Rainbows in the garden
Different animals see color differently. If I see sort of orange, you might see sort of red. Ed Yong in An Immense World states that dogs are not color blind as the urban myth goes, but see a different color range of mostly shades of blue, yellow and gray. Elephants see only blues and yellows, and bumblebees can’t see red.
Story goes that baseball manager Whitey Herzog did not differentiate colors well at all, so his wife carefully arranged his clothes for him before his team took a road trip, but after a couple days he sported mismatched outfits with not a care in the world. I also attempt to add as many colors as possible to my gardens.
One reason is a variety of flowers attracts pollinators, some of which are lively and colorful. Also, I appreciate vegetables in offbeat colors. It’s surprising how many vegetables (but not watermelons) come in purple varieties. Snow peas are green, golden and purple. Tomatoes and peppers come in shades that can match a box of crayons.
Studies reveal colors impact our moods, though we react differently depending on situations and personal preferences. Mystical traditions also associate specific colors with our chakras, or energy centers in our bodies. For example, red helps with grounding and green assists with emotional healing.
For some folks, colors instinctively connect with certain musical notes or chords. For me, E minor evokes shades of pensive purple or dark blue, but again, color connections are personal.
The colors are there, so gardeners can choose to fashion rainbows, symphonies and Impressionist paintings in their garden. So, gardeners, let’s make rainbows.
“Red is the color of my true love’s eyes in the morning…” as the song goes, and throughout the tomato reservation, the strawberry cotillion, the beet patch (or is that purple?), and among your radishes and elsewhere. We associate red with love and alarm. Tradition connects it to the root chakra which, we are told, when healthy, grounds us. Varieties of both sweet and hot peppers are red, so red is versatile.
Sometimes red fades into the color we call orange, but all these names are dependent on measurement of a spectrum. It’s very personal. My red might be your orange, but can’t we still be friends?
Jubilee tomatoes are a bright orange, hearty, mid-size variety which will last to the end of your season. Many marigolds, cosmos, nasturtiums and butterfly plants have orange flowers. Calendula, too. A survey ranging through 30 countries found folks associate orange with joy or warmth, both good things.
Some winter squashes are mildly orange, or is that a deep yellow? Marigolds, zucchini, corn, beans, carrots, screaming hot peppers and a basketful of vegetables and fruits might be yellow that starts as pale orange and blends into pale green.
Yield signs are yellow, but so are crookneck squash. Tradition tells us yellow signifies movement from the part of life where we figure out, “Here I am, and this is me” to “Now what?” and the answer is get your garden ready for another spring. Here come Gold Rush zucchinis!
Ancient Greeks had only a single word chloros for what we call yellow and green. Grass is green, and so it is everywhere you look if you live in the woods. To me, green means life. I tend to seeds in the ground watching for a green sprout. Shades of green in leaves of spinach, lettuce, kale, snow peas… it is low on a list of what colors are missing in a garden.
Blue rhymes with true, and blue vegetables are few. Borage and morning glory flowers might be blue. Potatoes, corn and carrots have blue family members and would point out that diversity leads to innovation.
Aubergine, French word for an eggplant, became the name of the color of the traditional eggplant – a deep genuine purple. I’m still waiting for aubergine watermelons.
Sometimes – bean seeds, amaranth leaves – one color is not enough because nature has plenty to offer if we allow it. Gardeners, color up! Let’s paint pictures!