Yellow Prairie Beauties

Yellow Sweet Clover

"The holy eye is the one who is able to see the extraordinary beauties of the ordinary days."  Mehmet Murat ildan  

ProfessorRoush came across this quote this week and thought it worth sharing along with a few photos of the current floral life of the Tallgrass prairie.   It's YELLOW out there, everywhere, as Spring begins to close out and Summer rushes in.   Even the birds are yellow, as evidenced by this American Goldfinch (Spinus tristis) hanging upside down on my feeder.      

Yellow Sweet Clover

This airy yellow forb (and the one on the top left) is Yellow Sweet Clover (Melilotus officinalis), a biennial legume which is one of the first plants to colonize disturbed ground.  And if I wasn't an avid reader, or didn't know about kswildflower.org, I wouldn't know that its leaves release a vanilla odor when crushed.  I'm just not in the habit of crushing random plants, but perhaps I should learn.

Sulphur Cinquefoil

The bright yellow of Yellow Sweet Clover is mirrored by the yellow of the aptly-named Sulphur Cinquefoil (Potentilla recta) a non-native species which can become a noxious weed in some areas but seems to behave itself in competition with the prairie grasses.  This plant, a member of the Rose family, or Rosaceae, won't bloom but for a few weeks, but I welcome its "happy face" during late May and early June.

The purple-eyed yellow wildflower pictured on both sides here is another introduced species named Moth Mullein (Verbascum blattariais), another biennial which is, thankfully because it is a non-native, rare on my prairie.  This single specimen, in fact, was the only one I saw this morning, but it's delicate petals were easily spotted above the still-shorter grasses.  Apparently, it can have either pure white or yellow petals, but surprisingly, kswildflower.org doesn't mention this color variation in the text.  

The Wikipedia entry for Moth Mullein correctly describes the color variation, as well as the faint purple tinge on some petals.  Wikipedia also described an experiment by Dr. William James Beal, that, after 121 years of storage, had a 50% germination rate from 23 Moth Mullein seeds (which the skeptic in me questions because how do you get exactly 50% germination of 23 seeds?   Perhaps 11/23 seeds germinated and they rounded up?).

Goat's Beard

A final, easy-to-spot yellow nonnative "weed" blooming now is Goat's Beard (Tragopogon dubius), a tall and ubiquitous member of the Sunflower family that I am pulling up by the bucketfuls from my garden beds.  I leave it alone on the prairie, but, oh how I wish that it didn't spread everywhere by floating seeds similar to a dandelion.  Pulling it barehandedly, the sticky latex sap of this plant is a slight irritant to my palms and really gets my goat. Kswildflowers.org says specifically that it's not an aggressive weed, but I disagree.  Goat's Beard has a long deep taproot that grips firmly when the soil is dry and often just breaks off, but it will pull up intact and whole after a rain, if I'm careful.

Canada Warbler

I'll leave you today with one final spot of yellow, this very young Canada Warbler (Cardellina canadensis) that I found near the College sitting patiently on the ground as if it had fallen from a nest and couldn't fly.  You may be seeing more birds here in the blog, periodically, because this summer I'm on a bird-watching and bird-feeding journey and I'm noticing them everywhere now that I'm looking for them.  I hope you'll indulge my newest passion while I learn; I won't stop blogging about gardens, but every new enthusiasm makes me only better able to grasp and enjoy the "beauties of ordinary days."

A Trip to Ego-Land

ProfessorRoush would like to apologize, in advance, for this brief detour into a landscape populated only by ego and self-indulgence.  Normally immune to the frequent and seemingly random solicitations from internet phishers, I was nonetheless unable to resist further exploring the email below, if only to find out exactly where and why Garden Musings placed in the "Top 15 Kansas Gardening Blogs".   I was hooked, caught and reeled in, and further enticed to actually post the "badge" at the right, simply when I saw that I was 2nd (!) on a list headed by the Dyck Arboretum Blog (Dyck is a 13 acre arboretum in Hesston, Kansas).  I view the latter as prestigious company to my measly efforts!  You can view the list yourself, here.

The email:

The "panelist" referenced here is undoubtedly a computer search engine devoid of any aesthetic senses and, okay, yes, it's an obvious ploy to get me to subscribe to this feed engine and to advertise on it, all, of course, for a minimal monthly fee.  Well, flattered as I am, there is little chance of that, but I was quite happy to see that there was, in fact, some sort of system present for the selection.   For some, like the Dyck Arboretum Blog, it seemed to be due to its social media following on Facebook and Instagram, but also because of something called "domain authority."  A simple search revealed that "Domain Authority (DA) is a score, ranging from 1 to 100, developed by Moz (a popular SEO tool and company) that predicts how likely a website is to rank on search engine result pages (SERPs)." A higher DA score indicates a greater potential for a website to rank higher in search results. It's essentially a measure of the website's overall authority and credibility in its specific industry or niche.  For reference, Dyck's domain authority is 38, Garden Musings is 27.  

I was also pleased to find my reader and fellow blogger Brother Placidus, at The Cloister Garden, was also on the Top 15 list. FeedSpot is obviously a discerning business with excellent literary tastes!  Unfortunately for them, their effective appeal to my vanity did not change my motivation or plans for this blog.  It was never intended to make me rich or popular or famous, but is simply an exercise in mental health maintenance by someone who sees writing as an outlet.  The unexpected recognition, however, still lifted my spirits, so this blog entry is credit for their efforts!         

This weekend, I promise I'll set vanity aside again and try to meet your expectations for a short foray into a subject that is actually, you know, garden-related.

Secrets in Transition

ProfessorRoush has been harboring a secret for over a month now, but I'm too excited to keep it any longer.  If I pass it on, do you promise not to tell?  Swear? Pinky swear?  Cross your heart and hope to die? Stick a needle in....oh, whatever?   I just have to tell it anyway or I'll burst.

Recognize the rose pictured at the top right?   That's 'Lillian Gibson', in all her moods and phases from bud to petal fall.   I've written about her before here, and here, but as a mature lady this year, at 14 years old in my garden, she's still completely gorgeous.  And believe it or not, the weed-choked, neglected orphan  pictured on the left, as captured in a snapshot on 5/18/2025, one month after she started blooming, is the worst she has looked in 10 years!  If you only knew what she has survived in the last two years to get here: a random trimming this Spring to keep her from sprawling over the grass and an adjacent fire last year to burn out a pack rat nest in the clematis next to her.  Iron-clad, she has also been steadfast through winter ice storms and summer droughts, survived Japanese Beetles, and seems to be completely resistant to blackspot, mildew, and Rose Rosette Disease.

05/04/2025

Anyway, my secret is that while I was randomly hacking away at this vigorous but almost-thornless rose, I potted up some of the hardwood to try to propagate it.  I'm terrible at propagation, so I made eleven pots, some with three trimmings, hoping I could get at least one survivor.  At one week, on May 4th, in a sunny basement window, completely enclosed in a large clear tub to maintain humidity, the 11 pots looked promising to my eyes and in the photo to the right.   

To my eternal delight and astonishment, at 4 weeks post-potting, on May 22nd, they've all rooted and put out new growth!  The few yellow leaves are warning me they need sunshine and more fresh air if they're going to make it.    We've still got a long way to go, these little rose children and I, because I've tried and failed miserably before, with this exact rose, among others.  I started the transition to less humidity yesterday by slowly decreasing the lid coverage, and, if all goes well, next week I'll transplant them into large pots and move them outdoors under a tree with dappled shade.  

05/23/2025

'Lillian Gibson' 05/08/2025

If they survive to September, I'll provide one to the K-State Garden and others to friends, anyone in my sphere who has room for an 8 foot wide sprawling semi-climber, and I'll plant another one or two myself here for "insurance."  I'm helping preserve history here by prorogating this historic Hybrid Blanda rose, introduced in 1938 by Neils Ebbesen Hansen.  Besides, 'Lillian Gibson' has become my nearly favorite rose and I never want to chance losing her myself!   

Canadian John Cabot

I do have a few "new" roses to share this year; roses that have survived a couple of winter seasons and seem to be reaching their mature growth.   I placed the "new" in quotes because they are new roses to me, but, of course, have been commercially available for some time.

It is my pleasure to introduce you to 'John Cabot', introduced by Ag Canada in 1977 according to helpmefind/roses, although other sources say its introduction was in 1978).  Bred by Dr. Felicitas Svejda in 1969, this rose was named after an Italian navigator and explorer (his English name was John Cabot, but he was known as Giovanni Caboto in Italy), who, in 1497, crossed the formidable Atlantic Ocean to the New World and was the first European to reach Newfoundland since the Vikings.

The 'John Cabot' of my acquaintance is a gangly, thorny, sprawling mass of a rose, with some disheveled pink-red blossoms that open quickly to their 3-inch diameter forms in clusters on short stems.  Many petals have a central white streak and, in that way, the rose reminds me of a smaller 'William Baffin'.   Although described to have "mild fragrance" in the entry by helpmefind/roses, I detect no hint of fragrance in the flowers of my specimen.  My 'John Cabot' only bloomed once last year, in June, although it is said to have sporadic rebloom in late summer.  

A Hybrid Kordesii, 'John Cabot' ((Rosa kordesii Wulff x (Masquerade x Rosa laxa)) is said to be hardy to Zone 2B.   He certainly is solidly cane-hardy in winter here in Zone 5, with absolutely no dieback in the past two seasons. and has suffered no blackspot or mildew on his light green, matte foliage. He is also growing in a site where I lost the rambler 'America' to Rose Rosette Disease, but shows no signs of that monstrous disease yet.  At three years of age in my garden, the arching canes top out around 5 feet tall, and the rose has a tendency to grab whatever is passing by. 

In Hardy Roses, Robert Osborne stated that 'John Cabot' is "one of the most important new roses for northern gardens" and that he first saw it labeled as "seedling L07."  Released as a climber, I will prune and grow it as a shrub and try my best to keep it looking less "wild."  

If, as you read this blog entry, you feel that I'm not that fond of 'John Cabot', you are correct.  While I don't despise the rose, it has few exceptional qualities for me to favor.   It IS hardy, healthy, and needs little nurturing to provide a bounty of color in its season, however, so it has earned my attention in the garden, and, as you can see on the right photo taken just after sunrise last Friday, its jarring bright pink color makes it a standout even on a cloudy day.  

Magic Morning Musings

He almost didn't do it.   Yesterday was ProfessorRoush's 66th birthday, and it was packed so busy that, at first, he nearly didn't notice the world outside.   It was Commencement day at the College, and I had time for only a full day of work, graduation ceremony, receptions, and plans.  I woke early, too early, checked in online for the news and was heading for the shower when I realized that it was light outside and the sky through the skylights was PINK.  Already starting later than I planned, I hesitated and debated and shut down the Critic and the urgencies of the day and listened, for once, to the voices that I so often ignore.  

The voices I heeded were the Writer & the Photographer & the Philosopher, all in agreement and demanding that the call to go outside could not be ignored.  The Writer anticipates and collects and records special moments in the garden.  The Photographer understands the magic of diffused morning light and demands its capture. And the Philosopher always advocates for the feel of a fresh breeze on still-sleepy skin, and clean air filling the lungs and the waking sounds of life across the crisp, cool prairie.

Oh, what awaited!  As the sun barely broke the horizon, my senses were bombarded with life and all the promise of a new day.  The pink and oranges were quickly receding from the sky as the sun rose and I took these pictures all within a few brief minutes, catching the roses opening to the kiss of sunlight, before the low clouds could steal the magic and drain away the last of the colors.  

The act of garden photography, of itself, is an invitation to morning meditation and especially helpful to hyperactive and time-driven unfortunates like myself.  Hold perfectly still.  Calm your breathing and heartbeat. Frame the subject. Check the edges.  Focus.  Check the background.  Adjust depth of field. Look for distractions in the viewer.  Make sure vertical and horizontal lines in the photo are squared up.  Take the photo.   Assess and start again, breaths slowing, heartbeat dropping, soul quiet.  And the result?  Not a single photo here is cropped or enhanced or edited in any way, their natural beauty on full display.  There are rewards for a detail-oriented psyche.

I hesitated again, feeling the pull of the Critic, knowing I should be moving on, but I listened instead to the Artist insisting that I take just a few more seconds to capture the sunlight on the colorful irises. Had I not, I would never have experienced the moment and joy captured by this photograph and never felt the impertinence of the brave, brooding, deep purple bloom on the left or the cheerfulness of the yellow irises in the center.

Listen to the Voices my friends, not the voices of Schedule or Despair, not the misdirected urgings of Greed or Vice, but the wisdom of the Child, the passion of the Lover, and the vision of the Faithful.  Life gives us few enough gifts and we must cherish and recognize and grasp those we are given with our hands and hearts and minds and hold on to them in memory and gratitude.   

And I'm forever grateful for these captured moments, on this, my 66th birthday.

Morning Vistas

A "Vista" is defined as "a pleasing view, especially as seen through a long narrow opening."  This morning, ProfessorRoush was simply content to take Bella on a walk around her garden, and taking photos of the broad pleasing views of his garden through his narrow (phone) camera lens.  I'm not going to write a lot about these pictures today, I'll just note a few of the particular roses visible in them and leave them to speak for themselves.  Before you blow them up to look closer, you must promise not to feel smug about all the unpruned deadwood in the roses and the weeds at their feet.  A gardener only has so much time and Spring came at me fast this year.

Roses, from left to right, are tall 'John Cabot', crimson 'Hunter', pink 'Konigan von Danemark', and fading 'Marie Bugnet'

The irises are spectacular this year.  You can see Bella running ahead to the right, sniffing the ground.

Peony 'Buckeye Belle' sits maroon-ly at the feet of bountiful 'Blizzard' Mockorange

One view of a rose bed looking east as the sun rises.  The near border, left to right, is 'Leda', 'Rosalina', and 'Blush Hip'.  The nearly red rose just behind those is 'Duchess of Portland'.

Front to back, these roses are pink 'Duchess de Montebello', bright red 'Survivor' with 'George Vancouver' to it's left, and behind, tall, and pink 'Lillian Gibson'.

I have been hacking around and reviving this bed and 'Lillian Gibson' looks about as poorly as I've ever seen, but I still think she deserves a photo all to herself.

As does this second 'Survivor' specimen, with mauve 'Hanza' and single 'Fru Dagmar Hastrup' following behind it.

Seasonal Musings

'Bric-a-brac'

I don't know what your idle times are like, but ProfessorRoush has but a few minutes in his busy life to devote to random and usually nonsensical mental meanderings.   When he does, it is usually in his Jeep during the 10 minute drive to work, and that time is, fortunately or unfortunately, where the ideas for a moderate number of these posts originate (the equally long drive home is devoted to musing back over the events of the work day and transitioning back to home).

'Parfum de l'Hay'

Last Thursday morning, that thought process, just after a quick walk around the garden that morning with Bella, was "how boring  it must be to live in sub-tropical Florida"...or Hawaii, or the Caribbean islands.   Essentially anywhere without seasons.  With seasons come variety and with variety come all the real joys of the garden.  And joy in the garden is in the seasonal change (and, of course, in the floral pornography that graces this blog).

You people with your Birds of Paradise and massive everblooming pelargoniums and hibiscus and Live Oaks may think you live in paradise, but you'll never know the joys of a clump of blooming peonies, of a long line of flowering lilacs, of the seasonal transition from daffodil to peony to rose to daylily to aster.  True gardeners would trade the changes in their gardens due to the progression of seasons about as easily as a badger would give up its den.

'Buckeye Belle' 

All of the pictures from today's blog are from my own garden, Thursday morning.   The peonies and roses are about to come into full bloom and with them, the beating heart of my garden.  Iris are dotted around and accent the many green clumps of growing daylilies.   Tall Orienpet lilies wait in the wings, wait for the once-blooming roses to exit stage left, anxious to make their own debut.   

'Lambert Closse' (new rose to me)

Would I ever give up the onslaught of peonies, breathtaking in their bounty, new varieties ever expanding the color choices and contrasts and combinations with their neighbors?  Could I live without the anticipation and addition of new roses to my garden (like Canadian 'Lambert Closse' at right), roses that, admittedly, replace weaker roses lost to disease and cold, but even the latter are welcome experiments and witnesses to change?  

'Festiva Maxima'

Daylilies, with their fleeting bloom lives know not a minute's rest before their petals drop.  Roses and peonies see only a few weeks of the garden's cycle, but the gardener sees and rejoices in it all; seasons blending one into another, chill to pleasant to hot to frozen, drought to rain to snow, brown to green to color.

'Lillian Gibson'

And I, both master of and slave to this garden, wouldn't consider trading a single season for the comforts of paradise, of life in a place of never-ending moderation and temperate climate.  Wouldn't I?  Well, maybe in winter.

 

Front door view 05/08/2025.  Lots of columbines!

Yellow World Domination

This week is the peak bloom of Hybrid Rosa spinosissima 'Harison's Yellow' on my "rose berm", the latter a slightly-raised (domed to about 2 feet high) area of transplanted soil that was a birthday gift from my mother in the early days of my garden.  According to my notes, it was planted there in 2003 from a sucker of another earlier transplant from my first garden in town.  'Harison's Yellow' is easy to root from suckers, at least if you treat it right, although my early attempts to gain "wild" suckers of this rose were failures.  I'm trying not to wonder if those previous failures reflect on my talents as a gardener.

Honestly, who could want, or even dream, of a sunnier or more vibrant yellow rose, bright in the shadows and brilliant, nearly eye-searing, in full sunlight?  The blossoms are nearly perfect, never fading until the petals fall to the ground,  unblemished by rain earlier this week, and each with fragrance to rival the finest efforts of professional perfumers.  In case you're wondering, "perfumer" is the correct English term for such experts in fragrances, and it is so much more appealing than the French term, "Nez" (nose).  

If 'Harison's Yellow' has a flaw, a snag in its character, it is its quest for garden, or perhaps even world domination.   Although I found it difficult to transplant in my first few attempts, it suckers and spreads just fine if left to its own merits, crowding out less vigorous plants to form a vast impenetrable hedge if you allow it.  In this bed, it has, over time, smothered a 'Souvenir de Philémon Cochet' and, more recently, an 'Adelaide Hoodless', and currently it has a young 'Roseraie de l'Haÿ' surrounded and threatened.

This, a view from the other side of the berm, better shows its unchecked spread, the mass of the previous photo extending out of the picture to the right.  Four feet high, thorny and straggly and sparsely-leafed this early in the summer, at times it seems that only a true rose-aficionado could really love it.  The bush is crude and its manners are rude, but then it blooms and all is forgiven.

But, I ask, why not (love it)?  It's extremely winter hardy, drought-resistant, and the hailstorm, just 6 days ago, pictured at left, didn't seem to damage it at all.   'Harison's Yellow' was first blooming on April 23rd this year and now, over 10 days later, it is the eye-catching focal point of my garden.  Really, who cares if it takes over the world and drapes the hills with yellow?  Not me, not at this moment.   There's no room in my world for any other rose than 'Harison's Yellow', at least for now, and it can grow anywhere it chooses.  I can move the 'Roseraie de l'Hay' if it isn't up to the fight!