I'm not personally expecting a bout of leucorrhoea, but since I should always be prepared (even if I wasn't a Boy Scout), and the plant's presence and it's sap doesn't bother me and the deer won't bother it, I'm resolved to leave this clump right where it started, an affirmation of the value of native plants and a positive sign of my evolution as a gardener. I'll still pull it from my strawberry patch, however!
Though an old gardener, I am but a young blogger. The humor and added alliteration are free.
Saturday, August 13, 2022
Eu-for-weed-ia?
Sunday, May 8, 2022
Longhorns Ho!
Yesterday was an outside day in ProfessorRoush-land, work to be done, and some exploration in areas that I don't frequently explore. I mowed and piddled in the garden to my heart's content, the second mowing of the year starting at 9:30 a.m. and then doing other chores until I looked up at last to see it near 5:00 p.m., the afternoon vanished seemingly in seconds. Most of the work was prompted by the arrival this week of the Longhorn cattle that a friend (actually the son-in-law of a neighbor), summer pastures on our land and the neighbors pasture. Aren't they beautiful? ProfessorRoush likes having cows around, even skinny cows with big menacing horns, and they make a conversation piece for neighbors far and wide, creating a little traffic on the road from the townies coming to "Aw" and stare.
The Longhorn appearance, however, prompts me annually to walk the far fence, the one that I DIDN'T rebuild when we purchased the land, my border line with the golf course. It's an original, easily over 50 years old, maybe more like 80 years old, with Osage Orange posts that occasionally get caught in the burns, and I often need to hike up the back hill with a new T-post to shore it up. The picture below is a view of my back garden and the house and grounds from the far hillside. Yesterday, all was well with the fence and I opened the gate to let the cattle into my pond area.Poison Ivy |
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Friday, August 6, 2021
Spiritual Prairie Union
If a gardener knows any scripture at all, it should be this phrase. ProfessorRoush has been witness to the wisdom of this Psalm every morning this past two weeks as I drive past a gorgeous heavenly display of two common prairie forbs sharing the same space, purple Western Ironweed (Vernonia baldwinii) and white and green Snow-On-The-Mountain (Euphorbia marginata). There are few times when I see such showy native plants so wild, yet so perfectly sited to contrast and enhance each other that I can only stand and marvel, jealous of the Gardener who arranged them in combination.
Western Ironweed |
Snow-On-The-Mountain |
Wednesday, June 19, 2019
Hitchhikers and Heartthrobs
There is a fourth category, however of gardening troubles that we purchase, sometimes intentionally and sometimes by accident, and come to regret. Such an accidental hitchhiker in my garden is illustrated by what I think is a type of hops vine pictured above, photo taken just today. This vine has been a constant nuisance in this one spot in my garden for the twenty years we've lived here. About every two weeks, I have to search out and destroy the many sprouts of this fast-growing vine, lest it overwhelm every other plant in the area. I've never grown it intentionally, but I can trace its arrival to a load of "good" soil that we had brought in to provide a decent border around the stamped concrete patio in the back when we built the house. Interestingly there were 3 actual truck loads delivered to form this border, but the only area that grows the presumed hops vine was from a single truckload. If asked, I can attest that the seeds of these vines survive and germinate at least 20 years after being deposited. The only remaining question is whether the hops seeds will ever cease to germinate or whether I leave this Earth first and am beyond caring about it.
Aralia cordata, K-State Gardens |
Saturday, November 25, 2017
Witch Hazel Whitewash
Saturday, November 18, 2017
Nesting Sunday
I always gain a nice warm fuzzy feeling as I find all those nests where happy little bluebirds and various other species have raised a family under my roof(s). When you are walking a trail of houses, you can easily tell the ones that hold bluebird nests because their nests are thin and haphazardly constructed, usually of soft prairie grass, as pictured in the top photo. Other birds, usually wrens, sometimes nest in my boxes, and those nests are formed of coarser twigs like the one at the left. They are also loaded much higher, sometimes stuffing the box to the top except for the opening entrance. This year, of my 19 self-designed, NABS-approved nesting boxes scattered over the edges of 20 acres with another 80 acres around them, I counted 10 bluebird nests, 6 wren nests, and 3 empties. The empties were all houses laying on the ground where the donkeys had rubbed them off the posts. Donkeys seem to have something against random bird houses around their pastures.
Walking the perimeter of my land is always educational as well. I was surprised to notice this small nest within a dried up Babtisia australis (Blue Wild Indigo) floating around the pasture. These prairie legumes bloom early in spring and normally grow perhaps 2.5 feet tall and round alone or in clumps over the prairie. In the fall, they dry up, break off, and blow all over the prairie like tumbleweeds, clogging fences and flower beds and becoming perfect tinder for prairie fires. I've never known that they might serve as shrub hosts for low nesting birds, but here is the proof, a deep little cup formed within what was once thick green foliage.
You can see, in the closeup at left, the careful construction and perfect form of the nest. It seems a little big for hummingbird, but whatever was here was a pretty small little guy/girl. I would put odds on it being a Dickcissel nest, since that species is ubiquitous on the prairie and nests on the ground or in low prairie shrubs. Whoever the architect was, I hope it was a safe home, because birds and the prairie are meant to be together.
Saturday, August 5, 2017
Sensitive Brier
Sensitive Briar is a member of the bean family, the Fabaceae, the latter scientific nomenclature sounding not so much like it describes a squat languorous legume as a pretentious ancient Roman dynasty. Perhaps Sensitive Briar has a right to be a bit pretentious. It is very nutritious for livestock, who seek it out and overgraze it, making the presence of Sensitive Brier an important indicator of overall range condition. Some sources refer to it as a "brier" rather than a "briar," and after some searching, I admit that I will have to accept continued mystery about the proper form of reference. Perhaps Thomas Nuttall, the 18th Century English botanist honored by the subspecies name, could enlighten me if his spirit were to pass by this part of the continent.
The "sensitive" part of the name comes from the plants response to touch, an action scientifically termed "thigmonasty", although I don't know why it would be considered nasty unless one considers the impertinence of the touchers. It folds its leaves from open, like the photo at the left, to closed, as seen at the right with the merest touch of child or wind, and also at night. Other common names for the plant, Bashful Brier or Shame Vine, also refer to this thigmonastic action. Thus, its attractiveness to children, who seem fascinated when they discover or are shown this little moment of cross-species contact. I wonder, if such moments were the first introduction of many children to the world of plants, would ecology and Gaia be more prominent throughout life in our subsequent actions and thoughts?
The "catclaw" of the common name refers to the later pods of these flowers, their prickly nature making them far less attractive to children later in the summer. These do not seem to cling to clothing so much as they scratch at anything in their vicinity, particularly any delicate little bare legs of children playing hide-and-seek in the tall prairie grass. I suppose, like most of nature, one must always take the good with the bad, the rose with its thorns, the Catclaw Sensitive Briar with its pods.
Tuesday, June 27, 2017
Bombus-ed BeeBalm
Honeybees should surely be visiting nearby, because Monarda fistulosa, otherwise known as Wild Bergamot, is blooming all over the prairie. I've written before of my garden Monardas, and the native prairie species lives up to its common name, "Beebalm," but the balm exuded by Monarda only seems to be attracting the American Bumblebee (Bombus pensylvanicus) this year.
Monarda fistulosa with Bombus pensylvanicus |
'Jacob Cline' Monarda and Knautia macedonia |
Tuesday, May 16, 2017
Where in the World was ProfessorRoush?
The first clue is this flower, a Pasque Flower (Pulsatilla patens), a member of the Buttercup family (Ranunculaceae). One of the earliest native flowers to bloom in its region, the Pasque Flower was blooming profusely in the high mountain region I visited this past weekend.
When I spotted it, I thought it was a crocus, which I knew was not native to the region. I was not being totally naive in my identification, since this flower was called "wild crocus" by the pioneers in the area. Another common name for the flower is the Easter Flower, because of its early bloom period. A little research revealed its true identity and proved that it was right where it was supposed to be, between 8500 and 11000 feet above sea level. One other thing I learned in the research is that all parts of this delicate little plant is poisonous, full of cardiogenic toxins and oxytoxins.
This clue may not help you much, but the mammalian fauna pictured here was native as well. This little prairie dog was playing hide and seek with my camera, but it finally surrendered to the photographic necessity of the moment and posed for a still photo.
Nor is this lichen planting likely an easy giveaway to my vacation location, unless you are able to discern what kind of stone the lichen is growing on. There are easily 5 or 6 different species of lichen growing in this photograph, from the blue-grey mass to the light yellow and rust spots on the rock.
Within view of the Pasque Flowers and the rock formation with the lichens, there was this homestead, the homestead of the widow Hornbek, built in 1878. Adaline and her four children homesteaded this cabin and made a thriving ranch out of the area.
Are you getting warm yet? Marco? Polo.
That's all I've got for you. Ready to guess? Yes, for those who concluded that I was in Colorado, and further, that I visited the Florissant Fossil Beds National Monument, give yourself a pat on the back. I was visiting family this past weekend and doing touristy things, which, for anyone unfortunate enough to accompany me, always means either a botanical or historical side visit. The Florissant Fossil Beds is an interesting little spot with lots of geology and paleontology to view and I highly recommend it to those who can stand lots of fairly dry science presentations. The Park Service does what they can to make the history, both ancient and recent, come alive for visitors, but there is only so much you can do to make an Eocene fossil formation exciting to the average viewer, however fascinating it is to nerds like ProfessorRoush. Also, if you visit Florissant, be prepared for lots of hiking. There are 15 miles of foot trails leading from the Visitor Center through the National Monument.
Monday, April 17, 2017
Sedges and Pussy-toes
Mead's Sedge (Carex meadii) |
The nice little yellow thing above is Mead's Sedge (Carex meadii), which seems to grow everywhere as an understory for prairie grasses. When it is interspersed with the purple of ground plum (at right), the soft yellow and purple hues make the nicest little microcosm of spring pastels. Mead's Sedge is a triangular-stemmed sedge named for Samuel Barnum Mead, (1798-1880), a U.S. botanist and physician. It prefers limestone or chalky soils, which describes my ground in spades (sic).
Field Pussy Toes (Antennaria neglecta) |
In Kansas, Field Pussy Toes have to be differentiated from Parlin's Pussy Toes (Antennaria parlinii). The latter has leaves that are shinier and have less "hair." While my Field Pussy-Toes live in environments suggested by their name (i.e. prairie fields), Parlin's Pussy Toes prefer rocky oak-hickory forests and glades. For those who are interested in having Pussy Toes in their own gardens, Monrovia has a pink form, Antennaria dioica 'Rubra', available for sale.
As I've noted before, each year I try to remember to note the return of the early species to my prairie in my field guides, and for Field Pussy Toes, I've noted their first occurrence anywhere from March 25th to May 4th, with the earlier date from 2012 and the later from 2002. Field Pussy Toes, like many other species on my prairie, seem to be pushing their growing/flowering period earlier, supporting the global-warming crowd. On the other hand, I've got 3 dates written down for Mead's Sedge; 4/10/2000, 4/15/2003, and 4/10/2017, and its appearance is not apparently changing over time, supporting the climate-change deniers. Who knows?
Saturday, June 11, 2016
K-State Adaptive/Native Plant Garden
Those of you who are native plant enthusiasts should plan a whole trip around this garden because it is, in my experience, unequaled for the use of native prairie forbs in a garden design. Here columbines, milkweed, echinacea, butterfly milkweed, yucca, coreopsis, penstemon, prairie larkspur and evening primrose, all mix in glorious harmony and mature abundance. The display is at its peak now, in early June.
This view, down the long axis of the garden looking towards the old conservatory will give you an idea of the flowing masses of perennial forbs that make up the display garden. Coreopsis in the foreground and Pale Purple Coneflower (Echinacea pallida) in the background provide the basis of a pastel palette for your pleasure.
I often find myself trying to take a peerless photo of a group of these echinacea in the fruitless pursuit of photographic perfection. It is most definitely an exercise in frustration for an amateur like myself, but there are lots of opportunities here to experiment with depth of field, framing, focus and shadows. The hardest choice for me is always where the focus should be; the plant in the center or the plant closest to the lens? Sometimes, I capture a pretty nice image, only to realize that, on closeup, one of the flowers is damaged or blemished, marring the effect of the photo.
The honeybees were going crazy over this newly-opened Butterfly Milkweed (Asclepias tuberosa) during the Garden Tour. The whole area was alive with bees moving quickly from bloom to bloom, humming with excitement and loud enough to drown out the noise from nearby traffic. Does anyone else wonder, while viewing closeup photos of bees, how they ever lift those pudgy bodies with such small delicate wings?
I assume this is a form of Showy Evening Primrose, (Oenothera speciosa), but I've never seen it quite so blazenly pink in the wild. I don't know if it is a collected species or a commercial cultivar, but the delicate petals laugh in the face of the hottest sun. According to Internet sources, some of the Showy Primrose that start out pure white age to pink, like these, while others stay the pure white that I associate with the wild species.
Years ago, walking around the K-State Garden, I noticed an enticing sweet scent that seemed to be coming from some 6 feet tall, large-leaved plants. In an embarassing display of naivete and stupidity, I asked what they were, only to find out that they were Common Milkweed (Asclepias syriaca), the same weeds I'd grown up with in Indiana and fought hand-to-hand in my father's garden and fields. They are a perfect example of how blind we can be to the good qualities of a plant that pops up in the wrong place. I had no idea Common Milkweed was fragrant, nor that it would grow so tall if left alone.
I'll leave you with the sight of these bronze wildcats (the K-State mascot, for those who were unaware), which languidly observe the garden visitors during the day and come alive to patrol the native garden at night. Sited in Phase I of the garden, right next to busy Denison Avenue, you can tune out the traffic and suddenly you're out in the middle of the Flint Hills. I know that some gardeners (yes, I'm talking to you, Benjamin Vogt) believe that such an ethos is the only way we should be gardening. When I view the success of this design, here at the Kansas State University gardens, I can only agree and encourage everyone to drop by and leave with some new gardening ideas.