Stinky peonies and new beginnings

Stinky peonies
and new beginnings

My favorite peony smells like dirty feet. It is so unfortunate. Last spring, I cut them just as they were about to bloom, and put them in water on my desk. It looked like something out of a Better Homes & Gardens photo shoot. (To be clear, just my desk looked this way). After admiring the bloom, I positioned my Hawaiian Sunset Coral Peony artfully at the edge of my Zoom frame, poured myself a piping hot mug of coffee and settled in for my first meeting of the day. It was bliss.

For like five minutes.

I’m kicking off the call when smelled it. A feety, earthy, sweaty smell. I can’t focus on the meeting agenda any more, all I can do is smell this smell. I look behind me to see if my husband or children came in behind me. Nope. I can’t tell you how bad I wanted to smell my armpit, but I was on camera. I feigned a cough, turned my camera off and sniffed. Nope. There weren’t any abandoned apple cores. Or moldy muffin chunks under my desk. Holy macaroni, it was my beautiful peony.

How could something so lovely be so stinky?

Let’s definitely grab a think.

There are a slew of different peonies. Some are potent, like that guy in college drenched in Abercrombie’s Fierce – the one you could smell from stores away in the mall. Others are more delicate, a light breeze can carry the scent – like the wisp of your grandmother’s Chanel 5 from. Others have no scent at all.

The strength of the scent also depends on many things.

Time of day – the early morning typically has the strongest scent to attract pollinators.
Temperature – the higher the temp the fragrant essential oils evaporate and the scent wanes.
Flower Structure – the bushier the peony, the more fragrant it will be because there are more places for that essential oil to hang out. Bomb and the Full Double shapes are the most fragrant. More open types like demi-double (the Hawaiian Sunset Coral) or single are faint or odorless.

Here’s the rub…

I still believe that my peonies stink like feet. After hours of research, I only found some references to certain varieties of peonies not smelling good. But when it was mentioned – it was mentioned. Teresa Futrick from the Altoona Mirror went so far to describe the smell as a ‘raw-chicken-forgotten-in-a-hot-car’ odor.

Folks, I’ve gone down some rabbit holes to figure this out. I’ve gone deep on molecular structures and listened to podcasts on pollination. Here’s where I’m at.

Thought 1. The cilantro gene

Some people love cilantro. They load up their tacos, their guac. But some people (like me AND Julia Childs!) think cilantro tastes like dish soap. To take a deeper dive – check out this article in Forbes. For a less graceful synopsis – this happens for two reasons. One – genetics. OR26A is to blame. If you have it – cilantro tastes painfully soapy, bitter, and/or metallic. Two – neurology. Culturally, we may believe that something tastes bad or that we shouldn’t like it; therefore we don’t. Think chopped liver or fruit cake – the poor guys – they got a bad rap.

So do Teresa and I have a gene that makes us think these peonies smell awful? At the end of the day, does it matter? Peonies want to attract pollinators, not me or Teresa. Maybe some pollinators like the smell of sweaty feet. Which brings me to…

Thought 2. The cents of scents.

Terpenes are a family of scent molecules found in all plants and a main ingredient in their essential oils. They come in all shapes and smells. Alpha & Beta-Pinene are the molecules that give Christmas trees their signature scent. Beta-Caryophyllene, Humulene, Limonene, and Terpinoline are what give cannibus its smoky, clovey, earthy, woody scent. For a non-pot smoker, I love the smell of cannibis. Some budtenders believe that you will get the best high from the pot that smells the best to you. Maybe that holds true for pollinators. They get the biggest bang for their buck by creating the strongest seeds or eating the most tasty meals from the pollen on the plants that smell the best to them.

Thought 3. The sense of scents.

CK1. Estee Lauder’s Sunflowers. Bath & Body Works’s Freesia or Juniper Breeze. When I was younger, the perfumes I’d wear to impress the boys… There is so much pressure on 12 year old girls (another blog post entirely), but also fruits. Did you know, to get a decent quality watermelon, it needs to be pollinated 12 times? And that strawberries need to be pollinated 25 times to get a good-sized fruit? (another reason the value of a strawberry is so high – wink wink).

So consequently, the smell of petunias actually gets stronger at night because they are pollinated by night-loving moths. Snapdragons, on the other hand, emit a scent that is 4x stronger during the day to welcome the morning bees to get up in their business. It is wild. Literally.

Basically, when a flower first starts blooming, its scent isn’t very strong – the pollen isn’t ready for prime time. As the bloom matures, the scent gets stronger to attract bees and other pollinators.

Some plants, when sufficiently pollinated and closed for business, start to stink. When I’m closed for business, tired, or overwhelmed, I kind of stink too.

Whether it is with my words, my shorter fuse, lack of words, lack of showering – we all have our own way of signaling ‘I’m done.’ Lord knows when I was ‘sufficiently pollinated’ with my sons – I too stunk. Smelly feet would have been a welcome change to the roses I was tooting.

So maybe the stink is an opportunity for a new beginning. It’s less about the bad smell and more about how they are using that energy – redirecting it to do something greater for the next season.

Some folks go underground before or need alone time so they can heal or create. Emily Dickinson was a known recluse, but she turned out amazing poetry. Pregnant women typically hide in the first trimester, to grow a human and muster the energy for the arrival. Next year’s blooms. A life change. A new relationship. Your kids. Your bucket list. While someone may appear to be fading in one way, maybe, just maybe, they’re working on something even better.

For now, I’ll follow their lead. Shine in the sun when I have the energy, but also have the courage to fade a bit to conserve my strength for the next new beginning.

I will respect the stink.

The bud – just waiting for the ants to set it free.

Hawaii Sunset Coral Peony starting to bloom

The bloom is just starting to come out!

Hawaii Sunset Coral Peony with pollen showing

A semi double showing of that bright yellow pollen – so pretty – no need for fragrance.

Hawaii Sunset Coral Peony starting to fade

She’s getting a bit tired, but still so pretty.

These peonies get more beautiful with age – think about that.

Adding color to my mantle – and far enough away so I can’t smell it.

All photos of Hawaiian Coral Sunset peonies from Bakers Acres.

Sources:

A tree that gives live births? Say what?

Mangroves and Mother Ginger. The Caymans and a good, clean sheet tuck in – find out how they are all related.

Read on

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When was the last time someone tucked you in?

1 Comment / Let's grab a think / Kristin Baker

When was the last time
someone tucked you in?

When was the last time you were tucked in? I mean really tucked in. You snuggled in, letting your muscles release and the mattress cradle your tired bones. When was the last time you nestled down into the fetal position, closed your eyes, and let someone gently, yet firmly tuck warm blankets in around you?

If someone has done that for you recently – congratulations! (Can you give me that person’s number?) If not, you’re in good company.

For me, the thought of it makes my soul ache, just thinking about it. I can remember back to elementary school, on those Ezra Jack Keats-like snowy days. The air was crisp. The sun was clear. You could just tell we got at least 6 inches of snow, simply by how the light shone through my rolled down shades. Snow day! My mom would creep into my room, leave a 5” x 8” index card that read ‘No School! Go back to bed!’ on my nightstand. She’d turn off my alarm. And she would tuck me in.

Sometimes I was just awake enough to sense that she was there. For some reason, I have a keen memory of feeling refreshed. Clean. Clear. Energetic. Alive. Refreshed in a way that I haven’t felt in years. There was magic in those mornings. Magic that begot amazing creations. Snow castles in the front yard. Black diamond sledding hills in the backyard. Snowmen and snowwomen. Amazing adventures with my neighborhood sisters. Pink cheeks and icicles under our noses. It may sound trite, but it was pure magic. A magic energy that I wish I had bottled up. I could use a swig of that rest and clarity right about now.

Now, I’m just tired. Feeling shriveled and bloated at the same time.

Checking my phone before I get out of bed. Sapping my energy before my feet hit the floor. I’ve set myself up for failure, by not making my bed the morning before. In my humble opinion, getting into rumpled sheets just isn’t as satisfying as a made bed. I’m parched, dehydrated. Unlike 10-year old me, who would build snowy architectural wonders despite my damp gloves or who would plod up a sledding hill in spite of the freezing clump of snow that was slowly melting down my calf into my boot. Snowy days could be a harsh environment, but a pile of packed snow held so much promise.

Like a seed. They are truly amazing. In one seed, no matter how tiny, it has all it needs to grow. We’ve heard the mustard seed parable. One small seed produces one of the earth’s largest plants. Good things come in small packages. Like Kristen Bell or my cousin Kiera. A seed has everything it needs to get started – an embryo (a tiny root and leaves), the endosperm (food), and a seed coat (protection and mode of transportation). All in one cute package. All you have to do is tuck those little babies in, make them nice and cozy, give them time, keep them hydrated, and voila! A plant. A place for bees to make honey. Flowers for us to stop and smell. Fruit for us to eat.

You know what doesn’t work like that? Mangroves. Mangroves are one bad ass plant. I fell in love with them after listening to ‘Mangroves: Nature’s Best Tree? on the Stuff You Should Know podcast. One of the hosts, Chuck Bryant, had just gotten back from vacation and saw some mangroves. It spurred a 44-minute conversation between him and his co-host, Josh Clark, all about mangroves. Yes. 44 minutes and I listened to them all.

Let’s grab a think.

Depending on how you look at it, there can be up to 80 species in the mangrove family. They live in typically inhospitable environments. Like the flamingos we talked about here, they’ve figured out how to thrive in a saltwater environment.

Some mangroves block the salt from getting in with a barrier that basically reverses or stops osmosis. They also perform a process called secretros – to basically push out all the salt through the leaves. Like Matty Maggiacomo says at the end of his classes – the ‘Breathe in the good shit and exhale the bullshit.’ So they take in the water and push out all of the salt into the leaves. When those leaves get full of salt, they get heavy (think succulents). They turn a brilliant red and fall off the plant – taking all the ‘bullshit’ with it.

Their root system is also very cool. (Stay with me) Instead of a taproot like the dang dandelion popping up in your lawn – the mangrove have cable roots called pneumataphores (not a word a 5 year old can ‘sound out’!) This cable network of roots provides stability, but also access to oxygen at the surface of the water. These things act as snorkels allowing the plant to breathe.

Then you’ve got knee roots – a horizontal root that shoots out and then grows back down into the ground. The root looks like a ‘bent knee.’ This root can radiate out up to 33 feet from the trunk, creating a safe space for small fish to use as a nursery. Think Mother Ginger with her huge hoop skirt in the Nutcracker.

Pacific Northwest Ballet soloist Joshua Grant as Mother Ginger, with PNB School students, in a scene from George Balanchine’s “The Nutcracker.” (Elise Bakketun)

But the coolest fact about mangroves by far is that they give live birth. Yes, you read that right. They give live birth. Once seeds are germinated, tiny little mangroves grow right on their parent. Like an extra arm. But an arm that is fully functional and self-sustaining. When they are ready, the little baby mangroves, or propagules, fall off the parent, ride the waves and ultimately get waterlogged, sink to the bottom, tuck themselves in, and start rooting. Some species can float away from their parents for up to a year before they root. Could you imagine a six month old human out on its own for even 10 minutes? Where’s the five point harness?

At the end of the day, this floating technique has enabled the mangrove to cover 12% of the earth’s coastline, creating a rich ecosystem of some really cool residents, Mud Lobster, Fiddler Crab, Mudskipper, Royal Bengal Tiger (the mangroves are like their grocery store), Flashing Fireflies, Brown Pelicans. It stores 75 billion pounds of carbon globally. It stops erosion. It prevents harmful algae blooms. It does all the things.

Clearly, like Chuck, I have a thing for mangroves.

I was recently in Grand Cayman for a wedding. It was a welcome trip, as I really needed the break. I needed to get tucked in. For months, I had been free floating between holiday insanity, navigating work, managing sick kids for months and consequently not seeing friends and family. I needed to get grounded. And when your best friend calls to invite you to a small wedding in the Caymans – wheels up.

It was a beautiful ceremony. Just me, my husband, and the newlyweds. Quality time with great friends. But with 8,655 acres of mangrove wetlands nearby, I just had to check it out. So I set up an early tour with George of George’s Watersports the day after the wedding. Miraculously, the bride was amenable to the early adventure and came along. (You know you have a good friend when…) The upbeat and lovable tour guide took us around ‘The Queen’s Mangroves’ (now, since the coronation, they are ‘The King’s Mangroves.’ They were beautiful. Totally worth getting up for.

In the Caymans, these forests are strictly protected. Our tourguide’s ‘no worries’ grin turned serious. Then George told us that under the National Conservation Law, if you damage these in any way, you could get a fine of up to $500,000 and/or up to four years in prison. Message received. Keep your hands and feet inside the boat.

Even at a safe distance away, you could see the knee roots. You could see the dying leaves full of salt, a blazing red. The birds. The bugs. The fish. Then the wind picked up a bit.

We were uncomfortably close to the Queens Mangroves. I looked over at my husband and the newlyweds sitting next to us. Even through my sunglasses, everyone knew I was a bit concerned at our drifting. The groom started laughing. My husband moved like he was going to throw me overboard. I was thinking about that $500k. It was that comfortably awkward. One of those funny vacation stories that you’re dying to tell everyone, but only a close friend could appreciate.

Despite my concern about four years in a Caymanian prison, it was a great trip. The air was crisp. The sun was clear. I let George’s boat cradle my tired bones. It was pure magic.

We were miles from home, but I was tucked in.

We came to celebrate the happy couple, but I felt like I took vows as well. To be me. To explore. To try new things. To turn off the alarms once in a while.

It is truly amazing – what can happen when you make the time to spend with your people. Whether it is with actual sheets or metaphorical ones, good friends will tuck you in. And you can be you again.

A good tuck in, needs fresh sheets.

Here’s how to save 8.2 days by doing laundry correctly.

Read on

Sources:

When was the last time someone tucked you in? Read More »

Owls can do hard things. And so can you.

Let's grab a think / Kristin Baker

Owls are built for hard things.
So are you.

Contrary to popular belief, my fifth grade teacher, Ms. DeZenzo didn’t have eyes on the back of her head. She’d stand at that chalkboard writing furiously. At 5’0”, she’d reach high above her head and work her way down the board, instructing with her back to the class. Somehow, she nabbed Josh Helmes for his paper airplanes and Erik Knight for picking his nose and wiping it on the seat of his chair. (names have been changed to protect the innocent) Was Josh right? Could she, after decades of teaching 10-year-olds, adapted and have grown eyes on the back of her head? Could she swivel her head all the way around?

Let’s pause for a second to consider 10-year old kids. My five-year-old just discovered that ‘fart’ doesn’t mean ‘to laugh a lot.’ And has been musically fruiting his new-found knowledge whenever he can. I can’t begin to imagine his gas skills with five more years of practice. Times 20 kids. Times 30 years.

Instead of letting the first paper airplane to hit her head deter her, she kept going. In spite of 10-year old snickering, Ms. Amy DeZenzo was brave. She learned. She adapted. She became a legend at Jennings School.

Everyone has their version of a paper airplane. There are the ones we see coming. Homework. Family gatherings. Doctors appointments. The Sadie Hawkins dance. My perennial nemeses, the rope climb and the mile run. The volleyball uniforms with the booty shorts.

Then there are the ones you don’t see coming. Like wearing your volleyball booty shorts, while doing a timed mile run in front of your track star crush … mortifying or character building?

Although at the time, it was mortifying. (my maiden name is Walker after all) But now, at 41, I think it may have been character building – preparing me for challenges I didn’t see coming like office politics, first dates, seasonal allergies, snow days in April, COVID, auto recalls, loss, winning the lottery, pink eye, family gatherings, doctors appointments.

We do all we can to keep our head on a swivel. We learn to adapt to the craziness. But with all the swiveling, I feel blind as an owl. Yup. An owl.

Let’s grab a think.

Owls were dealt a tough hand. They are cute for some. But part of what makes them cute (for some) is their really small head. A small head means there is less space for some essentials like eyes. Round eyes just won’t fit. Instead, they have tubular eyes, built like mini telescopes. While this makes them a blurry mess during the day, their night vision is amazing. Those tubular eyes function like binoculars and night vision goggles giving them phenomenal depth perception.

But tubular eyes can’t rotate from side to side. They are completely immobile.

That isn’t really sustainable. Especially when owls mean so many things to so many groups of people. In Greek mythology, they had to overcome childhood trauma to represent wisdom and prudence for the goddess Athena. For the Cherokee, they were omens of war. In Arabia, they have to embody evil spirits and carry away young children. They have to carry mail for the wizarding community. They have to feed their young, find a nest and hunt at night. They’ve got a lot going on.

Rarely, you see a disheveled owl. How they have time for this, I’ll never know, but think Harry Potter’s Hedwig, or Winnie the Pooh’s Owl. The Tootsie-Pop owl. Not a feather out of place. How is that possible with legs (fore limbs) underneath them and a beak akin to Tyrannosaurus arms?

Owls have adapted and can rotate their heads 270 degrees in either direction.

Seriously. They can move their head 270 degrees in both directions. What gives?

For starters, they give themselves extra space. Just like humans, the owl’s arteries move through hollow cavities in the vertebrae. But for an owl, the cavity is 10x bigger in diameter than the artery passing through it. This extra space creates multiple air pockets that cushion the artery during twisting motions. In short – they have wiggle room.

They also have a strong network. In their small heads, they have a number of small blood vessels connecting their carotid and vertebral arteries. Working together they keep blood moving as the owl’s neck contorts to see what’s behind them.

Then they have extra resources. One would think that twisting like that would hinder blood flow. Just like all the moms stockpiling Tylenol and LOL dollz, owls stockpile blood. The arteries at the base of an owl’s neck has space where reservoirs of blood are held, so as the head turns, the reservoirs are able to keep the blood flow rolling.

There are a slew of other reasons why this is possible. But it requires more complex science knowledge. And frankly this was a lot for me, as I’m terrified of birds. So I’ll leave it there.

The bottomline – we all have our own version of hunting at night. Our paper airplanes. To survive, we need space, grace, and support. After my layoff last summer, I knew I needed to be brave. To go through the anger, the fear, the ‘oh shit’ moments, the forgiveness for my boss, and the patience to figure out what the heck I want to do with my professional life.

My grandmother always said, ‘If you don’t change directions, you’ll end up where you always are.”

So it is time to adapt and give myself the space to try a few things out. I’m filling my cup and reaching out to my network for inspiration. To put on my big girl pants. Every day. Some days are easier than others, and that is okay.

I’ve always wanted to write and I’ve always wanted to thank Ms. DeZenzo for inspiring me. Who knew that doing so would require me to make the time to write this, to give myself the space to research owls (really facing my fear – if you don’t like birds, DO NOT click this link), and to have the confidence to reach out to my network (thanks sister!) to edit this.

If I learned anything from Ms. DeZenzo, we are built for the hard stuff. We all have our hard stuff. We are built to be brave. If we have space, the tools, the network –

I do believe that we can accomplish a lot.

Get tucked in, my friends.

Take some fresh sheets from the laundry and get tucked in. And maybe learn about some mangroves at the same time.

Read on

Sources:

Owls can do hard things. And so can you. Read More »

I’m worth a strawberry. Eat one. I dare you.

Let's grab a think / Kristin Baker

I’m worth a strawberry.
Eat one. I dare you.

I’m worth a strawberry. But strawberries go really fast in my house. In a way, they need to. Who knows where they came from or how long it took them to get to my local grocery store. Or there could be a moldy one hiding in the center of the dang pint, just waiting to ruin your day. They are a rapidly deteriorating, yet valuable resource in my fridge. My kids keep an eye on them. So I have to move fast.

It is Tuesday morning and I’m doing the breakfast ballet – you know, the one where I’m like Rachael Ray on her 30 Minute Meals episodes. I’m channeling my inner Rachael, pulling out everything I need for two lunches and two breakfasts – balancing carrot sticks, peanut butter, and apples between a loaf of bread and my chin. It is loud.

My oldest asking for Alexa to play ‘I Like to Move It, Move It!’ The one from Madagascar, not Jock Jams Vol. 2. My youngest is yelling the colors of everything in the kitchen. ‘Spoon blue!’ ‘Orange orange!’ ETA 12 minutes. I’ve got this.

I’m cutting strawberries for their breakfasts. Because I had gone to the grocery store the day before, we were still in decent strawberry shape and had five more for tomorrow.

Bags are packed, kids are in the car, my husband is doing drop off. Perfect timing, as I’ve got 30 minutes to eat and get ready for my 8:30am Zoom meeting. I put everything away – even the strawberries – shove the remainder of my youngest’s cold toast in my mouth and run for the shower.

Wait what?

It wasn’t until lunch time that it hit me. I opened the fridge and they were right there – red, delicious, scrumptious. Lightbulb goes on. I can have strawberries for breakfast too. Hell, I can also have eggs and sausage too – not just leftover toast.

I kid you not. This was earth shattering for me.

Strawberries are the kids’ food. Bananas are the kids’ food. Clementines are for my husband. And I get half-eaten toast? It is like seeing the arrow in the FedEx logo for the first time. I can’t unsee it.

Slow down and grab a think

Lindsay Gurk started talking about this on her Instagram. About how flamingos lose their pink when they are caring for their young – but they do eventually get their pink back when the flaminglets graduate college. She has an adorable sweatshirt on her site – no kickbacks here – it is just really cute. But the truth remains. Flamingo parents (notice that I’m saying parents, both the male and female) lose their pink when they care for their young.

Let’s get nerdy

Flamingos are born with pale gray feathers, but become pink because they feed on algae, crustaceans, brine shrimp, among other things. These tiny organisms have a lot of carotenoids in their body. Carotenoids would kill most animals, but a flamingo’s liver can handle it. A build up of this stuff legit stains flamingo feathers pink and/or orange. Voila! A pink flamingo!

Flamingos are also filter feeders. They literally stomp on the ground to loosen the dirt, stick their ‘head upside down underwater with its bill pointed at its feet. Then they sweep their head side-to-side, using their tongue to pump water in and out of the bill. Comb-like plates along the edge of the bill create a filter for water to rush out, while trapping food inside.’ After all this work, the mommy or daddy flamingo regurgitates digested food into their young’s mouth to feed it (is there a mom Frida for that?). The parent doesn’t get the nutrients or the carotenoids passed into their system. The color in their feathers wane because the stain in the carotenoids (and the nutrients) is passed to the kids. They are simply exhausted and pasty.

Exhaustion – reminds me that flamingos and parents do have a lot in common. Flamingos can survive in hostile environments. They can drink the salty water that is in their marshland home. They do most of their arduous activity and fly longer distances at night when it is cooler. They can eat for half of the day.

And like parents, sometimes their bathing habits can be suspect – they preen and whatnot, but instead of using dry shampoo or Milk’s Blush Stick, flamingos use a red-colored serum from their uropygial gland (right above their bum) and rub it on their cheeks to improve appearances.

This serum comes in handy because flamingos take mating very seriously. There is a whole dance. Think 80s prom. The brighter the plumage, the better dancer. (or it is a sign of how you are at foraging – but potato, potato). Like a poorly placed zit on your 16-year old nose, the pale feathers of a flamingo sends a strong message to potential suitors – ‘I feel gross. I am tired and I smell like last week’s dinner. Stay away.’

Personally, I don’t really like smelling like last week’s dinner. Especially when I can’t remember what it was. Feeling tired all the time really isn’t my jam. Sometimes, there isn’t much I can do about it. But sometimes there is a little something I can do.

What I’m trying to say is, I’m going to eat the strawberry. And you should too.

You’re worth it. Parents. Friends. Aunts. Uncles. People. We’ve all got our salty water to contend with. We’ve all felt like we were filter feeding upside down at some point in our life. But we’ve got to remember no matter how tough things get, instead of wiping bum serum on your face, go to Sephora and show your colors.

Because I’m worth it. I’m worth a strawberry. Not just a piece. The whole damn thing.

A tree that gives live births What?

Mangroves and Mother Ginger. The Caymans and a good, clean sheet tuck in – find out how they are all related.

Read on

Sources:

Flamingos – Shepherd, Jodie, Flamingos. New York, NY. Scholastic

National Zoo – https://nationalzoo.si.edu/animals/news/why-are-flamingos-pink-and-other-flamingo-facts

Science Focus – https://www.sciencefocus.com/nature/why-are-flamingos-pink/

Science News – https://www.sciencenews.org/article/flamingo-feathers-dye-pink-biology

Smithsonian Magazine – https://www.smithsonianmag.com/science-nature/for-some-species-you-really-are-what-you-eat-40747423/#:~:text=Beta%2Dcarotene%2C%20responsible%20for%20the,peaches%2C%20strawberries%20and%20many%20flowers.

Wild Flamingos – McMillan, Bruce, Wild Flamingos. NewYork, NY, Houghton Mifflin. 1997

I’m worth a strawberry. Eat one. I dare you. Read More »

Let’s grab a think