Grand Opening

Come one, come all, to the 'Prairie Moon' Ball!
White and cream petals closed at each morning,
Exposed golden stamens are shining each noon.

Pistils and purpose are packed in the center,

Surrounded with silk and recalling the moon.
Bumbling bombers target the larder, 
The stored sun on tap each new day of the world.

My hopes and my dreams are caught in its glory,

The promise of love in its petals uncurled.

ProfessorRoush was perfectly pleased to see all these early peony buds survive three days of wind tightly wound and undamaged and was even more thrilled when they all opened together, virginal and coyly greeting the sun this first fine windless morning.  'Prairie Moon' was a whim purchase several years ago, a decision made based on a thought.  "Its named 'Prairie Moon' and was born in 1959, and here I am, ProfessorRoush, and I was born in 1959 and I live on the prairie."   I had to have it, don't you see, since each of us is sixty-three?

Often, this peony blooms sparingly and fall quickly, but oh, this year, those white blooms shine over the prairie like the glow of a lighthouse, drawing man and insect into adoration.  The bumblebees were all over this peony today, collecting precious pollen as fast as the plant can make it, the very air vibrating with their humming admiration of the blossoms.

The pictured peony above left and here at left, was captured around 7:20 a.m., the sun just risen and the peony still cold and closed.  Below, the midday sun has worked its magic, opening 10 or more smaller suns against the shiny, healthy green foliage. The harsher sun at 1:00 p.m. whitewashes the petals, chasing away the earlier blush and creams of their undersides.  Now open, the warmed pistils and warmed bumblebees compete for the pollen, the former fertilized, the latter loaded with food.  These blossoms will last until the rain predicted two days from now, moisture desperately needed and desired in our drought, but temporarily unwelcome to me as long as 'Prairie Moon' blooms.

There is nothing quite so joyful to me as this simple enormous peony; white as pure as a bleached cotton sheet, blooms as big as a hand, petals thick and impervious to the sun.  My impetuous purchase a decade and more hence has paid its value back in splendor a thousand times over, the debt forgiven anew each May when it briefly blooms the flowers of heaven inlaid with gold. 

Never Go Away!

'Buckeye Belle'

....at least not when spring has arrived, a spring for which you've waited impatiently over the past 2.5 eons and change.  Trilobites have gone extinct since I first anticipated spring this year.  Then I was gone a mere 5 days and the plant friends that I missed are almost too numerous to count.  No, I at least didn't miss the luscious garnet-to-die-for Paeonia lactiflora ‘Buckeye Belle’ pictured at the upper left, but it was a very close thing.

'Prairie Moon'

Recall please, that I only left on the morning of May 9th, but on that morning, fickle peony 'Prairie Moon' was yet to bloom at all.  Five large buds were on the low-growing plant, just thinking about opening.  Yet, when I returned on May 13th, four out of the five flowers had opened in the 90ºF days and finished, with only one decrepit, ant-invaded, spider-guarded, ragged bloom to mark its passing.  I've waited three years for this immature plant to finally bloom with some mature size, and it was gone before I enjoyed it.

'Scarlett O'Hara'

And then there is 'Scarlett O'Hara', one of my most showy and favorite peonies.  No blooms when I left, but I returned to a fully-bloomed plant with all but three blooms faded from gaudy red-salmon into blush pink or white.  This peony normally takes a couple of weeks to open fully and fade.  What happened?  Spring was delayed by fickle fate and then time and the garden rushed headlong into summer, that's what happened. 

'Buckeye Belle' 05/13/2018

'Buckeye Belle' herself was a close one.  On the 13th, when I came home, she had three large blooms open, with several enormous buds in reserve.  Yesterday evening, the 14th, they had all opened, a soul-quickening sight to behold.  Today, these petals are falling, peak over, fading into another season.

'Buckeye Belle' 05/14/2018

A gardener should never go away during growing season.  In temperate climates the first two weeks of January might be safe, in a really cold year.  Might be safe.  But otherwise, forget it.  The other 50 weeks of the year there are things to be done, plants to check on, and beauty to behold.

Yeah, They Got Me

I, ProfessorRoush, of normally sane intellect and body, must now confess that yesterday I participated, nay, I joyfully surrendered, to that most simple of marketing techniques; The Impulse Buy.  While browsing a Big Box gardening center, in hopes of finding something besides 'Stella de Oro' and 'Knock Out' relatives, I happened upon this 'Raspberry Sundae' peony in full bloom.  In my own defense, I would ask that before you harshly condemn me, you click on these photos that I took on my iPhone the second after I plunked down my $24.98 and placed this peony in my Jeep.  Spend a few quiet moments in contemplation of this gorgeous girl.  Look at the immaculate blooms.  Look at the healthy, tall, foliage of this peony.  Oh, if only I could reproduce the fragrance for you!  For the gratification of others with similar weak-willed buying habits, it came from Menard's,

'Raspberry Sundae' is a 1968 introduction by Carl G. Klehm, a bomb-shaped midseason lacriflora with pale yellow and pale pink and cream mixed into the most delicate display I've ever seen.  Martin Page, in The Gardener's Guide to Growing Peonies, states that "few flowers have been so aptly named," and he uses 'Raspberry Sundae' as his example when describing the central raised mass of petaloids that develop from both stamens and carpels, suggesting that the "bomb" name refers to a similarity with a "bombe" ice-cream sherbet.  I didn't have this peony in my garden before, but I will as soon as I can dig a hole this morning.  I need to find a prominent place for 'Raspberry Sundae' since she is very likely to soon become one of my favorites.

I was happy to see that 'Raspberry Sundae' was a creation of Carl Klehm, the third of a four-generation (John, Charles, Carl, and Roy) peony dynasty in the Midwest.  As I've mentioned previously, I have seen Roy Klehm speak in person at the National Arboretum and I grow a number of Klehm's striped peonies.  Now, my garden is host to yet one more Klehm peony.

A Glimpse of Spring

Ssshhhh.  There it is.  Do you see it?  Be careful, don't spook it!  Yes, I'm referring to that pinkie-sized little burgundy-red bullet poking up from the cold, unforgiving ground.  Poor, brave little thing, the first sign of Spring 2016 has appeared in my garden.

I have almost forgotten the feel of warm wind on my face, the warmth of sunlight on my now dry and chapped skin.  It seems like an eternity since the last lightning graced the sky, since the Earth welcomed hot liquid rain to quench thirst and still dust.  You may have noticed my absence from this blog over the past 6 weeks.  My garden and I are strangers now, dreaming to be reacquainted like lost lovers torn apart by war, a civil war begun anew between North and South; only except this North and South are points of the compass and prevailing weather systems rather than quarreling political divisions.  

It's been a dry winter, the last rains ended before the ground froze. Afterwards only frequent frost and hoar to coat the ground and dormant grass.  We've had one snow, a few days of six-inch deep stillness, melted everywhere now except for the deepest north-faced exposures.  I've been lazy this winter, involved in work and in pursuit of hibernation, neglecting the colorful catalogs, unable to rekindle desire even from the most voluptuous and bountiful images of new roses.  The ennui of winter reigns my soul, sapping interest and energy.

But there, in the cold, Paeonia 'Sorbet' rises, slow and stiff and silent.   Somewhere, within the gardener's chest, a slow beat begins.  Lub...........Dub.............Lub...Dub...LubDub, LUBDUB.   Echos of the life without begin again within, a quickening ember fanned to low flame.  It will be weeks, yet, before the fire burns high, but at least I know now that it lives, that wish and thought and action will soon join again to dig and plant and nurture.

Volunteer Opening

Another mystery of my garden was revealed last night when a volunteer peony seedling (sapling? stalk? plant?) opened for the first time.  Until I first noticed this little gem in 2012, growing where it shouldn't be, I was unaware that some peonies would self-seed if they weren't deadheaded.  There were 6 or 8 ancient peonies near the orchard where I was raised, and I never noticed any distant seedlings, but perhaps that was because we mowed around each peony and never gave them a chance.  In contrast, my cypress-mulched and partially shaded front garden must be perfect for peony babies, because I've now got three small new peonies where none was planted.

My natural approach of live-and-let-live for self-seeding plants paid off perfectly this time.   This little girl is presumably a self-cross of 'Kansas' or 'Inspector Lavergne', or a cross of the two, since there are several of each in the bed.  Regardless of the parentage, I'm pleased at the almost bright-red coloration, the prominent yellow stamens, and the semi-double form, and I think I'll keep this one around under an appropriate study name such as 'Roush's Red'.  The blue foliage at the top of the picture, if you're wondering, is a blue-green sedum, 'Strawberries and Cream'. 

If you recognize the foliage of a volunteer plant, and it isn't a weed, don't pull it up.  You just never know the gifts you've been given until you, in turn, give them a chance to shine.

 

Memory Keepers

I don't know where the phrase "a picture is worth a thousand words" originated, but sometimes even a picture is inadequate to plumb the depths of thought and emotion induced by the simplest of stimuli.  Take, for example, the still life in brown pictured at the right.  An unknowing, unaware observer might recognize the presence of a little loose soil, a number of brown vegetable-origin structures, and the background of brown prairie grass, trimmed short in the late days of Fall.  A very astute observer might recognize the brown tubular structures as roots, and perhaps the most knowledgeable and experienced gardeners, looking closely, might discern some bud eyes peeking from the crowns of those roots.

I can confirm, for the curious, that these are peony roots, ready to be transplanted.   These roots are divisions that I purloined at Thanksgiving from my boyhood home, healthy survivors who were growing in good Indiana soil long before I drew first breath.   There are 5 different peony starts here from a row of peonies that always separated orchard from vegetable garden, large clumps that sagged with each rainfall and became obstacles to be mowed around during the verdant summer and then to be mowed off short at the start of Fall.  You can see, in the closeup at the left, plump buds biding frigid Winter, waiting to clone and grow again in my Kansas garden.

They are, at once, both unique peonies and common peonies, unremarkable to the average gardener, but precious everafter to me.  They are common because I suspect that the varieties are just the same tired pink and white and red peonies that our grandparents grew and that probably sell for $3.95 per 3 clumps now each Spring at Walmart.   Odds are that one is 'Festiva Maxima', and another 'Sarah Bernhardt',  and it is likely that I already grow all or most of these, purchased at local nurseries.  They are exceptional, however, these 5 peonies, because they are now weighted down with childhood memories and ghostly fields stretching as far as a boy could roam.  They bear this heavy load because this year, after 50 years of living in one place, my parents are selling the home farm.  I have only the opportunity to start them here, these keepers of memory, so they can whisper to me of family picnics in the Spring, and sweet corn grown tall in Summer, and of the peaches and apples that fell from the nearby orchard trees, destined only to rot and fertilize these roots.

 In my garden, these will be the heirlooms of my boyhood, these few ancient peonies planted by those who lived before me, to live on long after me.  They will rub shoulders with sedums and columbines from my grandmother and with trees planted by my children.  They will carry for me my memories of another place and another time, simple and carefree, when the world was new and every tree a mountain to be climbed.  I planted them here now, sprinkled them with the remnants of the good soil that nurtured them, and watered them in so they'll grow and outlast me here, transplanted with me to foreign soil.  Memory keepers of a far away place and time.

And you thought it was just a picture of a few brown roots and dirt.

Fast Times on the Prairie

Things are happening incredibly fast in the garden right now.  The cool temperatures of the past few weeks followed by the 80's and 90's of the past 5 days seems to be condensing the spring blooming season, along with throwing off the timing I expect.  The peonies, irises, and roses all look like they are going to hit peak bloom at the same time and I may quite possibly float away on the essence of colorful paradise I'm going to have by next week.

Rosa 'Jeri Jennings'

But, today seems to be a day for first things and I wanted to show two prize new plants that are blooming for the first time in my garden.  The first of the Rogue Valley roses that I planted last fall has opened, if just barely, and I present, for your pleasure, 'Jeri Jennings', a beautiful Hybrid Musk rose bred by Paul Barden in 2007.  She survived an unusually harsh Zone 5 winter and looks healthy, if small.  I absolutely love the yellow-orange tones that are reminiscent to me of 'Alchymist'.  I haven't yet sampled her fabled scent, but I'll put nose to ground soon and check that out as well.

Peony 'Prairie Moon'

Last year, I spent months eyeing a herbaceous peony at a local nursery, and finally surrendered my yearnings to what I initially thought was a high price and purchased and planted it.  'Prairie Moon'. a 1959 cross of  P. ‘Laura Magnuson’ x P. ‘Archangel’ is not a new peony to commerce, but it is new to my garden.  This thing was blooming its head off last year when I first saw it and the creamy single blooms lit up the area of the garden center, standing out from the other peonies there.  Both because of the "prairie" in its name, the spectacular display, and the fact that it was introduced in 1959, the year of my birth, made it a no-brainer for my garden.  And here it is, blooming now for about 5 days, the first of the peonies (other than species P. tenuifolia) to show up in my garden.

Peony 'Scarlet O'Hara'

A final welcome visitor, however, is the large single peony 'Scarlet O'Hara', who opened for the first time this morning, although it is her second year blooming in my garden.  Gaze on that intricate yellow center for a moment, carpels and pink-tipped stigma, accented by the large scarlet petals, and I promise you, you can get lost in the bloom.  The picture at right doesn't do justice to the fact that the blooms are as big as your hand, and they're on a tall, 3-foot peony, so the garden display of this peony when it gets going is unequaled.

Fare well all, Bliss is soon to come. 

Time Flies, Peonies Rise

Good gravy, I've been puttering along through Spring, thinking that I have been keeping up pretty well with the garden chores.  I've pruned shrubs and burnt prairie grass, planted onions and potatoes, divided perennials, and even sprayed the apple trees for cedar rust, but I almost missed an important chore.  Gardener's, please don't forget that your peonies need your support!

I've got approximately 40 different peonies (when did that happen?), which constitutes a full crapload of peonies (as opposed to a half crapload).  I don't provide supports for all my peonies, just the taller ones standing alone as specimens in their borders, or the larger ones prone to topple.  Paeonia tenuifolia, low-growing and already in bloom, doesn't need support.  And many of my peonies are confined in a defined area (the "peony bed," what else?) where they can mostly lean on each other.   But, in total, I counted 21 commercial support hoops hanging in my garage this weekend when they should have already been in place hovering over the peonies.  Over the peonies?  Around the peonies would be a better description. Those babies have really shot up over the past two weeks, with many beginning full bud and topping better than 2 feet!

 

So I rushed around yesterday and got the supports in place.  Thank God that I've purchased a number of those commercial hoops that have a hook-catch so you can place them around already established clumps, such as the one shown above.  Other peonies, not quite so tall, are lagging and so they got the "unsnapable" supports that they can grow up through like the one at the right.  And a few peonies are just going to have to do without this year because I used some of the smaller supports for a few "front-and-center" sedums that have a tendency to flop around and look flat in late summer when they should be standing tall and proudly the center of attention. 

It's like a country song.  "Mamas, don't let your peonies grow up to be flop-mops.  Don't feed'em to much or shade them too much, Let'em be beauties and cut flowers and such." (Apologies to Waylon).  

Peony Prospects

This year, I wonder, which of my peonies will put forth unexpected and extra effort and serve to delight me? There always seems to be one special player, sometimes anticipated, sometimes almost forgotten, who will make this a memorable peony spring. No matter how harsh the Winter has been, no matter how cold the Spring, how dry the Fall, or how destructive the dogs, one of them, I trust, will come shining through.  Which will it be in 2011?

'Buckeye Belle'

 Will it be 'Buckeye Belle', purchased just last year and planted in full, deep dark red flower?  'Buckeye Belle' is an old peony, introduced by Mains in 1956, but it recently found new life as the 2011 Peony of the Year, the 2010 Gold Medal Winner, and 2009 American Peony Society Award of Landscape Merit Winner.  I have high hopes for this variety and placed it in the front tip of my peony bed.

 



'Immaculee'

 Or will 'Immaculee' get the nod this year for best peony of my garden?  This white anemone bred by Van der Valk in 1953 has the most consistently perfect and delicate blossums of any peony I grow.  Closeups of the center of this flower are like the surface of another world.  



'Paeonia tenuifolia'

I was extremely lucky several years ago, to have a friend who gave me starts of the very early-blooming species, 'Paeonia tenuifolia'.  First to bloom, first to disappear for the year, this bright red peony can be a real showstopper when a large clump gets established.  And the tiny fern-like foliage is always perfect!



'Pink Spritzer'

 Recent variety 'Pink Spritzer' is always good for a striking new bloom and probably the most asked about peony that I grow.  I obtained it about 2 years ago directly from the hybridizer, Roy Klehm, after hearing a lecture he gave at the National Arboretum.  My weakness for stripes got the better of me.

'Festiva Maxima'

The old standbys like 'Festiva Maxima' can usually be counted on to provide a good show.  Heirloom P. lactiflora  variety 'Festiva Maxima' is a French variety introduced in 1851 and if I were betting, I'd put money on this being the most widely grown herbaceous peony across the planet.  I had a little trouble starting mine, either from the purchase of small roots or a little weakness in the variety, but I finally succeeded.  I didn't admit my troubles, though, to my father, who has a specimen that was probably planted in the late 1940's and receives no care except a yearly mowing.  




'Bowl of Beauty'

  And, of course, the Japanese anemone named 'Bowl of Beauty' can usually be counted on for a beautiful show.  I've grown this peony for about 8 years and this one always draws a few extra glances from visitors. The great contrast of 'Bowl of Beauty' between the ivory center and rich pink, cupped outer guard petals draws the eye. 

My best hope however, for an exciting show this year is from a peony I just planted last year.  Browsing a nursery in May last year, I came across 'Prairie Moon', a creamy white peony with yellow centers that has enormous blooms that vary from single forms to almost double in some years.  Even so, I thought that the cost of a potted clump was a bit expensive to purchase the first time I saw it, but it kept wearing at my conscience all summer, and when it didn't go on sale, I purchased it in the Fall.  I couldn't resist either the prairie reference of the name, nor the fact that this peony was introduced by Fay in 1959, which happens to be the year of my birth.  I don't have pictures for you yet, but this is a peony that I hope will light up that area of the garden from a long distance away for years to come.   

Premonition of Peonies

Paeonia tenuifolia budding

In the past few days I noticed that my brave peonies had decided it was time to stick their noses up above the ground.  Every year, I find myself anxiously awaiting the appearance of these delicate stalks and happy to see them pop up and slowly unfurl.  I still sometimes find it amazing that these few buds will cover the area of a bushel basket in a mere month or so, and I find it still more miraculous as the enormous fat buds swell larger than these stems ever dreamed of being.

Herbaceous peony sprouts

No plant that I grow can beat the peony for low maintenance care here on the prairie.  They ask only to be mowed off in the Fall and tossed a little fertilizer each Spring.  A little fertilizer goes a long way in fact, and this year I'm going to try a little organic compost on each peony instead of my usual handful of high-calorie lawn fertilizer in an effort to try and keep them a bit more compact. Watering, deadheading, pruning, insecticides, and fungicides are not ever on the menu for herbaceous peonies in Kansas.  The largest varieties might ask for a little stem support during their bloom periods, but I just plant them close and make them shoulder up against each other for support during the Kansas winds and storms. 

 





05/25/2010 in my peony bed

Despite the recent cold and the rain and possible snow predicted this weekend, peonies are the one early plant that I never, ever worry will sustain frost damage or freeze back.  I used to cover these early buds with blankets and milk jugs, but after a few years, I decided that this "lower" life form has a far better grasp of when their time has come than I do.  Principally, the disastrous snow and freezes of mid-April in 2007 provided the evidence to me.  In that rare year, when the lilac blooms froze on the stems, the daylilies were frost-bitten, and the fruit trees dropped their buds, the peonies simply smiled at the freak cold and perked right back up when the weather warmed.   Not for nothing do peonies dot the oldest gravestones in comfortable ancient graveyards and are often the sole survivors at old abandoned homesites. They are, it seems, the wisest of the wise.

Plant Immortality

It's sometimes astonishing to me how fleeting the life of plants in my garden can be.  Planted one minute and dead the next, particularly if I forget to water in the midst of our annual summer drought.  Or planted one spring and never seen again the next spring, despite strict adherence to zone recommendations, site preparation, and cultural requirements.

But there are some plants who are not nearly so ephemeral.  Trees are often the one plant everyone can name, even gardening neophytes, that often outlive the planter.  Even a common American Sweetgum (Liquidambar styraciflua) often transcends a simple human lifespan, let alone the better examples given by giant California Redwoods (Sequoiadendron giganteum) or Great Basin Bristlecone Pines (Pinus longaeva) that outlive entire human regimes and societies.  But such immortality is also seemingly given to less obvious plants that are all around us.  Herbaceous peonies are a prime example of a "plant it once and it's with you ever after" plant.  They are often seen in older unkempt graveyards from more than a century back or found around old homesteads as the sole survivors of a young pioneer bride's dowry.  The peonies pictured below form a line, a herbaceous wall if you will, separating my father's orchard from the vegetable garden.  They've been there for at least 60 years, planted and left behind by the previous owners of the farm who themselves are now long deceased.  The peonies sit unknowing, their survival unaffected by the ravages of thunderstorm and snow, partially in sun and partially in shade, cared for only in a minimal way by mulch-mowing them off at the end of the summer season for the past 50 years.

So if you want to touch immortality, your choices seem to be to live a quiet life rooted in the soil, unaffected by the passage of years and seasons, or perhaps, sometimes, to just to plant a peony.