Excuse My Untidyness

Finally, finally, finally, a small start to spring.   I found this first Magnolia stellata bloom on April 1st, and today on April 10th the bush is starting to look at least midway to peak bloom.   Late, but luscious, I inhaled all the musky scent this flower could give me as I dreamed of more to come.

You'll have to excuse me for the straggly appearance of this brazen forsythia, in full flower finally today on April 10th.  I have at 5 different cultivars of Forsythia out in the garden ('Spring Glory', 'Meadowlark', 'Show Off', an unknown gift shrub, and several 'Golden Tines') and this single 'Golden Tines' is the only one to bloom with any show this year.  Why this one?   The others are straggly at best, almost barren at worst, so thank God for this front and center golden jewel.    Yes, I didn't trim it last fall, didn't remove the long shoots of late summer, for I planned to bring those inside and force bloom this spring.   Obviously, the cold and winter doldrums kept me from following through on that well-intentioned plan.   And I'm ashamed of the unclean bed around the forsythia;  I just haven't gotten even the front landscape bed ready yet for spring.

While I do hope for a bold yellow forsythia bloom each spring, I'm never surprised when the "pink forsythia", Abeliophyllum  distichum ‘Roseum’ blooms only sparsely and briefly,  This year it lived down to my expectations, barely attempting any blooms and showing none of its usual pink blush, white fragility in the flesh.  I've had this shrub for 13 years, so it is hardy here, but certainly not vigorous and it hardly provides any show, early bloomer that it is.   It was already at peak bloom here, on April 1st this year, and already nearly barren as it yields to the rest of the garden.  Sweetly scented if you get close, Abeliophyllum is a distraction for me, the earliest shrub to flower and the only one until the M. stellata gets going.  I keep it for that reason, something for my soul to grasp onto as I desperately wait spring.

Despite my earlier whining, my Puschkinia finally did bloom, shown here in a front bed near the edge where it begs you to bend over and look closer.  Alongside the Scilla, it raises my spirts for a few weeks as I drive home for work each day, right by the garage pad where it can catch my glimpse and welcome me home.

Closeup 'Abeliophyllum distichum'

Outside today, it's warm at least, climbing about 70ºF, but yet I'm not outside clearing beds or doing useful work.   The wind, a southern wind, is moving along at a brisk 20mph pace and I just don't feel like fighting it with every step I take.   No, I'll stay mostly inside today, waiting fitfully for the lilacs and redbuds to begin the real spring season.   My redbuds are slowly showing some color in their buds, but they are reluctant to join in yet to the seasonal celebration.  For reference, in my seasonal notes going back to 2004, the daffodils and Puschkinia were behind this year, while the redbuds are even with some years, behind others, but only in the very cold spring of 2008 did they definitely bloom later than this year.   So, I'd say that we are late, but catching up.   Too slowly, however, for my taste.  My father always says it won't be spring until Easter and with the late Easter this year, once again, he's right on target.

Bloomin' Beginning

A couple errant warm days this week startled spring into subtle splendor, this leafless, stiff and formless shrub leading the way  on the east side of the house with a cheerful display of yellow capable to rival the daffodils that are blooming in clumps elsewhere in the garden. 

I only wish I knew exactly what it was!  I had previously written about this shrub as Genista lydia, but I'm currently having doubts about its identity.  Genista lydia blooms at the right time, but it should have more legume-form flowers.  However, the only other yellow shrub-like plant that I have recorded in this bed is Diervilla sessilifolia 'Butterfly', the Southern Bush Honeysuckle, which should bloom much later and blooms in clusters.  Regardless, this thing is ungainly, incredibly invasive, decidedly unattractive when out of flower and barely tolerable in flower, but it is the absolutely earliest thing to bloom in my garden each year.  Even so, I occasionally get tired of finding it spreading in and around other plants in this bed and I've tried more than once to grub it out.  It persists despite my best half-hearted efforts. 

I'm happier about the bloom of Abeliophyllum distichum 'Roseum', the Pink Forsythia.  A rare shrub in this area, it never really looks healthy, but it also persists, and each year gives me a slightly better display of these briefly pink flowers that quickly fade to white.  About two weeks ahead of the more showy yellow forsythias, it smashes those later and brassier namesakes this time of year by being incredibly sweet-scented, a light and delicate bouquet that draws me in whenever I pass nearby.  The bush itself is a bit spindly, and I try each summer to give it a little special attention, more than its fair share of fertilizer and water, but she never seems to respond as I'd like.  With Pink Forsythia, I suppose I should just shut up and be happy it survives here at all.

The most anticipated of all my early blooming shrubs, however, is the welcome arrival of the Star Magnolia bloom.  Despite my earlier pleas this month, this first bloom opened 3 days ago, followed by an explosion of about 30% of the shrub's blooms the next day, immediately thereafter placed and now held in suspended animation by a cold front that swept through.  This is the flower I most wait for every spring, carrying the heavy-scented musk fragrance that I could and would happily drown myself in.  It may be cold outside, and these blooms near frozen, but bring them inside and they warm up and exude pure pleasure in a few minutes.  Forget Old Spice and Brut, I think men would attract more feminine attention if our aftershaves smelled like Star Magnolia rather than cloves.  Are you listening, Aromachologists?  Let's bottle it and put some Star Magnolia aftershave on Walmart's shelves and perhaps the pandemic and quarantine won't be quite so lonely for any of us.

Idling in Neutral Gear

Weather report:  39ºF (that's at 12:00 noon), very windy. Rain ended, changing to snow flurries this morning.

After two solid days of gentle spring-type rains, the garden is mucky ground, a quagmire to suck down the gardener's soul.  On top of the rain, a cold front came through the Flint Hills this morning in front of a terribly brisk wind.  The clouds are moving away finally, with brief sightings of sunshine that should slowly take better hold on Sunday.  I don't know yet if it will be warm enough tomorrow to visit the garden tomorrow.  Perhaps next weekend.




The bright spot in my garden today is the peak bloom of my Pink Forsythia (Abeliophyllum distichum 'Roseum'), bearing the hope of coming warmth even as it keeps its petals tightly wrapped to protect its floral genitals from the cold wind.  Every year, I appreciate it more, the delicate blushed flowers and odd fragrance the harbinger of its more brash, yellow cousins.  As a landscape shrub, Pink Forsythia leaves a lot to be desired, but its brief shining moment at the front of my peony bed is ample apology for its lack of beauty the rest of the year.  At least it has the grace to take on its sparse dark green summer foliage and fade into the background the rest of the growing season, effortless to care for and disease-free in the bargain. 

I note again, for the record, the two to three week late spring this year.  Compare today's bloom, if you will, against that from my blog entry of March 6, 2016.

At last, daffodils!

I say, "at last," like they were incredibly, irresponsibly late, drowsy, dilatory delinquents holding up progress, because I've been waiting and waiting, wondering if they were ever going to bloom.  I think I'm getting impatient in my old age.

After checking my notes, this spring IS a week or so behind the spring of 2012, and perhaps 2 weeks behind the springs of 2016 and 2017, BUT it's on a par with the opening dates of daffodils in 2006, 2008, 2014, and 2015.  So, my mid-winter melancholy is mildly misplaced, since the "climate" here seems to be within normal fluctuation.  Perhaps the two most recent springs have thrown my inner clock off, winding me up to be disappointed by frost and arctic blasts.  Or perhaps I'm getting impatient in my old age.

My Abeliophyllum distichum ‘Roseum’, my pink forsythia, is blooming well now, but it is a full two weeks behind the March 5th day of 2016 that I noted as a "peak" day for it that spring.  No yellow forsythias are blooming here yet, also seemingly late, although some buds are showing a little color on those plants.  I suppose I should be merely hoping for any bloom at all, since I noted in 2017 that no forsythia bloomed last spring, due likely to either a very cold spell in the winter or a really hard freeze at opening.  Where forsythia is concerned, perhaps I should just be thankful to see any yellow cheerfulness before June's daylilites and I should not be so impatient in my old age.

Oh No! I'm Not Ready!

While I've been hiding inside, either at work or at home, my garden has clearly been conniving to play a little trick on me.  Today, instead of staying hidden, it quite suddenly shouted "Ready or not, here we come!" in full fortissimo and to my stunned surprise.

I'm not ready to round the corner and see this Magnolia stellata already showing white petals.  It's still partially sheathed, shy to display full wantonness to the warm gaze of spring, but I can already smell the warm musky scent of the Cretaceous seeping forth, sensual siren to my senses.  Another warm day and I'll see the yellow stamens and glistening pistils, the first mating of spring in full view.  Pray with me that no hasty frost browns these creamy petals.

I'm not ready to see my "Pink Forsythia" (Abeliophyllum distichum 'Roseum') already in full bloom and display.  This bush has been a minor part of my garden since 2004, long enough that my memory had made her into the natural "white forsythia" instead of the pink form.  Ah, the fickle memory of age!  It is moderately scented, but in odd fashion that I would liken to a sweet acetone with overtones of sweaty feet. I'm not ready nor desperate enough yet to present this questionable bouquet to Mrs. ProfessorRoush's more discerning nose.

Abeliophyllum distichium 'Roseum'

My Abeliophyllum has struggled, scraggly and slow-growing here in Kansas, but it has survived to finally reach the expected three feet by three feet mature size.  And now, at last, the display is full enough to enjoy, the first major shrub to bloom in the Kansas spring, just ahead of its yellow cousin.  The native white form of the species is now endangered in the wild, known to exist in only seven locations in Korea, so I'm glad that this specimen has survived here in the middle of a drier continent.





I'm certainly not ready to see roses leafing out, including this particularly thorny specimen of 'Polareis' which seems to be betting that the frosts are over.  Rugosas are tough plants, but I still wish they would be a little slower to stick their stems and leaves out into open air.  Almost all the roses are showing green, willing victims to the guillotine of a late frost that will surely yet come.  Patience, my children, patience is a virtue, and haste tempts a thorny termination.

I'm not ready, and neither is my garden.  Go back to sleep, child, and wait for a warmer morning.