Bist du verrückt?

...Which means, "Are you crazy?" in German, according to Babelfish.  That premier internet translator gives me the exact same phrase for "are you nuts?," which I thought would be slightly different, but I guess the English context affects the translation.  "Are you walnuts?" and "Are you pecans?" DO result in a different German phrase so I conclude that "Bist du verrückt?" is the correct question to ask of a befuddled plant.

Digressions aside, the question here is "Why is my 'Yellow Bird' Magnolia reblooming in the middle of Summer?"  The bloom pictured at upper left in a photo taken yesterday is a sunbleached and heat-burnt, but partially open bloom, one of two that I noticed forming a couple of days ago.  'Yellow Bird' bloomed at its usual time this year in my garden, in April, and it is not supposed to be a rebloomer by half. 

Poor thing, it must have been completely confused by the two decent rains we had around 10 days ago.  After a long Fall, Winter and Spring of drought, something in the plant said "Hey, I didn't bloom enough, and there's water to spare now, so therefore it must be Spring again."  A very odd thing, as plant hormones go, isn't it?  There are also seed pods forming on the plant at the same time.  And buds for next year.

We'll just have chalk it up to another strange weather phenomenon in Kansas. Or to alien invasion. Take your pick.  Both make about as much sense to me in a garden where my autumn asters, goldenrods, and Rose of Sharons are all now in bloom, at least a full month early.  What's next?  Witch Hazel in August?  Bring it on.

Oh, Mr. DeMille?

Mr. DeMille, Mr. DeMille, I think I'm ready for my closeup!  I've been working so hard, putting on my colors, filling in gaps, and studying the lines for my part.  I think my left side is the best, don't you?  

Closeup photography of flowers is always rewarding, but simultaneously a technically-demanding exercise and yet sometimes not so.  I'm fully aware that to get the best pictures, they must be carefully framed and set, requiring tripods and lighting and perfect flowers.  But even rank amateurs, like myself, can see some fascinating sights at a macro level with a handheld camera, a complete different world from the normal eye's view at shoulder height three feet from the flower.     

Take the lily to the right, above, for instance.  I understand the hierarchy of pistil over stamens, the multiple brown pollens of the anthers vying to attach themselves first to the sticky stigma.  But who makes the spidery minuscule webs that I find in most flowers?  Are the inhabitants still there, hiding, or long gone?  Is the purpose of those filaments to trap infinitesimal insects that I wouldn't even have dreamed existed?  Or are they insect equivalents of the debris left behind at a human campsite?

And then the softer, cumulus-cloudy nature of the anthers of Hibiscus 'Blue Bird', show here from its right side.  I've read that the structure here depends on bird (hummingbird) pollination.  The bird approaches from the front, bumping its head on the stigma and then, further in, it must reach past the anthers to get the nectar prize, in the process covering its head in pollen.  Then, at the next flower, the pollen from one is transferred to the stigma of the next, and so on, and so on.

The vivid contrasts of Hibicus syriacus 'Red Heart' are best viewed at close quarters.  In this cultivar, the brilliant purple-red at the base of the cream-hued sex organs make a bullseye that any hunter could recognize and that the hummingbird will hone in on.

There are things to say, as well, for the mid-range closeups, the photos that don't threaten to show the pores and blemishes of the photogenic stars, but that show the composition, the lines of beauty, the blends of color.  Marilyn Monroe reclining gracefully and suggestively on the chaste lounge.  Natalie Woods splendid in the grass.  Simply composed, the sweet clustering of the Bailey rose 'Sweet Fragrance' can match the beauty of those iconic stars.   

In your own garden, don't forget as you snap photos of the scenery, you should also photograph the individuals, and, deeper, even their pieces and parts, because beauty will be found at all levels, in all plants and in all gardens.

Yellow Border

I had promised, long ago, to portray the front of my home, and in the next week or so, I'll attempt a couple of posts to do just that, starting today with my "yellow border", the northwest corner of the house, which hides the unavoidable garage behind a yellow and green progressive hodgepodge.

I didn't consciously set out to create a yellow border, I intended for a mix of yellow and sky-blue, but my timing happens to be entirely off regarding the mixing of the colors.  That, and the blue plants tend to die, while their yellow counterparts seem to keep on keeping on.  The sunny fate of this portion of the garden was sealed a few years ago with my planting of Oriental lily 'Yellow Dream' on a whim.  A few smallish bulbs,and now, two years later, I've got four clumps of enormous fragrant lilies who demand to be both seen and heard.  

Early in the spring, the light blue of Scilla and Puschkinia are visible, but they soon fade as the cheery faces of daffodils take over and the yellow begins.  Alongside and in front of the yellow-tipped Thuja orientalis ‘Sunkist’, the daylilies and lilies and Black-eyed Susans form in long succession, 'Happy Returns' and 'Stella de Oro' followed by more regal daylilies and the yellow buttons of Centaurea macrocephala.  We reach a climax of yellow upon yellow now, at the end of June, as 'Yellow Dream' oriental lilies take center stage.  I shouldn't complain, for they are beautiful, fragrant, and healthy, a triple play of floral excellent.

The occasional blue of Clematis 'Romona' blooming on the brick wall, a blue Babtista reaching stiffly skyward, and a blue Clematis integrifolia have their brief moment, but they are drowned out by the endless yellow.  Even daylily 'Beautiful Edging', pictured at the right, while not strictly yellow, fulfills the daylily curse of appearing as all yellow from a few feet away.   In the hot sun, the pink edges never appear at all, let alone long enough to notice. 

I know it's not Sissinghurst's White Garden, but it is still pretty satisfying to little unknown me.  Right now, this year, this part of the garden is my shining accidental triumph, a yellow bright spot to reflect back the Kansas sun.  If you can't beat the heat,  at least you can join it.