If one picture's worth a thousand, I figure I've got at least that much to say.
Thanks to the indefatigable efforts of Ceylan Zere of
Asia Minor Tours and the inspired imagination of
Holly Chase Middle Eastern Tours, our botanical tour of Turkey has come to a (whew!) end. In eleven long days through western Turkey, we've covered 1600 miles of terrain and seen everything from yellow crocus in snow to pink cistus baking in the Mediterranean sun.
Relaxing? Forget it. Overwhelming? You bet. Spectacular? Often. If you've just stumbled into this journey, the botanical wonders begin
here.
Or, here...
Black poppies (OK,
near black) on the side of the road during a stormy day in the mountains outside Antalya, the same day and the same road that boasted tulips and pink silene...
A few days earlier, the weather was considerably brighter and the botanists bonkers over joyous ditches of euphorbia and endemic lathyrus (a.k.a., peas).
Lathyrus, by the way, is one of the many genera I have new respect for after seeing them riot in the wild. Some, like this hot pink endemic, did a convincing imitation of an orchid. I wish I could say I was similarly fooled into love by western Turkey's ubiquitous and colorful
Genista and
Cytisus, but any way you spell them, to me they still say yikes! Yellow broom!
On the other hand, I have a new association with the term "phoenix rising" after seeing this lone, 80' wide
Phoenix rising among the ruins at
Patara.
Most memorable plant? I'm embarrassed to admit it was a little oddity found among the ruins in, um, give me a day or two to find my notes. Embarrassed because it exposes me for the plants-
without-showy-flowers freak that I am. Introducing
Medicago orbicularus!
From orchids to salvia, ground-hugging echiums to steep cliffs of yellow phlomis, I have seen SO MANY flowering plants. Perhaps too many as mere acquaintances, and too few as real friends. Certainly, at the speed we were going and the distances we traveled, getting a real feel for any one ecosystem was completely out of the question. And sure, that's the nature of the bus tour beast. But all in all, I lucked out: a warm and resourceful tour guide, an extremely affable, easy-going group and a country whose flora is only surpassed by its people and their capacity to delight, engage and inspire.
In the days ahead, I'll likely sort through my notes and photographs of native Turkish plants. Let me know your level of interest in specifics. Otherwise (she says, clicking her heels three times), hope you stay tuned as I reconnect tomorrow with spring in the Pacific Northwest.
And Holly, I'll never forget that you made a dream come true...
And you better believe I don't want it for soup. An in-depth blog post by Portland writer Kate Bryant spells out why this spring-flowering weed is a recipe for disaster. Kate's recently back from western MA. where she witnessed (left) the takeover of garlic mustard everywhere from her hometown library to her childhood woodland garden. 
Black poppies (OK, near black) on the side of the road during a stormy day in the mountains outside Antalya, the same day and the same road that boasted tulips and pink silene...
A few days earlier, the weather was considerably brighter and the botanists bonkers over joyous ditches of euphorbia and endemic lathyrus (a.k.a., peas). 
Lathyrus, by the way, is one of the many genera I have new respect for after seeing them riot in the wild. Some, like this hot pink endemic, did a convincing imitation of an orchid. I wish I could say I was similarly fooled into love by western Turkey's ubiquitous and colorful Genista and Cytisus, but any way you spell them, to me they still say yikes! Yellow broom! 
On the other hand, I have a new association with the term "phoenix rising" after seeing this lone, 80' wide Phoenix rising among the ruins at Patara.
From orchids to salvia, ground-hugging echiums to steep cliffs of yellow phlomis, I have seen SO MANY flowering plants. Perhaps too many as mere acquaintances, and too few as real friends. Certainly, at the speed we were going and the distances we traveled, getting a real feel for any one ecosystem was completely out of the question. And sure, that's the nature of the bus tour beast. But all in all, I lucked out: a warm and resourceful tour guide, an extremely affable, easy-going group and a country whose flora is only surpassed by its people and their capacity to delight, engage and inspire.
In the days ahead, I'll likely sort through my notes and photographs of native Turkish plants. Let me know your level of interest in specifics. Otherwise (she says, clicking her heels three times), hope you stay tuned as I reconnect tomorrow with spring in the Pacific Northwest.
I believe it was just yesterday that we were sailing along (make that motoring along) in a Mediterranean lagoon, looking for shards of antiquity through view holes in the boat. That would be the same day we scored a MAJOR botanical find, thanks to the taxonomist whose name truly does translate as Sky King. 
Gokhon Deniz has done a brilliant job finding us orchids in the middle of nowhere. Well, not actually nowhere; the truth is they're in secret places only he and a few other serious local plant people know. I'll be damned if I'm going to spill the beans but I will show you what we found.
Behold Ophrys lyciensis, easily the 10th terrestrial Turkish orchid we've now seen. This one's not remotely endangered (not yet, anyway, despite 70,000 of these and other little suckers getting dug up annually for the Turkish drink, Salep) but living nearby were the remains of a recently-flowered Ophrus lycia and that puppy's allegedly one of only hundreds left on the planet. 
I leave you face to face with reason #724 why I'd rather eat weeds. Signing off from the Mediterranean city of Antalya, a whole day of sightseeing away from where I began this morning's blog
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