Terrific Teasers

'Dolly's Forever Rose'

I know that some of my readers follow Garden Musings because you enjoy following my foibles with Mrs. ProfessorRoush, others because you like the dry humor or the rambling rants, some that want to commiserate with my tribulations in my Kansas garden, and still more of you just because you never know what I'm going to touch on next.  But then too, some few are the rabid rosarians, the true believers, waiting to see what I'm growing out here in the Kansas hell-land.

It is to the latter group that I'm dedicating this posting.  Several new little pretties have responded to the cooler September temperatures and I thought I would throw out a few little teasers in advance of future rose posts.  I'll let all these little guys get bigger, probably into late next season, before I show you their full glory, but I'm so excited that I just can't keep them secret.

'Dolly's Forever'

One dynamite little beauty with an eye-popping color combination is the Paul Barden-bred 'Dolly's Forever Rose' (upper right).  I've been growing her since early this past Spring and she has randomly bloomed throughout the worst of Summer, now finally a foot tall and blooming her skirts off.  I've become attached to checking on this little stunner and I'm a little worried about her hardiness, so I'm going to cover her up good when the cold weather comes. This little offspring of 'Scarlet Moss' and a complex seedling including 'Angel Face' is definitely going to bring some fire into her bed if she makes it to next summer..

'Vanguard'

'Vanguard' is another rose that has bloomed several times this season and is now stretching for the sky.  At 4 months old, this little Rugosa cross has already topped 2 feet and she has a strong fragrance to draw you down to the ground with her.  The pinkish-orangish-bluish blossoms should add a few more petals as she grows, and her flowers are more delicate than most Rugosa's, but she's certainly proved herself tough enough for a spot in my garden.  One oddity;  she's supposed to be a once-bloomer according to helpmefind.com but Rogue Valley Roses lists her as a reblooming rose and certainly, my 'Vanguard' has been freely spreading her beauty over the entire season.

'Dragon's Blood'



Another Barden rose that I'm tickled to grow is 'Dragon's Blood'.  This russet floribunda has small individual blooms, but the orange-red-rust color is eye-catching.  Freely-blooming and covered in healthy foliage, I placed 'Dragon's Blood' in a prime place for visitors.  At a prominent corner, they can watch the dusty hues (see the photo below) of each petal as they age and darken.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

'Dragon's Blood'

 

 

 

 

 

Well, there you have them;  a few glimpses of next year's tantalizing offerings.  Are you teased enough yet to stay tuned?

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Arachnophobic Angst

On general principles, I'm a "leave-me-alone-and-I'll-leave-you-alone" kind of gardener (except, of course, when it comes to snakes).  Spiders, insects, newts, and crawly things of all kind get a pass in my garden until they cause me bodily harm or inflict horticultural havoc on my plants.  I haven't, as I recall, used a single dose of insecticide, organic or otherwise, in my perennial garden all year (although I'm not quite so innocent when it comes to my vegetable garden).  You can see the evidence for my benevolence frequently in this blog, since many rose photos hide an insect or two visible only for their protruding legs or antennae. 

But truth be told, the situation is different when it comes to the domestic side of the household.  Mrs. ProfessorRoush and her diminutive clone have an irrational fear and hatred of spiders in and around the house.  I've been summoned from as far as a mile away by screams emanating from trapped female humans in showers, laundries, and basements.  Sometimes, I can't even hear them but I see the dog startle at the hypersonic pitch.  Consequently, as free as my outer garden perimeter is from insecticides, inside my house there exists a toxic chemical wasteland of armageddic proportions.  If it scuttles, it gets sprayed.  If it hides in corners or along baseboards or in the ceiling, it gets sprayed.  Sometimes I think the spraying commences at the merest extrasensory wisp of a chitinous thought of invasion.  I'm expecting the EPA to declare my house a SuperFund site at their first examination.

I naively thought, with the development of long-acting insecticides promising "year-long" residual activity, that at least my own fears of neurologic side-effects might be alleviated, but alas, after spraying only a couple of months ago, I was recently informed that the spiders have returned.  Not in live form, mind you, but as crinkled skeletal remains. Evidently, dried carcasses with eight appendages are viewed as evidence of a marauding population and mass genocide is immediately implemented.  My feeble attempts to point out that dead spiders are an indication that the toxins are working are for naught.  The Huns are at the Wall.

That's why I feel sorry for the little fellow pictured on this page.  I'm no entomologist (or is it an arachnologist?) so I can't identify this individual other than lumping him as a "house spider who spins webs," but I doubt he intends any mischief other than catching a few random flies above the barbecue.  Unfortunately for him, he chose to set up shop, as you can see at the right above, in the window above our kitchen sink, where Mrs. ProfessorRoush has to stare at him daily as she tries to appreciate the view of the valley towards town.   If he'd asked me, I could have told him that such "in-your-face" politics were not a wise move when there's a madwoman nearby with her finger on the nuclear trigger.  This guy's days are numbered and I'm sure he's going to disappear soon to rest next to Jimmy Hoffa, with only me to mourn him between my bouts of spastic twitches.

Resilience of Life

A month from the cruelty of summer's scorch, a mere six days after the fall equinox, a small rain or two behind us, a cool night or three to lift our spirits, and life begins again in the garden.  Even while I'm attempting emergency resuscitation of my buffalograss, other floral tough guys are showing their resilience; blooming literally, as it were, amidst the devastation of my stressed landscape.

I know that this photo of a 'Charlotte Brownell' bloom was careless, taken with my cell phone instead of a decent camera, hand-held and under artificial light instead of carefully composed, but it is nonetheless representative of hope for my garden's future.  I quickly plucked the discovered bloom from its thorny cradle and sprinted straight for its presentation to Mrs. ProfessorRoush, an old man made young by rebirth and seeking the approval of love again.

I've never experienced a more perfect bloom of 'Charlotte Brownell', each petal smooth and unblemished by insect or sun, kissed with the mild rain that fell yesterday afternoon.  She has struggled in my garden, this offspring of 'Peace', and in the summer heat she shriveled, opening too fast and fading to white before her true beauty could be appreciated.  Only now, can I see her promise.  A year's growth behind her, now in Fall, she moves from awkward childhood into puberty in the blink of an eye, the temperate weather bringing blush to her cheeks and a healthy glow to her center.

And I am reminded how a garden, once verdant, can be so again, reinvigorated by the passage of seasons; ever green, ever growing, and forever hopeful.