In my native North Texas, we don't have a heck of a lot of trees. Live Oaks, mostly, with an occasional scraggly Magnolia, thrown in for springtime color. Oh, a few Mimosas & lots of scruffy Mesquite, too. The grass grows green during April gully-washers, then goes to dirt brown about 11 months of the year.
Our only saving grace down Dallas way is the Azaleas, which bloom with abandon once a year, especially by Turtle Creek and out near Mesquite. The town, just east of Big D, is otherwise aptly named.
And of course, my home turf is flatter than Kansas & drier than a sandstorm in the Sahara, most of the year.
Which is why this native Tejana was so surprised to learn about the art of the Bottle Tree. Up here in the lush, quite hilly foliage of the DC 'Burbs.
Bottle Trees, apparently, originated in the Congo, and the tradition was brought to the American South by slaves. The bottles, you see, are supposed to keep all "evil spirits" at bay.
So, I've just started "growing" my very own backyard Bottle Tree. I'm told that it will achieve maturity when it reaches its complement of 15 bottles. I reckon we're about 8 bottles short of changing our luck for the better. I wanted to get a better shot for Weekend Reflections, but the sun was not cooperating yesterday.
My fountain, whom we named Alicia, pours algae-stained water over & over again, out back by my newest garden acquisition. Maybe by the time my Bottle Tree fully blooms, I'll find a way to clean up Alicia's act.