Baker's Daylilies

'Old Barnyard Rooster'

I think, today on Garden Musings, we'll just let the photos of  these 13 beautiful daylilies speak for themselves, borrowing, without shame, the meme of a fellow blogger who does a "Wordless Wednesday."  I captured these images walking along the border bed in back of the house all in about 20 minutes on a single morning (7/12/2025) as the sun rose. Which is your favorite?

'Prairie Blue Eyes'

'Timbercreek Ace'

'Awfully Flashy'

'Beautiful Edging'

'Storm Shadows'

'Big Rex'

'Blackberry Sherbet'

'Cosmic Struggle'

'Cream Desire'

'Joan Derifield'

'Laura Harwood'

'McBeth'

 

Photographic Evidence

ProfessorRoush is absolutely certain, 100% positively sure, that other avid amateur photographers/ gardeners/ astronomers/ BIRDERS have looked at the countless advertisements for those inexpensive telephoto lenses that can be attached to your phones to take perfect pictures of distant objects and wondered "do they really work?"  I'm a little eccentric, yes, but I am fully aware that I'm not uniquely unhinged and that I'm in good company in all my hobby interests.  Besides, you know as well as I do that if you pause a second at a photo of a bird on, say, Facebook, the social site will then follow up with an ad for a telephoto lens to tempt you, and if you pause again, then God Help You;  you'll be bombarded with similar ads for weeks.

My recent trip to the Quivera National Wildlife Refuge awakened a desire to have a real telephoto lens on a digital camera, to be able in a few months to reach out and photograph Sandhill cranes from across the salt marshes, but I'm just too cheap to spend multiple thousands of dollars right away on a lens for my Nikon.  So, I got to thinking about these little iPhone lenses and soon purchased one:  this one.   The $72 package contained the lens, iPhone mount, lens cap, and a little light tripod.

In due time, it came in and I began exploring what it can do.  The actual 30X lens is heavy and feels well-made, and the mount lets you switch from vertical to horizontal format without detaching the camera.  Surprisingly, if you know a little photography and have a good tripod, the pictures from this thing are not half-bad.  There is a bit of a learning curve, and it is imperative that your iPhone camera is set at 2X or you get a "vignette" photo, but the images are passable for the cost. 

This house finch photo was taken during my learning phase last weekend through the closed kitchen window and I took all the other  photos on the page with the camera and phone on a tripod out the window within a 5 minute timespan yesterday evening.  I was excited when the red-bellied woodpecker made an appearance.  The photo below, taken without the lens through the window and with the iPhone camera set at "1X" gives you an idea of the power of the lens.   I've circled the distant garden bench in red and the near feeder and red rose ('Hope for Humanity") in white.  The yellow thistle feeder is the small one to the right of the red rose.

So, the APEXEL lens is a decent tool and a cheap tool at that, and I got what I hoped for and expected;  a chance to capture reasonable photos of some distant wildlife up close and personal.   I'm satisfied, yes, but I also now know, with certainty, absolutely 100% certainty, that I'll use this lens this fall, be mildly satisfied and yet mildly dissatisfied, and likely, by spring, I'll be the owner of a massive and expensive telephoto lens for my Nikon D3300 digital camera.  

Maybe, however, I'll try to grab a few photos of the next full moon first.  This garden bench is about the same apparent width at that distance.

Hunter Tribute

ProfessorRoush is trying his best this year to bring Garden Musings back to its focus on my first love (beyond, of course, the beautiful Mrs. ProfessorRoush!); roses.   In that spirit, he has compiled a number of comments, thoughts and photos from the just-finished first flush of blooms, and would like to start by updating my assessment of a previously-discussed rose; the Hybrid Rugosa 'Hunter'.

My specimen of 'Hunter', planted in 1999 in my front landscape bed, seemed to peak during the 2012 season.   As I recall, its decline started after damage by an ice storm in 2015, and, surrounded by a bright red Monarda and burgundy Knautia macedonia, it struggled to compete, lingered and seemed weaker each season, and finally perished in 2017 or 2018.  Although I'm not sure if competition, poor sunlight, or old age contributed the most to 'Hunter's loss (or all three, equally) I can state with some confidence that the rose never showed any signs of Rose Rosette Disease and it remained only minimally affected by blackspot.  

I'll spare you the over-enthusiastic attempt at a poetic tribute this time, but  I missed 'Hunter' enough that I replanted a small band in 2022, this time in a more southern exposure, protected from the north winter winds by the house and near my bedroom window where I would see it more often, although the new site is also subject to more severe crosswinds and the ground is more dry in that area.  

Once again, the second coming of 'Hunter' in its now third season has grown into a spectacle, as you can see in these first 4 photos.   These were taken during first bloom cycle of 'Hunter'-2, around the 2nd week of May, when it opened every bud and petal all at once, a mass of "almost crimson", and became a show-stopper at the end of my back patio.   At 2.5 feet tall and 4 feet wide, it seems to be reaching full adulthood and is enjoying the current spot.  It shows absolutely no disease and had no winter dieback these past two winters.  

And now, 5 weeks later, it appears to be heading into another bloom cycle, slightly less flamboyant on its own, but this time accompanied not by 'John Cabot' and 'Konigin von Danemark' behind it, but by the daylilies 'Bubblegum Delicious' (left) and a yellow-green spider daylily whose name I've lost to history.  'Hunter' has also sprouted a couple of vigorous new canes that are reaching higher.  I can't wait to see what it does next!

(Non sequitur; has anyone else noticed that the iPhone 16 seems to have better representation of the reds than previous iPhones and digital cameras?  I'm much happier with the red tones of digital pictures these days!)

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.

And Where Did YOU Come From?

By the question in the title, ProfessorRoush is not trying to be nosy of you, the reader, but of this precocious Eastern Tiger Swallowtail (Papilio glaucus) that suddenly appeared as I was puttering around outside, doing some trimming, some weeding, and a little planting.  I was shocked in the moment, first to see any butterflies at all this early in the season, and then shocked again to have it cooperate for these closeups.

You see, really I was out taking stock of things, because for the past few days, I've been in Washington DC, where I took the photo on the right during some moderate rain and wind at 6:41 p.m. (isn't it amazing that because of phone cameras, I will always know exactly where I was at 6:41 p.m. on Friday, April 11, 2025, because the data is forever embedded with the photo)?  If you're going to walk near the White House, I can now recommend doing it on a chilly, rainy Friday night because the streets were deserted at that hour, no protestors ranting and chanting and messing up my "chill", just a few tourists on the sidewalk and a half-dozen watchful Secret Service and Capital Police agents (that I could see at the time).  I was only sorry the landscaping lights weren't on yet, and, no, I didn't ask to knock on the door and see if President Trump was receiving visitors.

I was also fortunate on Saturday to have my return flight fly directly over near our home, and so, on April 12th at 2:40 p.m., I was able to capture this photo from the window of the plane.   Our home and gardens are in the white circle center left, surrounded by the darkened prairie ground exposed from our burn last week.  Click on the photo to enlarge it (hitting "escape" will then bring you back to the blog).  Mrs. ProfessorRoush was presumably not at home at the time and in route to pick me up.

But I digress.   The Swallowtail that prompted this blog entry (a male, easily gendered by its less colorful "eyes") seemed to be focused on the female holly plant sited on the northeast corner of the house, and the inconspicuous white blooms of the holly.  I didn't read anything about holly being a host plant, but both roses and magnolias are larval hosts for the species and there are plenty of those about.  Other host plants include lilacs and Cottonwood trees and those species are each in my yard as well. 

I was saddened that this specimen seems to have a damaged or missing left "tail", and I hope that won't hinder its search for a mate or its long-term survival.   For what little I know of Swallowtails, this male might also be just out of its chrysalis and maybe it just needs to unfold the left tail, temporarily rather than permanently deformed.  Either way, I wish the little guy luck and happy mate-hunting.  As there are either two or three generations of Tiger Swallowtails in a season, depending on the latitude, the Swallowtails I see in September could be his grandchildren.

The White House, from Lafayette Park, 04/11/2025, 6:41 p.m.

Serendipity Failure

Well, this topic wasn't what ProfessorRoush had planned to blog about next, even if I'm due for a blog, but I'll take serendipity as a motivator for a blog entry.  Or at least I'll try to "take" serendipity, although sometimes the latter is often reticent to be captured in an optimal manner.

I was out at 6:27 a.m. this morning, watching Bella as she went about her morning bodily functions, when I saw the bumblebee above feasting on this newly-opening bloom of 'Beautiful Edgings'.   Immediately, I thought "wow that would make a great picture" and I quickly reached into my pocket and grabbed my iPhone, opening it to the camera app as I moved closer, focused, and...bingo!...got the picture above.

It was at that point that the perfectionist inside took over the agenda.   I knew I'd gotten the bee's best side in good focus, but I also knew instantly that I had clipped off a corner of the daylily in the frame and I so wanted the perfect photo.   So I tried again, waiting until the bee lit upon another nearby blossom, taking the photo at left. 

And, as you can see, just as I pushed the button to take it (is it still a "shutter" button when it's an iPhone?), the bee took off.  Drat, nice action and now I have the whole flower in the frame, but my "shutter speed" wasn't fast enough for a "sports-action" shot.   So I waited for it to settle again and went in for another shot.   

Once again, before I could snap a photo, it was taking off into blurred flight!  And with that, it was gone for good.  Those of you who take a lot of photos in your garden can, I'm sure, sympathize with the frustration of getting decent pictures of bees and other creatures, even if you can't sympathize with the "it could be better" attitude of the pathologic perfectionist.   As an orthopedic surgeon I practically live by the motto "the enemy of good is better," a self-reminder during fracture repairs that trying to make it perfect is often counterproductive to efficient surgery and good bone healing.   If only I could learn to apply that same sentiment to my photograph efforts!

But I can't.  I tried to redeem myself later while mowing later this morning when I spotted a gorgeous big swallowtail on a purple butterfly bush, but, despite 5 minutes of trying while the mower idled and contributed each second to my carbon footprint, I was unable to even get a poor shot of the swallowtail sitting still.  Such are the trials of an amateur trying to live up to a perfectionist's world-view.  

Accepting Miracles

The title is the subject for ProfessorRoush today, a meme on my mind for all this past week.   My week of miracles started a week ago on a warm Saturday as I was engaged in lots of late Fall work in the yard, mowing, trimming, bushhogging, putting up hoses, and fully engaged in the activities I lump into "Fall cleanup."  My first glimpse of the miracles to come was this late crocus, Colchicum autumnale, a single, annually reoccurring survivor of the few toxic bulbs of the species that I planted years ago and long forgot.   Old age and fading memories sometimes provide unexpected benefits to old gardeners beyond our creaky knees and grumpy exteriors. 

And then, the same day, sitting down outside with Mrs. ProfessorRoush while we chatted with our grandsons, I spied this little sprig of life, a baby juniper bravely growing in the middle of a clump of River Birch, shaded from the sunlight it so desperately wants but also kept moistened and protected in the embrace of the birch.   Can't see the miracle for the tree?   Look closer!

If I left it here, to grow in the rotting organic debris gathered in the birch clump center, will it survive?   Choke out the birch?   Wither eventually, starved for light?   The young scientist in my mind still wants to know so I'm going to leave it growing here in the true sense of "letting nature take its course" while I observe.   A good gardener should always know when to accept miracles when miracles appear.

The sun and earth also conspired in the parade of miracles this week to give me these views of home and prairie as I came home late Tuesday.   Sometimes the light on this corner of the globe overwhelms me, although perhaps poorly captured in these photographs, as it did on this day.   The right angle, the right moment, and the grasses and trees and house were all shining left and right of me as I opened the mailbox and I just couldn't let the miracle moment go uncaptured.

Thursday, another miracle presented to Mrs. ProfessorRoush and I as we came home from supper, a moment of marriage so like many others until we pulled onto the garage pad and I noticed this unexpected bit of Spring transported to Fall, a blooming sprig of common lilac, isolated and alone among a dry and beaten hedge, but full of fragrance and hope for the next Spring to come.  I robbed the bees by taking it indoors where, for a few days, I could smell lilac before it faded into time again.

And was Saturday again, a Saturday like so many others but as welcome as rain on the prairie after a summer of drought.   My Saturdays are miracles every week, miracles brought by a dog wanting only love and a little game of frisbee to break up its long days of napping.  Bella has lots of gray now on her muzzle but her soul is still that of a puppy and her love waits only for me.   I'm convinced this dog counts the days of the week, knowing when it is Saturday and our weekly drive to McDonald's occurs and that I'll stay home and play instead of disappearing until darkness.   This last miracle, Bella in my life, is one I treasure every day, a daily reminder of all the beauty and love and happiness that the world can hold.

The Bee-holders Eye

Beauty, as they say, is in the eye of the beholder.   Well, at least maybe someone once said it.  ProfessorRoush certainly can't take credit for the ungainly phrase, obviously espoused as an argumentative gauntlet to those who hold that there are objective standards for beauty upon which all living creatures would agree.  Such arguments often trend to discussions of symmetry and purity and perfection, and inevitably dissolve into fisticuffs and sometimes wars that involve hollow wooden horses, and I know better than to blunder into such an argument  in my garden.

Take, for example, my impressions this morning during the weekly chore of making the grasses and weeds all conform to one height.  I would have said that the most beautiful view of my garden this morning was at the corner of the bed pictured above, where Hibiscus 'Midnight Marvel' dominates the view with massive bright red blooms, accentuated by the pink-purple panicles of the neighboring Buddleia 'Buzz Raspberry.'   I've spoken before of my admiration for 'Midnight Marvel', a reliable and iron-clad perennial that makes its own statement in the garden, but I have said little about 'Buzz® Velvet,' the only remaining Buddleia of my garden, still reliably returning while others eventually withered or outright died in their prime.   I'm not fond of the color of this buddleia itself, but beside the cardinal red of the hibiscus, it certainly adds to the scene, doesn't it?

The bees of my garden however, honey and bumble alike, do not agree with my assessment, as they were busily buzzing over volunteer natives, the Argemone polyanthemos, or Prickly Poppy, growing nearby and they didn't touch the hibiscus or buddleia.   Every delicate white (papier-mâché, as Wikipedia and the French refer to it) flower was being visited nearly continually by one species or another, and a continual symphony of bee noises was evident even over the noise of the nearby idling lawn mower.  This is the very reason that I allow this ungainly and thorny plant to grow randomly in my garden; for the selfish reward of happy bees and the illusion of my own contribution to bee survival.

I was certainly not going to be stupid and argue with the bees over their perceptions of beauty today, as my photographic interruption to their gluttony had already upset the buzzing minions and I suspected they were forming ranks and preparing to counter my intrusion and biased human opinions.   No, I removed myself from the battlefield, ceding the question of beauty to their ageless wisdom.  Heck, I even somewhat agree with them, for the pure white of the Prickly Poppy is certainly as beautiful and perfect in its own way as the red Hibiscus.   Beauty in the compound eyes of another.

Both myself and the bees, however, would have been in philosophic conflict with the Japanese Beetles who are still plaguing my garden and dining on their own candidates for "beauty", the roses and early crape myrtles.  I sprayed the roses again day for beetles, praying that the bees stay on the Prickly Poppy and don't try for any rose pollen.   I will spare you a photo of the vile fornicating beetles today, and instead merely show you how close the Prickly Poppy is to 'Buzz Raspberry' and 'Midnight Marvel' in this bed.  I apologize for the poor tonal quality of this picture taken in the full late July sun of Kansas and for the crabgrass and weeds visible, but sometimes beauty is hidden by its environment and a little lighting and makeup can make all the world of difference in a photograph as well as in person.