Dazzle Days

These August and September days in Kansas are what ProfessorRoush has always referred to as the "doldrums."   The hot, dreary, drought-ey days of the year when, most years, the garden dries up before it has a chance to really display the colors of fall and not much is blooming or growing.   Days when I badly neglect the garden and frankly don't care if it rains because I'm tired of the weekly care and mowing.   The only time the garden and I see each other right now are every few days when I carry water to a few young roses just to keep them alive until dormancy.  Everything else can wait as the heat dies away and a little rain returns.  Tonight and tomorrow, we have the first chances predicted for rain in weeks, so I'm hopeful and prayerful that its thirst gets quenched.   It probably won't matter to the prairie grass right now, which has recognized the changing season and is drying and storing nutrients for next year. 

Gardeners always seem to ask "what's blooming now?" of each other, and I'll confess that the only truly bright spot in my garden right now is this superb (in my opinion) combination of dwarf crape myrtle 'Cherry Dazzle®' and the 'Heavenly Blue' morning glory that I let self-seed everywhere.  At least, I think it's still 'Heavenly Blue" because it has seeded itself and in-bred so many years that it might just be the wild variety by now.   If you were to see my landscape around the house now, I'd only ask you to please don't criticize me for the rampant vines everywhere, but to wait until morning to pass judgement.  They look like heck at midday but they're a sight for sleepy eyes to behold in the morning!

The 'Cherry Dazzle®', also known as Gamad 1 (U.S. Plant Patent #16,917) is another matter entirely.   Most of the spring and summer I spend worrying that it has survived or isn't doing well, and then here in late August it is the shining red star of the garden.   Right outside my bedroom window, it catches my eye alongside the sunrise every morning, and I'm happy that it has its own spotlight moment.   'Cherry Dazzle®', if you're looking for a low-growing crape, grows consistently 2-2.5 feet tall here in Kansas each year, although described as 3-5 feet height at maturity elsewhere.   Introduced and named  by Professor Michael Dirr in 2006, it seems to be healthy and cold-hardy here, returning reliably from its roots each spring, and its leaves in most climates are reported to be burgundy-red in the fall.   Here, I recall they unfortunately seem to go straight from green to brown and fall off.   Incidentally, check out that link to Dr. Dirr, a University of Georgia horticulturist who has the distinction of his own Wikipedia page!

The busy bumblebee pictured above and at the left has no time for the dazzle of 'Cherry Dazzle®', intent only on darting in and out of the 'Heavenly Blue' blossoms for their nectar.  Taking these photos, I had to wait as it dived in each flower head first, brazenly showing only its backside until it bumbled backward and flew to the next.  I wonder, as I often do, what the bee sees?  The actual vivid colors of both, the shapes of the flowers, the contrast between the two, or something else, with its advanced bee senses, that I can't even fathom?   One way or another, arriving just as I began to photograph the plant, he/she didn't care about the gardener who was clicking the oblong black thing furiously at them as they went from one blossom to the next.  For me, the combination of both plants is incredibly soul-satisfying and I'm not sure if I really prefer the "heavenly" shade of blue or the dazzling cherry-red, but it's clear what the bee prefers.  One thing I am sure of is that I need to remember that the morning glory is not only important to me, but to the ecological health of my garden.

Sounds of Sage

Oh, how ProfessorRoush misses the garden.  I wandered out today, warmed prior from indoor exercise and enticed by sunshine.  The air seemed warmer than its measured temperature of 23ºF at 1:30 p.m., and yet it is all still and damp out there, snow drifts melting away to a frozen ground beneath, brown and tan foliage remnants of past plants as far as I can see beneath clear blue skies.  Bella, too, misses our moments of exploration, glued to my side as she sniffs for changes and danger in her garden.

I can only offer you garden pornography today, the photos here taken in the high moments of summer, the prickly white poppy a beacon of delicate lace and yellow pollen and Russian sage drawing in bumblebees frantic to store food then for this month, this season right now.   These photographs of a garden now dead, now stiff remnants and seedheads to mark their passing, these are all I have for you, memories of a world months past.

Where are, I wonder, these bees today, happily buried in warm nests, or dead husks beneath the snow?  I don't know enough about the life cycle of these corpulent flying workers and I should; I should know enough to help them survive and thrive, being that knowledge is power and all that.  I have a "bee house" up, an artful name for a board with 1/4" holes drilled in it, and some of the holes are plugged with mud suggesting the hope of pupae inside, but am I a helper or hindrance?  Truly, in gardening and in our relationships with nature, we can never have enough knowledge about the world around us.  There are surely been enough blunders and unintended consequences of well-meant but unenlightened action.

Oh, what I'd give today to hear the buzz in this Russian sage (Perovskia atriplicifolia), black and yellow busy-ness flitting among the light blue flowers.  The 'Champlain' rose at its feet is shockingly red, screaming for attention, but the honeybees ignore the sterile rose, it  lacks the attraction of the dusky sage above it for the bustling insects.  Here is my Sunday epiphany, this cold Sunday of beginnings and doorways, of Janus: We gardeners, we think of flowers as silent, as colorful or artful elements to arrange over our gardens, but sage is more, sage is noise, the buzzing of a hundred visitors at once, the transformation of color into motion.  Today in memory I can recall the flowers, but I miss the sounds, the sounds of vibrant life now absent in this cold season, the sounds of sage trading pollen for propagation, the garden fertile and fecund. 

Mrs. PR and the Bumblebees

Friends, ProfessorRoush failed you miserably today, too weak in a critical moment to do what really needed to be done.  I failed to capture and share with you the video of a lifetime, a sure bet to spread like a virus across the globe, making ProfessorRoush a household name in the process.  

My Sunday began in a completely innocent fashion with no clue of the drama to unfold.   As I was preparing to mow the lawn, Mrs. ProfessorRoush mentioned that she was going to slip down to pick any remaining tomatoes in the garden before she showered and began her day.   Ever the helpful and attentive husband, I followed her down to the garden, where we picked a few tomatoes, snared a few deliciously ripe blackberries from the thorny canes, and then ambled over to the grapes, which were past ripe, sweet and juicy, and needed picking.

Let me set the scene for you.  As it happened, Mrs. ProfessorRoush had ambled down to the garden in a mid-thigh length pink cotton nightgown and slippers, her tanned legs bare and well-toned, a beauty among the brambles.   She was picking grapes off one vine while I, ten feet away, was distracted from her heavenly presence in the garden by the discovery that bumblebees were feasting heavily on the grapes (see the photo above and to the left).  

I was contemplating that astounding new bit of knowledge and engrossed in photographing one of the bees eating the grapes when Mrs. ProfesssorRoush began to complain that the bees were bothering her; complaints that turned quickly to excited chatter and then hysteria as the bees decided that the exposed hair and flesh of Mrs. PR seemed to be even more delicious than the bountiful grapes all around.   Perhaps it was her hair spray, perhaps it was her perfume, or perhaps it was just the delicious sweetness that is Mrs. ProfessorRoush, but those bees were dead set on either driving her away from their sweet grapes, or feasting on her, or both.

Now picture this:  a frantic Mrs. ProfessorRoush running up the hill in a mid-thigh pink-nightgown, arms flailing madly, the bowl of tomatoes and grapes cast upon the ground, Bella trotting calmly behind her, wondering at last, I'm sure, if she was going to finally see her rival for my affections dethroned.

And there I was, phone in hand, with it already turned on in camera mode, and I was laughing so hard I could barely stand, let alone thinking clearly enough to capture a photo or a movie for the future entertainment of humankind.  In hindsight, I'm so disappointed in myself.   Perhaps I wouldn't have become famous for a video, but I'm sure the pink blur of Mrs. ProfessorRoush's backside running up the hill would have at least made the nightly national news.  And perhaps distracted and amused, for just a moment, an entire nation bored from the pandemic. 

So, there you have it.  Bumblebees eat ripe grapes, I presume for the sugar and cheap energy.  I had never heard or read of that before.  And I've spent the day outside doing chores and snapping other pictures, like the last two photos of the bees on the light blue caryopteris near the back steps.  I remain hopeful that by nightfall my laughter will have faded from Mrs. ProfessorRoush's memory and she'll unlock the doors.  Surely she'll be able to see the broader humor of the occasion by then, won't she? 

Bee-Musings

ProfessorRoush doesn't have a nice, neat patriotic theme for you on this July 4th.  I suppose I could walk out the front door and grab a few pictures of the pure white phlox 'David', and the bright red 'Wave' petunias at the foot my of driveway, add a snapshot of a bit of Russian Sage or lavender from the other side of the house to approximate the blue, and then I could contrive a nice rousing image of a celebration of independence with those pictures, but my writer's muse just won't cooperate today.  The country's mood, and my mood, doesn't seem to be one of celebration this July Fourth, but of turmoil and division, uncertainty and strife.  Or maybe that's just me.

I'm thinking a lot about bees this year, and on this 4th day of July, for some subconscious reason that I can't yet name, I'm thinking of them again.  I"m photographing bees on flowers everywhere, I'm reveling in their presence in my garden, and I'm rejoicing in every little buzzing busy bee that I find, and I don't know why.  For whatever reason, bees are reaching my happy center this summer, spreading joy with wings and all their six legs.  Everywhere I look, there they are, crawling over the delicate petals and flying from each ripe blossom to the next. And every time I find a bee on a blossom, out comes my camera and a picture is born.

I'm always happy that there are bees in my garden, but this year their presence seems more special to me.  Have I somehow internalized my concern over their well-being, over the very-real threats to their survival?  Am I searching for saneness, for certainty and assurance that the world is not on the verge of collapse as it sometimes seems?  Does the world make more sense with bees in the picture?

Why, on the 4th of July, are bees my subject?  It's quite a stretch to connect bees to a patriotic holiday, notwithstanding the existence of the "Patriotic American Flag Honey Bee T-shirt" and its clever superimposition of a bee silhouette over an American flag.  And I must admit, I chuckled over another Amazon-sold T-shirt emblazoned with "All Hive Matters."  Bee-keepers are a society unto themselves, I guess.  But other than noting these shirts as possible surprise gifts for the beekeepers in my life, I can't consciously make a case for Patriotic bees. 

Perhaps, deep inside the quirky recesses of my id, bees DO represent normalcy.  Maybe I'm secretly craving this year a unified society where each has a role for the good of all.  The queen, the drone, and the worker, all working as one, in one direction, as one strong society.  Don't, I beg you, take that sentiment as any calling for communism or socialism.  ProfessorRoush tries to avoid political subjects on this blog and flowers only mix with politics when the flowers are in a politician's lapel hole.  Bees should matter, but I'm not going to say so, or wear a shirt that says so, because who knows who one might offend these days.  People aren't drones, and while many of us are worker bees and a few of us may be royalty, we have choice and we should exercise it and grow each to our greatest potentials.

Well, I'm far afield in my ramblings and rants on this day, Independence Day 2020.  You can just enjoy the bees, along with me, and forget all about the rest of this.  Or we can all gather a little pollen today, a little goodwill for all, and take it back to support our hives, working separately but together, all to survive from this year into the next.   God knows, if we don't learn to work together, we're going to get a little hungry this winter.          

Thoughtful Rest

OA lily hybrid 'Kaveri'

ProfessorRoush is almost there; nearly to the autopilot period of the summer garden, the period of the summer where the grass barely needs mowing, the weeds are under control, and the primary chores are behind him.  Time to rest and enjoy the garden, perhaps not to read in the garden shade along with these bright lilies, but at least to slow down and enjoy what he can.  Before fall arrives in haste, before finishing the rose dead cane removals, weather-protecting the patio, staining the gazebo, re-blacktopping the blacktop, and the thousand other things that I think of when I'm in the garden, I must take time to enjoy it's life, the life of my garden.  Besides, keeping it all running smoothly can be chore enough.  Yesterday, the lawn mower quit 20 minutes before I was ready to finish.  I was far too hot and tired during my 7th hour in the garden when the temperatures hovered between 95º and 100º to care to work on it yesterday, but I got up this morning and revived the lawn mower, a major victory by this gardener of no mechanical skill.  Sometimes, even a blind squirrel finds a nut, as the old saying goes.

'Fru Dagmar Hastrup

I need to enjoy my garden alongside the bees, who are certainly enjoying the second bloom of 'Fru Dagmar Hastrup'.  This one and his friends were going crazy spinning around the many fresh blooms.  Lots of blooms, lots of hips, healthy foliage, and not a single Japanese Beetle yet to be seen. 'Fru Dagmar' is having a moment, and it's a moment not to be ignored.

'Fru Dagmar Hastrup' second bloom

 Despite all my complaining about rose rosette disease and its devastation of my garden, I'm beginning to see the other, brighter side of the post-RRD schism.  The young rugosas and old garden roses are coming along and there are now small shrubs in many places where there were bare spots last summer and fall.  And the older, more mature rugosas, like 'Fru Dagmar Hastrup', are picking up the slack, providing me some needed bloom and food for the bees.  I'll soon be blogging about new roses again, new roses to my aging garden.

'Fru Dagmar Hastrup' hip

'Fru Dagmar Hastrup' is also going to provide a second later season of pleasure for me, these big plump hips from the first bloom just starting to turn and covering the plant alongside the newer blooms.  Their shear mass, the size of a plum or large grape, is only rivaled in my garden by the bodacious hips of 'Foxi Pavement' , pictured below.  I like big hips and I cannot lie. I'm interested to see which hips are more red as we progress towards fall, and which hips stay so prominent and full.

'Foxi Pavement' hip

For the Bees, You See

Today, I'll show you why, in photos instead of my usual wordy rambling, that I handpick the Japanese beetles off my roses. All the photos are taken the same lovely morning.

No insecticides in my garden on anything that blooms.  I eliminated the bagworms by removing the junipers.  I'm letting the melyridaes make minimal and merry damage on whatever they want.  And I'll put up with momentarily holding a few squirming Japanese beetles in my palm to hear the music of the bees in my garden.    How could anyone possibly take a chance on hurting these wholly-innocent and innocently-beautiful creatures?  Here, Mr. Bumble is visiting delicious 'Snow Pavement'.

And here, another bee almost covers the private parts of this delicately-veined 'Applejack'.  

Fru Dagmar Hastrup' entertains and feeds this street urchin.  Look at that perfectly formed bloom against fabulous foliage here in the middle of summer and scorching sun.

Fru's short, nearby gentleman friend, 'Charles Albanel' allows another bumble deep into his double petals.  Charles doesn't make as many hips as Fru Dagmar, but he shows off more while he's in flower.

Okay, it's not a rose, it's a Rose of Sharon, Hibiscus syriacus 'Blue Bird', to be exact.  But it also has its part in feeding the bees in my garden.

One more of 'Snow Pavement'.  I'm going to write about 'Snow Pavement' more soon, as she is reaching her mature height and presentation in my garden..  In the meantime, I'll leave you with her soft pink blooms while you contemplate how you're helping the bee species in your garden.

The Reader's Sting

I seem to have an inadvertent theme going this week on bumblebees, if indeed three postings that happen to use the word constitutes a theme.  I feel an obligation to post this third one, however, if only to do my part in preventing the dissemination of the particular flavor of Kool-Aid involved.  

For background, my post "Trophy Weeding" was cross-posted on GardenRant a couple of days ago, which I appreciate and enjoy because such cross-postings always bring more comments and help me to improve my writing.  Even if they do edit out some of the bawdier, and I dare say, funnier, comments before posting there.  A reader named "Marie", however, took issue with one of my ill-considered statements and commented as follows:

"For perpetuating the myth that bumblebees are agressive and sting,the writer loses 25 points from from a perfect humor score. BUMBLEBEES DO NOT STING! Yes, I'm shouting. They are docile pollinators and you can probably outrun them. Hornets, some which have ground nests, are reactive and aggressive. They will chase you across the yard and into your house, then sting you if they haven't already.  If you read this and still run away from bumbles, you lose 10 points for cowardice. Since not everyone reads the responses, I kindly ask you to consider writing a correction. Your amateur beekeeper, Marie"

Well, now, I must say that I was deeply stung by that comment, Marie, and especially by the deduction from my humor score.  And you haven't seen me in person, so you don't know that outrunning them is an iffy risk on my part.

I fully admit that I'm just a rambling blogger, not an expert on anything, except perhaps that I have a minor claim to expertise in small animal veterinary orthopedic surgery, a subject that I choose not to blog about however.  So it is entirely probable that I make a multitude of mistakes during my rambles and no one should take the credential "Master Gardener" as a real indicator of anything except the ability to spend a few hours in community service.  But since Marie prompted me to provide a retraction after due diligence, I've researched the question to the best of my ability and, in fact, find that BUMBLEBEES CAN SURELY STING!  Yes, I'm shouting now too.  Quoting such impeccable references as Wikipedia and http://www.bumblebee.org/, I agree that they are normally docile creatures and don't often sting, but according to everything I can find, the queens and workers can sting and will sting in defence of their nest or if harmed, and in fact they can sting repeatedly because their stinger lacks the barbs that cause a honeybee to surrender its weapon with each sting.  In fact, website pictures of the bumblebee's barb are quite fearsome.

So we're both partially right, and I'd like a refund please of 15 points back to my humor score and permission to keep running if bumblebees happen to make a beeline for my backside.  I'm willing to live and let live and I certainly don't propose that bumblebee nests should be eradicated with Navy SEAL squads ala Bin Laden.  And I am tempted to challenge Marie to post a video sitting bare-naked for a period of time on a bumblebee nest, but I'm afraid of the lengths to which a true-believer might take such a challenge and my conscience can't absorb the potential consequences to garden-gnomes and children.  So I'll just ask that if everyone can keep an open mind and limit the Kool-Aid to those WEE (wild-eyed environmentalists) wearing Birkenstocks and worshiping their AlGore dolls, we can hopefully just move on to another topic.