Anticipation Abandoned

Where, pray tell me, does one start to explain one's absence from this minor blog of over 3 months?  Many, if not most, of my readers may not have noticed my lack of attention to their daily entertainment, although dare I hope that at least a few fleetingly wondered if I'd departed for parts unknown, upward to fulfillment or slipped into the cold embrace of spring ground?   And how do I apologize to my garden, my poor garden, neglected and abandoned to the whims of weather and fate?   Where does responsibility for the care and feeding of a garden or garden blog begin and end?

'Yellow Bird'

In the case of my garden, but not yet you blog followers, I've made the novice gardener's mistake of hoping for a return of affection, or mere notice, for my efforts.  But as winter rolled to spring and spring has settled into a teasing dance of welcome warmth interspersed with crushing cold, I've found my affection for and from the garden has been less than satisfying.   Simply put, is it too much to ask for a normal transition of spring bloom in return for my cultivating and caring efforts?

The evidence of an answer to that question this spring, has been a resounding "no!" from the Kansas climate.  The first bloom in my garden was the "Pink Forsythia", Abeliophyllum distichum 'Roseum', which I noticed had just opened blooms on February 29th.  One day and a cold night later its promise of love returned was reduced to a fountain of brown, never to shine again.  Then, in sequence, my beloved Star Magnolia (Magnolia stellata) teased me one day and crushed me the next, several forsythia teased a few cranky yellow blooms and then the rest froze and browned, and then the French lilacs, too embarrassed to carry the torch, refused to bloom at all.  So, at this stage, magnolias, forsythia, and lilacs are, in sports parlance, 0-3, while the Witch of Winter is 3-0.  The redbuds on my hills made it 0-4 in short order, also adding to the general woe and despair, and the red peach tree made me 0-5 for the early season.  

'Jane' Magnolia

Oh, yes, the first Scilla, Puschkinia, and daffodils bloomed, all surviving and promptly laid low by frost as if their diminutive status needed to be removed yet farther from center stage.  Even these minor spots of color were a jumbled mess, overgrown by Henbit and abandoned to my inability to work with frozen hands and ears to clear the garden.   I simply couldn't find a single day until April where it was warm enough, or windless enough, or I wasn't away to a meeting or work, to tidy the garden.  I just fail miserably to confront 70 mph gales as I work outside.  My front garden finally got trimmed and mulched last weekend, almost two months later than in previous years, and the back garden is yet to be touched, piles of bagged mulch waiting in vain as I struggle through a respiratory virus passed to me last week by the treacherous Mrs. ProfessorRoush. Yes, friends, even my spouse has taken sides with weather and fickle seasons against my garden.  

Paeonia tenuifolia

There are a few minor bright spots that I cling to.   Both my 'Jane' and 'Yellow Bird' magnolias have snuck in decent bloom this spring, and I share them with you here.   Mind you, I take no credit as my 'Ann' magnolia didn't show near the bountiful bloom of her sister, so any hue of success is a matter of chance and the random timing of nightly lows sparing individual bloom cycles.  For future hope, the late lilacs, like 'Boomerang' are opening up with some appearance of a decent showing, and so far the peonies are budding up well.   I got one day of  a fine display by the Paeonia tenuifolia, illustrated at left, after my return from a DC trip before it was ruined by rain. 

But did I yet mention that we've been bone dry, all through winter and spring, so dry as to make the ground as solid as cement and dry as far as I can dig?  We need rain to even have grass yet!   Should I will just roll over, cut my losses, sacrifice the troops, and wait until 2025?  I need color; beautiful sunrises and hope can sustain me, but not forever. What say ye?  (that last question asked in my mind with the voice of Gregory Peck as "Ahab" in 1956's Moby Dick, as he asked his first mate to follow him to their mutual death).  

12/12/2023

 

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.