Springtime, it brings on the wildflowers

 Australian readers may be moved to song by that title, others may need to seek help to understand it. These days, wool is not such a major export, and shearing is a dying art, but even in suburbia, our Australian wildflowers are going bananas, and that's an Australianism that is now in my new book of Australian lingo, to be found on that link (hint get the ebook, which is cheaper and updated more often, f'rinstance by adding bananas, going, 31 August).

Foir foreigners, 'bush' is what you would call 'forest' or 'woods': because most Australian soils are ancient and poor, our bush plants show amazing diversity, and there are always some in flower.

This is Boronia, probably B. ledifolia, one of our prettiest bush flowers. It is growing in a patch of bush, less than two paces from a busy road, within 200 metres of where we now live. Sadly, most of it was stripped out, some time last week.

Freed for the moment from writing, I have been out and about, plying my original trade of botanising.  Let me say, though, that even without a real winter, there is a sudden spurt in the number of flowering plants, about a month before our vernal equinox, and we go from 25 species in flower to 50 or 60 this past week, at least on the larger patch of North Head (250 hectares or a square mile).

Now you may or may not know that Chris and I are both botanists, and we trained at the University of Sydney when that was the only place in Australia where systematic botany was taught, so we notice what is around. We really got into that during covid, when bushwalking was one of the few allowable things.

Even in my new suburban environment, walking along one fire trail as it changes down into a foot and bike track, I scored about 24 species blooming this morning. One of these, the Boronia above, is especially likely to be stolen by thieves, so while those who know me can work out where these grow, I am saying only that they come from a higher part of the Northern Beaches of Sydney.

Heading out our gate and turning right onto the fire trail, my first find was a Patersonia, aka a Native Iris.

This delightful plant blooms, based on some set of environmental factors, but only for one day. (My pet theory is that they get a go signal from the internet, but they are certainly synchronised, and being serious, it may be hours of sunshine, temperature or rain.)

There are at least two species of Patersonia in this area.

Now we turn to the Sydney Golden Wattle, Acacia longifolia, which has been uncouth and ill-behaved for the past two years. It used to come out on June 28, but moved back to June 24, and last year, came out in late July, and this year was out around July 14. In my view, this gave Australia its national colours.

Next, meet Epacris microphylla. The Epacridaceae are our answer to the heaths of Europe, and they are many and varied. This one, usually likes 'wet feet', but here, was growing on high ground.

Plants, we have to realise, are often anarchists. and as a former anarchist/surrealist bureaucrat, I cheer them on. So there: they will get no unsmiley snarly faces from me.

There are many members of the Leptospermum or ti-tree genus, and I suspect that we have three of them here. Go and look, if you know where I was working, and decide for yourself.

Most people assume that Darwinia was named after Charles Darwin, who popped into Sydney in 1836 and disappeared a month later, entirely unnoticed. In fact, it was named for his grandfather Erasmus, who was so mighty that he  had a semi-circle cut out of the dining table to let him get his paws closer to his dinner.

The track has more than plants, dogs and cyclists: there are also spiders like these ones, sheltering under a web in a rut left by a wheel.

Now here is another Epacris, and in the way of settlers, this one was dubbed 'native Fuchsia'. In the absence of any evidence of an Australian (pre-1788) name for it, I just call it Epacris longiflora.

This is one of the many 'bush peas', and I am afraid that I am less than expert at naming these things, so just call it, as most botanists do, 'eggs and bacon'.

Why? Look at the colours!

Now the next on was part of our university teacher's primary interest: the Goodeniaceae. I think I can safely label this as Scaevola scandens (almost probably, certainly maybe).

Now we come to a puzzle to most botanists, but not me, because I always run-and-find-out.

It turns out that the genus Grevillea was named to commemorate Charles Francis Greville, a founder of the Royal Horticultural Society. Like the Banksia and waratah, it is a member of the Proteaceae.

This one I choose to identify only as Grevillea sp., which is botanical shorthand  for "look, I know it's a Grevillea, but the species name has escaped my mind."

This sort of thing happens all the time in botany, but this next one is Grevillea buxifolia, the box-leaf Grevillea, aka the grey spider-flower, although my colleagues on North Head just refer to it as "bux".

Since covid, Chris and I have noticed that it is always blooming.

Now here is Phebalium, a small and unassuming plant, which seems to have a bit of a name for causing allergies, if touched.

We have done so without ill effect, but just a note of caution there.

And now, at last, a pea that I can put a name to: this one is Bossiaea, and it has large flowers with these colours.

Pimelea sp. is the rice flower, and this one (now) emerges at the end of August.

Westringia sp. is commonly known as the coastal rosemary.

It is quite common on North Head in a cultivar that I suspect was planted by the army, but suspicions aren't proof.

Hibbertia sp. occurs in a number of species on North Head, including one, H. scandens, which has proved such a pest that we no longer plant, and actively remove it.

Thankfully, this is a different one.

Boronia sp. is still to be found on the fire trail, just where it changes into a bike track and footpath.

With luck the flower thieves won't find it.

This is a Eucalyptus, a gum tree to ordinary Australians. The flowers will eventually become gumnuts.

That is what you can find on a single typical track, where what passes for soil is the largely sterile sand that comes from the Triassic (quarter billion year old) Hawkesbury sandstone.

I will be back to this area, because there are quite a few other plants that will be bobbing up here, over the next few months, and this is now one of my regular pads.

Moving residence does that to you.