Gene Bauer, 85, is well-known for her daffodils in the San Bernadino Mountains–a garden of close to a million yellow blooms. Until recently, she opened the garden to a curious public who would travel to see her labor of love. In the 1970s, however, one didn't need to travel to experience Bauer's passion for flowers. Instead, it would arrive by mail, as a small silk-screened booklet that depicted one of Bauer's favorite California plants.
Plucked or planted, our trees and flowers often speak for us when we cannot. A posy for the sweetheart, a laurel for the victor, a garland for the dead—they are quiet articulations of love, hope, and mourning. This is the language of plants, and it is worth remembering for those flying over Argentina's pampas plains, for it explains an odd vision in the monotonous topography. The blue-and-green guitar is two-thirds of a mile long, an enormous aberration in the uniformly-low grasslands.