White and cream petals closed at each morning,
Exposed golden stamens are shining each noon.
Bumbling bombers target the larder,
The stored sun on tap each new day of the world.
Though an old gardener, I am but a young blogger. The humor and added alliteration are free.
'Ann' Magnolia |
'Ann' in the garden |
'Jane' Magnolia |
'Jane' in the garden |
'Yellow Bird' |
'Yellow bird' |
If there is a Hell, ProfessorRoush is convinced that it is populated primarily by pack rats, and somehow I must have gone on into the afterlife, because I am living right in the midst of it, a pack rat purgatory. I know, I know, my war on these little furry demons is a recurrent theme on this blog, but this is serious, this is Armageddon with rats riding the 4 horses. You all know that I nearly lost my farm tractor to the fiends, that I've burned out a juniper and a spruce and eliminated an entire hedge of boxwoods in major tactical moves, that my 'Red Cascade' was overrun by the vermin in one skirmish, that I've created an alliance with local rat predators in a failed attempt at pack rat genocide, and that, at times, the evil hellions even attempt to invade the house and porch. Heck, I have had to cement the base of every downspout where it meets the drainage tubes because the little monsters were chewing into the plastic drains and ruining the runoff from the house!
A couple of years ago, I even allowed myself to dream that I was winning the war, but I either let my guard down recently or the malignant spirits of my garden have simply outflanked me. It all started last fall when I noticed that my wire tower of Sweet Autumn Clematis, so beautiful in its youth, was looking, pardon the pun, a little ratty (top right). It was evident that the pack rats had built a nest in it, hidden by the vining clematis and the wire, and had established a beachhead in my back yard again. I resolved initially to deal with it this spring, plotting to burn out the nest at the time of our spring burns.But I had not anticipated the damage they've caused this winter. Just look, above left, at the damage the little bas@#$ds caused to the Juddii viburnum next door. And look close, here, at the tunnel leading underneath the clematis tower, doubtless to an underground condominium filled with rat feces and urine and young vermin.At the same time, last fall and all winter, small piles of rat turds began building up each week just to the right of the front door on the porch. It was definitely an "in your face" move if ever I saw one. Mrs. ProfessorRoush and I were disgusted and angered. We tried traps and killed several, I have rat poison out everywhere, and I was spraying commercial rodent repellants in the area by the gallon. And still the turds came, deposited at night, silently and blatantly right near the welcome mat.
As the past two days and one day last weekend were nice enough to work in the garden, I've been outside, clearing and cleaning the garden, planning a nice summer with flowers and calm. Here, in a gentle scene, is the walkway leading to the front door, flanked by two 'MoonShadow' euonymus that I really adore. Isn't it lovely, even before the growth flush of spring?That euonymus on the left? Here's a closeup. Another new pack rat condominium, right under my nose and in one of my favorite evergreens! Now I know where the rats were living!Worse yet, this hole you see at the left is just to the left of the last two stairs into the house, just a few feet from the rodent bathroom area and 6 feet the other direction from the euonymus. You can't see it, but the hole leads right into the drainage tube from the downspout cemented into the stairs. They not only created a tunnel from their house to mine, they connected the tunnel to the downspout, their own Autobahn in my front garden!The last thing I did today was tear apart the rat home in my euonymus, fill the rat hole with a plug and then soil (dumping a few cubes of rat poison in first), and then I doused everything with the rodent repellent and I added a special brew of my own that has been effective in repelling deer. If they're going to pee on my house, then I believe I have the right to pee on theirs. I feel that I'll win this round, but I'm reacting defensively and likely losing the war, like the Spartans against the Persians at Thermopylae, or, more recently, Ukraine against Russia. I need to think about offense. Miniature intelligent robots, or an army of hyperaggressive terriers, something has to work, doesn't it?
I will never surrender. This is only a setback. Keep telling yourself that, ProfessorRoush.....
I ventured out today, a poor lost soul caught in winter, and finally, finally, found my long-awaited Siberian squill boldly blooming on a south-facing slope. I've seen nothing else before this, no swelling of forsythia or magnolia buds, no cracking of redbud blossoms, no lilacs breaking dormancy. Prior to this, I had lost hope for Spring and crawled back into Winter, a warm blanket and warmer dog my only solace.
A mere three days ago, on March 16th, the scene outside and the story headlines were still full of cold and wintery weather. My back yard was a swirl of wind and flurries, imprisoning me within the windows. I should find a way to enjoy them, these last few dribbles of snow, but I'm not a snow boy. I dream of a world where the only boots I wear are to wade through a stream or a prairie just burnt, not one where the precipitation of the moment reaches ones hips.There are so many ways to read that title, eh? "Still Life w/Surprises" merely as the title of a captured moment in art, an assembly of natural things that aren't moving? Or do we have a "still life" photograph that also has elements that don't belong? Or is the photographer (i.e. ProfessorRoush) trying to say that life still has surprises? Today, it is all of the above.
Take for example the photograph above, a simple iPhone capture last weekend of my back garden bed ringing the house. In among the debris, the observer can pick out the dried remains of Morning Glory vines, the multiple seed pod remnants from a Baptisia that grows nearby, the rotting pieces of last year's hardwood bulk mulch, and some dried daylily leaves. All the leftovers of last year's growth desiccated and done, beyond regrowth, it's stored sugars and starches and energy transferred back into root or invested in seed. And yet, if one looks closely enough, among the shades of brown, gray, black and tan is the green of next year's daffodils, the first sprouts pushing up from the soil in the first week of February, 2023. Life's promise to go on.
Or, beside this paragraph, the reigning clump of Calamagrostis 'Eldorado', the nicest green and gold form of Feather Reed Grass I can grow. In a four season climate, every season has its place and value, whether it is the promise of rain with the coming of spring or the sunshine of high summer to provide the energy for food production. Even winter, at least to a gardener, has value as it exposes the bones of a garden, the structure of a branch or a shrub, yes, but also the interlopers of the garden, vigorous natives and non-natives hell-bent on taking over the space and serenity. Here, it's the short Eastern Red Cedar, Juniperus virginiana, that grew stealthily last season in front of the grass and right before my eyes, but is de-camouflaged and exposed by the cruel fingers of winter. I've marked it now, marked it for destruction when I make a first secateur pass during Spring cleanup.The most exciting display of hidden surprises in my garden, however, is seen in the photograph at the left, a full view of my almost-Jelena Witch Hazel backed up by the massive leavings of a white Crepe Myrtle. Can you look closely and find it, the surprise jewel among the worn branches? Look very carefully, look at the base of the Witch Hazel for the surprise here. Look for red among the brown in the picture at the right and the one below.Somewhere, somehow, a volunteer rose has sprung up near the Witch Hazel, standing over 7 feet tall and like no other rose in my garden. This one has the appearance of a short climber at present, nearly thornless, and with delightful red stems. In my garden, only a few roses, mostly Canadians, have red thorns in winter, foremost among those my multiple bushes of 'Therese Bugnet' but Trashy Therese, who is admittedly prone to sucker, is nowhere near this bed and would have many more thorns. The canes of Griffith Buck rose 'Iobelle' resemble these in color at the moment, but 'Iobelle' is 40 feet away, only reaches 3 feet tall, and never suckers.So, I think I have a seed-derived new rose, planted here by birds as a gift to the gardener, and the excitement is rising in my deep rosarian soul. Will it survive the remainder of winter, proving its hardiness in this harsh dry and cold climate. Will it flower this season, white or pink, single or double? Will it continue to grow, a new climbing rose of my very own? Will the canes turn red again next season and will it stay nearly thornless or become more thorn-covered as it ages?
These and other questions are why I garden, for the calm of a good life lived with the soil, for the gifts of nature that grow my soul, and for all the surprises out there, in the garden, that keep life interesting.
...I wish I could start off my 2023 garden blog with a blog post full of colorful flowers, composed of images taken just today, right from my garden, blooming happily and weed-less-ly as it is already in my imagination. Alas, however, I am woe, yea woe is me, and I can show you merely the captured sunrise of three days past Christmas, the morning I returned to this garden from faraway family, this image a pitiful substitute, I know, for the glory of waxy petals and errant bees, of life in full exuberance. Fire in the sky and remnants of snow on the ground are all I can summon from the past week to draw your attention.
...I wish I could entice you into 2023 with the mysteries of new plants and new plantings, of garden beds created from catalogues and prayers, dreams borne into substance with spade and trowel. Sadly, however, I can show you only the mysteries of another sunrise, two days after the first above, borne in fog and mist, warm ground shunning colder air, my garden isolated and shunning the sun, cloaked and calm and safe for a moment from the greater world. The growth and glory of 2023's garden is hidden in shadows, lurking in dried stems and promising seed heads, dormant and patient. What will come first? A snow crocus? A daffodil? A budded magnolia swelling to burst?
...I wish I could show you, at the onset of 2023, more than bland beige landscapes of grasses past, remnants of a once-green and thriving prairie, brought low by cold and drought and time. From inside the house, the Flint Hills roll on, golden and yet lifeless from seasonal death, the only visible stirring the flash of a hawk as it pounces on its next meal or the gradual lope of a coyote on its scavenging circuit. It is an act of faith now to see this vista in my mind as it will be in a few mere months, green and tossed with the wind, fed by rain and sunshine in its eternal cycle of birth, growth, fire, and rebirth.
...I wish I could stay each morning in 2023, restful and still, to witness each day the morning turn into afternoon, verdant buds opening and following the sun's path, blue skies and fluffy clouds, through evening until the sun passes the earth on to moon. To feel the freedom of time unshackled from job and errand, to pass the days alongside the grasses and dream of tomorrow beside them, sunshine and moisture in time and abundance, forever and ever. This is my garden as it begins 2023, this morning, and at least I am here, today, present in the present and hopeful for the coming year.
Welcome to 2023! Happy New Year to everyone!Winter. Frost and fog outside. Warmth and fire inside. The calendar and the movement of the planets falsely claim the season is fall, but ProfessorRoush says it's winter.
Winter. What is it good for? Pictures, perhaps, like the one above, the sun captured, weakened by distance and the inclination of this orb, unable to penetrate the haze of humid air the night has frozen into submission. No breeze, not a creature stirring here, all waiting for the sun to penetrate and soften the icy knives of frost.
Ten o'clock, and the sun seems to be losing the battle against winter today, rather than gaining. The predicted high for today has already been cut by 4ºF and I fear it will soon cede more to the fog. My planned trek to clean out bluebird houses may have to wait, wait for a warmer day and a braver caretaker. I feel the weight of responsibility for my bluebird trail, but not at the expense of stiff fingers and frostbit toes. There is time enough to wait on the sun to lead me out, to beckon me from a clear horizon and warm the air. Time enough for winter to come and be gone, away like the fog and the frost, if the sun gets its way.
I'm positive that all of you, all gardeners and shoppers, all homeowners and plantspeople, have been experiencing a great sense of unease as Thanksgiving approached and local store aisles filled with holiday decorations and unwanted unnecessities, yet you've all likely been unable to pinpoint the cause of your disquiet. I'll admit that I shared that underlying apprehension with you, until suddenly a great revelation appeared to me last week and, to my eternal shock I became aware, you might say "woke", that one of the great mysteries of civilization had been developing right in front of my eyes; a mystery I shall now reveal.
WHERE THE HECK ARE ALL THE CHRISTMAS CACTUSES THIS YEAR? Normally, by this time, every checkout aisle and every floral display area would be filled with wilting but blooming $6-$9 pots of colorful red and white and pink and fuchsia Christmas cacti raised especially to capture your whimsy and your excess cash during your vulnerable moments of holiday shopping. This year, there are none available, not one anywhere near Manhattan Kansas, a fact which I confirmed by personally visiting every big box store, grocery store, and hardware store in the area this week.I started out on this conspiracy track innocently, merely wanting to see if a new color or variety was available to add to my collection and brighten Mrs. ProfessorRoush's windows, yet the absence of the cacti became more evident with every store I searched. Querying the internet for an explanation has been similarly unsatisfactory. There have been no media reports of mass destruction of Christmas Cactus nursery facilities, nor scientific papers on sudden mutations of fungal wilt that threaten the extinction of the cacti group. Asking Google the simple question "Where have the Christmas cacti gone?" is rewarded only by 10,591,251 occurrences inanely explaining how to make a cactus bloom, and it undoubtedly results in one's name being added to some secret list somewhere as well as causing your mail and social media feed to fill up with hundreds of ads for plant sales and fertilizer.
We will call it the Great Missing Christmas Cactus Conspiracy of 2022, or "CCC-22", and later generations will remember this blog entry as the initiation of the movement alerting the world to their loss. It is a fact that Government officials are completely silent on the issue and appear to be taking no action to investigate the mystery. This is surely an occasion for Congressional inquires and appointment of special prosecutors if ever there were, don't you agree? The President, Dr. Fauci, or at least the Illuminati must be behind the disappearance. No, wait, it's COVID-19, isn't it? SARS-CoV-2 was not developed to destroy democratic societies, save Medicare, and unleash the New World Order, nay, the ultimate goal by some powerful fiendish billionaire Christmas-cactus-hater was for the virus to wipe out annual production and commerce in Christmas cacti, wasn't it?If you don't hear from me again, you'll know I touched a nerve somewhere. Wake up, everyone, before it's too late to save the cacti! Write your Congresspersons, call your Senators, and let's make our Christmas-cactus-loving-voices heard!
'Morden Sunrise' |
'Heritage' |
'October Glory' |
Euonymous alata |