The Patience and Persistence of the Fire Poppy

Chaparral covers about ten percent of California.  It's tough stuff, made to withstand heat, drought, and poor soil conditions.  For many years I rode my beloved Arabian mare, Joy, through the bushy green scruff.  (My little sweetheart, who I always said looked like a Unicorn without the horn, passed away at the ripe old age of 31 last June, may she be galloping free in greener pastures now.)  Actually, it's not really accurate to say that I rode through the chaparral per se-- it's way too dense for that (although Joy decided to experiment with that a few times despite my protests, and to the great detriment of my clothing and exposed skin.  I think she found it terribly funny and also a great way to scratch sweaty itches on a warm day.) We rode on trails that had been carved out and cleared through the chaparral.  I confess, I never learned very well how to differentiate between most of the different plants that go into that category, which all had a scrubby, shrubby, woody, and, to my eye, rather non-descript appearance.  But now, in the aftermath of all the terrible fires we had here in California last Autumn, I have a growing respect for these things, which burn easily because of their resinous foliage, but have an amazing capacity to resurrect themselves, Phoenix like.  Chamise,  Mountain Mahogany, Scrub Oak, Coffee-Berry, some types of Manzanita and Ceanothus, and, unfortunately, Poison Oak, all have the amazing ability to re-sprout from their unburned roots -- and have already begun to do just that. 

But then there are the "seeders".  Some, like the Sages, Yerba Santa, and Gooseberries, are already part of the chaparral landscape and just need a little rain for their dropped seeds to sprout back up anew to replace their burned parents.  But most extraordinary of all are the plants, like the Fire Poppy, that ONLY grow after a fire.  These miraculous plants have seeds that lie dormant, sometimes for 50 years or more! waiting for the next fire to bring them to life. Fire opens the dense canopy, giving sunlight and space where there was only shade and congestion before.  The seeds of the Fire Poppy and others like it require the heat of the fire to scarify the seed coats so that with the rains, and the newly admitted sunlight, they can then sprout.  Then, especially in the first spring after the fire, and usually for one or two years after, they carpet the burn areas, along with other "fire followers" such as Whispering Bells, White Pincusion, and some Phacelias and Lupines; and with some of the other more common wildflowers such as Wild Canterbury Bells, other Lupines, Fiddleneck, Suncup, and Popcorn Flower, which seem to grow in greater profusion after a fire;  giving a spectacular show and providing some of nature's own protection against soil erosion!

I have heard that there have been Lotus seeds that have sprouted after 2,000 years; and that is a story for another day;  but when I think of the little Fire Poppy, waiting even fifty years for its time to shine,  I am encouraged in my own life, that I still have time left to shine, that even though we fear that our time has come and gone and it may be too late, maybe what was really required, just like the Fire Poppy, is to burn away all that stands between lying dormant in the dirt and shining brilliantly; that sometimes that perfect convergence of circumstances required to blossom fully may be some considerable time in coming.

And so, thinking of that, I will renew my hope and patience and persistence; and I hope to encounter many Fire Poppies and their brilliant friends this spring, and be reminded, once again, that I, too, can still shine.