Bountiful Bourbon

'Coquette des Blanches'

It has taken only four years to realize that the Bourbon rose 'Coquette des Blanches' was a great selection for me to grow here in Kansas.  My records show that I planted it in 2007, but I have absolutely no idea where I came across this rose.  Several posters to the Internet talk about getting it as a bagged cheap plant at Home Depot, so perhaps that was where I found it in the spring of '07.  I also don't know, other than the fact that I love the Bourbon fragrance, why I thought this Zone 6 rated rose would grow in my 5B climate.  But grow it does, and it rivals the continuous blooming shrub roses in my garden for floriferousness in the summer heat.

'Coquette des Blanches' was a 1871 introduction by Mons. Lacharme, who was reportedly trying to breed a pure white rose.  Unfortunately for Mons. Lacharme, 'Coquette des Blanches' isn't white, but rather a blush white or pale pink. The French translation of the name, "vain of the white ones" is probably a snooty  comment on the impure color.  At least it wasn't grubbed out at birth, but was recognized as a beautiful and valuable rose to pass on to civilization.  The flower is fully double and slighly cupped, with a strong Bourbon scent.  It often opens to show that little green pip at the center that I appreciate in Old Garden Roses.  It stands about 5 feet tall here in the Flint Hills at 4 years of age, with a nice vase-like shape and healthy foliage, but I've seen descriptions from California where this rose makes it to 9 feet tall.  I can attest that it is hardier here than the Zone 6 it is commonly rated at because I've seen no winter dieback at all over 4 winters here in 5B.  No blackspot either, and I never spray it.



06/29/2011, 2nd bloom

The real value of this rose however, other than the beautiful pale pink tones of the flowers, lies in the fast and reliable repeat of the blooms.  This is not a typical Bourbon in my climate like 'Variegata di Bologna', repeating once, sparsely, if I'm lucky. in the Fall.  'Coquette des Blanches' blooms almost continously and drop cleanly, leaving no hips behind.  Just take a look at the second bloom phase, from June 29th of this year, shown at left.  Additionally, for an almost white rose, the petals don't turn brown and linger on the bush as 'Blanc Double de Coubert' or 'Frau Karl Druschki' are apt to do, but they fall away pink. I don't deadhead my roses, so you can see from the picture at the left that this is one of the most self-cleaning roses you'll ever grow.  My 'Coquette des Blanches' is in it's fourth bloom phase right now, just out of the extreme heat of summer, and every bit as covered as the 2nd bloom cycle pictured.

If and when you can find it, give 'CdB' a try.  I wish I could tell you where to obtain it, but you won't regret it if you get it in the ground.

 

Hummer Time

My gardening year is now complete because the hummingbirds have finally appeared at my feeder.  I don't know how it is in other parts of the Midwest, but here in Kansas, I go through a distinct pattern every year taking care of the hummers and I generally feel a little slighted by them in the late spring and summer.

I always watch a migration website carefully in the spring and put out my feeder just after they are sighted in Wichita. Then I spend the months of May, June, and July, waiting, filling the feeder, watching the ants and the wind empty the feeder (liquid doesn't stay long in a feeder that is blown horizontally by the wind), cleaning the feeder, and refilling the feeder.  It is a never ending cycle.  But for at least the last five years, I haven't seen any hummingbirds until early August.  Maybe they head for town first and around August people tire of feeding them in town so they have to look around more.  Maybe the nectar opportunities in the rest of my garden are better in May, June and July and so they don't have to resort to the artificial stuff where I'm more likely to spot them. Perhaps they visit me now because they're storing up for the fall migration and I provide them ready, rich food. Maybe they have a betting pool to see how long the stupid gardener will keep at the fruitless endeavor of filling the feeder.

Regardless, just about the time I stop paying attention to the feeder, when the hot weather breaks, I almost always suddenly spy one exploring the feeder, as I did early this week on a cool morning.  I immediately filled the empty feeder, and now, once again, I have a pair of Ruby-Throated hummers darting in every few minutes. The Ruby-Throated Hummingbird (Archilochus colubris) is the only hummer I've seen in this area and its migration route comes right through the center of Kansas. The male, pictured above where you can see a hint of his deep-red throat, actually spends most of his time sitting on top of the feeder stand, guarding the feeder and all he surveys. He is not very chivalrous, as is the nature of his species after mating, because he regularly chases the female away.  Ruby-Throated hummingbird males are not committed spouses, so after quick courtship and copulation on the ground (something they have in common with humans), the males don't stick around to provide a stable living for the family (okay, perhaps another thing in common with an increasing percentage of humans). It's the female who builds the nest and raises the young.  The female of the pair, pictured at left, scurries in and out when the male is gone and I probably should follow her to see if she has had a nest somewhere nearby.  By now, any nest should be empty, but it is possible she has been hanging around all summer spending most of her time at my honeysuckle and salvia and has raised a brood here.

I'm not current on my slang or rap music, but as opposed to "hammer time," "hummer time" sounds, and is,  quite a bit nicer (no jokes here, please).  I certainly appreciate the visits to my garden from the hummingbirds, however late they may be, for the lightness and cheerfulness of their presence.  They're about as close to being real garden fairies as I'm ever actually going to see.    

Thirteenth Tribulations

Well, everyone, let us give it the old College try, shall we?  As promised before, I'd like to try hosting a monthly blog link party with the subject of garden trials, mistakes, and bad outcomes.  There are several link parties for beautiful pictures or interesting blog posts out there on the web, but I've always thought that I learn better from mistakes.  Maybe by sharing our mistakes here, we can help others avoid them.  We'll call it "Thirteenth Tribulations," because it'll run the thirteenth of every month and because I am fond of alliteration and I needed another "T", and a "tribulation" is "an experience that tests one's endurance, patience, or faith."  I don't know about you, but I find my gardening patience, faith and endurance tested almost daily, so I'll always have plenty of material to link.   I'll open up the linky thing on the 13th of every month and then close it at midnight on the 14th.

And this is the inaugural linking post!  So everyone, please dig in and link to a post on your blog or website that is about a gardening lesson learned;  some plant that doesn't do well in your area, some poor plant color combination that you tried, some episode where the squirrel dug up all your tulips, or a story about that time that the ice storm snapped off your Japanese Maple.  For the first one, we won't worry about how far back the original post was, but after this, we can try to keep to posts within the previous month or so.  Everyone ready?  Link away!

(I'm being especially bold, by the way, because I'm posting this first linky during a period where I'm going to be away from the computer for a day or so.  Well, God loves children and fools and...hopefully...bloggers stretching their abilities). 

The Biggest Disappointments

Sometimes it doesn't pay to get your hopes up, does it?  As my own example for tomorrow's inaugural "Thirteenth Tribulations" blog party, I'll give you a look at a plant that I had the most tremendous hopes for.  Early this spring, the yellow-foliaged plant pictured at the right popped up in one of my beds and I couldn't remember planting anything like it for the life of me.  I was able to identify it later from my plant maps as Coreopsis tripteris ‘Lightning Flash’ (introduced in 2007), which I had planted in 2009 but don't remember seeing at all in 2010.  All spring and early summer it grew up, keeping the delicious yellow foliage until a few weeks ago.  The picture is from April 27th, but the clump eventually got over 3 feet tall and kept that yellow hue to the foliage, a fine counterpart to the bluish Panicum it was planted near. 

Well, at least it kept the yellow hue until it got ready to bloom.  At about the 3 foot height, this beautiful plant turned a nondiscript green and disappeared into the border. I was still hoping for a spectacular bloom from it, but alas, the pretty yellow flowers, pictured up close at the left as they began to bloom last week, are lost from a distance as you can see below to the right.

Talk about your letdowns. None of the published descriptions of  'Lightning Flash' that I could find suggested that it would have a disappointing bloom, although the Kemper Center website suggested that it is "perhaps better known for its foliage than for its yellow flowers."  The plant IS drought tolerant and needed no extra water in full sun, so I'm not going to throw it out of the border, but it has left me wanting.  I'm hoping that all those buds that remain open simultaneously to give me one last, large peep show.  I never expected such an exhibitionist plant would turn so shy as it flowered.