of the name by its indisputable commercialprowess.

Following far behind in popularity, use, and commercial value is Zantedeschia aethoipca, not a truelily at all, commonly called Lily of the Nile, Calla lily or Arum lily, native to southern Africa. ThenLilium candidum, commonly called the Madonna Lily, native to the Balkans and West Asia.Zephyranthes atamasco, commonly called Atamasco Lily or Rain Lily, native to the southwesternUnited States... then (you never guessed) daffodils, the daffs we love being lilies after all.

Where did Easter lilies come from?

Ever hear of the Ryukyu Islands of southern Japan? That's where today's Easter lilies originate. Andtherein lies an important fact about why this industry was once dominated by Japan... and why todayit is almost completely American. World War II was the transforming event.

Prior to 1941, the majority of Easter lily bulbs were exported to the United States from Japan. WorldWar II changed everything. Today 95% of all bulbs grown for the potted Easter lily market are notonly produced in the United States, but more surprisingly within a narrow coastal region straddlingthe California-Oregon border, from Smith River, California up to Brookings, Oregon. It gets evenmore interesting; just 10 farms in this area produce almost all Easter lily bulbs in the US of A.




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Unsurprisingly these farms have dubbed themselves collectively the "Easter Lily Capital of theWorld."

An industry completely changed by one man and one bulb.

One man made a huge difference to this US dominance of the Easter Lily and how it looks today.That man was Louis Houghton who brought a suitcase full of hybrid lily bulbs to the south coast ofOregon in 1919. These he freely distributed certain that the weather and environment were perfectfor the cultivation of a superior bulb to that grown by the Japanese. When WW II cut off Americansfrom the Easter lilies which were an integral part of religious services, Houghton was given his bigchance on a silver platter.

He was successful beyond his wildest imaginings. By 1945 there were about 1,200 growersproducing bulbs up and down the Pacific Coast, from Vancouver, Canada to Long Beach, California.The early comers profited for a time as the price of lily bulbs skyrocketed. It reminded some of theDutch "tulip mania" of the 17th century, where a single tulip bulb cost the annual wages of 10 skilledcrafts people. Were Easter lily bulbs next? A small army of lily farmers bet the ranch on it... andfailed. The number of Easter lily producing farms steadily dropped; today there are just 10...comfortably dividing up the proceeds.

The Nellie White.James White was one of the successful Easter lily producers. However, he thought the elimination ofJapan (and its too small lilies) opened the door for other improvements, too. He wanted to end thedominance of the "White Gold" bulb... and significantly improve the look of Easter lilies with anentirely new bulb... in due course named after White's wife, Nellie. Today the "Nellie White"dominates the U.S. market and thus the entire Easter lily business. One crucial thing in season cancompletely change any industry, and no one in business should ever forget that.

More about the Easter lily business.

One major reason why so many Easter lily producers closed was the considerable difficulty in

growing and managing the plants themselves. First, Easter lily bulbs must be cultivated in the fieldsfor three, sometimes four, years, before they are ready to be shipped to commercial greenhousegrowers. During these years the bulbs are never dormant and require constant care and attention toassure superior quality and cleanliness. Each bulb is handled up to 40 times before it is ready to beshipped. And remember the commercial selling season is just two weeks annually at the time ofEaster (the date for which changes annually)... and all Easter lilies must be ready and should ideallyhave at least one flower open, the better to showcase the thing that matters most of all to everyonewho sees this stately, evocative plant: the Easter lily itself. It is astonishingly elegant, dramatic, thevery essence of purity. As such Jesus saw fit to use this favored plant as a means of quieting nervousChristians.

The Sermon on the Mount.Of the many seminal moments in the brief ministry of Jesus Christ on earth, the Sermon on theMount needs special attention. It was given in about AD 30 and contains one essential element of theChristian religion after another, including this reassuring sentiment to believers:

"Consider the lilies how they grow: they toil not, they spin not; and yet I say unto you, that Solomonin all his glory was not arrayed like one of these."

And so Jesus turned a glorious flower into a symbol of God's love for and protection of even erringpeople. Thus, when you attend Easter services today or any day and see the unforgettable whitetrumpet-like flowers of the Easter lily, you are seeing an apt symbol and manifestation of a love that




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can be ours and eternal.




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'Green grow the lilacs, all sparkling with dew.' Haunting,evocative, elegiac, the lilacs return to Brattle St.., Cambridge,May 7, 2011.

by Dr. Jeffrey Lant

I was out early today. Even before dawn's first light, I was up and about and soon on my mission... to

find the first bunches of lilac, and drink in their unmistakable scent with the pristine dew.

What passersby (not too numerous so early) must have thought to see the flowers held against myface, though gently so as not to crush them, I cannot say. I did not care. The lilacs that I love toexcess have returned to Cambridge... and with them every memory of this most evocative of flowersand their flagrant, haunting fragrance.

Beloved of Russian empresses...

One day the great Empress Catherine of all the Russias (1762-1796) went walking in her garden ofTsarskoe Selo and found a branch of lilacs, so perfect she was sure it would be picked to amplify thebouquet of some lovelorn lad to his much desired lady... so she stationed a soldier next to this lovely

branch. In 1917, a soldier was still stationed where the plant no longer flowered or even existed. Butthen Tsar Nicholas II wasn't surprised... for his wife Alexandra, called "Sunny", loved lilacs todistraction, too... and created a room in the most palatial of palaces where everything was in a shadeof lilac. It became, in due course, the most famous room of the empire...

My grandmother Victoria had this same tendresse for her much loved and coddled lilacs. She cravedtheir scent and their colors, too, in every shade of purple... heliotrope, mauve, violet, lavender, puce,and all the other variations. Even my grandmother's perfume, Muguet de Bois by Coty (launched1941) featured lilac... and lily-of-the valley. Proust-like, that scent brings her back... as does mymother's Chanel. Lilac is like that. It will not be denied and can never be resisted.

And now the lilacs are in rampant bloom along Tory Row on Brattle Street, breathtaking, sensual,glorious. The Loyalists would have remembered them for all the rest of their long lives; the meresthint of their scent would trigger the painful memories that come with unending exile.

A few facts about lilacs.

You may be surprised to learn (I was) that syringa (lilac) is a genus of about 20 to 25 species offlowering woody plants in the olive family (Oleaceae) native to woodland and scrub fromsoutheastern Europe to eastern Asia.

They are deciduous shrubs or small trees, ranging in size from 2 to 10 meters (6 feet 7 inches to 32feet 10 inches) tall, with stems up to 20 to 30 centimeters (7.9 to 12 inches) in diameter.

The leaves are opposite (occasionally in whorls of three) in arrangement, and their shape is simpleand heart-shaped.

The flowers are produced in spring and are bisexual, with fertile stamens and stigma in each flower.The usual flower color is a shade of purple (generally a light purple or lilac), but white, pale yellowand pink, even a dark burgundy color are known. Flowering varies between mid spring to earlysummer, depending on the species.

The fruit is a dry, brown capsule, splitting in two at maturity to release the two winged seeds thathave within them everything that produces the lustrous magnanimity of the lilac and commands youreye and reverence.




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The poets irresistible attraction to and understanding of lilacs.

Poets, including many notable poets, saw lilacs and wished, in words, to produce the lyric quality oftheir scent. The scent, the unforgettable scent, swept them away. It was exuberant, excessive, awarning to the dangers of immersion in a thing so powerful, so rich, so cloying; a thing that drawsyou away from the little duties and miseries of life and whispers of pleasures you want beyondreason. Too much of this unalloyed richness gives way to madness... and exultation.

Amy Lowell (1874-1925) knew the potency of lilacs. She wrote

"Your great puffs of flowers Are everywhere in this my New England... Lilacs in dooryards Holdingquiet conversations with an early moon; Lilacs watching a deserted house Settling sideways into thegrass of an old road; Lilacs, wind-beaten, staggering under a lopsided shock of bloom...."

And then....

"You are everywhere. You were everywhere."

Lilacs know their power and seduce you with it, every wind wafting the scent into your brain andmemory. They offer you the same terms that a beautiful woman offers the man distracted by her --

none at all, just surrender. Lilacs are the sorceress of blooms, enchanting, elusive, sharing theirmagic for an instant... leaving you longing for what you fear you will never have again.

The flower of elegy, mourning, decay, death.

Lilacs are the flower of remembrance. After the fall of Tsar Nicholas II and the entire structure oftsardom, the ex-emperor and his wife Alexandra found themselves prisoners of the new regime,forbidden even to walk in the magnificent park at Tsarskoe Selo. Alexandra looked out upon anocean of lilac, once hers, now as distant as the moon. Her haunted look, beyond mere dismay,touched the heart of a simple soldier. He gave her a sprig. His officer saw this as "fraternizing withthe enemy" and had him shot.

Amy Lowell, too, saw lilac as an accoutrement of death."The dead fed you Amid the slant stones of graveyards. Pale ghosts who planted you Came in thenighttime and let their thin hair blow through your clustered stems."

Walt Whitman (1819-1892) also knew the immemorial association between lilacs and death, and hegave us the simple words that bespoke the greatest tragedy:

"When lilacs last in the dooryard bloom'd, And the great star early droop'd in the western sky in thenight, I mourn'd, and yet shall mourn with ever-returning spring."

He picked a sprig of lilac and thought of the passing into eternity of Abraham Lincoln, "Night andday journeys a coffin." It is unbearably painful for him, only the simple words -- and the lilac -- withits promise to return -- giving solace, for that is within the power of the lilac, too, which Whitmanknew and relied on:

"Copious I break, I break the sprigs from the bushes, With loaded arms I come, pouring for you, Foryou and the coffins all of you O death."

But this cannot be the last word on lilacs, not this.

Think instead of Lynn Riggs' 1931 play "Green Grow the Lilacs", the basis for the libretto ofRodgers and Hammerstein's "Oklahoma," a musical about real people and their real concerns. Theybrought lilac seeds with them to beautiful their often difficult lives because they couldn't bear the




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thought of life without its beauty, comfort and serenity. And I cannot either.




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'.... it's raining violets.'

by Dr. Jeffrey Lant

Author's note. Before you read this article, give yourself the right musical accompaniment, "AprilShowers" sung by Al Jolson. Jolson made many recordings of this famous song. The music waswritten by Louis Silvers, the lyrics by B. G. De Sylva; it was first sung by Jolson in the 1921Broadway musical "Bombo".

A quick search of any search engine should yield this pip of a song with the inimitable Jolson touchthat soon made him a household name. "April Showers" spurred him on his way; it will help us onours, too.

Acres of violets... nestled amongst the trees... quiet... serene... so abundant, unforgettable bysunlight... irresistible by moonlight... attired in transient glory for the midnight visit of Titania and allher court... you fell asleep too early to see...

These are the violets of my youth... and I cannot see a single blossom without being seized by thememory of their beauty. That is why, when the spring comes and the May violets with it, I prefer towalk alone through Cambridge streets, so that when I find the patches of violets I know so well, Ican allow myself the bittersweet sensation of remembrance.

A companion on these walks, so desirable so often, is de trop in violet season. Such a one would tryto be congenial, amiable, a real friend. But that is not what you want when the violets come.... youwant what only you can recall... the memory of youth, beauty, of endless time for squandering andof the springtime of your life, when your life was just for living, and all life's miseries andinjunctions were yet to come, not present realities. The violets saw it all and smiled... for no oneknew better than they how brief that season was. But they didn't share that insight with you... theyknew it would come soon enough on its own. And so it did, thus closing this time in all but memory.Each violet seen is a bridgeway to that memory... and precious so.

The violets of Woodward Avenue.Winters in the heartland of America which is Illinois, are hard, interminable, testing the fortitude ofevery living thing, all longing for release and the clemency of spring. By February you are desperatefor relief... and while the snow may stop for an instant, the mud does not. It is everywhere, not leastin the places you are sternly admonished never to track it. But the mud is more insistent upon goingin with you, than you are in heeding the insistent admonition.

Out of this rich mud, the mud that feeds America and the world, come the violets in rampancy andprofusion. Their job is to obliterate the despondent memories of winter... and create the momentwhen you, turning a corner, see them in all their glory, catching your breath and (without evenknowing) breathing a paean of pure thanks for this flicker of time, forever magnificent; now

ineffably part of your soul.

Some facts about violets.

Viola is a genus of flowering plants in the violet family Violaceae, with around 400-500 speciesdistributed around the world. Most species are found in the temperate Northern Hemisphere;however, viola species (commonly called violets, pansies, or heartsease) are also found in widelydivergent areas such as Hawaii, Australasia, and the Andes in South America.

Flower colors vary in the genus, ranging from violet, as their common name suggests, throughvarious shades of blue, yellow, white, and cream, whilst some types are bicolored, often blue and




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yellow. Many cultivars and hybrids have been bred in a greater spectrum of colors. Flowering isoften profuse, and may last for much of the spring and summer.

Edible violets.

Violets are not only wonderful to look at; they titillate the palate in surprising ways. Violets have adelicate, sweet and sometimes peppery flavor. Before including them in your next salad, however,reaping the advantages of their abundant antioxidants, have a care. Violets are good for you; someflowers that resemble violets are not. These include spring larkspur and monkshood, which are infact poisonous. This suggests the plot for a murder mystery suitable for "Masterpiece Theatre". MissHoneycroft, though no longer young, was appreciated by hostesses for her wit and lively humor of aliterary kind; her well-tended violets were much admired... it came as a great shock to thecommunity when her body was found amongst them, jarring in bright red riding boots and nothingmore... Kinky. Who would water the violets now?

Special warning: Be extra careful not to add African violets to that salad, even just a few. Africanviolets, beloved of grandmothers worldwide (including mine) are so named because of theirresemblance to violets, although they are not true violets and are absolutely not edible; neither arethe rhizome or roots of any violets. They are poisonous to humans.

More ways to eat violets.Violets may be sauteed like spinach and added to stir-fry vegetables. Wild violets also have asomewhat viscous texture when cooked which is used in traditional cooking as a thickener for soupsand stews. But while I am sure you like a good stew so prepared... I am surer you crave the sweeteruses of violets....

Violets are a symbol of everlasting love and the enduring passion which their purple color suggests.Remember, this color, in Ancient Rome and Byzantium, was reserved for emperors... the highestplaced mortals on earth. Now swept away, you can enjoy some of their rarefied delights.

To make candied violet flowers, pick a large number of flowers and let them dry on a paper towel

for a couple of hours. Beat an egg white to a froth, and color it with food coloring, if desired. Using afine brush, carefully coat each flower with the egg white, then pour fine sugar over each. Blend thesugar in your blender to make it a finer consistency. Lay each flower on wax paper to dry, then useas a decoration for your confections when the flowers are stiff enough to move. This will impress thespecial one in your life. But you want more than to impress, don't you? You want to ensnare thisperson forever and forever passionately. Admit it. Here violets are essential.

Offer your beloved "Parma violets", a select British tablet confectionery manufactured by theDerbyshire-based company Swizzels Matlow. For maximum effect, offer, too, a glass of CremeYvette, made from Parma violets, the most luxurious and lush violets of all. Rarer than rare, thisliqueur has not been made for decades... giving it will therefore make the desired impression... and

ensure the total submission of the one you crave to distraction. Such is the enduring power of theviolet, in the wild or distilled.

"So if it's raining, have no regrets, Because it it isn't raining rain you know, It's raining violets..."

Run outside now and seize them... and this moment... before they and it pass away forever, to yourcertain regret.




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'Where the Iris grows... That is where I want to be....' Theflower at the end of the rainbow.

by Dr. Jeffrey Lant

Author's program note. To put yourself in the right mood for this article, go to any search engine andfind one of Tennessee's four Official State Songs, "When It's Iris Time In Tennessee," words and

music by Willa Mae Waid. It's a lovely, lilting tune, wistful as all songs are which are sung by thosefar away from home... remembering.

It is early June, and the irises are now to be found in profusion around the City of Cambridge in theCommonwealth of Massachusetts. I saw the first one the other day in front of my favorite Chineserestaurant Chang Sho. And though I was busy with one of the necessary errands which constitutetoo great a part of human life... I stopped. The beauty of this ecstasy in the mud insisted.

There before me was a dazzling thing dressed in cloth of gold, the exact shade of the cream soda Idrank too often as a boy fifty summers ago on the humid prairies of Illinois; the cream soda youcraved, you gulped, which gave you sticky fingers, but never quenched your thirst; (so clever wereits makers).

In an instant omnipotent memory was present, the way unstoppable memory will do. This time itreminded me of something I had read in the memoirs of Sir Henry Channon, the man who haddeserted his Chicago roots to find his proper perch in life in London as a Member of Parliament...and collector of royalties. He was a boulevardier, a word for which we have no good Englishequivalent... a thing which tells us much about the French who do.... and the English.... who don't.

Sir Henry, universally known as "Chips", was a boulevardier, man about town, about London town.As such he attended the first Garden Party at Buckingham Palace after World War II. He happenedto be gossiping with one of Queen Mary's relations when this very symbol of "They'll always be anEngland" arrived, blinding in cloth of gold. "Cousin May," he said, "is rather overdressed", to Chips'

scandalized amusement.And so was the golden iris in front of me, as if some careless maharajah, rushing, had dropped thismost expensive of materials in the mud, later to fulminate against the loss, blaming his chauffeur.

But just as Queen Mary had calculated her breathtaking appearance to touch drab lives withgrandeur... so did the flower in front of me, largesse for a drab world, overburdened, as I was myself,with the littlest and most nagging things.

The flower's unexpected appearance was lavish, excessive, a sharp pronunciamento, "Good people,"it boldly proclaimed. "I have come amongst you to cheer you, to uplift your spirits, to give you thegift of exuberance and excess... of profusion and prodigality. Seize them now... for they are yours for

just a moment."Here was the true work of the iris, the flower that takes its name from the Greek word for arainbow... and not just any rainbow either... but the rainbow which at its end delivers the treasureyou seek at such a place... a treasure of unceasing magnificence without end.

At rainbow's end, you find irises of every color... a gift of superabundance, without limits, where toomuch and even more is your birth right. This is the place you have sought your entire life... andwhich the open sesame of the iris delivers with only one command, "Find bliss here."

Facts about iris.




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Iris is a genus of 260 species of flowering plants with showy flowers. As well as being the scientificname, iris is also very widely used as a common name for all Iris species.

The genus is widely distributed throughout the north temperate zone. Their habitats are considerablyvaried, ranging from cold and montane regions to the grassy slopes, meadowlands and riverbanks ofEurope, the Middle East and northern Africa, Asia and across North America.

Irises are perennial herbs, growing from creeping rhizomes, or, in drier climates, from bulbs(bulbous irises). They have long, erect flowering stems, which may be simple or branched, solid orhollow, and flattened or have a circular cross-section. The rhizomatous species usually have 3-10basal, sword-shaped leaves growing in dense clumps. The bulbous species have cylindrical, basalleaves.

Iris is for show.

Other flowering plants have many uses culinary, medical, as balms, salves, to clear the mind and theheart.

Not the iris.

Iris is designed for show... not merely to brighten space... but to change the entire orientation of a

place, from mundane to brilliant. This is no trivial thing when you think of the unending multitudesstriving to find both meaning and escape from their burdensome, colorless lives. For these people,and they are everywhere on earth, the iris is a plant of resolute optimism. Where there is a single iris,there is hope. And where any iris has once lived... there hope lingers, insistent that things can bebetter, beauty can be achieved and circumstances entirely altered for the better, one militant irisflower at a time. The revolutionary iris shouts, "Beauty here, beauty now, beauty forever!" It isinsistent that you, if you but take the time to stop and perceive, shall derive full measure of thisbeauty, for a life without such beauty is no life at all.

Poets and iris

All poets have not understood the imperial function of the iris, with its life-changing mission... butpoet Chris Lane does. In his poem "Purple Irises with hues of gold and fragility," he writes

"Oh, this beauty with for my eyes to see I cannot keep them for only me with friends true I shallshare and next year bring to them the joy I find in a purple world with hues of gold and fragile love."

Lane knows that the iris turns him and every one perceiving it into a devoted zealot, one who mustproselytize with so much beauty, earnest in spreading its unbounded joy to friends and totalstrangers, too. Iris has a mission and when it seizes your attention, you will have that mission, too.

The role of the adamant iris is clear: it beautifies now and finds dedicated adherents to beautify later.Iris exist in a realm of beauty, beauty today, more beauty tomorrow, cycle after cycle of beauty forall who see it, the task to enlighten those who suffer because they have not.

As such the iris reject literary renderings which turn them from their great mission into mereflowers.

They reject Georgia Gudykunst who writes "May your blooms be floriferous and in good form."

They reject Edith Buckner Edwards "Iris, most beautiful flower, Symbol of life, love and light."

They reject the celebrated D.H. Lawrence, in his poem "Scent of Irises."

"A faint, sickening scent of irises Persists all morning...."




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These poems do not have and therefore cannot convey and assist the unending work of iris and itssignificance for improving the lot of people worldwide and enriching their lives. This needsconstancy, consistently and profound belief. And it requires the unceasing ability to touch woundedlives and make them bold advocates of universal beauty.

There is a hint of this in Willa Mae Waid's heartfelt song "When It's Iris Time in Tennessee." Forshe senses the deep power of iris... its ability to revive us... and uplift our spirits. This is the magic ofiris.... and it was all present, every bit of it, in the iris dressed in cloth of gold which had my fullattention just the other day as it kept steady watch for people like me who required its succor andwere the better for it.




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About the Lily of the Incas... tenacious, beautiful, an artifactof a great nation gone... and of the condor flying high, seeingall, calling you.

by Dr. Jeffrey Lant

Author's program note. This story started, for me at least, about 3 months ago when my helper Aime

Joseph and I were at the Shaw's Market in Porter Square, Cambridge. I almost always visit theirfloral department while I'm there, since flowers for me are as necessary as food; not luxuries, butessentials, especially during the long, dour days that characterize a Bay State winter.

I knew my options like the back of my hand... especially the roses which these days come in a farwider array of colors than were available when I was growing up. But roses, breathtaking when youmake your selection in the store, fade quickly when taken home despite the detailed suggestions forcutting the stem, adding plant food, and changing the water. The rose dazzles, captivates... but toosoon dies... at the last a source of dismay.

I needed something else... something different... something to entice... and last... but what?

Then there they were... serenely confident.... an explosion of color... something new, at least for me;they may have been there before but today my eye perceived them rather than overlooked... andwhile I didn't know it then these blooms had already begun their insidious maneuvers to seize notmerely my eye... but in very short order... my heart.

So did the Lily of the Incas and I commence our relationship... like the person you loved from firstglance and later wondered how you ever lived without. Yes, these flowers have such a power and Iwelcomed them without cavil for I needed their gifts... especially their long-lasting presence, apresence (it pains me to recall) I once doubted.

Each morning, not yet a true believer, still uncertain, skeptical, anxious I ran to my beloved... to see,

perhaps to mourn their passing, only to be rebuked by the lilies not just with their beauty but theirtenacity and commitment. For such a love one searches for a lifetime. I had found mine in thegrocery store.

The Incas and their lily.

Like many flowers the lilies of the Incas have several different names. They are called Peruvianlilies; they are also known as parrot lilies. And like all plants they also bear a sonorous scientificsobriquet, alstroemeria, named by Carolus Linnaeus for his close friend Swedish baron ClasAlstromer (1736-1794). But no name suits them so well or do they cherish as much as Lily of theIncas.

Atahaulpa... Pizarro... destiny... and the flower that remembers.This plant and its explosion of colors calls us sharply back to the greatest tragedy of the Inca nation;its subversion and destruction by a handful of rapacious soldiers under the command of a destructivegenius, Francisco Pizarro (1471-1541). He was born poor, illegitimate and suffered for it in everyway. Rage, anger, a need to prove himself to himself and others fueled his ambition. He had nothingto lose and so learned the benefits of unbridled audacity. Such a man, shrewd, inventive, always boldwas dangerous... as the Inca emperor Atahualpa -- and his entire nation -- soon learned.

For both sides their encounter at Cajamarca in 1532 was epochal, for there the tiny Spanish force ofjust 180 men and 37 horses, masters of stratagem, courage, lies and trickery captured the Sapa Inca("unique Inca") and so in an instant made Spain the richest and most important nation on earth... and




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every Spaniard in the piratical expedition richer than Croesus. This is how it happened...

Pizarro's force was as nothing against the might of the Incas... but Pizarro would do anything toconquer... and here he had the advantage against the uncomprehending Incas. And so, by treacheryAtahualpa fell into his hands. To free himself, or at the very least to preserve his life, he offered tofill a room about 22 feet long and 17 feet wide up to a height of 8 feet once with gold and twice withsilver within 2 months.

With this offer Atahualpa enriched the Spaniards and signed the death warrant of himself and all hispeople... for once apprized of the riches of the Incas, the Spaniards had absolutely no intention ofdoing anything but extracting more and more. And so was Atahualpa strangled... for he had notmerely outlived his usefulness but (now understanding the Spaniards better) understood what mustbe done to eradicate them. That made him dangerous .... and his brutal end inevitable. The date wasJuly 26, 1533....

And here legend steps in...

For within just days, on the very spot where the last Sapa Inca, the hapless Atahualpa died, hisclothes and part of his body incinerated, a flower never seen before began to grow, strengthened bythe blood of Atahualpa, soon a vision of loveliness. Of course the Spaniards, who had everything

else, wanted this, too. But they could not pluck it... or uproot it. It was tenacious, impervious towhatever they did... but it yielded to an Inca maiden of the royal line. To the astonishment of all,this princess succeeded where the avarice and connivance of the Spaniards failed. The legend statesthat Pizarro himself tried to pick the flower, but failed. "This," he said, "is a lily of the Incas." Andso it was, and so it has remained.

The Spanish empire, all of Nueva Espana, is long gone now, forgotten. But the lily of the Incas hasflourished. Many hybrids and about 190 cultivars have been developed, with different markings andcolors, ranging from white, golden yellow and orange to apricot, pink, red, purple and lavender. Themost popular and showy hybrids commonly grown today result from crosses between species fromChile (winter-growing) with species from Brazil (summer-growing). This strategy has resulted in

plants that are evergreen and flower for most of the year.El condor pasa.

Over this exuberance of never-ending beauty flies the majestic condor, the great eyes of the Incas.Peruvian composer Daniel Alomia Robles wrote their anthem in 1913, inspired by Andean folktunes. Go now to any search engine and find the version you like best. My personal favorite is byWayna Picchu, a Latin folk band from Peru. Simon and Garfunckel's version (1970) made the songfamous and makes the words plain: "A man gets tied up to the ground. He gives the earth its saddestsound. Its saddest sound." To rise, strew your hard path with lilies of the Incas... and look up inwonder whenever the condor passes. The unyielding flowers are for beauty... the condor shows youdeliverance... freedom... joy. Look up now... he is passing somewhere near you and beckons...

Perhaps this time you will respond... and soar.




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Resource

Harvard-educated Dr. Jeffrey Lant is CEO of Worldprofit, Inc., where small and home-basedbusinesses learn how to profit online through automation. Attend Dr. Lant's live webcast TODAYand receive 50,000 free guaranteed visitors to the website of your choice!

Republished with author's permission by Barbara Buegelerhttp://FutureProsperityZone.com.

http://futureprosperityzone.com/http://futureprosperityzone.com/

eBook_25471_55007385 Flowers for the Meaning of Life

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