Quarantined Quiet

ProfessorRoush was captive in a circle of solitude this morning, smothered by a silent world generating its own form of isolation for me, a blanket of clouds held low to dampen motion and moment.  Riley County has declared a two week minimum "stay-at-home" period, effective tonight, and the entire state of Kansas added its own, effective Monday, so the fog is a perfect partner to events local and afar. We are battening down the hatches here at home, anxious but able, resolved and ready.

I'm ready for this time, this transition to tomorrow.  As you can see from the photo at right, there is plenty to do here.  These few bags of mulch are a small fraction of those pre-placed around the house, ready for spreading as soon as the predicted winds diminish.  As the quarantines were announced, I ran out for straw and mulch and project supplies to substitute for activities that soon cannot be.  For some time to come, I'll be mulching instead of dining out, renewing pantry shelves for Mrs. ProfessorRoush instead of watching movies, weeding instead of worrying.  More fortunate than most, I still have work too; as a veterinarian there are always sick animals to care for and as a teacher there are always lessons to prepare.   And it never hurts ones ego to be designated as "essential personnel," however true the reality of it.

For this morning however, it's pleasant, the fog, and the privacy it imposes.  Invisible birds sang as I took these photos, a morning choir unseen but heard, at hand, but also away.  Neighbors and their houses have vanished, foretelling the next few weeks, a safe "social distance" seemingly mandated and enforced by Nature itself.  The mysteries deepen ahead of us; concerns for health and loved ones, uneased by change, disquieted by the quiet.   God-willing, as the fog lifts into sunlight, so our lives will climb from this uncertainty to normality, not the normal of before, but a new normal to travel onward.  Stay healthy, my friends.

 

Apricots and Pack Rats

One might think that apricots have little to do with packrats, however both are currently pressing subjects on the mind of ProfessorRoush.

This is the shining annual moment for my apricot tree, a 'Sunglow' variety.  Always the first tree to bloom, it often beats the redbuds by a full week or two.  I enjoy it most in the evenings, when it is back-lit by the Western sun as viewed from the driveway, although mornings when the sun lights up the front of the tree are also satisfying.  Mrs. ProfessorRoush thought so as she messaged me at work early one morning this week with a picture of the tree, asking if it was an apple.  No, apricot, honey, APRICOT.  I can't say, however, that I ever get much fruit from it.  Fruits are small at best, though colorful, and the yield is devastated most years by late frosts.  It is a nice ornamental, however, adding some soul-needed color above the still-dry prairie grass, while admittedly not very life-sustaining as a nutrient source.

On the other hand, as evidence of the trials and tribulations of gardening on the Kansas prairie, I give you these two pictures taken of our small corner deck with its two-seater glider and gas grill, along with this newly formed pile of greenery.  The pile of semi-green sticks and leaves are the recent activity of a pack rat, endeavoring mightily to make a home right beside the back door.  I suppose it is a nice spot for a damp cool spring, roof above, sheltered from the north and east winds, the brick behind it warmed by the sun in the afternoons. 






Astonishingly, however, if you look closely at the greenery, you'll see that it is mostly holly, Japanese evergreen holly to be exact.   I do have holly in the landscape, but the nearest bushes are all on the exact opposite corner of the house from here, around two walls and on the north-east corner.  One by one, this industrious little rats (or family of rats) has trimmed these off and pulled them completely around the house, exposed to attack either during a long trek of 30+feet across the cement garage pad or an even longer trek across the back stamped-cement patio, up a few stairs, and into the corner.  To get here, the rat has also trekked numerous times by at least three poisonous bait traps, but I guess when you don't have a home, gathering food may be low on the priority list.


However long the construction work took, I demolished this semi-erected rodent domicile in the blink of an eye, letting a brisk wind last Sunday carry the debris to the four corners of the world.  As an added measure, I also purchased a large spray bottle of rodent repellent and used it.  I've never thought the pungent pepperminty spray was worth using, but I do believe in hedging my bets against my de-hedged neighboring rodents. 

My forsythia is finally blooming forth today, bright, yellow, and only a few days later than average.  The specimen pictured is 'Fiesta', one of the better varieties in my garden.

Bloomin' Beginning

A couple errant warm days this week startled spring into subtle splendor, this leafless, stiff and formless shrub leading the way  on the east side of the house with a cheerful display of yellow capable to rival the daffodils that are blooming in clumps elsewhere in the garden. 

I only wish I knew exactly what it was!  I had previously written about this shrub as Genista lydia, but I'm currently having doubts about its identity.  Genista lydia blooms at the right time, but it should have more legume-form flowers.  However, the only other yellow shrub-like plant that I have recorded in this bed is Diervilla sessilifolia 'Butterfly', the Southern Bush Honeysuckle, which should bloom much later and blooms in clusters.  Regardless, this thing is ungainly, incredibly invasive, decidedly unattractive when out of flower and barely tolerable in flower, but it is the absolutely earliest thing to bloom in my garden each year.  Even so, I occasionally get tired of finding it spreading in and around other plants in this bed and I've tried more than once to grub it out.  It persists despite my best half-hearted efforts. 

I'm happier about the bloom of Abeliophyllum distichum 'Roseum', the Pink Forsythia.  A rare shrub in this area, it never really looks healthy, but it also persists, and each year gives me a slightly better display of these briefly pink flowers that quickly fade to white.  About two weeks ahead of the more showy yellow forsythias, it smashes those later and brassier namesakes this time of year by being incredibly sweet-scented, a light and delicate bouquet that draws me in whenever I pass nearby.  The bush itself is a bit spindly, and I try each summer to give it a little special attention, more than its fair share of fertilizer and water, but she never seems to respond as I'd like.  With Pink Forsythia, I suppose I should just shut up and be happy it survives here at all.

The most anticipated of all my early blooming shrubs, however, is the welcome arrival of the Star Magnolia bloom.  Despite my earlier pleas this month, this first bloom opened 3 days ago, followed by an explosion of about 30% of the shrub's blooms the next day, immediately thereafter placed and now held in suspended animation by a cold front that swept through.  This is the flower I most wait for every spring, carrying the heavy-scented musk fragrance that I could and would happily drown myself in.  It may be cold outside, and these blooms near frozen, but bring them inside and they warm up and exude pure pleasure in a few minutes.  Forget Old Spice and Brut, I think men would attract more feminine attention if our aftershaves smelled like Star Magnolia rather than cloves.  Are you listening, Aromachologists?  Let's bottle it and put some Star Magnolia aftershave on Walmart's shelves and perhaps the pandemic and quarantine won't be quite so lonely for any of us.

SWMBO Minimality

I have spoken before, tongue-in-cheek, of She Who Must be Obeyed, easier abbreviated as the acronym SWMBO, in reference to the beautiful and home-ruling Mrs. ProfessorRoush.  Imagine my surprise then, while google-navigating across the Washington DC landscape the week before last, when I saw "She Who Must Be Obeyed" pop up on the google map on my iphone a few blocks from where I was at the time.  Feeling a sense of unease at my prescient phone and wondering why my wonderful spouse might be stalking me halfway across the country, I decided to meander innocently in the direction the map indicated, fully prepared to explain why I had wandered from the conference that I was supposed to be attending.

Eventually, I came across this somewhat enigmatic modern sculpture by Tony Smith which is titled, you guessed it, "She Who Must Be Obeyed."  It sits innocuously on the plaza lawn of the Department of Labor building (the Frances Perkins building) near the east wing of the National Gallery of Art, hidden from broader view by the buildings around it and unvisited by the art-unwashed like me.  My personal tastes in art, as described before, trend to figures recognizable as tastefully nude humans or cuddly animals, not abstract geometry.

While I was humbled that a statue was named after my lovely wife, this minimalist rhombus does not look anything like her, nor does it do any justice to the feminine figure of Mrs. ProfessorRoush.  The statue does have a mildly disapproving air about it, but that is as far as the resemblance goes.  I am further a little bit angry at the artist for the flippant naming of the structure, likely to cause confusion and anxiety in any married male who comes across the statue in a blissful moment of hiking across the D.C. mall.  Shame on you, Mr. Smith, for this monochromatic miscreation.