Brown Mush Incoming

 Our recent week-long warm spell of 60F-75F converted what I anticipated as a delayed Spring and a to-be-continued uniformly bland landscape into a bland landscape punctuated with exciting bits of color.  Pray ye heed, I plead, not to notice the Henbit at the base of the sunny daffodil and crocus here.  Although I've mowed off some ornamental grasses and peonies and irises, I'm far behind on my chores.

I saw, to my surprise, my first daffodil open on March 16th, in the back landscaping as glimpsed from my windows, and yet even several more on March 18th, the day I took all of the pictures here.   The last time I looked closely, just before our trip to Southern California, they had barely still broken ground and no flower buds were visible.  And after the sub-zero nights of mid-February, I didn't expect them yet.

I had an inkling, however, that my garden was beginning to stir from winter slumber on March 15th, Sunday, as I discovered and swooned over the first open bloom of my Star Magnolia, experiencing an unexpected moment of joy and nearly overdosing on its musky, heady scent.  I was entirely unprepared however to find that only 3 days later the shrub had exploded with a massive display of the purest white, matched with an intoxicating fragrant region anywhere downwind.  I took these last night, enticed to venture down to the garden by this surprising cloud of creamy goodness.

I wait, annually, for the Star Magnolia (Magnolia stellata) to announce the onset of Spring, dependent on it as my herald of the season, and this year it surely did not disappoint me, loudly proclaiming the new Spring to the Kansas heavens.   Unmatched in virginal purity, these blossoms live "rent-free" in my dreams, the very essence of garden beauty and the promise of another year.   I wrote previously about the grace of a fellow gardener suffering from terminal cancer, wishing only to live to plant in another Spring.  My recurring winter wish is similarly specific, to see again each year the daffodils and smell the Star Magnolia.

This year, the Star Magnolia iss accentuated by the nearby bushes of 'Meadowlark' Forsythia, blooming as never before.   You can see them as a backdrop to the magnolia on the photo at right, or alone, below, in all their golden glory.   My other forsythia are more shy at present, not willing to risk the fickle whims of Spring, but 'Meadowlark' has bravely chosen this moment to shine.

Of course, the minor bulbs are popping up everywhere, my beloved Scilla spreading naturally over broader areas of several beds.   Large Dutch crocus are dwindling survivors for me, and daffodils persist as clumps, multiplying and needing division, but Scilla have naturalized in my garden, spreading everywhere that offers any protection from the harsh Kansas sun, at the feet of peonies and daylilies and roses, or merely in the more welcoming eastern- and northern-exposed beds.

Alas, I write in the sure knowledge that all this beauty and bright color is but a transitory mirage, a shifting and soon-to-disappear vision that will recede under the onslaught of the Arctic wind outside my window at this moment.   Yesterday's high temperature was 79F and it was still 68F at midnight last night.  Temperatures fell steadily through the night however, and I woke to 36F at 6 a.m. and the gales of a blizzard bearing down on our area and promising snow today, a low of 29F tonight and a certain death to the fragile Star Magnolia blossoms. By tomorrow, each creamy petal will begin to brown and droop, just brown mush and death, lost opportunities for early bees and whining gardeners.   

My 'Ann' Magnolia, wiser and less daring than M. stellata, has opened but a single flower at present, and I can only hope she continues to delay her debut at the annual Spring Ball.  Patience, in Spring as much or even more than other seasons, is a virtue for both the garden and the gardener. 

A Good Day

Yesterday, ProfessorRoush had a bit of work to do, but that first good working day of spring was finally upon me, April 6, 2019.  It was initially forecast to rain in the late afternoon, so I reversed my usual spring starting point, the beds in front of the house, and instead I went for everything else. 

By the end of the day, I had cleaned out all the far beds in the back√, cut down all the ornamental grasses√, transplanted a bunch of rugosa rose suckers to fill in dead spots√,moved some daylilies being shaded by growing trees√. cut off the massive suckers from a purple smoke tree√, put up some of the peony hoops√, planted a purchased yellow twig dogwood√, sprayed the weeds in the buffalograss surrounding the house√, put down crabgrass preventer on the buffalograss areas√, planted some Oriental poppy seed√, fertilized and borer-proofed the lilacs√, put a new washer in a "Y" hose connector√, put up and filled bird feeders√ and visited the store for white paint (to put on the front gate to the pasture√.  I've probably forgotten some minor things.  All in all, one could say I had a pretty good day.

And then, it rained at 8:00 p.m.  Only about 3/4ths of an inch, but what perfect timing for the crabgrass preventer/lawn fertilizer!  I've never, ever, timed it better.

This year seems to be the perfect forsythia year.  I've never seen them look better here in Kansas, likely because it stayed cold until it was warm, and as their buds unfurled we had no rain, frosts, or, heaven forbid, snow to dampen their lively brightness.  They're also really late.  In the records I've kept for 15 years now, the latest timing of full forsythia bloom was March 28th (well, except for 2018, when we had no forsythia bloom here at all).  So we are at least a week later than my latest recorded full forsythia.   The closeup above is Forsythia 'Spring Glory', my brightest blooming forsythia.  The photo at the left is an unknown-named pair of forsythia planted three years ago.  If only the purple 'Ann' magnolia in the foreground would stop being shy and bloom with the forsythia!

DeForsythiaized Depression

Okay, now it's obvious, Someone is just playing a particularly cruel joke on me.  I think it was just last year, or perhaps the year before when I said out loud that I should plant more forsythia, doubtless in a weak moment brightened as always by their cheery little blooms in the early spring.  Someone, Some Evil One, overheard me.  There must have been hidden microphones about, hard-wired back to the depths of Hell.  Or maybe I was inadvertently included on a wiretap directed at the Trump campaign.

You see, over 6 weeks ago, I cut some forsythia stems to force indoors, an early gift of spring to Mrs. ProfessorRoush.  They leafed out, but never bloomed, a disappointment I chalked up to my poor technique.  Then a couple of weeks ago, I noticed that the forsythia were blooming all over town.  Since it's not uncommon for my windswept hillside to be slightly behind the concrete-warmed microenvironment of Manhattan, Kansas, I was not alarmed, just titillated as I awaited the many forsythia of my own garden.

This week, however, it became evident that I have waited in vain.  There will be no forsythia blooms here on the prairie this year, only a very few isolated bits of yellow that are invisible unless you are searching.  Not on 'Spring Glory'.  Not on 'Golden Times'.  Not on my new superbloomer 'Minder', also marketed as "Showoff".   Not even on 'Meadowlark', my favorite, said to be the most cold hardy of all the forsythia.   They are all leafing out, bloom-less and boring.

 Internet sources state that forsythia might not bloom for a number of reasons, including improper pruning, hard winter, or late spring frost. lack of sun, too much nitrogen, or just too darned old.  In medicine, I've come to learn that when there are a number of explanations, it usually means that no one really knows a cause.  In my case, I can eliminate improper pruning (fall instead of spring) because I don't prune my forsythia as a general rule.  They aren't too old because some of these plants were planted last year or the year before and are no where near maturity.  I can eliminate lack of sun because, well, because it's Kansas and they're all planted in full sun.  And we just had the mildest winter overall that I can remember.  I do have a general tendency to fertilize things too much, but a few of my forsythia never get fertilizer, so that is unlikely as well.  I'm attributing this one to the late freeze that I noted in this blog just 17 days ago.

I'm despondent, discouraged, and dejected over my deforsythiaization.  I'm not sure spring even counts without forsythia.  I'll try to console myself with the bright new foliage of 'Golden Times', pictured above, but it is not enough yellow to start to cheer me up.  And "next year" is just too far away.  Curses.

Early Visitation Rights

As foretold by Br. Placidus of Atchison Kansas, commenting on my last post, my garden has paid little heed to my keenings against its early appearance, and the sequential progression of spring blooms has begun against my sage advise and consent.  Thankfully, it has not yet stormed enough to damage the blooms of Magnolia stellata, which reigns beautiful and fragrant in my garden only four days after I saw the first bud break.  Therefore, despite the insubordination of my garden, I have to admit that I am nonetheless pleased that it has forced me to abandon my seclusion within the house and drawn me outside into activity, fresh air, and ultraviolet radiation.


I hope to see further exuberance from this mature Star Magnolia before the rain predicted for Saturday stains its petals with brown rot and moots the warm scent.  Right now I'm thankful that, as the good Brother suggested, I've already enjoyed more uninterrupted days of M. stellata than I can expect in a typical Kansas spring.  This shrub/tree never seems to get to full display before another cold spell or snow or freezing rain front strikes here.  This year, however, spring is early but shows no sign of backsliding in any long range forecast.  I'll be content as long as the hard freezes stay away.

The reign of the Star Magnolia, however, is quickly being overrun by the peasants of my spring garden.  You can see, below, the backdrop to the magnolia of three forsythia in full bloom, in this case Forsythia hybrid 'Meadowlark', a 1986 introduction of Arnold Arboretum in cooperation with North Dakota State and South Dakota State Universities.   I have several other forsythia in bloom here and there, and they are accompanied and accented by early blooming daffodils hither and yon.  Yellow is most definitely the main theme of my early spring garden, with a splash of blue added by diminutive Scilla siberica.  

If you look very closely at the last photo, you'll see my raison du jour for being in the garden at the time of the photo.  Behind the garden beds, in the distant blue sky, you can see the plume of smoke from a distant prairie burn, which was also exactly what was happening 10 feet behind me as this picture was taken.  I spent yesterday dragging hoses around my property and, in cooperation with my neighbors, burning the prairie clean of debris and invasive plants.  A long and tiring day, but I was rejuvenated by my moments spent visiting with this Magnolia, buried nose deep in its creamy-white petals.