Morning Serenity

At last, we're blessed here by a cool morning, a hint and promise that autumn will soon return.  The cool air tightly hugs the rolling contours of the Flint Hills, mist implying mystery, humid air dissolved to fog, dew droplets draped over the prairie.

The view above is to my west, a view that greeted Bella and I this morning as the sun rose and the clear blue sky broke into radiant pinks and yellows.  Just across the road, the prairie begins, seemingly endless to the horizon, evidence of man's touch only in the stripes of mown hay and the distant aquatic totem pole that supplies water to us and the hordes to the south.
 
If you're wondering about the stone in the foreground, prominently placed at the beginning of my neighbor's driveway, this closeup may satisfy your curiosity.  My neighbor has some deep connection with the old Lee Marvin movie, Paint Your Wagon, and the inscription is from the movie.  I like what he's done with this bed, the 'Tiger Eye' sumac, low sedums in the foreground and tall ornamental grasses behind, but I don't think he is yet aware of how tall the 'Tiger Eye' will get or how much they'll spread into the surrounding buffalo grass.   Mrs. ProfessorRoush believes that my neighbor spends more time working in this bed than I do on my entire garden, forty times this size.  He's changed the "perennial" planting almost every year in a search for the perfect combination.

The donkeys, Ding and Dong, were also out, begging for treats across the fence.  Bella and the donkeys are wary acquaintances, but prefer to maintain a nodding acknowledgement at limb's length, content to send unsubtle warnings that closer contact is unwelcome.  I'm torn about keeping the donkeys over another winter.  I adore their unique personalities, but I am fretful over their safety and comfort on the prairie in the lean, cold months.    












Bella loves these morning walks around the yard, patrolling the perimeter and searching for intruders, mammalian or insect, harmless or evil.  The heavy morning dew destroyed the stealth of this morning's scouting survey, our course conspicuous across the sopping wet grass.  But the tracks are telling, meandering Dog and lumbering Man, moving forward in the same direction and with the same purpose, checking the cave environs and beginning the new day ahead, together.

Black Diamond Blush

Orange may be the new black, but ProfessorRoush believes black will always remain in style, nonetheless.  Women never go wrong with a simple basic black dress and pearls, and well-turned out gentlemen seldom look out of place in black suits and white shirts.  In contrast, black tulips and dark roses and chocolate zinnias are novelties craved by many gardeners, but I've never jumped on that bandwagon, myself.  Does black really ever belong in the garden?

I was excited, however, late in the season last year, when I found a number of Black Diamond Crape myrtles (Lagerstroemia indica) at the local Home Depot.  I had never seen or heard of these varieties before.   Crapemyrtles as a rule are only marginally hardy here, but I couldn't resist that dark foliage as an accent plant.  Several varieties were available, but I didn't like the combination of red flowers and dark foliage on 'Best Red' , nor the off-red shading of slightly lighter 'Crimson Red'.  I chose to try out 'Blush', a white-flowered variety that is technically a very light pink, but looked primarily white in the parking lot.

This spring, it was killed back to the ground (as were the rest of my crapemyrtles), but I left the spot untouched and, sure enough, in late May, a single dark stem arose that I babied and protected throughout the past few months until it began to bloom.  And here it is, stunning at last, the earliest of my crapemyrtles to bloom and the most noticeable.  Tell me, what do you think? An entire forest of Black Diamond 'Blush' might resemble a scene from a Tim Burton movie, but I'm pretty happy with it as an accent plant.  With a little more global warming, perhaps it won't kill back to the ground and I'll be able to see it get a little larger and more prominent each year.  Happily, it seems to be both drought-tolerant and able to withstand wet spring feet, and it has been unbothered by pests, both six- and four-legged in form.

There was a little bit of sleight of hand in the introduction of the Black Diamond series.  A little bit more research led me to the information that this commercially-offered series is the same as the Ebony series bred by Dr. Cecil Pounders and registered with the U.S. National Arboretum in 2013.  Black Diamond 'Blush' is the same plant as 'Ebony Glow'.  The breeding background of these plants are detailed in the HortScience article linked above.

Now, I think I'll watch for the new purple-flowered 2015 introduction, 'Purely Purple'.  The black foliage and purple flower combination of this new crape seems tailor made for a K-State oriented garden bed, don't you agree?

Orangeish is the New Red

'Maria Stern'

I suppose that those who come here for the roses have been bored to tears over the last few weeks at all the daylily posts.  To some degree, ProfessorRoush agrees with you.  Daylilies are okay, I don't want to make their aficionados mad at me, but daylilies themselves get tired of hanging around for more than a day, and they come at the wrong time of the year, in the hot summer when I don't want to get out among them.  If they bloomed at a more civil time of year, say early Spring or in the cool of Autumn, I'd appreciate them even more than I already do.

But, the truth is, that the roses haven't done well enough for me to introduce new rose after new rose on the blog this year.  My new little ones have stayed little and struggled in swampy clay with all the early rain, and older roses have generally also not elicited any excitement from me.  I've lost several to Rose Rosette again, and I'm tired of watching healthy roses get too many thorns and witches broom and then start to fade.  As a consequence, I've taken a bit of a break in rose enthusiasm lately, letting the petals, as it were, fall as they may.

'Gentle Persuasion'

I'll try to keep your sap flowing, however, by showing you a few wonders that are managing to bring me fleeting joy even in the midst of my angst.  I lost one bush of 'Maria Stern' (above right) this year, but the older bush keeps struggling on, sending up a cane and bud here or there to keep me hopeful.  'Maria Stern' is just not a vigorous rose for me here on the prairie, but at least it hasn't choked on the dust of summer.  I love the color of the blooms and can't give up on it, however

Above, left, is my second start of 'Gentle Persuasion', and at least this one seems to be holding its own.  'Gentle Persuasion' is a yellow blend shrub rose introduced by Dr. Buck in 1984.  It glows both yellow and pink in my garden, and reblooms reliably, and it does seem to have gotten some disease resistance from its 'Carefree Beauty' parent.  I'm thankful for that because the other parent, 'Oregold' never did well in my garden and I gave up on it.  Right now, that's about the extent of anything I can say about 'Gentle Persuasion', however, except to add that those gorgeous blossoms have plenty of charm.

'Sunbonnet Sue'

I'm most hopeful this year for 'Sunbonnet Sue', another addition this year to my garden from the legacy of Griffith Buck.  I'm actually quite thrilled, so far, with this rose, for form, for strong fragrance, and for the gentle shading of deeper color at the center to lighter pinks and yellows at the edges.  It seems to have a little more staying power of blossom form than many Buck roses, holding that shape over several days before finally looking frazzled.  Also introduced in 1984, 'Sunbonnet Sue' is an entirely different cross than 'Gentle Persuasion', the former a cross of 'Gold Dot' and 'Malaguena', and I'm not certain yet of its disease resistance or vigor.  Time will tell.

As far as the blog title today goes, of course, it's a takeoff from the current hit show Orange is the New Black, about which I'm just as happy to attest that I've never watched.  ProfessorRoush is pretty good about keeping away from most time-killing television series, although on the other hand I'm a sucker for good movies.  Since there are no black roses, however, just really dark red and purple roses, I had to really stretch to get the "orange" in, didn't I?  Similarly is a stretch to lump the pink and yellow blend of 'Sunbonnet Sue' into the rare realm of orange roses, but I view the scope of my literary license as a broad one. So 'Sue' me.

A-Hoya There!

Flowers occasionally pop up in the most surprising places, sometimes in places where we should expect them, but where we least expect them.  Indulge me, for a moment, and imagine that you have had a nice foliage plant in your office for eight or ten years, a plant that struggles to gain sunshine and one that you occasionally overwater or underwater to the brink of death.  Imagine that it occasionally puts out a new shoot, but otherwise grows extremely slowly, fighting for every inch of its precarious life.  Now imagine your astonishment when you are on the phone one day, engaged in a quite boring conversation, and you look over and see this strange, alien thing hanging from your office plant.

I found myself in that exact scenario last week, when I saw the really strange looking structure shown above as it appeared hanging off my Hoya carnosa plant last week.  Hoya carnosa, also known as the Wax Plant, is about the only plant that can survive my fluorescent prison confines with me, and I actually grow two of them in my office for the dual purposes of extending my Seventies back-to-nature office decor and of advertising my gardening prowess in that most unlikely of places.

I wasn't aware that this plant would flower, but if I had known one of its alternate aliases, Porcelainflower, then my surprise might have been muted.   Hoya carnosa does flower infrequently, and these perennial structures are known as spurs.  Spurs, I'm told, should not be damaged because the plant will flower annually from this same spur and the spur and resulting flowers will get longer as it gets older.  Thick-petaled, waxy flowers on my single spur opened eight days after I first noticed the buds (see the photo below), and they are a fabulous star-within-a-star-shape and scented with, I swear to Mother Nature, the scent of delicious chocolate.  Native to east Asia and Australia, H. carnosa  is able to adapt to bright light, but it can tolerate much lower levels as an indoor plant.  It is said to be an excellent remover of pollutants in the indoor environment, and I can surely use all the clear air at work that I can obtain.

I believe that my Hoya is H. carnosa variegata, a variety with white-edged leaves.  I was surprised all over again today when I googled the plant and found the variety of cultivars that are available.  Like nearly everything else on this earth, Hoyas have their own afficionados, and I ran across a website run by someone named Christina that will open your eyes on the Hoyas.  Now, unfortunately, I've fallen down the rabbit hole and I've got to look for some of the other cultivars that I've seen described during my search.  There is always a new twist awaiting a plant collector prone to passions.