Anthropology of Nature: Week 6 - 20131002 MY Nature...

This blog entry is part of a project for the class Anthropology of Nature. 

Last week I wrote about the vine in my backyard. A couple days ago a group member of mine, who was raised on some islands rife with the vine, searched her memory for its name. It was only a short moment, but I offered "Balsam Apple", as quick as a blink she assured me "No, it's Cersei" (phonetic). "We use it," she continued" to treat [something, my apologies, I forget]. The image on her slide was the yellow egg-shaped ridged fruit on my vines, with tiny red pomegranate-seed-like-seeds poking out through a curled back end.



I do not mind being wrong, or being told I am wrong. Being told I am wrong is the only way to way know when I am wrong! So, I came home and looked it up (more on that later). I was very interested that one could or would feel ownership of a particular plant species. It is not like, a single organism, say a potted plant, of any species, that was planted, grown, cultivated. We were literally talking about a vine that was growing wild, an entire species. It was "hers" because it grew where she grew up. Do I have any plant species I consider "mine" because it grew up in Phoenix? How prevalent is it that we mow down someone else's perception or name of something, because we already have our own name? There is a lot of myths about naming; it is said that knowing the name of something gives one power over it (or them). I have read stories where giving your full name to a demon meant it could kidnap you, or giving a name to a low level angel gave it free will. Humans name things, because we need to. Once we name it, it's ours. (Don't believe me? Bring a strange animal home, and let your kids name it. See if they argue over who gets to name it, and then try to get rid of it after they do...)

This species is one of billions on the planet. Neither of us know all the species in our respective areas, but this one is 'hers'. The name I offered was flat out rejected, because it was not the name she knew it by and thereby must be wrong. Yet, even with a well accepted Taxonomic system, local people will call plants and animals by a local name, and outside names are 'wrong', not more data, or a translation, but wrong.
I found that very interesting. An, ownership based on familiarity.

Now, on the plant itself.

This is the vine I see in my garden (Balsam Apple, Momordica charantia):

(1) http://florida.plantatlas.usf.edu/
SpecimenDetails.aspx?PlantID=1390

The image she showed in the slides comes from the Momordica charantia wiki page, and shows it to have another name, Bitter Melon.
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Bitter_melon

Though, the cultivated version of the plant grows fruit roughly American-Cucumber sized, and may be eaten when not ripe. The ripe seeds are, apparently, poisonous. (per http://okeechobee.ifas.ufl.edu/News%20columns/Wild%20Cucumber.htm)

A very closely related plant is the Momordica balsamina, which shares the name Balsam Apple. A florida gardening page has many images, very clearly the vine I have in my yard, and one mentions that in their neighborhood it is called "Cerasse".
http://davesgarden.com/guides/pf/go/811/


We don't own any plants. We name what we find. Geneticists may determine which plants are really which, but we will continue to call them by our learned names and perceive the world with our limited senses. It is so amusing to me that simply the naming of what is within arms reach, the names passed down by our families, and the names given by strangers, hold such power over the perceptions themselves.

It's been such a busy busy week. We found a place to move to (with a nice size yard for the dog) but basically have to chase down the owner to get the lease signed. I find it so silly that I could move in somewhere with three children, and all the damage they cause, but people balk when I tell them I have a lazy four-year old female black lab. Seriously. The only thing she damages is tennis balls. Le sigh. I'm a little sad that I'll lose my little vines. There have always been these fast-spreading vines in the back yard, along the back fence. I'm sure they're invasive, but they make a half-decent privacy shield of gently waving green, with small yellow-orange pods that burst and curl back to reveal pepper-red corn-kernel-like seeds. I love them, and their tiny yellow flowers. The old landlord always had the lawn men cut it down. Then the vines would shrivel into brown twigs, and the leaves would shrivel up and fall away, and my tiny yard would be exposed to the back alley and it's steady flow of half-drunk men. It's very disturbing--to have them watch me, without even trying to hide it, while I throw the tennis ball down the small yard again and again and again, while they just...stare. I love those invasive green fluttering leaves. I've just learned they're called Balsam Apple, and that they are indeed invasive (1). The new landlord doesn't cut the grass, so the roots regrew the vine over the back fence. The main vine is over 20 feet long now, and crawls along the back fence and into the backyard of the neighbor's yard. It's growing another lead vine, in the opposite direction, and slowly covering the other wall, shielding me, slowly, from the back alley. I've found little sprouts of the vine in the yard (my first clue that it was invasive, growing where the grass refuses to) and transplanted them along the rest of the fence, hoping they'd take and grow the green wall to protect me on a third side. One took quickly and is 1.5 feet tall now, but isn't broad yet. The others are taking longer to decide to crawl up the fence, though I try to help them along by twining their thigmotropic tendrils along a chain link. I'm usually very 'against' invasive plants. I know that some people feel that "invasiveness" is a myth, and that humans are simply another form of seed-transmission. True, I suppose, but it's still sad to see the invasive beings choke out the local ones. Except, I suppose, for my vines, as I obviously crave the meager privacy, protection, I feel they offer. I won't take them with me, not even a seed. The new home has overgrown bushes along the back fence, and it's our job to trim them. I aim not to.


1. Balsam Apple - http://davesgarden.com/guides/pf/showimage/19852