Even without the extended warmth that’s come our way this winter, the plant variously known as spiny aster, wolfweed, or Mexican devil-weed often blooms into December. Found in the southwestern and south-central United States, as well as in Mexico and Central America, the plant thrives along roadsides or weedy slopes, and in ditches, depressions, and bottomlands. At the San Bernard Wildlife Refuge, it often appears in conjunction with wild irises that fill the ditches in spring.
It’s of interest that the plant’s genus — Chloracantha — is monotypic: that is, it contains only the single species Chloracantha spinosa.
In spring, leaves briefly appear on the young, succulent stems before dropping off after two or three weeks. At that point, the stems themselves begin the process of photosynthesis. In time, the stems become wiry and develop small barbs: the source of the common name spiny Chloracantha.
A single species, but many flowers
Maturing solitary flowers, loosely branched and opening from the bottom up, are aster-like, with white rays and a multitude of yellow disk florets. By late winter, their flowers gone and their color faded to shades of gray, they’ll be ready to form a pleasing backdrop for spring’s emerging greens.
The fragrance — delicate, sweet, and evocative of spring — piqued my interest. Wandering in search of its source, I discovered a small lemon tree tucked into a raised planter, bearing both a single ripe fruit and an abundance of flowers coaxed into bloom by our unseasonably warm weather.
I wasn’t the only one attracted by the tree’s fragrance. Dozens of honey bees swarmed the flowers, making the most of the unexpected treat. A familiar human proverb suggests making lemonade when life serves up lemons, but the bees had a proverb of their own: when life gives you lemon flowers, start collecting pollen and sipping nectar with abandon.
Already heavy with pollen, a bee makes the most of its opportunity
To collect and transport pollen, honey bees mix pollen particles with nectar, forming the mixture into pellets which cling their hind legs in baskets (corbiculae) made of hair. Once at the hive, the bee scrapes off the gathered pollen with its other legs.
A busy, but happy bee
It took me some time to notice the way one bee had positioned a leg over its back. It might have been grooming, or seeking a more secure grip on its flower. On the other hand, it’s fun to imagine it scratching its head in confusion and wonderment over the unseasonal lemony banquet spread out before it.
A few months ago, during a casual after-dinner conversation about road trip playlists, a friend pointed out that, despite my selections’ variety, I’d missed what she considered one of the best road songs from the 1970s: Deep Purple’s “Highway Star.”
While I love classic rock, the only Deep Purple track I recognize immediately is “Smoke on the Water,” so off I went to find “Highway Star.” To my surprise, a title search on YouTube offered a few videos from Deep Purple itself, but dozens by a cover band called Missioned Souls. Curious, I clicked the link to their cover, and that’s all it took; the proverbial rabbit hole had opened before me.
A six-member family band from Cebu City in the Philippines, Missioned Souls’ history is fascinating. The parents, Secan and Sheena Alipio, played in a band called State of Grace when the kids were young, and allowed them come to rehearsals and performances. Eventually, the children began developing their own musical skills, and gravitating to particular instruments. As they did, the possibility of a family band emerged; finally, during a home jam session in 2022, the commitment was made.
Secan, a professional audio engineer, plays bass and does the sound mixing. Sheena shares vocal responsibilities with lead vocalist and rhythm guitarist Stacy, who’s currently twelve years old. Naces, the eldest at sixteen, plays both bass and keyboards; when the kids cover a song without the parents, Naces takes over for Secan on the bass. Fifteen year old Neisha is lead guitarist, while Isaiah, the youngest, has moved from drumming on his pillows as a four year old to being recognized as a remarkably mature drummer at eleven.
Today, the parents work from home and the kids are home schooled, making both education and practice possible. As for the name of their group, their mission statement is simple enough:
“Our journey began with a simple desire: to give thanks for the musical talents we have received from above. We are committed to fostering family unity, love, and respect through the joyful gift of music, serving as a heartfelt tribute to God’s blessings. We recognize that these gifts are meant to be shared, and through our performances, we aim to uplift spirits and bring smiles to the faces of those around us.”
When I saw they had posted a cover of Van Halen’s iconic “Jump” for New Year’s Eve, I was impressed by the performance, but curious about comments left by others; many pointed out the appropriateness of the song for the new year.
Eventually, I learned the reason. Like New Year customs of serving round fruits and wearing polka dots, encouraging children to jump at midnight on New Year’s Eve to encourage growth in the new year is a Filipino tradition. Long-time blog friends from the Philippines confirmed what I’d learned on the internet; the added cultural context made Missioned Souls’ choice more understandable, and enjoyable. Besides, it is a new year; if we jump in, we might even grow!
Comments always are welcome.
If you’re interested, Missioned Souls has hundreds of covers, ranging from AC/DC to Dire Straits to Abba and Adele.
Southern carpenter bee sipping nectar from a native cowpea ~ Vigna luteola
On the cusp of a new year, fireworks, parties, resolutions, and ‘lucky’ foods like black-eyed peas abound, as does the annual caution: “Don’t drink and drive.”
As it happens, the insects gathered at the Brazoria Wildlife Refuge just prior to this New Year’s Eve were under no such constraints; they were perfectly free to drink and fly to their hearts content.
A pollen-laden honeybee prowling a firewheel ~ Gaillardia pulchella
On December 28, the party already had begun. Honey bees, carpenter bees, sweat bees, and long-horned bees buzzed eagerly from flower to flower, knowing that Nature’s ‘last call’ for sips of nectar and visits to the pollen buffet wasn’t far away.
Ready to party, a jewel-like sweat bee visits a salt marsh aster buffet
Our unusually warm weather has prolonged the bloom of many plants, and a brief cold snap already is giving way to warmth that will linger through New Year’s Eve and Day.
Wolfberries provide fruit for sandhill cranes as well as pollen and nectar for bees
Whether nature’s denizens will party like rock stars is doubtful, and most will be in bed long before midnight. No matter. Well fed and warm, they’ll be ready to fly into the coming year, with all of the rewards and challenges it will offer.
Despite nibbled petals, leftover pollen and nectar still attract the bees
Christmas Day may have come and gone, but seasonal decorations like wreaths, poinsettias, and holly branches linger on, brightening homes and businesses with the reds and greens traditionally associated with our celebrations.
Out in the country, a different sort of holiday-like color decorated Brazoria County roadsides on December 28. Tempted into bloom by unseasonably warm weather and persistent, moisture-producing fog, a few dozen Indian paintbrush (Castilleja indivisa) were scattered about: a foretaste of our highly anticipated spring splendor.
Like holiday poinsettias, the plants’ brilliant color is provided by bracts that surround the actual flowers; yellow-green parts of two flowers can be seen protruding from the bracts on the left side of this plant.
Although most sources offer February (or March) through May as the species’ primary season, in 2025 I’ve found at least a few blooming in every month. Spring fields covered with these flowers certainly are dramatic, but a few stems daring to bloom in the face of on-coming winter are no less delightful.
An early December flurry of flowers
A single species, but many flowers
Lagniappe 