Blessed Rain

ProfessorRoush was away for a few short days, and during my absence we got bucketfuls of blessed rain here in the Flint Hills.  According to my rain gauges, over 2.5 inches on the ground, and that, my friends, was sufficient to make my clay soil make squishy "sop, suck" sounds at every step.  If taking a short vacation is all that is needed to get sufficient rain, then I surely need to take more vacations.  The back garden looks somehow cleaner, fresher, and ready for Spring.

I did take note of a line of deep furry white-tailed large-hoofed rat prints in the wet soil of two of my rose beds, but beyond the resulting compaction of the soil and some nibbled daylilies, I didn't note any major damage.  I will give them a free pass just this one time.  I see no reason to get Odocoileus-cidal until they actually sample the foliage.   You know, I've never looked up the genus/species of Virginia deer before.  What kind of a name is "Odocoileus" anyway?  According to one website, Odocoileus is from the Greek words odos (tooth) and koilos (hollow).  White-tailed North American deer were given an unfortunate name, don't you think?  It makes me almost feel sorry for them.  Almost.  Until they sample my garden.

My surprise of the morning occurred as a cosmic echo of my "Imposterous!" post of a few days ago.  Gazing over my wet garden, I noticed, right in front of me and just next to the walkway, that my Northern Bayberry (Myrica pensylvanica) bush had bright pink blooms.  Wait!  Bright pink blooms?  Bayberry blooms in small white almost inconspicuous flowers, and I grow it primarily in the event that  "come the revolution"(as my father says), I'll be the only Kansan for miles with a source of candle wax.  In this case, there was a 7 foot high volunteer Redbud growing at the edge of my 6 foot tall Bayberry and I've missed it entirely until now.  Until it bloomed.  It is going to be almost a shame to cut this brave and intrepid tree out, but it is in entirely the wrong place.  Sorry, little tree.

Way Ahead & Far Behind

It's madness.  Complete and undisguised madness.  My garden, and its gardener, are a full two weeks ahead of the normal cycle here.  In most years, I avoid starting the Spring cleanup of my garden beds until "Spring Break" here in the Little Apple.  The appearance of small green sprouts at that time often coincides with a little time off work and allows me some uninterrupted efforts at making my muscles sore and my garden tidy.  Often, at this date, the crocus and daffodils will just be poking up and I'll be noticing the first early weed children.  And the beginning of vegetable garden planting?  I'm normally a traditional Saint Patrick's Day planter, looking forward each year to the 17th not for drinking spirits, but for immersing my soul in the soil and thenceforth communing with the peas and seed potatoes.

This year the garden is pushing me out into the fast lane against my will.  Because the roses are leafing out and most of the Spring bulbs are blooming, I've been forced to begin cleanup earlier than ever.  I hate, I really hate, trimming off baby rose leaves once they've opened.  It does not bother me to trim the roses when the leaf buds are still tightly bound, but chopping off that shiny, unblackspotted green infant foliage is more than I can bear.  On Tuesday this week, I panicked and decided it all had to be done at once before my cleanup efforts resulting in trampling all the bulbs underfoot. So, I cleaned, and trimmed roses, and moved roses, and trimmed irises, and just generally gussied up the garden.

I moved, at last, a large 'Josee' lilac that was in the wrong place by first yanking it out by the roots with a rope and my Jeep, and then placing it into a distant site vacated inexplicably by a black currant bush.  The black currant had done well for several years, but this Spring it was not just suddenly and nearly dead, it was really most sincerely dead.  I cut off my coy, non-fruiting bittersweet couple ('Hercules' and 'Diana') in hopes of replacing them with a vine that would add another dimension to the garden beyond merely being a tall green tower.  I'm thinking perhaps of a clematis for the site.  And vegetable planting?  Oh yes, I admit, I planted peas and bib lettuce and broccoli and potatoes and onions a full 10 days before my normal planting time.  I blame the latter impatiences on my fellow Master Gardeners, all of whom were boasting about planting peas at our bimonthly meeting last week.

The forsythia watched all this activity while in full bloom, and the daffodils were already entering their twilight period, and we all knew it had to be done.  According to my historical notes going back to 2004, this early warmth is not unprecedented (2009 and 2005 were similarly early), but this is certainly earlier than the median year. I'm caught up, for now, on these garden chores, yet still far behind readying the Martin houses and spreading mulch and a multitude of other duties.  For now, however, I'm left hoping that Winter does not amuse itself by returning with a late fit of sadistic snow. 

Center Stage

Despite the forsythia in full bloom, my Dutch crocuses already showing signs of age, and the daffodils cheerily throwing everything into yellow, the star of my garden yesterday was my 'Sunglow' apricot tree, in full bloom at least 10 days earlier than I've noted in the past.  These delicate blooms are completely intoxicating in fragrance, and delightfully lacy to touch.










 The tree, in full glory, stands alone in bloom right now, and the blue Kansas sky contrasts the blush pink blossoms to perfection, don't you think?












I was not the only living creature mesmerized by 'Sunglow' yesterday.  I saw at least three different insects visiting the blossoms yesterday; a "moth", a "sweat bee", and a "fly" as seen below.  I don't know if these are all actually pollinating the flowers, but they all seem to be trying for a taste of the nectar.  Certainly, whatever insects have hatched or woken up from winter for miles around are probably at or heading for this tree. I'm terrible at insect identification so I haven't the slightest idea of the species involved, but the moths seem the most frequent and persistent visitor to the tree.  I can only hope that at least one of these creatures is enabling the procreation of these gorgeous flowers.  Such beauty shouldn't exist merely to go to empty waste.

Please God, protect my garden from late freezes right now.  I saw some color in the buds of peaches and cherries yesterday, so the rest of the orchard and fruits cannot be far behind.  Temperatures in the 80's all this week and forecast to stay in the 70's all next week, so the closer we get to April, the more serene I'll be.

Form Foundations

I'm still several weeks away from rose blooms here in the Flint Hills (unless the recent high 70's temperatures persist), but I'm already aching in my bones to see the new roses.  I believe there is no facet of gardening that pleases me more than the first bloom of a rose I've never seen before, on my own little patch of ground.

'Gallicandy', Barden Gallica

And this year, it will be mostly the Paul Barden roses that are new to bloom for me.  I planted several of them in the Fall of 2010.  Last year, only 'Jeri Jennings', the sole remonant rose of the group, bloomed.  They are all now 3 foot tall roses at just past their first birthday, and, looking closely at them recently, I concluded that all are healthy here in Kansas with no winter dieback.  Since the foliage has yet to come on, I took special notice of the forms of the bushes, the "foundation for building" which only heightened my anticipation of the blooms to come.  I think 'Gallicandy', a pink Gallica, has the best vase-like bush form, exhibiting lots of long straight canes from a single source.

'Allegra', Barden Gallica

'Marianne', Barden Gallica

Light pink 'Allegra' (left), and peach-colored 'Marianne' (right) have fewer canes at this stage, but still seem to have good vase-like bush form and supple canes.  'Marianne's canes, in particular, have a nice reddish Winter color.  I almost lost her early last year when her single band/cane was broken off by early Spring winds, but true to the advantages of own-root roses, she sprouted back up and now looks as healthy as the rest of the group, none the worst for wind-shear.
 

'Morning Blush', Alba

Compare and contrast these vase-like Barden Gallica's with the more asymmetric and stiff-caned form of 'Morning Blush', a 1980's Alba bred by Rolf Sievers that I planted among the Barden's.  I'm definitely growing this one for the white double blooms lightly touched in pink, not for the bush shape!  Right now, it is sprawling everywhere and the large canes are reminiscent of 'Fantin Latour' a Centrifolia rose I grow.  I think this one will need a little more annual trimming than its Gallica neighbors.

Looking forward to a great rose 2012!