This week while visiting my friend Kharin here in San Miguel, I looked up from admiring her lovely terrace garden to see a jacaranda tree in bloom in the distance. It was my first jacaranda-in-bloom sighting of the season. I wanted to dance around her terrace and sing “It’s jacaranda time again!” Bliss.
When I lived in southern Africa in my mid-twenties, I learned that springtime there was known as “jacaranda time.” Majestic jacaranda trees lined the broad avenues of the capital — then Salisbury, Rhodesia, now Harare, Zimbabwe — and came into bloom in October and November each year, which is springtime in the southern hemisphere.
The city of Salisbury when I lived there (from 1969 to 1972) was rightly and proudly known as “the city of flowering trees.” There were flame-red flamboyants, delicate-pink mimosas, and sunny-yellow cassias, among the many other colorful tropical flowering trees lining the streets. But I was most captivated by the jacarandas.
Growing up in northern New Jersey, I’d loved the dazzlingly colorful fall foliage, and the fragile, Eastertime-flowering dogwood tree in our front yard. But I’d never seen trees like these jacarandas in southern Africa: toweringly tall and strong, like oak trees in their regal bearing; yet, when in bloom in October, fancifully dressed in frilly gowns made of pale-purple, bell-shaped flowers.
As I wrote in my memoir of that time and place (Somewhere Child, Viking Press, 1981), “in November, when the rainy season began, the purple bells fell along the wet sidewalks, mirroring the glamor of the trees.” What impressed me most and inspired me then about those jacarandas was the juxtaposition of their soaring strength and their seemingly fragile beauty.
Now, here I am, five decades later, living in the central mountains of Mexico. Spring is approaching, and what do I find? It’s jacaranda time again. I feel as if I’ve come full circle.
Now that springlike weather has arrived, this beautiful, old, colonial city of San Miguel de Allende will gradually become dotted all over with an added color on its already color-filled palette – purple jacaranda (pronounced “HACK-ah-ronda” here) trees in bloom.
I’ve learned that jacaranda trees, native to South America, have been planted widely in Asia, South Africa, Zimbabwe, Australia, and other tropical and subtropical regions. Obviously, being tropical trees, they don’t like cold weather. “Small jacaranda trees can grow in shade, but more mature trees need more sun,” I read. Ah, and here’s an inspiring takeaway: “Only older jacaranda trees will bloom.”
15 thoughts on “Jacaranda Time Again”
They are also abundant, thankfully, in Los Angeles.
Yes! I saw them there when I went to graduate school at Antioch in L.A. What a joy to see! Hope you and Claudia are doing well, Ted. — BB
Can’t wait to see them in person!
Yes! I think your trip will time them perfectly, Be. You’ll be able to take dazzling pictures.
Thanks for sharing this positive message & the lovely pictures. They are so welcome!
Thank you for the lovely pictures and positive thoughts about this special tree ….. so appreciated!
Thank you, Marie. I’m so glad you liked the post.
Thanks, Lyn! I always appreciate your feedback. 🙂
Love your description which takes me back to these trees in Ghana. Thank you as always for bring color and wisdom to my day.
So good to hear from you, Barbara. I hope you’re doing well and enjoying your retirement. So glad you liked this post. Abrazos (hugs), Bonnie
So many colores hermosos! Bello, la Bonnie!
Si, querida Te! Ven a ver! — xx
What lovely scenery you have. It’s good to know that old trees have advantages. Your last line made me laugh.
Thank you, dearest Paul! Yes, there are advantages to being an old tree! 🙂