Yuck! That's Enough!!!

As a veterinarian, ProfessorRoush tries mightily to love "all creatures great and small," taking his cues from James Herriot's classic memoir of that title, the latter borrowing his title from the lyrics of Charles Francis Alexander in the Anglican hymn All Things Bright and Beautiful.  And he (ProfessorRoush) usually does love all creatures great and small, even the serpents that hang around my landscaping.  Except Japanese Beetles.  And rose slugs.  And spider mites.  I don't see God's purpose for any of these creatures except to provide a plague to test the resolve of gardeners.  Maybe rose slugs were put on earth to feed birds, but Japanese Beetles aren't eaten by anything.  They just exist to eat flowers, and waddle in beetle poop while they fornicate and make more Japanese Beetles.   And spider mites are so small you can barely see them; what purpose is a plant-sucking mite?  Other mites, of the Phytoseiidae family, prey on spider mites, but why create a mite to just to feed another mite?  Oh, the theological cavern that I've just fallen into! 

But, ProfessorRoush digresses.  The Japanese Beetles came back right to central Kansas right on time in late June this year and I've been strolling around and smashing a few every evening for several weeks.  I even went so far as to spray insecticide on a few of their favorite roses while the roses were between bloom cycles just to see if it would quell their numbers, but as these roses, 'Blanc Double de Coubert' and 'Fru Dagmar Hastrup' among others, came back into bloom, they had just as many beetles lounging around in their blossoms as before.  So I've hand-picked and hand-picked, gleefully smashing a few beetles each night under my feet and feeling like Alexander the Great rolling over Asia.  Right up until I came across the disgusting spectacle in the photo above.  The rose is pink and delicate 'Foxi Pavement'.  Look closely and you'll see beetles fornicating on top of beetles that are fornicating.  Disgusting.

Hemerocallis 'Wisteria'

Please try not to let the scene you just witnessed cause any nightmares to disturb your slumber.  Or at least join ProfessorRoush in his efforts to avoid crawling into a corner and catatonically sucking his thumb to avoid the trauma of memory.  Here, maybe a picture of beautiful 'Wisteria' taken on the same evening will help.  Japanese Beetles don't seem to bother daylilies.  Or, perhaps you can take comfort from this morning's sky, a panorama I took at 6:00 a.m.  of the sky to the west and north of my front yard.  All things bright and beautiful, indeed.

Drooling over Daylilies

'Mulberry Frosted Edge'

ProfessorRoush was writing a clever post this morning, but, halfway through the piece, just stopped.  How can I wax philosophical when there are so many beautiful daylilies out there to post?

'Joan Derifield'

So, the other blog post can wait.  You'all just sit back and enjoy the modern daylilies.  Especially the full, deep red ones.

'Awfully Flashy'

 And when I say "modern," I mean at least not the plain old yellows and oranges and apricots.  Something with color.  Something 'Awfully Flashy'

'Vintage Wine'

I mean, of course, "within the last 25 years or so."  Vintage daylilies, like 'Vintage Wine'.

'Daring Dilemma'

Because I'm way too cheap and pretty is pretty.  I don't know how daring it is to buy local daylilies which are often mislabeled, but it was no dilemma to buy this one.

'Sonic Analogue'

I don't need to buy the newest and fanciest, even if they seem to be named after video game characters.

'BubbleGum Delicious'

At $100 (or more), some one else can be the first one to have them.  'Bubblegum Delicious' is quite delicious when in flower, isn't it?

'Juliana Lynn'

No, I"m happy to buy them from local enthusiasts, at $3.00 apiece.  'Julianna Lynn', nice to make your acquaintance.

'Tuscanilla Tiger'

Still, they're beautiful, don't you think?  Even the basic orange daylilies.  'Tuscanilla Tiger' is an old one in my garden.

'Big Rex'

Or the plain old, butter-yellows; Big Rex is 5" across each bloom.  And pure and beautiful, eye-catching across the garden.

'Timbercreek Ace'

And 'Timbercreek Ace' makes a great display, whether you're looking at the whole plant covered with potential, or each individual bloom.  Deep, dark and brooding, I'm always thankful to the client who gave him to me.

'Popcorn Pete'

But, really, how can one resist 'Popcorn Pete'?   This one is my favorite of the newest in my garden.  That royal purple front and the white/yellow edges are to die for.

'Slender Lady'

And the ladies, slender or not, are always beautiful.   I've had a thing going for spider daylilies recently.

I'll leave you drooling over daylilies while the Kansas sun sets behind a small storm front.  Which, of course, unfortunately didn't bring any rain to create more daylilies.

Bee-Musings

ProfessorRoush doesn't have a nice, neat patriotic theme for you on this July 4th.  I suppose I could walk out the front door and grab a few pictures of the pure white phlox 'David', and the bright red 'Wave' petunias at the foot my of driveway, add a snapshot of a bit of Russian Sage or lavender from the other side of the house to approximate the blue, and then I could contrive a nice rousing image of a celebration of independence with those pictures, but my writer's muse just won't cooperate today.  The country's mood, and my mood, doesn't seem to be one of celebration this July Fourth, but of turmoil and division, uncertainty and strife.  Or maybe that's just me.

I'm thinking a lot about bees this year, and on this 4th day of July, for some subconscious reason that I can't yet name, I'm thinking of them again.  I"m photographing bees on flowers everywhere, I'm reveling in their presence in my garden, and I'm rejoicing in every little buzzing busy bee that I find, and I don't know why.  For whatever reason, bees are reaching my happy center this summer, spreading joy with wings and all their six legs.  Everywhere I look, there they are, crawling over the delicate petals and flying from each ripe blossom to the next. And every time I find a bee on a blossom, out comes my camera and a picture is born.

I'm always happy that there are bees in my garden, but this year their presence seems more special to me.  Have I somehow internalized my concern over their well-being, over the very-real threats to their survival?  Am I searching for saneness, for certainty and assurance that the world is not on the verge of collapse as it sometimes seems?  Does the world make more sense with bees in the picture?

Why, on the 4th of July, are bees my subject?  It's quite a stretch to connect bees to a patriotic holiday, notwithstanding the existence of the "Patriotic American Flag Honey Bee T-shirt" and its clever superimposition of a bee silhouette over an American flag.  And I must admit, I chuckled over another Amazon-sold T-shirt emblazoned with "All Hive Matters."  Bee-keepers are a society unto themselves, I guess.  But other than noting these shirts as possible surprise gifts for the beekeepers in my life, I can't consciously make a case for Patriotic bees. 

Perhaps, deep inside the quirky recesses of my id, bees DO represent normalcy.  Maybe I'm secretly craving this year a unified society where each has a role for the good of all.  The queen, the drone, and the worker, all working as one, in one direction, as one strong society.  Don't, I beg you, take that sentiment as any calling for communism or socialism.  ProfessorRoush tries to avoid political subjects on this blog and flowers only mix with politics when the flowers are in a politician's lapel hole.  Bees should matter, but I'm not going to say so, or wear a shirt that says so, because who knows who one might offend these days.  People aren't drones, and while many of us are worker bees and a few of us may be royalty, we have choice and we should exercise it and grow each to our greatest potentials.

Well, I'm far afield in my ramblings and rants on this day, Independence Day 2020.  You can just enjoy the bees, along with me, and forget all about the rest of this.  Or we can all gather a little pollen today, a little goodwill for all, and take it back to support our hives, working separately but together, all to survive from this year into the next.   God knows, if we don't learn to work together, we're going to get a little hungry this winter.          

Hope Lost and Found

Hemerocallis 'Blue Racer'

Life, as gardening, is a constant struggle, a process of waning and waxing hopes, heart-breaking failures and all-too-infrequent successes in a never-ending circle.  Without warning, we occasionally slam headfirst into low points, spiritual nadirs that test the strengths of our soul.  A pandemic disrupts our daily routines, throwing the world into chaos with our very lives perhaps dependent on the potential danger of a trip for groceries.  A senseless killing rips apart the fabric of a nation, leaving looted cities and downed monuments in its wake.  In my own world, yesterday, a cousin, a grown man struggling and in turmoil, committed suicide on an impulse, leaving his family devastated and lost.  Hope, at such times, seems a distant mirage, far off and never closer.

Hemerocallis 'Beautiful Edgings'

Gardening mirrors life in its roller-coaster of summits and valleys.   We fight daily against drought and heat and ice and flood, relentlessly watching for enemies, ceaselessly searching for beauty.  ProfessorRoush has been wanting for rain from cloudless skies for weeks, carrying water to quench the thirst of the weakest, ripping weedy competition from the ground, watching for leaves wilting and rolling.  Hope leaks away as the buffalograss browns.

Hemerocallis 'Space Coast Color Scheme' 

In gardening and in life, we must hold faith that the storms pass and calm mornings, like this one, will come.  A heavy rain filled the emptiness of the night during my sleepless tossings, and I rose to find the ground full and soft, and this year's first 'Beautiful Edgings' covered in jewels.  New daylilies, 'Space Coast Color Scheme' (Kinnebrew, 2008) and 'Blue Racer' (Stamile-Pierce, 2011), also greeted Bella and I on our rounds of the rain gauges, rejoicing with us at the modest 1.5 inches of heaven-gifted moisture and the cooler air.

Euonymus Scale

Three peaks and a valley this morning, the latter the finding of my 'Emerald Gaiety' euonymus suddenly covered in Euonymus Scale (Unaspis euonymi) and near death.  Twenty years of euonymus without scale ended in an instant, joy replaced by worry again to begin another cycle.

'Hope for Humanity'

This year, amidst despair, I cling to the thought and the survival of 'Hope for Humanity', the wishfully named Parkland series shrub rose with a prominent position in my backyard.  She has outdone herself this season, blooming with blood-red abandon, responding to my attentions and my efforts to give her more space and sunlight this spring.  I cling to the hope that, if we care for each other and for our world as I ministered to this rose, we can all keep a little 'Hope for Humanity'.  Just a little bright hope to grow with sunlight and push through hard times.  Shaun, I know you liked roses, I wish you'd known hope better, and I pray you find peace.

'Hope for Humanity' (the purple faded rose below and to the right is a nearby 'Dr. Hugo')