Gone to Pot

Cannabis sativa.  Weed. Pot. Indian Hemp.  Mary Jane, buds, hippie lettuce, skunk weed, wacky tobaccy, combustible herbage.  Marijuana.  Completely to my surprise, as I was leaving work last week and noticed, in the parking lot island in front of my Jeep, this foot-tall, suspicious specimen with 7-fingered leaves and a weedy disposition.  On the grounds of Kansas State University and in full view.  I looked furtively around for federal or local surveillance and, finding none, snapped a quick blurry picture as proof.

Hey, I'm a gardener.  I notice plants.  I've been known to pull over on major highways and come to a full stop just to identify or photograph a particular flowering plant on the roadside.  You're looking at the far off scenery?  At the sunset or architecture or road signs?  I'm looking for unusual plant form or flashes of color, or interesting foliage.  I'm surveying habitat, speculating on species, and scrutinizing clumps that catch my eye.  The only hobbyists in the running for Voted Most Eccentric have to be gardeners or birders.  And I'm a little of both.

So I could hardly miss this plant, as it waved its lanceolate and toothed leaves and begged for attention.   Given its height, I might have noticed it sooner if I had parked in the nearby spot in the past week.  But there it was now, in plain view.  Not that I should have been surprised.  Hemp is, after all, naturalized in Kansas.  This Asian native was brought to the Great Plains in the 1880's.    Assuming the best intentions of our ancestors, it was presumably introduced for hemp fiber and used in production of rope, nets, and paper.  All that dancing around campfires was probably just coincidental.    

 I've never seen it in my own garden, likely because the disturbed areas of ground here were native prairie only a few relative years ago and doesn't contain seed.  Its presence in the Vet School parking lot could be due to avian-aided spread from wilder environments, or because some unburned herbage containing seeds was dropped nearby, or because it was intentionally planted in anticipation of a fall break period between classes.   The local police sit  next to this island frequently during the day, but I assume their motivation must be to utilize the afternoon shade of the tree in this island, not to protect their growing stash.

Anyway, there it is.  Or was.  You needn't find a sudden excuse to visit the Vet School.   The K-State groundskeepers had pulled it up by the next morning when I came back for a better picture.  All I found was a single partial leaf trampled to shreds near where bounty had been.  All that's left is the mystery of whether it was wild or a cultivated, fast-growning strain.   And who has the remnants of the plant and what they've done with it.

Mossy Barbara Oliva

Barbara Oliva

I'd like to introduce you to 'Barbara Oliva', or at least to the rose namesake of a reportedly lovely lady.  'Barbara Oliva', or 'ARDoliva' as she is registered, is a Moss rose bred by Paul Barden in 2004 and introduced in 2005.  This is her second year in my garden and I have pretty high hopes for her.

'Barbara Oliva is a very double (70-120 petals), mauve or carmine pink rose with lighter reverse on her petals.  She has an intense old garden fragrance and those mossy buds open to quartered flowers that are around 3 inches in diameter in my garden.   Once blooming in early summer, the young bush was fairly prolific for me this year, with an exceptionally long bloom period,  The flowers tend to remain on the bush for long periods compared to many roses, and hold their shape and form well over several days, displaying a button-eye when fully open.

She is short, at present, around 2.5 feet tall and gangly with long lanky stems.  I expect that this is just an awkward teenage thing because she will get taller, reportedly 3-6 feet tall and wide at maturity, and those lanky stems become "arching" at maturity.   I don't know if I want her to reach 6 feet, but I do hope she fills in a bit.  The medium green foliage is matte and the leaves are relatively small.  'Barbara Oliva' was cane hardy here in Kansas in a tough year and she is reported to be hardy to zone 4B in her entry at helpmefind.com.

'Barbara Oliva' was named after a retired teacher and California rosarian who, in her spare time, cared for a nearby cemetery and planted hundreds of old garden roses in it.  Mrs. Oliva died in 2015 and her obituary and a description of her rose legacy can be found in The Sacramento Bee.  Paul Barden reported that 'Barbara Oliva' arose from a open-pollinated seed of an unidentified, once-blooming pink Moss rose he once encountered.  In my opinion, she's a pretty good old gal for a seedling from a random cross.  Thank you, Paul, for another great rose for the world.

When Momma Ain't Happy...

Brown Thrasher on nest

...ain't nobody happy!  That's the way it is, isn't it?  Humans, birds, beagles, it's all the same.  At home, Mom rules the roost.

While out working outside on Sunday, I checked the Brown Thrasher nest and was able to photograph Mrs. Thrasher while she stared at me with a gimlet eye.  Correction, Mrs. Thrasher HAD a gimlet eye, since the definition of "gimlet eye" is "an eye with a piercing stare" and so my statement that she "stared at me with a gimlet eye" has some built-in redundancy.  Obviously I don't mind digressing, but I'd rather not be redundant.  But look closely at the photo.  Isn't that the very picture of a "gimlet eye?"  I can see "fight or flight" reflected in that dark pupil and yellow iris.

Brown Thrasher chick

At one point, Mrs. Thrasher left the nest and moved into a viburnum in the next border, so I took advantage of the moment to take a picture of a newly hatched chick in the nest.  I first saw it yesterday, so this little guy is less than 2 days old.  And hungry.  Remember when I mentioned that Brown Thrasher's are known to be territorial about their nests?  Well, Mrs. Thrasher was not happy when I moved toward the nest in her absence.  I heard various nervous clucks in the viburnum behind me as I leaned in for the shot and then suddenly Mrs. Thrasher was just across from me in my 'Banshee' rose bush, ready to defend the nest if I got any closer.  I didn't hang around to see if I could get a better picture.

Chapeau de Napoleon

I have declared ProfessorRoush's garden back under some semblance of control after my neglect of the last year and the hard winter.  While not in "garden tour" shape, it's at least not completely embarrassing if someone drops by.  I have a lot of old roses to trim back yet, and some projects to do, but drastic weed safaris have brought the weeds under control, particularly in the soon-to-bloom daylily beds.  I have trimmed back the roses that were severely damaged so a random stranger would conclude that the garden is not totally abandoned, but there are  still some roses with bare tips that will need to be trimmed after blooming.  The picture at the left is the last remaining bloom of 'Chapeau de Napoleon' which I brought in for Mrs. ProfessorRoush to enjoy.

Speaking of unhappy females, my dear Bella has taken to hiding in the house as I come in from outside on the weekends when I'm home working.  We first noticed it last year and we finally realized that she had connected her every-other-week baths, which she doesn't like but tolerates, to me coming in from working outside.   I often take the opportunity to bathe her while I'm sweaty and dirty and before I clean up myself, and Bella recognized it faster than Mrs. ProfessorRoush and I realized why she was hiding when we looked for her at bath time.  Pretty darned smart, that dog.  In this picture, she's simply exhausted from following me around in the hot sunshine of Kansas.  You know she's pooped when she's too tired to even try to play Frisbee!
 

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.