Gratefully, Fall

After a hard summer of rampant garden growth (accompanied by rampant weed growth), and all the incumbent lawn-mowing that accompanies abundant rain, ProfessorRoush is more than ready for Fall and the garden is finally signaling that it agrees with me!    

In late August, we finally got the heat spell we normally get in July and the rain spigot shut down and the daytime temperatures reached >100ºF for a solid week and more.  The garden and lawn responded by ceasing growth, and the gardener of my garden (i.e. ProfessorRoush) breathed easier and skipped a couple of mowings.  In the style of the Old Testament or a Cecil de Mill's epic, one could say "A sigh of relief went up throughout the land."   That was the overwhelming feeling that I had, despite the heat wave and mini-drought, and I felt that the prairie was nodding alongside me.

Two weeks later, and the garden has changed.  The green hues are mixing with ochre and umber, and the prairie bluestem grass is beginning to withdraw nutrients from leaves.  It is cooler again now, the nights appreciably so, and we are likely weeks from the first frost, but you can feel the change in the air and see it in the plants.  Rain returned with the cold front, and I'll soon have to mow again, but I'm now sure that soon the first frost and cold nights that follow will rescue me.

The Sedum telephinum pictured on this blog entry is blooming merrily pink now, another sure sign of Fall's impending onset.  As you can see, it is attracting and nourishing these bumblebees, a final gift from the garden flora to its fauna.  This variety is either 'Black Jack' or 'Purple Emperor', which were planted near each other on my garden map.  I'm inclined to think it is the latter due to its height ('Black Jack" reaches 18-24", while 'Purple Emperor' only reaches 12 inches tall) despite the fact that this plant has not yet turned as dark maroon as either should eventually get.   Further evidence is that there is a nearby, shorter dark sedum and if that one is 'Purple Emperor', then they are planted in the same sequence as my map.  We'll call it 'Black Jack' anyway.

I've just had my first Sunday afternoon nap in weeks, another gift from the garden, and yet another sign that Fall, and inevitably Winter, are just around the corner.  The prairie winters are rough, but they are a needed respite from the frantic days of summer, and I'm grateful for now as the seasons progress.  And yet still sure that in a mere few months, I'll be reborn alongside the garden, and just as surely ready to embrace Spring.  I don't know where the bumblebees go in Winter, but I bet they will be eager for Spring too, stoked on Fall's larder after a long Winter's nap. 

GardenWorn

'Podaras #2'

August, at least here in Kansas, should be renamed.  "Dog Month" might be a good choice.  Or "Browning Month".  Or just plain"The Garden is Tired" month.  Right now, as a heat spell lingers and everything green is in a life struggle to grow just a little more, my garden is certainly winding down, tired and old, unkempt and straggly.

Take, as an example, the Falso Indigo (Baptisia australis) 'Purple Smoke' below at the left.  Ignoring the fact that I've consciously tried to move or kill this particular clump three years running because it gets too large for the plants around it, I have to admit that it's a fabulous plant in May and early June, blue flowers towering above perfect blue-green foliage.  Now, it's a blackened, dried-up caricature of itself, seed pods blackened and brittle.  A good gardener would remove it now, condemned straight to a burning pile.  A bad gardener grumbles about it as he walks the dog, but puts off his seasonal cleaning and weeding until the temperature drops below 100ºF.

And the iris and daylilies all look terrible, suffering from heat and drought together, long past flowered youth.  The center of each clump tries to survive by stealing water and nutrients from their peripheral limbs, leaving the more visible outsides to dry and break. There are no signs of rebloom from the reblooming irises this year, no energy to spare for creating petal or ovary.

There are, to be sure, some bright spots in the garden.  My 'Sweet Marmalade Nectar Bush' Buddleia (otherwise known as 'Podaras #2') has decided to survive.  That's the picture at the top of this blog entry (surely I couldn't lead off with the decrepit Buddleia, could I?)  It was planted late in 2013 and the harsh winter almost did it in.  I didn't see a living sprout until late June and as some sparse gray-white foliage appeared, I've been pampering it with extra water and protection in the hope that it will gain strength and come back again in 2015.  I love the perfect foliage and bright orange flowers of this one and this morning I saw the only Monarch butterfly I've seen all year, feeding from this one bloom.

The sedums are also doing well of course, impervious to the drought and coming into their own season in the spotlight.  Autumn in the Flint Hills is a "Sedum Spectacular", in the words of auto salespeople.   Sedum 'Black Jack', backed up by Sedum 'Matrona', makes a quiet and gentle statement of survival here at the left, flower heads ready to bloom and feed the autumn insects.  I grow so many sedums here on the Flint Hills that I often forget there are roses in my garden, hidden and dormant as they are between the sedums and ornamental grasses.

I pray, this Sunday morning, that Fall comes soon to relieve the garden and gardener from our shared misery.  We're tired and both need to be put to bed for Winter.