Though an old gardener, I am but a young blogger. The humor and added alliteration are free.
Wednesday, April 6, 2016
Spring Returns
Remember this photo of my 'Annabelle' lilac, covered in snow a scant twelve days ago? Remember my whining about how spring was canceled this year? Remember my ridiculous suggestion to give up all gardening hope? Well, please excuse my pouting and pessimism. Kindly overlook my oblivious and obnoxious crying over spilled milk. Try your very best to forget my fitful fantasies of failure. Spring was not vanquished, but briefly delayed. Winter was not victor, but fleeing bully. The resilience of time and life has yet taken the field and won the day, fray behind and glory restored.
'Annabelle' went on through snow to beauty, blooms galore, battle-tested. That's her, at upper right and left, proudly adorned in flowerly spendor. She shines right now, a fragrant beacon in my landscape, the belle of the ball. Not a single blossom shows damage, not a single stem was broken. Nothing but shy pink and delicate lilac shows in each perfect petal. A soft orb of scent, she dominates in every direction, albeit farther downwind than upwind. She seized her moment of spring glory, determined not to surrender this year to mediocrity. I applaud and appreciate her tenacity, the hidden strength among her branching limbs, the subtle brawn of her delicate blossoms.
Others too have fought their way back. A brief glance at my side patio and the scene becomes a spring party. Mrs. ProfessorRoush's favorite tree, a redbud, dominates the scene, a manly pink physique lording over its lesser neighbors. 'Annabelle' hides behind his trunk in this photo, pink bubbles peaking out on either side. Behind and left a cherry tree, 'Northwind' is clothed in the promise of fruit. Bees prefer the cherry to 'Annabelle', a poor choice in the gardeners eye, but the latter judges with binocular rather than compound vision and with vulgar appreciation for fragrance rather than subtle judgment of sugary goodness. The bee knows best its business and I know nothing of hunger for cherry nectar.
Spring, it seems, was not lost, but was merely misplaced, astray from the straight path forward. It returns now, two steps forward, one back, the patience of the gardener teased with the promise of sunshine.
Saturday, April 2, 2016
White Profusion at Large
(Klaxon sounds) We interrupt your previously scheduled Garden Musings literary ramble for this special bulletin. As you plan this year's garden, please be on the lookout at your local gardening center for this spectacular plant, Buddleia davidii 'White Profusion', wanted for exceptional garden performance by many gardeners over most of the continental United States. This individual plant has been known to return and bloom reliably for 15 years, in a Kansas garden of all places, and its blooms exude a delicate fragrance that lures man and butterfly alike. Standing 6 feet tall at mature height, 'White Profusion' withstands the worst of drought, wind, hail and searing sun, continually blooming in defiance at the elements. It has no known pests and is rarely accompanied by fungus or other
diseases in Kansas.
'White Profusion' has been known to associate with a number of vividly colored butterflies, including the Monarch butterfly and various fritillaries. Aside from its more colorful butterfly collaborators, 'White Profusion' has also been known to consort with the Snowberry Clearwing moth (Hemaris diffinis), seen below at the right. Also known as the "flying lobster" or "hummingbird moth", the Snowberry Clearwing moth may be found poking around the blooms (get it? "poking around"?) in search of a handout. Often mistaken for a bumblebee because of its yellow and black coloration, invisible "clear" wings, and haphazard flight pattern, the Snowberry Clearwing moth has a long, curled proboscis that is very useful for sampling the delights of a butterfly bush. Thankfully for my landscape, the Snowberry Clearwing is not one of several Clearwing moths that are wood-boring pests for a number of native trees and stone fruit trees, although their larvae do feed on honeysuckle, cherry, plum, and viburnum. Also, in similar thankful meme, 'White Profusion' has shown no tendency to spread or reseed in the landscape, and may be an improvement over Buddleias that are considered noxious weeds in many parts of the United States.
In other news, ProfessorRoush has officially declared 'White Profusion' the best butterfly bush he has ever grown. Out of approximately 15 cultivars, some of which expired long ago to either cold or drought or neglect, this is the most dependable survivor here in a Zone 5 climate prone to inappropriate and random late freezes and snows. The photo at the left shows the bush early in bloom last year, with only a small percentage of the number of blooms that eventually covered it. 'White Profusion' is well named, because blooms are exceptionally profuse, stay creamy-white despite rain and sunburn, and each individual panicle of flowers can reach 12 inches in length. Blooming starts at the base of the panicles and new panicles are continually produced as older flowers fade. Flower panicles are held erect at the tip of the deciduous stems, requiring only an early spring scalp back to live tissue or even to the ground to allow room for the growth of new stems.
Repeating; Be on the lookout for 'White Profusion', a butterfly bush of uncommon value. We return you now to your regularly scheduling Garden Musings.
diseases in Kansas.
'White Profusion' has been known to associate with a number of vividly colored butterflies, including the Monarch butterfly and various fritillaries. Aside from its more colorful butterfly collaborators, 'White Profusion' has also been known to consort with the Snowberry Clearwing moth (Hemaris diffinis), seen below at the right. Also known as the "flying lobster" or "hummingbird moth", the Snowberry Clearwing moth may be found poking around the blooms (get it? "poking around"?) in search of a handout. Often mistaken for a bumblebee because of its yellow and black coloration, invisible "clear" wings, and haphazard flight pattern, the Snowberry Clearwing moth has a long, curled proboscis that is very useful for sampling the delights of a butterfly bush. Thankfully for my landscape, the Snowberry Clearwing is not one of several Clearwing moths that are wood-boring pests for a number of native trees and stone fruit trees, although their larvae do feed on honeysuckle, cherry, plum, and viburnum. Also, in similar thankful meme, 'White Profusion' has shown no tendency to spread or reseed in the landscape, and may be an improvement over Buddleias that are considered noxious weeds in many parts of the United States.
In other news, ProfessorRoush has officially declared 'White Profusion' the best butterfly bush he has ever grown. Out of approximately 15 cultivars, some of which expired long ago to either cold or drought or neglect, this is the most dependable survivor here in a Zone 5 climate prone to inappropriate and random late freezes and snows. The photo at the left shows the bush early in bloom last year, with only a small percentage of the number of blooms that eventually covered it. 'White Profusion' is well named, because blooms are exceptionally profuse, stay creamy-white despite rain and sunburn, and each individual panicle of flowers can reach 12 inches in length. Blooming starts at the base of the panicles and new panicles are continually produced as older flowers fade. Flower panicles are held erect at the tip of the deciduous stems, requiring only an early spring scalp back to live tissue or even to the ground to allow room for the growth of new stems.
Repeating; Be on the lookout for 'White Profusion', a butterfly bush of uncommon value. We return you now to your regularly scheduling Garden Musings.
Sunday, March 27, 2016
Night Burn
In the midst of a night burn I stand; enchanted, enraptured, and elated at the sinewy and fluid life of a prairie fire; spellbound by the fleeting, floating fear that comes in waves with the billowing smoke. As flame flickers over the ground, former life morphs to black dust, light flares out from darkness and then retreats, over and over again, up and down the hillsides to leave behind black earth and burned stems, reminders of days once lived. The fire moans and hisses, secrets of past lusts and whispered goodbyes left to the silent stars. I stand mesmerized, fire so close my feet grow hot, oblivious while I freeze the scene to memory. Would I burn for the right photo, the photo that preserves the moment perfect?
You cannot stand before a fire on the prairie and feel not the life held within it. It breathes, it grows, it moves and sighs, it eats and flickers and withers and dies. Wind at its back, nothing resists it, the relentless hunger for fuel and air stops for nothing and no-one. Behind it lies the ashes of victims and the curiosity of those safe, a clean slate for regrowth and fertile ground for life. You cannot control a fire; you coax it, tease it, guide it or turn it. Properly lured and fattened, it will follow a docile trail but turns at the slightest distraction, always at the sharp edge from lamb to lion. Disloyalty is the inherent nature of a prairie burn, ready at any moment to turn on master and home, caring not if its fingers chase and wrap friend or foe in grasp.
With each burn, one wonders; have I started renewor or destructor? Will this be the demon burn that makes tomorrow's headlines and villains, or the meek and orderly angelic means of resurrection? Fire responds wildly to touch, the touch of wind and radiant heat at its back arousing the response of a sailor on shore leave. It runs quickly across dry ripened brome, fed on clean air and stored passion. Fronted with younger and damper fuel, it turns again contemplative, licking gingerly at the margins, slowly drawing the next blade or clump of grass to its pleasure. It hurries or waits, dependent on the eagerness of the fare, the endless fuel of the prairie, to submit to its desire of consumption.
You cannot stand before a fire on the prairie and feel not the life held within it. It breathes, it grows, it moves and sighs, it eats and flickers and withers and dies. Wind at its back, nothing resists it, the relentless hunger for fuel and air stops for nothing and no-one. Behind it lies the ashes of victims and the curiosity of those safe, a clean slate for regrowth and fertile ground for life. You cannot control a fire; you coax it, tease it, guide it or turn it. Properly lured and fattened, it will follow a docile trail but turns at the slightest distraction, always at the sharp edge from lamb to lion. Disloyalty is the inherent nature of a prairie burn, ready at any moment to turn on master and home, caring not if its fingers chase and wrap friend or foe in grasp.
Near fire, one moves or else is cornered, a reluctant beau captured in the arms of a lover. A stumble here, a fall there, and I would know the fire closer, beyond warmed face and feet, joining blackened prairie in the next rebirth. A philosopher might contemplate the choice and hesitate but I place a diligent foot, concentrating on the present path. Each step through the darkness and haze offers the choice of tomorrow or forever and I feel it as I tread lightly amid the pyre of old life. Through smoke, cross ash, lies safety and home. I move there through the embers, joining clear cool air, a single step from peril to possibility; like the prairie, a single line of fire separating yesterday from tomorrow.
Thursday, March 24, 2016
Spring Is Canceled
Let this post serve as a double warning to gardeners and other fragile souls downwind from Manhattan, Kansas. Give up hope. I mean it. Forget about your previous rules regarding planting potatoes or peas on Saint Patrick's day. Forget about a harvest of peaches or apples or apricots for the coming year. Forget about any passion you hold inside in hopes of a great gardening year.
Spring-like weather in the past two months had us completely fooled, and by "us" I mean both the gardener and his plants, into thinking that winter had fled and better times were on the way. We haven't seen rain for months, but I went to bed happy that some moisture was predicted overnight. A vast hoax, however, has been perpetrated upon me. I woke up to subfreezing temperatures, blizzard winds, and the scene below in my backyard this morning and loudly spouted a few words that I won't repeat here in case there are children within earshot.
I'll let the picture-heavy text below speak for itself in lieu of me trying to find the words to express despair.
My front garden looks just as bad: The forsythia is still bright, but the various plants covered by snow here include sedums, daylilies, Monarda, peonies, and roses.
Anyway, there are other photos that I may add later, but they're just as depressing as these examples. I could show, for instance, a photo of the clump of Puschkinia that I highlighted in my last entry, but it is just a blob beneath the snow, no flowers to be seen. I'm sorry for the dark nature of these photos but I waited for morning as late as I dared before grabbing these pictures and rushing on to work. That being said, the gray tones match my mood, so why not let them convey the despair?
Oh, at the beginning I mentioned a double warning and only gave you one. The second warning, other than the lousy weather coming your way, is this: NEVER TRY TO GARDEN IN KANSAS!
Spring-like weather in the past two months had us completely fooled, and by "us" I mean both the gardener and his plants, into thinking that winter had fled and better times were on the way. We haven't seen rain for months, but I went to bed happy that some moisture was predicted overnight. A vast hoax, however, has been perpetrated upon me. I woke up to subfreezing temperatures, blizzard winds, and the scene below in my backyard this morning and loudly spouted a few words that I won't repeat here in case there are children within earshot.
I'll let the picture-heavy text below speak for itself in lieu of me trying to find the words to express despair.
This photo of lilac 'Annabelle', just coming into bloom, is reminiscent of the photo that appears on the cover of my book, from 2007.
My front garden looks just as bad: The forsythia is still bright, but the various plants covered by snow here include sedums, daylilies, Monarda, peonies, and roses.
The daffodils were on their way out anyway, but I have to say goodbye to these beautiful scragglers.
Kon-Tiki Head was not pleased at his northeastern exposure. Neither were the fully-leafed-out roses in his vicinity.
The only cheerful bright spot in the now-winterized landscape are these variegated iris. I wonder if they will still look this cheery by next week?
Anyway, there are other photos that I may add later, but they're just as depressing as these examples. I could show, for instance, a photo of the clump of Puschkinia that I highlighted in my last entry, but it is just a blob beneath the snow, no flowers to be seen. I'm sorry for the dark nature of these photos but I waited for morning as late as I dared before grabbing these pictures and rushing on to work. That being said, the gray tones match my mood, so why not let them convey the despair?
Oh, at the beginning I mentioned a double warning and only gave you one. The second warning, other than the lousy weather coming your way, is this: NEVER TRY TO GARDEN IN KANSAS!
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