Asters Abounding

Here in Autumn, another advantage of my lassez-faire approach to mowing my prairie grass lawn this summer is now visible.  Despite this summer's record temperatures and drought, colonies of native asters have now made their presence known as the grass begins to brown.

Aromatic Aster

The asters that grow here in the Flint Hills are all fairly short so sometimes you have to look for them carefully, but they often occur in clumps with enough numbers to stand out.  There are a number of asters native to my area, so exact identification can be a challenge.  I think the prettiest aster in my "yard" is an Aromatic Aster (Symphyotrichum oblongifolium), a 6-18 inch tall bloomer of bluish-purple that likes to play hide and seek in the taller grass.  One of the identifying characteristics of this species is that the yellow disk florets age to reddish tones, evident in the picture at the right.  It arises in groups from creeping rhizomes and often is found with Silky Aster (Symphyotrichum sericeum), but can be distinguish from the latter by the lack of silky hairs on the leaves of the Aromatic Aster.

Heath Aster

Much more common in the Flint Hills, but a little more boring from a distance, is the Heath Aster, (Symphyotrichum ericoides) a white aster that is the most common native aster in Kansas.  It grows a little taller than the Aromatic Aster, from 1 to 3 feet high, and so the white flowers can be seen easier above the native grasses.  According to written descriptions, the Heath Aster is very drought tolerant and has roots that descend 3-8 feet down into the prairie soil.  Just think about that;  eight feet down through chipped rock and clay would indeed be a pretty decent protection against drought.  It grows in colonies as depicted below and it is said to accumulate selenium from the soil, so its presence decreases hay quality in cow pastures.

Heath Aster colony

So, in its first year, my "unmowing" has resulted in some nice stands of Black-eyed Susan's and Asters, and the occasional Monarda sp, Asclepius sp, Blue Sage, Goldenrod, and Thistle.  Not a fabulous world-shattering display, as a gardener might like, but acceptable, and I hope that some of the mature seed heads take root and spread next year.  I picked a great year to try it because the unmowed strips on the hillsides probably helped preserve what little moisture did fall this year, acting as "rain gardens" in my greater yard to slow down and collect runoff.  All of that, of course is secondary to the fact that Mrs. ProfessorRoush has not said much about the unmowed patches for awhile, a change that I take for reluctant acceptance of such ecological experimentation carried out by her odd but endearing gardening husband.

Whence Thou Comest?

This gardening year, full of heat and drought, has been confounding enough for Flint Hills gardeners, but while I've been whining about the weeds, and the wilting plants, and the extra watering, I've neglected to consider how totally out-of-sorts the unusual summer may have made my plants feel. 

Evidently the now cooler temperatures, and the little bits of water draining off of the garage pad as we've washed cars, have confused my 'Sensation' lilac bush into thinking that it is Spring here in the midst of Fall.  Yesterday, I noted four open blooms on the bush.  They are not near the size of the large full blooms it normally has, but they are respectable plumes nonetheless, and the delicious scent certainly isn't diminished by the smaller size.  This is a plain old Syringa vulgaris cultivar, so I don't have any idea why it thinks it should be blooming, and the neighboring lilacs aren't confused at all.  But blooming it is, surprising me again this year in addition to the white sport it developed this past Easter .

I am surely not going to grumble over this gift, this glorious olfactory present, but I wonder at  the providence.  Has the weather really made a mess of the internal rhythms of plants, or is something else the cause? Could my 'Sensation' merely be jealous that there are several re-blooming irises planted nearby who are getting all the attention right now?  What does this mean for other plants, the apples, the peaches, the fruits of next summer?  Will this specimen of 'Sensation' bloom normally in next Spring or have this year's buds already been wasted?  The mysteries of gardening go on and on.  As does the sweet scent of 'Sensation'.

What Took You So Long?

Helianthus 'Lemon Yellow'

All summer I've been anxiously awaiting signs of life from a pair of related plants that I planted last Fall.  Seduced last year by the high prose and beautiful photography of High Country Gardens into purchasing  and planting a pair of Helianthus maximilliana cultivars, I watched anxiously in Spring for the return of their foliage.  When they finally came up, planted as they were in my "native" wildflower area, which gets no extra water at all, I then spent the summer worrying that my single specimen of each would be cut down by some dastardly grasshopper, broken over by a rampaging dog, or that they just wouldn't make it through the heat and drought of this past summer.  But all summer, they grew, slowly and, to me, in an agonizing fashion, but they did grow, to their current four feet or so in height.  I was tempted several times to provide them a little extra water, but I'm proud to say that I practiced tough love gardening.

I expected them to bloom in late July or early August, but they never did.   I think that was all my mistake, assuming wrongly that most flowering plants stop developing buds here by October except for the asters and an occasional rose that tries to open in December. Recently however, as the leaves on decidious trees are changing color, the burning bush euonymous is already aflame, and the nights are approaching the low 40's, I noticed buds on both.  Buds which recently broke open for me like a heaven-sent promise that Summer will return next year.  

Helianthus 'Sante Fe'

My two Helianthus maximiliana  cultivars are ‘Lemon Yellow’  (pictured above right with its insect stowaway) and 'Sante Fe' (pictured at left).  'Lemon Yellow' is supposedly the daintier of the two, said to grow into a mature clump three feet by three feet, although vegatively, I still can't tell my two cultivars apart and both are at four feet tall with single stems at present.  High Country Gardens states that 'Lemon Yellow' "grows easily in hot, full sun locations."  Based on my experience with it this summer, I might not agree that it grows "easily," but it did survive the worse drought year I've seen here.

Maximillian Sunflower 'Santa Fe' should eventually grow to be an 8 foot tall and 4 foot wide clump, a warning to me that I've got it planted in the wrong place at present, but if it continues to survive, I can always divide and move it.  It blooms with large golden-yellow flowers as pictured, and the flowers seem to open from top to bottom on the single stem that I've got at present.  According to the High Country Gardens website, it is hardy to Zone 4 and should grow well in "any soil including heavy clay."  I can only hope that broad statement includes my limey-stony-clay soil.

Given time and a few years, I hope that both H. maximiliana clumps eventually become mainstays in the tall backs of my borders, fighting it out with the Miscanthus sp. to see who drapes over whom.  With the late bloom, however, I'm a little worried that an early frost might occasionally allow me only to enjoy the foliage however. This is my first attempt with this genus, although I've long grown a similarly tall False Sunflower, or Heliopsis helianthoides, which grows well for me and which I've divided several times over in my peony bed.  Now with the new Maximilian Sunflowers looking to make a stand, I guess I'd better prepare to have a much more yellow Fall garden than I've had in the past.  The only question is, do I want that much yellow?  Even in Kansas, one can overdo the sunflowers.

Sleep, Creep, Leaping Huskers

As fate would have it, when author Benjamin Vogt offered two free copies of his new book, Sleep, Creep, Leap through the GardenRant blogsite, I was one of the lucky winners.  Evidently, God doesn't deem me worthy of a big PowerBall Lottery pot, but He does follow my gardening interests and decided to help me out a little in that regard.  My providence perhaps wasn't as lucky for Dr. Vogt, since I have been aware of his marvelous blog  for some time and knew that publication was imminent, and so he lost at least one sure purchaser of  his book since I would have eventually purchased a copy on my own.  However it happened, I'm ecstatic to have received an autographed copy direct from the Benjamin.

Sleep, Creep, Leap, subtitled "The First Three Years of a Nebraska Garden," is an enchanting and very readable collection by Benjamin Vogt, who, as previously noted, also writes the blog "The Deep Middle", which includes his thoughts on gardening, poetry, and nonfiction.  Although Dr.Vogt (a PhD-type Dr.) appears to be a Cornhusker, living and working as he does in the enemy territory of Lincoln, Nebraska, and although my blog today is titled Sleep, Creep, Leaping Huskers, this is not intended to be a commentary on Nebraska jumping from the Big Twelve to the Big Ten, nor is it about past K-State vs. Nebraska rivalry.  The bonds between two gardening bloggers are far above such petty issues.

I finished Sleep, Creep, Leap, exactly 100 pages long, in a couple of nights.  Obviously, it was an engaging read and an enjoyable one from an experienced author, because my usual pattern of night-reading results in me falling asleep after approximately six pages on any given night.  The book is full of short essays and thoughts on different aspects of gardening in the Great Plains, and of course, I was interested in what he has to say because I garden with many of the similar plants and philosophies as Benjamin.  In that regard, it sure beats reading about somebody growing bananas and camellias in Florida.  But I particularly enjoyed his stories about exposing his new wife to the gardening world, and about his neighbor, Mr. Mows All The Time, and about transporting trees in his hatchback.

Some quotes from Sleep, Creep, Leap that tickled my fancy:

"For what seemed the first time, I was discovering what it meant to spend eight hours a day in a place without knowing I had."

"Sometimes, I come home feeling guilty.  I didn't really need to buy so many plants or even any plants at all.....And when I return home I hide them behind a shrub, and sometimes plant them when I know my wife's in the shower or away at work."

"I want to say, gee, Ryan, Jim, Steve, whatever your name is, all the synthetic fertilizer you spread four times each summer is a waste....You're just giving money to corporate drug dealers."

"The next day, after much deliberation, fighting my instincts and loathsome attitude tpward most annuals, I headed out with pot and spade and dug up the cosmo.  I put it in the back of the garage hoping it might survive winter, that we both might."

So to my readers I say, pick this one up on a coming cold Winter day when reading about a ruby-throated hummingbird or Helianthus 'Lemon Sky' will be the closest you're able to get to either one.  And to Benjamin, I say, Well Done, your wife was right about you scissoring grasshoppers, it is okay to be a plant snob, I sneak plants from my wife also, and, you really should make love in your garden (perhaps under cover of the roar from Mr. Mows All The Time).  It's obvious that you want to buddy.