Peace Lily

I almost passed by, on a gentle evening or so past, this small vignette but I paused, paused to look further and experience the quiet grace of my garden.  Struck by the beauty, captured by the color, entranced by the play of light on textured leaf, I seized the moment, and in doing ceased purpose and goals, carpe diem.

"Enjoy the moment," the ancients advised.  Pluck the day and live it.  I do little enough of that in my garden, forgetting in the bustle and work of gardening to find the purpose of the garden, its raison d'être.  Does the garden exist for my pleasure or as my master?

Through the work week, I plan for the weekend.  "When can I mow the lawn again?"  "That daylily bed needs weeding."  "I should start the squash indoors on Saturday." "I need to find something to plant in that empty spot." "I need to water the tomatoes."  As if the function of the garden was to fill the empty space of Saturday and Sunday, to keep boredom at bay, to parry purposelessness.  So I speed into Saturday, scurry and scuttle through Sunday, yet secretly yearning for calm.

If I were asked, "What single experience or desire is shared among all gardeners?" the answer would lie in this photo, this first Asiatic lily of the year, this day shining from the darkness.  It is not the pure white peace lily of lore, but it is peaceful nonetheless.  Shaded by a large viburnum and tall Rugosa, struggling for light and moisture, yet protected from the glaring sun, its dark red, regal presence stands scribe to life's glories, testament to Earth's treasures.  I paused to its purpose, a reminder to seek the silence and solace in the quiet places of the garden.   I listened to its lesson, to recharge from the energy found in dark bower, in dappled shade, and green shelter.  I came away refreshed with new purpose, to remember always that the garden exists to pleasure the gardener, not to enslave him, To free him and feed his spirit, not to fatigue him.  To nourish the soul that yearns only for beauty and peace.

Camaïeux Grand Funk

♫I'm in love with the girl that I'm talking about
 I'm in love with the girl I can't live without
 I'm in love but I sure picked a bad time
 To be in love
 To be in love♫   Grand Funk Railroad

That song is stuck in my head, an "earworm" that I can't get rid of whenever I see this rose.  I've never followed Grand Funk Railroad, couldn't name a single song they wrote before I researched them today, and barely knew that they were (are?) a music group, but this tune still leaps right out of my ancient memories.

I'm smitten, today, with a new rose in my garden. 'Camaïeux' is a planting made last year as I began my search for Old Garden and Rugosa roses that might be resistant to Rose Rosette Disease.  Combining that search with my weakness for striped roses, the descriptions of 'Camaïeux' seemed like she would be a natural addition to my garden, so I made the purchase hastily online with trembling fingers hurrying the keyboard, so as not to miss its window of availability.

And then, last week, she opened for the first time, 'Camaïeux', the newly risen princess of my roses.  She's so young yet that I have only a few blooms to show you, so young that a picture of the bush wouldn't be representative of her ultimate form, but I just have to share her now with the world.

'Camaïeux' was bred, in France of course, by Gendron, and introduced by Vibert in 1830.  She is a violet-striped Gallica who blooms once in the summer and is said to mature at 3' X 3'.  These three-inch blooms have a strong Gallica fragrance for me, and are very double, ultimately opening flat with a button eye form.  The foliage seems healthy at present, with no signs of the mildew that Gallicas' seem to fight in my garden, and even as a baby she survived cane-hardy in a winter where other long-established roses have been nipped.  I have high hopes for 'Camaïeux'.

As it turns out, by expanding the Gallica contingent of my garden and blog, I'm now also going to increase my iTunes library.  My brief glimpse into the background of Grand Funk Railroad has opened me to the possibilities of this band known best for  We're An American Band, and The Loco-Motion.  It is Some Kind of Wonderful that I never realized that I knew and loved so many of their songs, but their tracks are evidently carved along the neurons of my childhood memories as strongly as the sunshine days of my youth.  At least, for a mere $7.99 purchase in iTunes, I now have new earworms to play over and over in my head, providing variety down the lonely path to insanity.  

Banshee & the Brown Thrasher

'Banshee'

Visualize this, my friends.  You are strolling through your garden on a warm spring evening, calm breezes and quiet murmurs from the growing grasses, harsh sunlight making harsh shadows and long shapes on the ground, squinting your eyes against the glare of the setting fire as you stop to admire the delicate beauty of a shy new blossom.  Blushing, it peeks from within a shadow, luring you closer for a moment of admiration and lustful indulgence.

Suddenly, an explosion occurs from inches away, a brown blur bursting from within the branches, startling you into instant flight, survival and safety foremost in fright.

All this, and more, I experienced when I stopped to admire 'Banshee', a Damask shrub rose traced back to 1773 by some sources, but listed as 1923 in Modern Roses 12.  My particular specimen came via a purchase from Hartwood Roses a number of years ago.  Once believed to be an older Gallica, she is now thought on helpmefind/roses to be a turbinata known under a variety of other names.  'Banshee' is, in fact, known as "The Great Impersonator" among roses.   'Banshee' is a 7 foot tall shrub for me, nearly as wide, with long lax stems and few or no thorns.  She is extremely healthy and completely cane-hardy in my climate, strongly and sweetly scented, with loosely arranged double (17-25 petals) white blooms blushed strongly with pink.  She blooms once a year over a long period of spring, and although most sources suggest that she balls up in wet weather, I haven't noticed her do that nearly as badly as 'Maiden's Blush' does in my garden.  Since the "balling" seems to be mentioned so ubiquitously, could it be that I've got an impersonator of 'Banshee' here?

The aforementioned "brown blur" was a Brown Thrasher, Toxostoma rufum, presumably a female of the species.  Once my heart rate slowed down from the adrenaline rush, I looked closer and found that I had disturbed her incubating a clutch of  five pale blue-speckled brown eggs in a delightful, but rough, little nest of twigs.




Brown Thrasher's are abundant east of the Rockies, and I'm pleased to make the acquaintance of this otherwise nondescript little bird of my prairie.  They are said to have the largest song repertoire of all birds, over 1000 different types of song, but since I have never taken the time to learn bird identification by song (except for the "Bob White" of quail), I don't know how many of the early morning choir outside my bedroom windows may be Brown Thrasher's, but I suspect they may represent a large portion of the chorus.  An omnivore, it will evidently eat anything and it is fiercely territorial around nests, even attacking humans.  I'll give this nest a wide berth in the next few weeks since I don't want to initiate a mini-replay of Hitchcock's 1963 The Birds here in Kansas, even less with myself in the starring role of frantically-pecked-to-death human.

That's life in my Kansas garden today, a rose that might-or-might-not be 'Banshee', harboring a perfect little potential family of avian Von Trapp's.  And lots of sunshine and, finally, more normal summer temperatures than the recent and long cool spring.  If you need me, I'll be in the garden.

Garden Musings In Motion

ProfessorRoush thought he'd attempt a wee little blogging experiment today and, at the same time, try to bring you a small glimpse of the fury of a Flint Hill's storm.  He has long wanted to include movies in the blog and it occurred to me that conversion to animated GIF's might work.  I apologize in advance if the files are a little big for slow Internet connections.

On 5/18/2017, there were severe thunderstorm warnings in the area, and sure enough, in the early evening the sirens started to blast and the Thursday night TV lineups were interrupted for continuous local weather coverage.  A Tornado Warning was posted directly for western Manhattan, and we began watching out the windows.  While taking the photo of the ominous cloud at the left, I suddenly discovered that in one of the recent iPhone upgrades, there was a new photo option for time-lapse video.

Modern technology is absolutely incredible, isn't it?  Who would have thought, 40 years ago at the beginning of the computer age, that a slim device in my pocket would become more versatile than any camera in existence at that time, would replace our entire stacks of records and tapes, would carry all our databases and records, and would manage all our communications in ways that we could never have imagined?  Each of these videos captures between 1 and 2 minutes of actual time, a time span roughly equivalent to my attention span and ability to hold the camera still with only moderate fidgeting.  Make sure you click on the pictures to view them in full size and majesty.

Setting aside my awe and wonder for technology, and moving on to my awe and wonder for Mother Nature, from our high vantage point northwest of Manhattan, we expected at any moment to see a long finger extend from the cloud to touch the earth, but it never materialized and Manhattan, and we, were safe.  When the rain and wind finally hit us, my garden took a little beating, but it too, withstood the test of climate with little damage.    ProfessorRoush was left only with the memories and a newfound magic ability to add to his photographic repertoire.

There's a second part of the experiment of course.  I was going to put the still photo on this entry first, but then thought, "Hey, who not lead off with a video?"  Besides learning if the videos would play in the blog, I also wanted to see what happens to the "preview" image created when some of you link my blog to yours.  Will it show motion as well?

(Postscript addition;  The "preview images" in links in other blogs DO show motion.  Yay!)