Homeowners and gardeners dread the cleanup. Folks who park the car underneath its branches curse their sticky windshield (That’s the aphids’ fault, don’t blame the tree!). When its blossoms give way at the end of the season the leftovers are a mess for city maintenance workers to deal with, a slippery peril if wet. In a world where people either love them or hate them, I am a lover of the Jacaranda tree.
The Jacaranda mimosifolia is a sub-tropical tree native to South America. The blooms are known for their stunning color—Is it violet? Is it purple? I see it as somewhere in between, a blend of those hues that, when cast against the deep blue sky, is nothing short of glorious. Were a dress designer to miraculously capture the unique complexion, my closet would be filled with it.
The blooms arrive in Spring and early Summer and last for up to two months, although this year their blossoming has been a bit delayed due to all the rain we had in winter. That’s okay: Every late bloomer knows that what comes last is best. After their season in the sun the moans and groans of garden caretakers can be heard above the scraping of their rakes. But while they endure, my oh my, I look to the sky and thank God for the eyes with which to absorb such a floral spectacle!
In Washington D.C. it’s the cherry blossoms. Here, it’s the Jacaranda.
Certain Australians believe there is magic to be granted from the falling flowers: Queensland students refer to the period of spring bloom when, concurrently, examinations are held, as “purple panic” and it is thought that if a flower lands on the student’s head, he or she will pass all the arduous tests with, literally, flying colors.
Growing up in Pasadena, come late June I felt a powerful pull to walk the city streets abounding in floral profusion. Pasadena maintains an estimated 1,654 Jacarandas—you can’t miss them. On my daily walks I strolled by dozens, right and left; everywhere I looked I saw purple majesty; I was assaulted with their dazzling clusters of natural beauty along otherwise bare strips of asphalt. My stroll down Del Mar Boulevard never failed to offer a jaw-dropping exhibition of mother nature springing up from the pavement and creating an unparalleled canopy of color—Pasadena’s own rendition of “Purple Haze”.
Where I live now in Fallbrook the Jacaranda also abounds, but singly—one in this front yard, another over on that street. Standing alone they are indeed a visual marvel, but nothing can match that heart-stopping splendor of an entire avenue lined on either side, that Del Mar Boulevard parade of purple, a procession that although neither heralded nor televised, is every bit as stunning as the celebrated one dedicated to the roses on January first.
Mine is a brief but ever-faithful annual love affair; I enjoy only two short months of passion and so I drink in every sweet moment to carry me through the off-season… until we meet again.
The relationship may well be high maintenance for some, yet selfishly, I can sing only praise for the breathtaking object of my affection—the heavenly Jacaranda.
Kathleen Clary Miller is a native of Pasadena. She is the author of essays and stories that have been published for 20 years in newspapers and magazines across the country. Although she currently lives in Fallbrook, Pasadena will always be her home.
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