ProfessorRoush had to leave home before dawn yesterday morning, but returned home at noon to a sunshine-blue sky and a garden made of crystal. The view of Mrs. ProfessorRoush's favorite redbud tree and the lilacs lining the garage pad was otherworldly, an alien landscape of architectural glass forms.
The prairie grasses, themselves, were bent low with the weight of 1/2" thick ice, reddened by the strain of winter's fury. Even the buff buffalograss was transformed, a crackling surface rough on the paws of poor Bella, who decided she really wanted as few bathroom breaks as possible in this mess.
How much the ice must have affected all the wildlife who couldn't rush inside? At least the overhang from my bluebird boxes seemed to be protecting the precious structure and potential lives beneath it.
And, alas, all the poor shrubs. Viburnums, lilacs, honeysuckle and sumac, transformed to statues as stiff as the concrete and glass ornaments among them. Look at the icicle that was formerly my Star Magnolia, brittle branches defenseless to the first cruel wind that arises. Today's high is supposed to be 36ºF. I can only hope that the sun comes out before the south wind and clears the branches from their burdens before they shatter and break.
There is hope however, buried within the glass. No deer will be munching on these Magnolia flower bud popsicles in the near future. Glazed artwork, the protected buds will wait patiently and, maybe, just perhaps, decide to put off their spring debut until a more reasonable period of warming occurs.
For right now, my garden is a time capsule frozen by a winter's tantrum. A freak sudden climate change, a sudden shift to Ice Age, and millennia from now a future archaeologist might be uncovering a garden of magnolias, roses, and daylilies, wondering how they could all survive together in such a horrid place for gardening. He or she might come across that eternal granite garden bench of mine,
an alluring seat in the sunshine of my photo last week, but not nearly so inviting now. A little more digging, however, and they'll discover the strawberry bed of the vegetable garden, protected behind an electric fence and under a layer of straw, and know that here lived a gardener, one filled with hope for a fruit-filled future and spring.
The prairie grasses, themselves, were bent low with the weight of 1/2" thick ice, reddened by the strain of winter's fury. Even the buff buffalograss was transformed, a crackling surface rough on the paws of poor Bella, who decided she really wanted as few bathroom breaks as possible in this mess.
How much the ice must have affected all the wildlife who couldn't rush inside? At least the overhang from my bluebird boxes seemed to be protecting the precious structure and potential lives beneath it.
And, alas, all the poor shrubs. Viburnums, lilacs, honeysuckle and sumac, transformed to statues as stiff as the concrete and glass ornaments among them. Look at the icicle that was formerly my Star Magnolia, brittle branches defenseless to the first cruel wind that arises. Today's high is supposed to be 36ºF. I can only hope that the sun comes out before the south wind and clears the branches from their burdens before they shatter and break.
There is hope however, buried within the glass. No deer will be munching on these Magnolia flower bud popsicles in the near future. Glazed artwork, the protected buds will wait patiently and, maybe, just perhaps, decide to put off their spring debut until a more reasonable period of warming occurs.
For right now, my garden is a time capsule frozen by a winter's tantrum. A freak sudden climate change, a sudden shift to Ice Age, and millennia from now a future archaeologist might be uncovering a garden of magnolias, roses, and daylilies, wondering how they could all survive together in such a horrid place for gardening. He or she might come across that eternal granite garden bench of mine, an alluring seat in the sunshine of my photo last week, but not nearly so inviting now. A little more digging, however, and they'll discover the strawberry bed of the vegetable garden, protected behind an electric fence and under a layer of straw, and know that here lived a gardener, one filled with hope for a fruit-filled future and spring. 
Love the bench! I just read your post on Louise Odier and would be very interested to hear about what 5-10 top roses you would chose if you had a small garden in your zone. I am in z5a and I find your blog very interesting! Thanks for posting!
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