Kermit was wrong: It is easy being green.
I am at Phipps Conservatory and Botanical Gardens, but I might as well be in an Amazon rain forest or in a 17th-century Flemish court garden or in a delightful fluttering fairyland or even -- no, God, no! -- back in Palm Springs.
The official motto at Phipps is "Come wonder!"
And I do.
As someone known to drown cacti, I wonder how Phipps personnel keep it all so perfect, so pretty, so green, so growing. Being the nosy newbie I am, I plant my questions with Phipps pro Jessica Romano, who nourishes my needs, then turns me loose to roam the indoor and outdoor gardens of Eden.
I stop at the Palm Court to gawk at the 65-foot Cliff Date Palm, the tallest tree in the conservatory, as I make my way to the Stove Room. Here, until Oct. 11, is a most glorious butterfly back yard. Several Julias, Queens, Red Admirals and Buckeyes land, ever so gingerly, on my shoulders, my arms, my head. Signs warn visitors to watch their step, not so much to stop lawsuits should the floors be wet but because "butterflies sometimes rest on the floor." On the day I visit, there are several butterflies emerging from their ... even typing the phrase "hard-shelled pupa" disgusts me. Phipps has imported 7,000 of the creepy-looking butterfly beds (now that's better!). Depending on the species, they take anywhere from a few days to a few weeks to hatch, then fly around for their photo ops before making one last dive into the plush landscape, where their decaying corpses become, as Jessica says with perfect political correctness, "part of the landscape."
I am not crazy about the Desert Room, not because the sundry succulents aren't eye-catching or exotic, but because the plants remind me of a former life in Southern California, where the average IQ was about 18, three notches above that of a beaver-tailed prickly pear.
I walk and I wander; this place is a maze (Phipps would probably prefer "labyrinth"), and whatever path I choose, whichever turn I take, I am met with things blossoming and beautiful. It's awfully kid-friendly too; several "Look! Touch! Feel!" kiosks sprout up; there's a nifty (and free!) place where wee ones can transplant a seedling into a pot and take it home.
Some of the plants look like distant kin of Audrey II; the Vanilla plan foliais a rather ugly (Phipps would probably prefer "unattractive") plant, especially because the Vanilla Orchid hanging in the Orchid Room promises such sweet-smelling joy. I learn that in the 10 years the plant has lived at Phipps, it has never sprouted pods. For a sci-fi second, I imagine the pods becoming body snatchers and wonder if there is a mini-me running around in a big-screen, black-and-white '50s rerun.
But there's nothing vanilla about the current chocolate exhibit. The theme is stretched a bit too thin (think Hershey's syrup versus Smucker's hot fudge), but it's fun to see what tasty ideas were unwrapped from the minds of Phipps staff. The most original leaves me tickled pink: Hundreds of pink flamingoes -- those tacky lawn ornaments whose legs have been replaced by thin steel rods -- populate the place, their plastic bodies coated chocolate brown.
The brown birds are nestled among the tangerine lantana and extra lemon yellow marigolds; several are in the sunken garden-turned-spa, where they await -- mesh scrubbing sponges dangling from necks, shower caps on heads, towels over bodies -- a bubbly, frothy mocha bath. Some are basking amidst the dancing waters ... while others, a flock of 15 crammed into a U.S. Coast Guard-approved ring buoy, await rescue in the Serpentine Room.
The most innovative use of the birds is in the East Room, where different shades of brown represent the different coca content found in chocolate. Dark chocolate? The birds are rich brown. Semi-sweet? A lighter shade. White chocolate? Color the bird white.
Such tasty treats ... and not a calorie in sight.
Even John Waters would call these pink flamingoes divine.
First Published: June 2, 2008, 4:00 a.m.
