Unlikely Lavender Queen

My most recent garden-related read, The Unlikely Lavender Queen by Jeannie Ralston, was a book that I chose hoping I'd get some pointers in lavender cultivation.  Lavender production tips didn't seem like they were the primary purpose of the book, but truthfully, when you buy most of your reading material at Half-Price Books, you can't be that picky about where you get your information.  And I'll state here and now that while it is a great read, you aren't going to learn much more than you probably already know about lavender.  Well, except the factoid of which town was ALMOST named the official Lavender Capitol of Texas before the Texas legislators chickened out. 

As I stated, The Unlikely Lavender Queen is a really good read, published in 2008, by a really good writer.  Jeannie Ralston has an impressive resume of writing essays for multiple famous periodicals like Allure and National Geographic, and her writing style reflects it.  From a reader's standpoint, this is an enjoyable, easy-to-follow autobiographical work and it would make a great "book club" read.

In short, the book is a woman's journey along her life path as she tries to find herself, make a family, and find ways to tolerate the wild whims of her nutball husband.  I confess that during most of the book I constantly wondered why Ms. Ralston didn't divorce the guy.  Please note that last brutal assessment is the conclusion of another eccentric husband (me).  In short, Ms. Ralston was a modern New-York-City-loving feminist who fell in love with a talented National Geographic photographer, marries him, has two boys, and is dragged from New York to Austin and then to 200 acres and a remodeled stone barn near Blanco, Texas, all while her career suffers and she suffers from being repeatedly dislodged.  Although I referred to the husband as a nutball, he seems to be a nice guy, but he has wield impulses, like creating a lavender farm, that Ms. Ralston can't effectively oppose.  So she gets dragged along, and, at the books conclusion, he's also sold their homestead and lavender enterprise and moved her to Mexico with the boys.  Like Jeannie, I couldn't believe that a marriage counselor sided with him on that one.  I also still can't believe Ms. Ralston went along with him.  Seriously, I think Mother Teresa would have told him to hit the road at that point.  Mrs. ProfessorRoush would surely have kicked my butt from here to sundown, provided she hadn't smothered me in my sleep at many prior junctures of this story.

You'll enjoy the read as a bibliophile, but anyone with remotely militant feminist leanings will throw it across the room after every chapter.  Consider yourself warned.

Purple Prairie-Clover Ponderings

ProfessorRoush has a whole set of native wildflower photos that I've been sitting on, but each time I attempt to collect my thoughts and present them to you, another wildflower blooms and steals my attentions.  This week, it has been Purple Prairie-Clover, Dalea purpurea, that has been littering my rain garden with color.

I'm writing the name hyphenated as "Purple Prairie-Clover," rather than "Purple Prairie Clover", because Wikipedia makes a big deal about it not being a "true" clover (genus Trifolium).  I suppose since Purple Prairie Clover is the common name, I can take any liberties I choose with it, so, really, who cares about the proper grammar here?  Since my go-to website for wildflower info, www.kswildflower.org, uses the hyphen however, then so shall I.

True clover or not, Purple Prairie-Clover is a perennial of the Fabaceae or Bean Family, which I'm especially happy to have in high numbers in the rain garden since it's a legume, fixing nitrogen for the grasses and forbs around it.  It seems to be increasing year after year in my back garden and I'm not surprised since it is high in protein and favored by livestock.  Previous to my invasion and siege on the prairie, this was most recently a grazed plot of land, so the Purple Prairie-Clover had probably been practically grazed out over the years.  The past week, the density of the plant is such that the prairie is dotted with purple and I enjoy the blossoms the most in the morning with dew hanging from them.  The bees are also happy about its presence here.

Dalea candida

There is a White Prairie-Clover, Dalea candida, but those are less prevalent in my prairie and I'm just as happy.  Dalea candida suffers from a problem shared by many white flowers; as it ages, the white turns to brown and just looks plain ugly.  Purple Prairie-Clover, by contrast, only fades to light purple-pink before the petals drop cleanly.  Both species are very drought resistant because of those thin, tough-skinned leaves, and the 6 foot long taproots that reach deep into the soil.

Ever the professor, I was interested to learn that Dalea purpurea contains pawhuskins A, B, and C, and petalostemumol.  The pawhuskins possess affinity for the opioid receptors and pawhuskin A, the most potent of the three, acts as an antagonist of mu, kappa, and sigma opioid receptors.  Probably that's just more useless information to clog my brain, but if I ever get accidentally covered in poppy sap during my garden excursions, I hope I remember to just grab some Purple Prairie-Clover and chew it as the antidote.  Need that as a mnemonic?  Just remember "ProfessorRoush Postulates Purple Prairie-Clover Possibly Prevents Poppy Poisoning."

And, yes, this whole blog entry was written just to lead to that last sentence.

I'm Ticked Off

Hey, now this isn't fair.  This entire summer, the tick-averse Mrs. ProfessorRoush has been forcing me to disrobe in the laundry room immediately upon entering the back door and to submit to a humiliating tick check which involves minute inspection of every inch of my tender pink skin.  While that might sound like the start of a fun afternoon to some of you, you can trust me when I say that the only intimate contact it initiates is her scratching at every suspicious skin blemish to assure that some creepy little legs don't appear at the edges.  On most occasions, satisfied that I'm not harboring a pregnant momma tick which could birth-start a tick Armageddon in the house, she banishes me immediately to the shower, merely bleeding from a few overzealous scratch marks, while she lifts my clothes with a stick and washes them in scalding water.

On two previous occasions Mrs. ProfessorRoush did find and remove ticks, justifying her careful diligence.  There were also two other instances when I found and removed small ticks on my own due to her understandable but unconscionable unwillingness to diligently examine certain skin expanses.  The past few weeks, however, I had returned tickless and we had dropped our guard, sure that tick season was over.  Heck, I had even scabbed over the previous tick-created welts that I received from each bite.  I seem to have developed a type II sensitivity to tick bites this year and I form a nice hive at each bite, even when the tick hasn't been attached long.


Today, when I was driven in from a good day of gardening by the July heat, I noticed that my shoulder was itching and, in the mirror on the way to the shower, saw a small speck in the center of a red circle that appeared different from my normal freckles.  Primarily, it looked different because it was RAISED.

There were a few lost moments of reaction while Mrs. ProfessorRoush located her reading glasses.  I've found that older wives are constantly wearing the wrong glasses for the activity at hand and I would estimate that they spend approximately 25% of their lives looking for the alternate pair.   Once she could see the speck closer, she still wasn't sure that it was a tick.  She and I were both willing, however, to play it safe and have her grab this possible part of me with the tweezers and rip it off.  I braced myself for the fear that my farsighted wife would pluck a piece of ProfessorRoush rather than an invasive arachnid, but the "speck" was removed without any trauma other than a raised heart rate and some minor palpitations.  Under a magnifying glass that I've had since I was a child (a side benefit of living a long life interested in the sciences) we discovered that it was, in fact, a tick, the same minuscule invader pictured above one a paper towel next to a 22 gauge hypodermic needle.

There are, it seems, Darwinistic advantages to having a little tick hypersensitivity, even though this episode will likely initiate another series of strip tease inspections by the missus.  If I hadn't started itching, this little guy could have feasted for a few days on my fair skin.  Instead, thankfully, he was encased in this paper towel and flushed down where the sun doesn't shine.  Tough luck, buddy.

Resilient Red Cascade

It's official, folks.   ProfessorRoush is declaring that his beloved 'Red Cascade' is well on its way to recovery.  This formerly dismembered and pack-rat-pissed-on climbing miniature is fighting its way back from oblivion, or more accurately from an illness that I hereby designate as "Pack Rat Den Doldrums."  As the first person to describe the condition in roses, I think I deserve the right to name it.



You'll recall that, in early May, I ripped out the pack rat den that had been woven around the plump and supple six foot long canes of  'Red Cascade', and I hacked the remnants of the rose back to sparse six inch stubs.  This (at right) was its appearance after the massacre, a few green canes among a lot of brown canes, all barely free of a mound of rat-urine-encrusted mulch.






But, here it is on July 4th, photographed on my iPhone from the seat of my lawn mower, blooming for the first time in a year, and attempting to add its short cascade of red blossoms to the red, white and blue celebrations of the day.  The new, smaller canes are pencil-thick and growing longer by the minute, and the foliage is completely blackspot free.  It started blooming almost a week ago, sparse at first, but it seems determined to make up for lost time.  I suppose that I should grudgingly chalk up the new found vigor of 'Red Cascade' to the rat urine and feces infested mound of mulch I left around its base but I don't really want to think about it.

Everyone in the neighborhood is trying to get into the act, however.  A week ago, as 'Red Cascade' started blooming, I snapped this photo, again from the lawn mower.  A native Asclepias tuberosa was trying to steal my attention away from my intensively-cared-for rose and it was doing a fair job of it.  It sprung up last year, probably enticed to the spot by the as-yet-unnoticed aforementioned rat droppings.  It's really disgusting to think about this bounty as a product of rat poop, but, I suppose, organic manure is organic manure, whether it is rat crap or cow manure or donkey dung.  Luckily, I know that 'Red Cascade' is scentless so I won't be risking Hantavirus by trying to sniff the blooms.