I Want It!

ProfessorRoush doesn't often post pictures taken outside his own garden, but I can't resist posting this iPhone photo of a Halloween display that I encountered yesterday at a local horticulture proprietor.  Forget the Halloween paraphernalia, look at the garden table!  I took one look at this table, stained cement at about the perfect height for either "real" garden work like potting or for just display and ornaments, and I almost walked out the door with it despite the almost $400 price.  Shades of impulse buys, somebody purchase this thing before it lures me back!

I've never, ever, thought about a table in the middle of my garden, but somewhere in ProfessorRoush Fantasy Garden Land, this table, with its Griffon-style legs, stands adorned in Spring with forced pots of bulbs hidden among blooming wisteria vines.  There is a fat calico-furred feline soaking up the early Spring sunrays and lazily watching a torpid bumblebee lumbering near.  The view changes again in Summer, and I see the legs adorned in Jackmanii wisteria and a fragrant pink pillar rose draped over it along the back, butterflies floating slowly from bloom to bloom on placid early morning air currents.  I see this very table in September, arrayed with ornamental gourds and pumpkins, surrounded on the sides and back by tall 'Northwind' and Miscanthus 'Gracillimus' grasses.  What garden paradise can I create here with this eye-level cement muse?

Alas, while these beautiful vistas beckon, I can't escape from the realities of the Flint Hills.  I know that potted bulbs would be quickly swept off the bench by the Kansas winds of April, and the wisteria would likely refuse to bloom.  The fragrant pillar rose would rake across the table in Summer, scraping any contents to the ground in an instant.  The clematis would be wilting in the hot summer sun, particularly where it contacted the boiling concrete.  The colorful pumpkins and gourds of autumn would be whisked off to Missouri on the back of a thunderstorm while the grasses stood as silent guards around the cement tomb of summer's hopes.

Hey, look again at that picture.  It might not work out in my garden, but I think it would look great in yours!

Misty Magic

I believe ProfessorRoush has mentioned it before, but the monotone beige of the autumn Flint Hills comes completely alive when rain or mist dampens the tall grasses.  Without moisture, the grasses are an uninspiring shaggy carpet of light browns and tans, some perhaps rarely displaying a dusky red undertone.  If the heavens bestow a mild drizzle, however, or perhaps engulf the land beneath a damp cold mist, the prairie becomes a sea of fall colors, reds, golds and yellows woven into a tapestry of summer's bountiful growth.

I came back from a day trip to Nebraska last evening, fighting mist and fog over the last thirty miles of backroads, to find my little corner of prairie transformed into a quiet paradise of colored foliage studded with clear aqueous gemstones.  The mist imposed a sense of isolation and dampened all sounds from the adjacent roads and city as well as raising a veil to screen out the view of other houses on my horizon, leaving my garden as an oasis within Eden.  Some might label the silent misty cloak as an ominous warning of apocalypse, but I felt only peace and calm draped across the land.

The evening mist also provided me a victory of sorts.  Mrs. ProfessorRoush finally conceded that the unmown prairie grass on the rear-facing slope behind the house might have some redeeming qualities beyond her fears of a snake-infested meadow.  I made sure to get a firm verbal commitment of support for my laissez faire approach to the landscape, but I prudently decided not to push my luck with a request for her surrender in writing. Mrs. ProfessorRoush was, in fact, madly snapping close-up photos of the grasses, presumably with the goal of adding them to her already voluminous Facebook page.  In unusual fashion, she was even squatting at eye level with the foliage, capturing a much broader and more artistic view of my meager gardening efforts than she normally strives for.  Oh my, vindication and validation are such sweet wines to the gardener's palette!

My own quick Iphone capture in the growing dusk resulted in the photo displayed above.  There was barely enough light left to trigger the digital pixels, but I found that I liked the blurring effect that the dim light added to the mist.  This is the Kansas prairie, untouched and unsullied by man, carrying all these harvest hues now exposed into winter.  I slept soundly on the prismatic prairie last night, wrapped in a silent blanket of inner peace, separated and protected by a misty curtain against the waves of civilization.    

Old Daisy, Old Friend

I'm far off my gardening track here, but I've been spending time with an old friend and thought I should introduce him to the rest of you.  I haven't seen him in years, decades actually, until recently, but he was a companion as tried and true blue as I ever had, and I noticed a few weeks back that the years haven't been kind to him.  Like many of us in our late 40's and 50's, he's become worn and dented in spots, squeaking here and there, missing some original parts, and he seems a little short of breath.  I write, of course, about my childhood BB gun, a Daisy Model 99 Target Model.  It's been banished to the basement for far too many years and I decided it might appreciate a little sprucing up and tender loving care in return for providing some of the best days of my childhood.


Daisy Model 99 target airgun, scarred, rusted, and missing the peep sight and the stock medallion.

Stock closeup, missing medallion

It seems horrible now, in these ecologically-minded times, to speak of it, but this old Daisy and I are responsible for deaths of hundreds of birds in the late 1960's.  "Murderer!"  "Genocidal Maniac!"  I hear now the accusations of my adult conscience, even while my child-like subconscious tries to console me. "They were only sparrows."  "None of them were on the Endangered List."  In my defense, the slaughter was carried out with my mother's urging and support, an excuse that seems a little lame after Anthony Perkin's portrayal of Norman Bates has become such a classic and well-known movie character.  You see, our farmhouse was surrounded by mature Silver Maples, thick shelter where hundreds of sparrows roosted every night, and Mom hated them and she hated the bird poop on the walkways and patios, the never-ending stream of goop coming from the trees.   Mom's solution was to provide her eight year old son with a BB gun, an infinite supply of  BB's, and a clear order not to shoot at the windows of the house or barns.  Today she'd probably be locked up for contributing to the delinquency of a child just for providing the gun.

The medallion is back!  And how nice the natural stock looks!

So shoot we did, the innocent rifle, and I, the killer ape-child, for hours on end.   Like many young boys of that era, I was, for a time, John Wayne and Davy Crockett and Teddy Roosevelt, all rolled up into the body of a skinny child of single-digit age.  Today's children know the mayhem of video games and exploding zombies.  I knew only the thrill of the hunt and the fleeting guilt inspired by the dead sparrow at my feet.  My poorly-developed accuracy was not really much of a threat to any given individual bird, but the Law of Averages eventually provided a substantial body count for my mother to praise.  I wasn't malicious either and I never shot at friends or pets or cars.   Contrary to the fears of MAIG mayors and hand-wringing psychologists, neither my BB gun nor my love of Bugs Bunny cartoons made me into a serial killer or homicidal maniac.  To my knowledge, the only lasting effect from the carnage is that I feel guilty every time I hear the classic hymn "His Eye Is On The Sparrow."

Much better!

 Anyway, over the past few weeks I've cleaned up the rust, sanded and stained the stock, put on a new peep sight, and replaced the inner seals on my old pal, and it now shoots as good as new.  I've got a little work left to do on the bluing.  You would think that it would be hard to find parts for a 30 year old airgun, but true to the Internet's function of connecting people with similar interests, I've found there are a number of individuals who specialize in these old rifles.  One phone call to Baker Airguns in Ohio and, after personal attention from the owner, I had the proper parts and a manual and the tools to do a bit of minor gunsmithing.  It's shiny now, and functional, and whole again, and if I can't fix up my own body as well as I did this airgun, at least I can pretend to be young at heart with it.  I promise that I will only shoot paper targets with it from here on out. 

 

 

         

Ding and Dong

Everyone, I'd like you to meet Ding (on the right) and Dong (on the left).  They've come up for a treat, a bit of apple or carrot will do if you're packing some, but if your pockets are empty they'll demand that you run up to the house for some tasty donkey morsels.

I seem to have "inherited" this pair of donkeys by way of a neighbor.  They came from a friend of my  neighbor and enjoyed an extended vacation on our joint pastures this summer.  Their owner happened to mention that he was tired of them and would be happy to give them away if we wanted them.  They're friendly and kind of fun to have around, so we're trying them out for the winter.  If nothing else, they have been a source of entertainment in the middle of the night when they decide to bray and wake up the neighborhood.

Now, it's true that I'm a veterinarian by trade, and in my early pre-surgical specialty years I treated all manner of domestic animals, but horses have never been my thing.  That stems from being bucked off an insufferable Shetland during my first ride at age 7.  I've never rode a horse since and don't trust any of them.  Donkeys, however, are quite sociable animals; you can't have just one donkey because a single donkey will die of loneliness.  Two will thrive together and this pair are as gentle as lambs; well, except when they nip at my fingers while grabbing a piece of apple.  They're both around 20 years old, late middle-aged as it were. Ding is a female and Dong is a male.  You can remember which is which if you remember that my bawdy neighbor calls the male Long Dong for a reason that I can't elaborate for you on a PG-13 blog.

Their previous owner just left them alone to fend for themselves on the prairie the past few years, not even worrying about how they'd get water, but I'm going to make a place for them in the new barn and put a tank in with a warmer.  Besides the quiet companionship and the excuse to slip away from Mrs. ProfessorRoush, I'm looking on this pair as a factory of sorts.  Donkeys, you see, have the lovable habit of pooping in the same place each time, creating a handy pile for the occasional rose fanatic to gather easily.  Already, down in my pasture, is a gold mine growing day by day.  Yes, I think the donkeys and I are going to get along just fine.

Forgotten Surprises

If there are, perhaps, any blessings at all to old age and fading memory, one must consider that life is often lightened by the sudden reminders of lost memories.  I had such a moment yesterday, during my "First Frost Chores" day, when the Crocus sp. pictured here decided to jump up and down to capture my attention.  What a delightful surprise to find such an elfin white beauty peeping up from among the columbines, just as one is mourning the loss of so many of summer's flowers.  On a Gulliver to Lilliput level, that bright orange pollen sprinkled on the translucent white background leaves me spellbound.




I hadn't the slightest idea where I obtained these, when I planted them, or how long they'd been there beyond a vague recollection of thinking they would be a nice addition to my autumn garden.  They are not native in Kansas, however, so I'm choosing to blame my memory rather than proclaim a botanical miracle.    In fact, when I first saw them, Crocus autumnale leapt into my mind as the most likely identification, probably because of the connection of autumn and autumnale within my rudimentary garden-gained Latin.  I knew of another autumn blooming crocus, Crocus sativus, but I was betting on ProfessorRoush's scientific peculiarities, and I felt that I would have been more likely to plant C. autumnale, the source of the poly-ploid-inducing botanical agent colchicine, rather than C. sativus, the source of cooking saffron.  In other words, my curious mind would likely chose a mutative toxin over a cooking spice for my garden.   I was thinking, of course, of how fun it would be to make a few of my own tetraploid daylilies.

This episode proves, however, why you should keep good garden records and why the mysteries of senior memory loss are so frustrating.  While I have no trouble recalling the scientific names and blooming characteristics of a pair of obscure autumn-blooming crocuses, I was wrong on both counts and my written notes inform me that I planted Crocus speciosus at these exact spots in 2004.  C. speciosus is a light lilac crocus native to Turkey that does, in fact, match the appearance of these delicately veined blooms better than the fictitious crocuses of my memory.  This light specimen is probably the white cultivar 'Albus'.   The Latin, speciosus, means "showy" or "beautiful", and yes, I suppose it is. 

Somewhere in the back of my mind, and contrary to my written notes, I still have an inkling that there are a few pink C. autumnale planted at the west corner of my house.  They may have been shaded out by larger surrounding plants, but I'm going to look for them soon, if only to prove to myself that my memory isn't totally slipping into oblivion.  On the other hand, if these are the surprises that my fifth decade brings, then I'm really looking forward to my nineties when the minute-to-minute astonishments of discovering again the existence of airplanes, computers, and television will really keep things exciting.

Fall's First Frost

Gardeners, I give you....Frost.  These are the sights that greeted the risen sun in my garden this morning; frost on the persicaria, frost on the buffalograss and frost to the horizon.  Yesterday's weather was supposed to be drizzly and cold, with a predicted high of 45F, but the particular weatherperson who made that prediction was a little bit wrong.  A little bit wrong like the engineer who said the Titanic was unsinkable. We actually had snow flurries most of yesterday morning, melting as fast as the flakes hit the ground, but snow nonetheless.  And yesterday afternoon, the high reached only 37F, eight degrees off the prediction and cooling already as I came home from work.  Couple that with a clear, cloudless night and this morning's thermometer showed 30F when I rose.

What does it mean, this first frost of Fall?  The hoarfrost was not a surprise and actually right on time, inevitable and almost obedient to the average frost date, October 15th, for this part of Kansas.  I've been waiting patiently for this day.  To ProfessorRoush, it meant that I could finally chop off the errant foxtail grasses who were trying to push that last seed out before winter and that I could safely start to prepare the lawn mower for spring; drain the oil, change the filters, and clean the deck.  It meant that I could proceed with planting those daffodil bulbs that have been biding time in the garage for the past few weeks.  It meant that I could mow off the peonies, and move some infant volunteer redbuds from an unwanted spot to their secret garden rendezvous.  It provided the impetus to gather the ornamental gourds and the birdhouse gourds from the vegetable garden and move them to a drying place.  All these things and more I accomplished today, on a beautiful, bright, crisp Saturday afternoon.

 

The first frost also brings death and sorrow.  The end of the roses draws nigh, buds caught napping by winter's cold breath.  Some, rescued by the shears, will yet open indoors, but many will blacken and wilt, unborn.  The leaves on maples and oaks previously dawdled, slowly changing from dark green to light, but now they will rush into color, pulling the precious sugar back to their roots.  I can almost hear them change now, murmuring in my subconscious, unseen brushes of reds and yellows and browns  working their magic minute to minute.  Blue-toned buffalograss turns tan and hibernates, waiting beneath the earth for summer's warm rays.  Now only straw protects earth from the footprints of the beasts, and the beasts eat the dead grass, the carbon of life's recent fires.  The garden withdraws beneath the earth and the gardener retreats inside.  We plan, and then we await last frost, the last gasp of winter.  In the river of time, we know that last frost will come again just as surely as did the first frost this morning.

Silver Shadows Anniversary

'Silver Shadows'

The appropriate topic I've picked for tonight, in an effort to interrupt my extended absence from blogging and my concentration on the more serious aspects of life, is a brief introduction for a brave young rose that is steadfastly blooming in defiance of the cooler temperatures moving in on my Flint Hills environment.

That brave rose is a Griffith Buck rose introduced in 1984, a beauty aptly named 'Silver Shadows'.   She is another of my new own-root children this year and so far this summer I've been pleased by her performance.  'Silver Shadows' is officially a mauve or mauve blend Hybrid Tea of classic double form and carrying 3" blossoms with a nice moderate fragrance of citrus overtones.  Now, in early autumn, I can see the mauve tones more clearly, but at the height of summer, this rose was a definite bridal silver, never bleaching to white no matter how hot the sun shone down on it. 

My 'Silver Shadows' only made it to about 18 inches tall this summer, but at maturity, I've read that she should reach four feet tall and she has an ARS garden rating of 7.2.  She managed to thrill me with about 4 bloom flushes during her first summer, with the latest flush the most full of the season so far (15 blooms on her small frame today!) and she is pretty healthy, with a little blackspot amounting to about 25% of the leaves at the end of the season.  As a mauve, she never gets as blue as the Buck rose 'Blue Skies', but she's much healthier than 'Blue Skies' in my garden and her bridal silver tones are unique in the rose world.

In the opening to this blog entry, when I mentioned that 'Silver Shadows' was an appropriate topic for tonight, I was alluding to the fact that tomorrow is my 31st wedding anniversary; the 31st anniversary of the day that Mrs. ProfessorRoush took a bold step down the aisle toward a rosy future with this eccentric blogging gardener.  As near as my failing memory allows, I think the roses at our wedding were white and pink, but Sweetie, I promise here and now that I'll still grow 'Silver Shadows' for our 50th.  

Shutdown Absurdity

Friends, in his own opinion, ProfessorRoush has done an exceptional job at Garden Musings, avoiding any mention of politics here over the now 3+ years I've blogged.  Only those who know my tendency to rant over seemingly minute issues can fathom what a struggle that has been, but I'm going to make an exception today.  The dam has broken.  The die is cast.  The Rubicon has been crossed.  The....oh, you know what I mean.

Last night, I was at a Riley County Extension Board meeting and the local Horticultural agent reported that he and the Ag agent had recently seen a new "weed", Tragia sp. and had visited the plant experts at K-State to identify it.  Now, Tragia, also known as NoseBurn,  is not new, since two species have been reported in Kansas, but it's fairly rare and I hadn't seen it before either.  In fact, it's not described at www.kswildflower.org, my go-to Kansas native plant site.

So I pulled out my trusty I-phone and went to http://plants.usda.gov/, where, to my surprise, I received the following message:

 
My Fellow Gardeners, that is way beyond absolutely ridiculous. It tells me clearly that the bureaucrats are playing games.  I'm in a fortunate place in my life, not old enough for Social Security or Medicare, not directly dependent on the Federal government for income, and not planning any trips presently to a National Park.  So I've been personally unaffected by the "Shutdown" and as long as the military and senior citizens get paid, I have enough of a Libertarian streak that I'm happy for the respite from government.   I was a little aggravated yesterday over the news of shutdown of the WWII memorial; I mean, the place is for walking around, do we have to barricade it off?  But to shut down a running informational website?  I understand that the information may not be immediately updated, but I'm sure that I can manage without the absolute latest information on a botanical specimen.  I suppose someone might offer the feeble explanation that no one is around to make sure Server #2115 doesn't overheat and subsequently burn down Washington, but the USDA Plants database isn't the only thing on those servers and I suspect those computer technicians are on the "critical" list of personnel anyway.

Recognize that I'm not pointing a specific finger here.  Blame the Democratic Senators, blame the Tea Party if you want, but they are all representing the people who elected them and we got what we asked for;  stalemate, which is almost as good as not having a government.  Shutting the USDA Plants database down, however, is nothing but a political ploy.  A pox on both their Houses.

The Silent Muse

Rosa 'Belinda's Dream'

When the writer's muse grows silent,
When dams bar long the stream of words,
the wisp of thought, the lilting voice,
the lure of prose and syntax choice,
What then stirs the pen to motion?
What then moves the soul to sing?

There are times when dreams fall mute,
There are times when plans unborn, 
endless paper, stark and vacant,
endless hours, waste so blatant,
How to start the torrent flowing?
How to keep the river running?

One starts searching deep inside,
One feels urging, surging meme,
and boosts it over dikes and walls,
and nurtures it through storms and squalls,
Why relentless moves the id?
Why the need, the itch to birth?

I must seek within the canyons,
I must listen to the voices,
look for sparks to strike the passion,
look for mood and there to fashion, 
Where and when and what to spew?
Where and how and why the word?

ProfessorRoush is working past a little writer's block tonight, hoping that a different pattern will stir up a few ideas from the depths of psyche.  The primary rule of breaking writer's block is to start writing.  Obviously, tonight that resulted in a poem with an odd cadence and rhyming sequence, during which I had a little fun with the What, Where, When, Why and How's of journalistic dogma.  Hopefully, a new week and cooler Fall nights will bring inspiration and release.  Meanwhile, a mildly misshapen 'Belinda's Dream' fits my mood, I think, pretty well. 

Prairie Valor

'Prairie Valor'

Dr. Griffith Buck chose some fabulous descriptive names for his roses, but I think he outdid himself while bestowing an identity on one of his later creations, the deep red rose 'Prairie Valor'.  The Iowa State Buck website only describes 'Prairie Valor' as a medium red shrub rose, of the color Indian lake (RHSCC 59B).  I don't know what that really means, but the 59B group comprises those hues that are near ruby-red and "ruby red" fits the rose really well.  Most importantly, this rose touches something that most roses don't.   'Prairie Valor' elicits, at least in me, a visceral response whose presence I find hard to explain.  My first bloom from this rose evoked a deep down, gut-moving feeling of awe, and the feeling reoccurs each time a new bloom opens.  What I believe Dr. Buck felt in this rose was exactly that; the sense of bravery transmitted by the presence of purple undertones among the ruby shades.   'Prairie Valor' hides a Knight's heart beneath its velvet petals.

'Prairie Valor' was introduced in 1984 and bears those ruby red blooms as large (4.5") fully double flowers, often in clusters.  The first photo here, above at right, best reproduces the true color tones of this rose as I perceive them.  Each petal develops a whiter edge as it ages and  flowers repeat consistently in flushes over the summer.  In addition to the rare color, the fragrance of Prairie Valor also sets it apart from many other roses in my garden.  'Prairie Valor' has a deep, musky, almost masculine fragrance that buries itself deep in your nostrils.  I've written tongue-in-cheek about the gender of different roses, but I'm not joking when I say that 'Prairie Valor' can only be male, from its color and presentation, to its scent.

The bush is moderately healthy, about 4 foot tall and 3 foot wide in typical Hybrid-Tea gangly form, and this year, the first in my garden, it developed mild blackspot.  I would guess that only about 25% of the leaves have been affected thus far, however, and it continues to bloom freely.  I do not know yet how winter hardy it will prove, but I did see an Internet note from Appalachia that suggested that winter damage is possible.  I also saw a note that said the cultivar is a blackspot magnet in North Carolina.  Who can say?  Time in the guise of a couple of full years of growth will tell me what I need to know.

Somewhere, deep down inside, I know that 'Prairie Valor' is probably not the healthiest of the Griffith Buck roses, but I already know that I'm going to give it a little extra attention in my garden.  I'm willing to trade off a little additional care, on occasion, for any bloom that stirs my blood like 'Prairie Valor', however much a hands-off rosarian I strive to be.  I know, deep inside, that it must advantage any garden of this world, however fertile the soil and mild the climate in which it is based, to bear the soul of a medieval Knight in its heart.

Rooting for Grootendorsts

'F. J. Grootendorst'

In normal times I respect and listen to Suzy Verrier on all things Rugosa.  After all, how can the author of Rosa Rugosa and Rosa Gallica possibly be mistaken?  Of the Grootendorst roses, however, she writes:  "I feel little to admire in these shrubs which are peculiarly not rose-like.  The growth is ungraceful..crowded blossoms do not have any particular beauty...all tend to attract pests and lack the disease resistance of most rugosas.....MIGHT BE DESCRIBED AS SOULLESS."

'F. J. Grootendorst' and 'Alchymist'

The past two summers in Kansas, however, have not been normal times.  In my garden during a fine Fall weekend, my three Grootendorsts were providing more than their share of color, perhaps out-classed only by an ambitious 'Earth Song' which seems to be blooming like it was a baseball player on steroids.  I grow the original red  'F. J. Grootendorst', pictured above in the closeup and blooming with 'Alchymist' to the left.  I also grow two of its sports, 'Pink Grootendorst', introduced by the same nursery in 1923 and pictured below at the right in my garden in 2008, and I grow 'Grootendorst Supreme', a deeper red sport introduced in 1936 but just planted into my garden this Summer as an own-root plant from Menard's.  There is a white sport of Pink Grootendorst as well, introduced by Paul Eddy in 1962, that I haven't yet purchased or grown.



'Pink Grootendorst'

The original 'F. J. Grootendorst' was reportedly introduced by F. J. Grootendorst and Sons in 1918, and bred by De Goey in the Netherlands as a cross between R. rugosa rubra and 'Madame Norbert Levavasseur'.  There is some controversy over the provenance of the rose, however, as Robert Osborne suggests, and repeats in his Hardy Roses book, that Dr. Frank L. Skinner may have been the real breeder the rose.  Dr. Skinner sent two packets of a seedling from the same cross, R. Rugosa X 'Madame Norbert Lavavasseur', to two separate locations, one of which never arrived at its intended destination, and then fifteen years later he saw the identical rose introduced from Holland.  Oh the intrigue hidden beneath the simple surface of a rose! 

The Grootendorst sports are all small-blossomed, very double, cluster-flowered roses, with an unusual petal shape that I refer to as "fringed".  These are shrub-type roses with small rugose foliage, in the 5X5' range of size here in Kansas.  The rose doesn't form hips, nor do the blossoms have any perceptible scent.  Yes, these are atypical roses, but unlike Ms. Verrier, I would have rated their disease resistance as outstanding in my garden, and if they do possess a soul, it is one reflected by any number of hardy prairie plants.  Certainly, I welcome both their profuse blooms, drought resistance, and their hardiness in my garden. 


Rosa Rugosa by Suzy Verrier

Times change and classic roses go in and out of style and favor.  All I can suggest for those who are intrigued by the Grootendorst roses is to try them and evaluate their performance in your own garden.  Suzy Verrier seems to be moderating her previous stance, since her North Creek Farm nursery currently sells 'Grootendorst Supreme' and 'White Grootendorst'.  Of the former, she comments that "Old prejudices aside, someone gave me one of these and I must admit Supreme has bloomed itself silly, been extra healthy, and I do like the bright deep saturated crimson-pink color in the garden."  My compliments to Ms. Verrier.  I've always felt that a true expert must be willing, at times, to change their opinions if new evidence seems pertinent.

Gardens of Caligula

This week my garden has been transformed into a den of inequity.

A couple of days past, I was peacefully walking through my garden, virtuous and wholesomely thinking only of the graceful lines of mature ornamental grasses and cherubic cement angels.  Suddenly, I stumbled across a garden orgy sufficient to satisfy Caligula.  Fornication!  Out in the open and here among the flowers!  What kind of brothel am I running?

I have a line of 'Matrona' sedum lining one of my beds, and on the flowers of those sedums were a writhing, panting mass of  Goldenrod Soldier Beetles (Chauliognathus pensylvanicus), most of them in flagrante delicto and completely unaware of my voyeurism.  I had an immediate flashback to a time over a decade ago when I was in Vancouver, Canada at a teaching seminar, exploring the famous Wreck Beach on my spare time, only to find out that the Wreck Beach was famous primarily for its clothing-optional section.  At least the insects on my 'Matrona' weren't playing nude volleyball, an image still seared on my eyeballs now some 15 years later.  One internet source noted that the insects mate "for extended periods on the flowers" although "the reason for their lengthy mating period is not certain."  The source did note that females in the act of mating are less likely to be disturbed by wasps than single females.  To that observation, I say "duh", because by my careful observation, what I presume is the male partner is always on top, his back exposed to the wasp, while the female hides protected underneath.

If these beetles were looking for goldenrod, their favorite food source, to homestead on, they are a little early in my garden, for most of the goldenrod hasn't bloomed yet.  Perhaps they are just getting the essential act of procreation out of the way before gorging themselves and fattening for winter, not unlike other species that periodically visit my garden. More likely, they are just the insect equivalent of pubescent humans, driven into ill-considered acts by overactive glands. The next thing you know, they'll be riding giant insect roller coasters just to impress pretty girls (ask me about that story sometime...). 

Goldenrod Soldier Beetles, also known as Pennsylvania leatherwings, are believed to be completely harmless to the flowers and in fact may participate in pollination.  Their larvae are also predators of aphids and other soft-bellied insects.  Several sources tell me the adult beetles secrete an anti-feedant, Z-dihydromatricaria acid, from 9 gland pairs on their abdomens, a defensive move to keep predatory jumping spiders away.   Their presence in this bed of my roses is thus a positive occurrence and instead of being shocked, I should welcome and encourage all the intercourse that they want to have.  I have concluded, therefore, that my best action is to allow them to continue their wanton behavior, averting my eyes from details of the promiscuous activity all around me with the tolerance of a saint among sinners.


 

Thoughts From The Abyss

Wednesday morning I walked through my garden with trepidation, fearful that at any minute I would slip and fall into one of the drought-created crevasses that lurked everywhere, sometimes obscured by a tuft of bluestem grasses, often hidden by a thin bridge of grass mulch.  These clay canyons, pictured here and just below to the left, are deep, Grand Canyon-style deep, perhaps opening all the way to the bedrock below.  Last weekend I chose to water a few of the less-established roses and I poured water from the hose into one of these caverns for over 2 minutes and never filled it up.  Finally, I gave up and moved on, fearful that the water was just gushing through the Earth to China, where the accumulation of all the moisture might make the Earth lopsided and spin us out of orbit.

I can't fathom how so many of my plants survive, roots anchored into parched soil like this.  If I would slip an endoscope into these cracks, would I see bare roots spanning the abyss like a primeval bridge, or would I see broken roots, snapped off under the tensile strains as the soil dried and shrank?  Are there entire new desert ecosystems growing deep inside the chasms, xeriscopic fungi gardened by thirsty insects with hardened chitin shields?  However the manner in which the soil splits and cracks, the survival of most of my plants right now stands as a testament to the natural selection pressures over the past 12 years in this garden.  It also illustrates just how drought-tolerant established roses can be.  If you want flowers in Kansas, grow roses.

This morning, Thursday morning, there is a mist in the air and the 0.9 inches of rain that fell last night (the first moisture in over a month of hot days) has begun to erase the fissures.  Taken at the exact same spot as the first photo above, you can see in the photo at the right that the edges of the canyons are eroding, and that the soil, although not nearly wet enough to be classified as moist, at least appears softer.  Always the cautious gardener, however, ProfessorRoush stayed away from the rims of the abyss because he knows that the now unstable edges might crumble beneath his feet, sweeping me down into the depths.  I fear that Mrs. ProfessorRoush would just never accept that explanation of why I was calling collect from Canton, China.  

Quiet, Demure, and Uninspiring

'Quietness'

I've kept mum (pun intended) for quite a while about 'Quietness', one of the "post-Griffith-Buck" introduced roses that were reportedly bred by Griffith Buck, and I suppose I should finally say something about it.  It's not that I haven't noticed the rose in my garden or watched its every bloom develop and open, my silence simply stems from a lack of enthusiasm.  I just don't know yet how I feel about 'Quietness'.  I can tell you that I'm not stark raving mad, avid, or agog about it at the present time.  Perhaps all the Internet hype about this rose had me expecting more. 



'Quietness'

'Quietness' was introduced in 2003 by Roses Unlimited, and she quickly gained acclaim as a show rose and garden performer.  I have to agree that Quietness' is a good rose and that she is a good cutting rose for the house.  She is the light blush pink of a new baby's cheeks and very full of petals, a double rose of some 40+petals that is also blessed with a strong perfume.  I don't know the proper term for the petal shape, but I would call it a "bi-lobed" petal, with almost, but not quite, a fringed rim.   The blooms start out in classic Hybrid Tea form, open full, and are quite large, almost 4" inches in diameter.  Blooms are often, as pictured here, borne in clusters and may be seen in several stages on a cluster.  All these are carried on a healthy bush more Hybrid Tea-form to me than shrublike.  Leaves are moderately resistant to blackspot for me, with <25% loss this year for me (as always, without spray).  This rose grows tall, 4-5 feet, but is not terribly wide in my garden at present.  Overall, I'd say she is lighter pink, slightly smaller, and more double-flowered, but otherwise resembles 'Queen Elizabeth'.  Is that an endorsement or a slight?

Esteemed rosarian Paul Zimmerman, writing from South Carolina, raves about 'Quietness', saying she is the easiest keeper in the garden of one of his friends, and "If you are looking for a stunning, soft pink, non stop blooming, smell-o-rama experience, than Quietness is the rose for you."  In an even more impressive endorsement, Peggy Rockerfeller Rose Garden curator Peter Kukielski  and his staff at the New York Botanical Gardens rated 845 roses for 3 years for hardiness and disease resistance and the winner was 'Quietness'(!), just ahead of 'Home Run' and 27 spots ahead of 'Knock Out'!   So perhaps, my specimen just isn't quite old enough to shine yet, or perhaps 'Quietness' does better in other climates such as the Atlantic seaboard, than it does in the MidWest.  If the latter is true and she performed adequately but not spectacularly in Dr. Buck's Iowa State proving grounds, that could explain why Dr. Buck didn't release the rose during his lifetime.  Right now, based on my experience this year growing a number of young Griffith Buck roses and as I noted earlier, I'd have given the best-newcomer nod to 'Chorale', another light pink, and for me, more rapidly repeating, Buck rose.

Update 09/27/2013;  Okay, I take some of it back.  Looking at 'Quietness' again, I realize that I overestimated its blackspot and that it actually has practically none and has retained all its foliage while 'Chorale' has lost about half its foliage.  I stand by the observation that 'Chorale' repeats its bloom faster.