Puschkinia Perfume

I bless the good  fortune, ten years now in the past, that allowed me to find and  try a few bulbs of Puschkinia scilloides var. libanotica, commonly known as Striped Squill.  I am always partial to the sky-blue Scilla sp. family and I am always on the lookout for species bulbs that will survive the wind and wayward Kansas Spring.  These minor bulbs (as Elizabeth Lawrence referred to them) are a match made in the heavens for my garden.

Puschkinia  are small bulbs of the hyacinth family that one website claims have been "gardened" since 1808, but I'm sure that must be the Western history of gardening with these Turkish natives.  Growing only 6 inches tall, a decent-sized clump at a distance looks primarily like a white ground-hugging blob, but up close, the beauty of these little guys is striking.  It took several years for this bulb to "grow" on me since I started with such a small clump,  but they have begun to spread on their own through the bed I planted them in, and they've now earned a permanent place in my garden.  VanBloem lists them as being hardy to USDA Zone 7-8, but they've survived and spread 10 years in my Zone 5 garden.  They also come in a completely white form, but these are harder to find and are probably undistinguished in terms of garden impact.  I've had enough lately of pure white mutant forms of otherwise spectacular flowers.

I didn't know until yesterday that they were also scented, but if you lay on the ground and bury your nose in the clump, they have a very sweet, but not overpowering scent.  I am personally put off by the strong odor of so-called Dutch Hyacinths (Hyacinthus orientalis) up close, and can't eat with a Dutch Hyacinth or Oriental Lily smelling up  the room,  but I appreciate the more delicate scents of these hyacinth-relations.  I suppose you could also cut these somewhat waxy flowers and raise them up to your nose rather than  flatten yourself down to their level to sample their aroma, but then, that would be cheating and would deprive you of experiencing another world, a little world, where these flowers are the gardening universe of their surroundings.

Poisonous Compost?

It is not often that I get to combine the job that earns my living (veterinary medicine) with my interest that consumes the excess cash (gardening), but I happened on a connection recently in a post on Gardenweb.com.  That post was from someone who had been told and who believed that their dog had been poisoned by eating compost.

I was a little chagrined to hear about this toxicity in a random post on the Internet, but I'll be the first to admit that my general veterinary education lies far in the past and, as a surgeon, I haven't followed advancements in veterinary toxicology for the past 25 years.  I felt a little better when I found my internist colleagues were also unaware of it.  A little quick research tells me that, indeed, there have been some reports of dogs eating compost and suffering toxic effects, even though some of those reports are undoubtedly of  "garbage gut," or diet-induced gastroenteritis, cases rather than actual toxic effects. Compost toxicity is, however, listed as such on the petpoisonhelpline.com website.

Knowledge is power, so I'll repeat here what I've found. Toxic effects from compost are variably suggested to be due to mycotoxins (toxins produced by fungal organisms), or to clostridial toxins (bacteria that may grow when meat or dairy products have been added to the compost).  Meat, eggs, and dairy products, of course, have no place in your compost pile anyway.  To me, that means that most of the compost I produce from leaves and grass, particularly if aerated properly, should be safe if one of the bonehead Labradors owned by my neighbor accidentally gets into it.

Symptoms of poisoning could include agitation, increased temperature, panting, drooling, and vomiting, and severe cases could progress to incoordination, tremors, and seizures. Since many dogs I encounter pant and drool incessantly, those aren't very helpful unless other symptoms are present. There is no specific antidote.  Inducing vomiting or gastric lavage in cases of known ingestion should help decrease toxicity.  Supportive care such as procedures to decrease body temperature, IV fluids, and anti-seizure medications may be necessary in severe cases.

For prevention, toxicologists suggest that in concert with eliminating the use of meat and dairy products in your compost, the pile should be fenced off from pets and wildlife.  My personal compost pile does sit within the electric fence that protects my vegetable garden, but I'm under no illusions that it will keep out my Brittany Spaniel, who has been known to chase rabbits through the fence more than once, let alone the neighbor's dogs who don't seem to have enough total neurons to spare any for pain perception.  And what do I (or we collectively) do about the compost that we heap annually around every old rose in our gardens?

I remain a little bit skeptical, knowing by education that the gastrointestinal system of dogs is designed for them to consume a vast array of foods that would cause a billy goat to puke, and knowing by experience that they seem to suffer little ill effects from eating delicacies that range from ancient dead rabbits to raw soil and on to cow poop. Compost toxicity in dogs probably has occurred rarely, but it also ranks with those normal unavoidable risks that occur in life, like drinking from a garden hose or touching undisinfected shopping carts, both of which seem to be freaking out the general population these days. I wouldn't rush my dog, however, to a veterinarian for a quick stomach pump just because I saw it digging in the compost pile for a vole. 

In a similar vein, it did concern me a little during my research to find that a gardener in England had died from aspergillosis (a respiratory fungal infection) started by exposure in his compost pile, but I'm also not about to start wearing a face mask (as suggested in the article) when I turn my compost.  What would the neighbors think?  Somewhere the fear has to be contained by reason.

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.   

Deer Rat Regrets

I really should have shot the four deer when I saw them that morning in the mist.

Normally, deer don't often bother me or my garden.  I don't grow a lot of choice deer-loved plants (except for the roses).

For instance, I grow but a few tulips, even though my wife likes them.  They simply don't display well in my Flint Hills garden, high on a windswept hill where the prevailing gales are sure to decimate their flowers in a few days.  Daffodils, despised by the deer, do better in the wind anyway and so I plant loads of those.

I do, or did, however, grow 50 or so bright red tulips in a single small raised bed at the beginning of our driveway.  I do it despite their expense and the transitory nature of tulips on the prairie in a blatant effort to gain brownie points from the missus. They are probably 30 or so feet from the next living plant (not including the mown prairie grass).  So how did the darned deer find them?

Mrs. ProfessorRoush is not happy, so I and the Security Council (the Brittany Spaniel and the Italian Greyhound) are declaring war.  It'll be nastier than most.  There will be vast quantities of soap and other human scents expended.  We'll have to extend the electric fence ramparts.  We will form mutually-supporting treaties with neighboring territories and their barking dogs.  I may resort to motion-activated defensive devices.  The nuclear option will be considered.

Or I may just stop growing tulips.  Mrs. ProfessorRoush will probably get over it someday, although I'm not going to hold my breath.