For the birds

This morning I was lucky enough to take part in a bird walk with CICY ornithologist Richard Feldman and a group of birding enthusiasts. Our intrepid group met at the botanical garden at 7:30 (late by birding standards, but quite sufficiently early for me, given travel from the beach to central Merida) and were treated to an introductory talk on resident and migratory birds before heading into the garden itself. I and at least one other member of our group had not known that well-fed birds in good condition can cross the Gulf of Mexico in less than 24 hours, a fact that gives me a whole other level of appreciation for the warblers and buntings that arrive in Ohio in May.

The Roger Orellana Botanical Garden, all six acres of it, is major bird habitat in a seriously deforested urban area, with 85 species confirmed here at different times. This dry forest, or selva seca, which makes up the central portion of the garden, is home to two motmot species, both of them showing off for us this morning.

Unfortunately, my point-and-shoot camera does not do well with greenish birds hanging out in leafy areas, even when said birds have definite turquoise eyebrows and most distinctive tails. This image from the Cornell Lab of Ornithology shows how gorgeous the turquoise-browed motmot, known to the Maya as the t'oh, really is.

• © Luke Seitz
• Macaulay Library ML43277571

Both species breed in this cave, found in the heart of the dry forest.

Our morning meander along the paths rewarded us with not only motmots but orioles (and a most glorious hanging nest), kiskadees, saltators, vireos, woodpeckers, flycatchers, blackbirds, two species of hummingbirds, a variety of doves, and of course gaggles of grackles. These handsome boys were showing off in Progreso, but you get the idea.

As the day warmed, the insects came out and swarmed the various trees that bloom this time of year. (Sorry, northern friends.) Seeing a dozen species of butterflies and lots of fat black bees working the late-winter flowers will definitely brighten a person's day. And a healthy insect population bodes well for the birds.

The good news in our time of so much bad environmental news: restoring even small sections of habitat can make a real difference for some of our feathered (and other) friends.

Loving this plant

Could Turnera ulmifolia be a perfect plant, at least in its native range of the American tropics? (Unfortunately, it is listed as invasive in places to which it has been introduced, for precisely some of the attributes that make it a great plant in places like the Yucatan peninsula and southern Florida.) Its bright yellow flowers and serrated leaves certainly are eye-catching and lovely.

It grows in poor soil, even salty sand--and pavement cracks. Turnera is one of the first plants to show up after a hurricane due to the wide seed dispersal brought about by ants (and enthusiastic seeding) and helps to rebuild coastal dunes.

Given its habit of growing in waste places, it would seem to have a fair amount of drought tolerance, and it absolutely asks for no supplemental feeding. I have never seen a specimen battling any sort of fungal disease, despite some of the humid places in which it grows. Much less fussy than yellow roses, it blooms all year and is self-cleaning.

Even better, pollinators love it. 

In parts of the Caribbean, it is known as "ramgoat" in part because of its supposed popularity with that ungulate species. (But don't goats eat nearly anything?) Personally, I prefer its other common names, Cuban buttercup or yellow alder.

Unsurprisingly for a widespread, easy-to-grow plant (which we will not call a weed), Turnera ulmifolia has a long history in herbal medicine. It has been used as both an antibiotic and an anti-inflammatory, with some recent research indicating promise in the treatment of certain drug-resistant bacteria. Tea made from the leaves was used to treat anxiety and depression.

And something I learned from the "Plants of Love" exhibit at the Merida botanical garden: some traditional cultures used the plant as an aphrodisiac. Bright and beautiful, good for the birds, the bees, and the humans, thrives even in difficult situations--that does sound a bit like love, doesn't it? 

This tree needs a better name

I have fallen in love with Pseudobombax ellipticum. I use the scientific name because the closest thing it has to a common English name, shaving brush tree, is, if not already meaningless, on its way to becoming so. When is the last time anyone you know used an actual shaving brush? And besides, the spectacular flowers bear little resemblance to any shaving brush that I have ever seen (of which, admittedly, there are not many). If I were to name the tree after a technological artifact, I would probably call it the fiber optic tree due to its showy stamens (though people in Mayan villages would probably not find that name particularly useful as a descriptor, either).

Photo courtesy of David Mitton

One of the Aztec names for Pseudobombax is Xiloxochitl, or "cornsilk flower," which at least makes sense. An old Spanish common name was more romantic: cabellos de angel, or "angel hair." Whatever you call the plant, it is gorgeous, and when it reaches full size (which under optimal conditions can be more than fifty feet), absolutely show-stopping.

This is a tree of semi-arid regions with poor, shallow soils, though it will flourish in regions with more regular rainfall. It is not cold- tolerant, so outside its native range of southern Mexico and Central America, it must be container-grown and brought indoors in the winter. In Yucatan, however, this deciduous tree begins blooming during the Nortes of January and continues for some time, with its outrageous pink or white blossoms putting on quite a show against the bare branches.

Like most flowering plants, though, Pseudobombax is not just pretty. It is a nectar source for hummingbirds, orioles, and a number of tropical insects, including the threatened Melipona bees. At one time, the wood was used for carving and the kapok fibers from the tree's seed pods as stuffing for pillows. In traditional medicine, a tea made from the blossoms was used to treat fevers and coughs, perhaps not surprising as the plant is now classified as a member of the Malva family, like the hibiscus used in a number of herbal teas.

And humans being what they are, the ancient Maya reportedly managed to make an intoxicating beverage from the tree. I have not seen a recipe for this concoction, suggesting that perhaps one should not attempt its production at home.

Not just a pretty face

On a recent beach meander, I ran across a lovely plant with which I was unfamiliar (not surprising, given that my natural habitat is southeastern Ohio, USDA hardiness zone 6, nowhere near the tropics).

Turning to that treasure trove of wisdom known as the internet, I soon discovered that this beauty is variously known as Heliotropum, Argusia, Tournefortia, or Mallatonia gnaphalodes.  (Don't you love the way botanists keep reclassifying things? Don't get me started on what has happened to the plants formerly known as asters.) Given that the average person is unlikely to remember or pronounce any of those names, the plant is also called sea lavender or sea rosemary, though it is unrelated to either of those mint cousins or to the Limonium also known as sea lavender. Instead, this plant is in the borage or forget-me-not family.

The flowers are tiny but intricately beautiful.

More important than the plant's beauty, however, is its function. This is one of those wonderful spreading shrubs that will root when touching the ground, making it easy for home gardeners to propagate--or, in its native coastal dune habitat, making it a good plant for erosion prevention. Yes, this sweet little thing helps to stabilize dunes and keep the beach from washing away.

Sea lavender (or whichever of its names we decide to use) is also a major nectar source for butterflies, as a close-up of its blossoms would indicate.

The purple shading and shallow crevices are nectar guides, helping pollinators find their way to the good stuff, and ensuring the next generation of both pollinator and plant.

Beautiful and useful: what's not to like?

But an addendum: this is a place-bound shrub. My reading indicates that planted even a few miles inland from its coastal habitat, it is prone to disease. But good news for South Florida friends: it is native to the coasts of your region and is often available from native plant nurseries. Given that it is endangered in Florida (though seemingly common in Yucatan), including it in beachside gardens would seem to be a good idea.

Progreso gets it right

This year, my beach getaway is Progreso, the largest town on Yucatan's Emerald Coast. 

I had known that Progreso is seeking Blue Flag certification, working toward "pure water, clean coasts, safety and access for all," but I had not realized the progress (no pun intended) that has been made.

I enjoyed Progreso the first time I visited in 2017, but it felt a tad scruffy in those days--dense crowds downtown, buildings in need of paint, insufficient signage (or perhaps just a confused tourist). Today, everything is spruced up, with the current mayor personally taking part in beach clean-ups, encouraging citizen participation, increasing environmental education, and stressing the empowerment of women in personal and civic life. (I had to throw that last one in because it was part of his election platform--and he is a member of the conservative party here!) And while some area beaches are trash-strewn, Progreso's beaches are the cleanest I have seen since my long-ago childhood on Florida's Gulf coast. Most of the beach entries have been made pedestrian-only, with trash cans to facilitate cleanup and seats to promote lingering.The malecon (boardwalk, even though it's actually a concrete path) is lined with seating, and swings have been placed at various points along the beach.

Public art is popular, some of it with a definite sense of humor,

and some of it carrying a serious message, like this mural near a children's play area

or this sculpture near the Peace Park.

The area called the International Malecon (and I have no idea why this one is more international than the other end, home to numerous shops and restaurants) boasts separate paved trails for bicyclists and joggers (though I saw many more walkers and strollers than joggers on Sunday morning, despite the triathlon event taking place beyond the pier). 

And it is not only the needs of bicyclists and joggers being considered here: the eastern edge of the malecon has been upgraded to be accessible to the mobility-impaired, creating a playa para todos, as the sign says.

Inclusion even includes a water wheelchair, something I had never seen before, free for borrowing.

Perhaps the most impressive thing about Progreso's beach from my perspective, however, is the serious effort at preservation. Not only are there sculptures and murals with a message, whole sections of the beach have been given over to native vegetation, with spaced walkways to allow beach access without damage to the dunes. 

This lovely thing is ciricote, which makes a tallish tree and produces edible fruit.

Even the tiny dinosaurs like this beach.

Progreso, you are officially one of my favorite places.