Wandering the beach road shortly before sunset, I was drawn to a white blossom down at ground level. At first, I thought it was some sort of datura, but the characteristic overwhelming scent was not there, and the habit was wrong. This little beauty was a vine, intertwined with other tough plants digging their roots into wind-blown sand.
It did not occur to me that I was looking at a plant that has always defeated me when I try to grow it: Ipomoea alba, often called moon flower in the US. Yet another supposedly foolproof plant that has always refused to grow in my yard but was here doing quite well in an area that defeats most vegetation, salt and low fertility not generally being good things in the angiosperm world.
Moon flower is a close cousin of morning glory, but, as the name suggests, it blooms at night. Or is supposed to: this specimen was in full flower before sunset, yet another reminder that plants sometimes have minds of their own.
My search for the mystery flower's identity led to something else I had not known: moonflower has been cultivated for many centuries in what today is Mexico. In more inland areas, it often grows in the company of rubber trees, and the Mayans and Olmecs used its sap to vulcanize natural latex into the first rubber. Not being in the habit of using wheels, as this part of the world lacked any animals useful for pulling carts, these earlier Mexicans used rubber to make the balls used in the sacred game of pok ta' pok. Courts where this ritual game was played are found at many of the temple sites found through Mesoamerica.
I never expected to find a plant essential to ancient chemistry and ceremony on the path a few blocks from my apartment.
No comments:
Post a Comment