Plant of the Month: Okra

Many people think of Okra (Abelmoschus esculentus) as an edible plant to grow in a cultivated vegetable garden. That is all well and good, but the flowers are attractive, too. Since Okra is in the Malvaceae or Mallow family, its flowers resemble those of Hibiscus, Hollyhocks, and others.

Public Domain Photo: Bill Tarpenning - USDA

I've never grown Okra, but I happened across a pretty crop of it recently and got to thinking it would be a nice plant to add to a sunny potager garden someday. I've eaten Okra several times, and the preparation made a difference to my palate. Since it can be a little slimy, I prefer it breaded and deep or pan fried. How about you?

Okra's beginnings are apparently disputed, but it's believed to be originally from West Africa, Ethiopia, and/or South Asia. It's commonly grown around the world as a crop--perennial in warm climates and annual in climates with harsher winters. The seedpods and leaves can be cooked, and the leaves can also be used in salads. New to me was the fact that the seeds can be roasted and ground as a caffeine-free substitute for coffee.



Anyway, back to the beautiful plant, itself. I find the fuzzy buds particularly beautiful.



A side view shows the attractive petal veining, the deep magenta stems, and the pretty developing seedpods. (There are other varieties and colors, but I find this one particularly beautiful.)



Even the deeply lobed and serrated foliage has visual interest.



And, of course, the flowers themselves--like others in the Mallow family--are like dreamy colorful puffs of soft clouds.



How about you? Do you grow Okra? What do you think about the ornamental value of this plant?

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Note: I'm taking a short break to attend a conference, but I'll be back soon. Happy gardening!

Tomorrow's Big Picture

I've been around long enough to know that today is tomorrow's past. The moment after the autumn leaves flame, they're "past peak." When a flower blooms, it starts to fade. When a human being reaches the pinnacle of his or her career (or health or vibrancy), that person begins a certain decline. When we're born, we begin to die (during this life, anyway).

This is not intended to be a downer post. On the contrary, it's to remind me there is more promise in a tiny seed than in a plant in full bloom.

This autumn, I've been collecting seeds--studying them, playing with them, photographing them, appreciating them. What follows is a simple vignette of a few seeds and seedpods that have captured my curiosity.

Rudbeckia hirta

Agastache foeniculum

Phaseolus coccineus

Chasmanthium latifolium

Passiflora incarnata

Lablab purpureus

Mixed prairie grasses

Echinacea purpurea

Conoclinium coelestinum

Asclepias tuberosa

Solidago rugosa 'Fireworks'

All these plants are dormant. To some, they appear small ... insignificant ... boring. To the wise among us, they're stunningly beautiful ... full of promise ... worthy of great praise.

And lest we think of them as "little" things, we must remember that these tiny seeds, together ...



... are tomorrow's "big picture."

They are beautiful and powerful alone, but together in all their diversity and flaws, they can change the world.



Messy, yes ... but think of what they will become.