'Raspberry Sundae' is a 1968 introduction by Carl G. Klehm, a bomb-shaped midseason lacriflora with pale yellow and pale pink and cream mixed into the most delicate display I've ever seen. Martin Page, in The Gardener's Guide to Growing Peonies, states that "few flowers have been so aptly named," and he uses 'Raspberry Sundae' as his example when describing the central raised mass of petaloids that develop from both stamens and carpels, suggesting that the "bomb" name refers to a similarity with a "bombe" ice-cream sherbet. I didn't have this peony in my garden before, but I will as soon as I can dig a hole this morning. I need to find a prominent place for 'Raspberry Sundae' since she is very likely to soon become one of my favorites.
Though an old gardener, I am but a young blogger. The humor and added alliteration are free.
Saturday, May 21, 2016
Yeah, They Got Me
I, ProfessorRoush, of normally sane intellect and body, must now confess that yesterday I participated, nay, I joyfully surrendered, to that most simple of marketing techniques; The Impulse Buy. While browsing a Big Box gardening center, in hopes of finding something besides 'Stella de Oro' and 'Knock Out' relatives, I happened upon this 'Raspberry Sundae' peony in full bloom. In my own defense, I would ask that before you harshly condemn me, you click on these photos that I took on my iPhone the second after I plunked down my $24.98 and placed this peony in my Jeep. Spend a few quiet moments in contemplation of this gorgeous girl. Look at the immaculate blooms. Look at the healthy, tall, foliage of this peony. Oh, if only I could reproduce the fragrance for you! For the gratification of others with similar weak-willed buying habits, it came from Menard's,
'Raspberry Sundae' is a 1968 introduction by Carl G. Klehm, a bomb-shaped midseason lacriflora with pale yellow and pale pink and cream mixed into the most delicate display I've ever seen. Martin Page, in The Gardener's Guide to Growing Peonies, states that "few flowers have been so aptly named," and he uses 'Raspberry Sundae' as his example when describing the central raised mass of petaloids that develop from both stamens and carpels, suggesting that the "bomb" name refers to a similarity with a "bombe" ice-cream sherbet. I didn't have this peony in my garden before, but I will as soon as I can dig a hole this morning. I need to find a prominent place for 'Raspberry Sundae' since she is very likely to soon become one of my favorites.
I was happy to see that 'Raspberry Sundae' was a creation of Carl Klehm, the third of a four-generation (John, Charles, Carl, and Roy) peony dynasty in the Midwest. As I've mentioned previously, I have seen Roy Klehm speak in person at the National Arboretum and I grow a number of Klehm's striped peonies. Now, my garden is host to yet one more Klehm peony.
'Raspberry Sundae' is a 1968 introduction by Carl G. Klehm, a bomb-shaped midseason lacriflora with pale yellow and pale pink and cream mixed into the most delicate display I've ever seen. Martin Page, in The Gardener's Guide to Growing Peonies, states that "few flowers have been so aptly named," and he uses 'Raspberry Sundae' as his example when describing the central raised mass of petaloids that develop from both stamens and carpels, suggesting that the "bomb" name refers to a similarity with a "bombe" ice-cream sherbet. I didn't have this peony in my garden before, but I will as soon as I can dig a hole this morning. I need to find a prominent place for 'Raspberry Sundae' since she is very likely to soon become one of my favorites.
Wednesday, May 18, 2016
Globemaster Grumbling
'Globemaster' |
'Pinball Wizard' |
From my despair, I'd like to tell you that I at least learned something of the best variety of allium to plant in this region. Last summer, I appreciated the display put on by the few allium in my garden, and by those in other area gardens, and I resolved to add more to my garden. So last fall, I ordered and planted a number of new cultivars, including 'Ambassador', 'Pinball Wizard', 'Globemaster', and 'Gladiator'. Of those, 'Globemaster', the trio pictured at the right, all kept their heads and necks intact, blooming well, but those were the only alliums to bloom well in my garden this year. Is 'Globemaster' tougher than the others? I'd love to say "yes," but my scientific training tells me that my data is inconclusive. Not enough bulbs scattered around to form a valid opinion. These were just as exposed as the others, but perhaps they just got lucky.
'Gladiator' |
Is there any conclusion, any small thought or idea, that I can learn from this hail-ish experience? Because I'd like to not repeat the same mistake of spending wads of money, nursing dreams of beautiful allium through fall, winter and spring, feeling hope rise with the stems, taller and taller, only to be dashed alongside the broken leaves in an instant. Maybe, perhaps, just one.
Don't garden in Kansas.
Saturday, May 14, 2016
Cheerful Christopher Columbus
'Christopher Columbus' |
I've briefly mentioned his presence before, but 'Christopher Columbus' has been in this garden since the summer of its founding. I purchased him in 2001 from Heirloom Roses, a mere sprig of a rose with the virtue of a striped and cheerful disposition. He rests still where he was first planted, in a southern exposure with the protection of a large 'Josee' lilac to the west and a yet taller Viburnum lentago 'Nannyberry' to the north, both of which served to protect him from the earlier hail storm that smashed the rest of my garden. One of my few roses to bloom this year with some semblance of their normal abundance, I'll simply thank him for his survival over many years and thank Provenance for his protection this year.
'Christopher Columbus' has never topped 4 foot tall in my garden and grows almost as wide, about 3 feet in most years. The clustered, semi-double flat blooms are 2" in diameter, and I disagree with Internet sources that claim it is strongly fragrant; mine has only a very slight fragrance. He does repeat bloom, although sporadically and with less abundance over the summer. The foliage is dark green and completely blackspot and pest free in this environment. You have only to trim out the dead canes after each winter (which do seem to occur somewhat frequently even though he is cane-hardy in this marginally Zone 5 garden) to keep him looking his best. The stripes however, the pink and white stripes surrounding bright yellow stamens, are magnificent, every bloom unique and eye-catching when it first opens.
If you choose to acquire him, you must be careful for there are at least two 'Christopher Columbus'-named roses out there and both bred in the same year, 1992 of course, for the quincentenary of their more famous namesake's Atlantic crossing. One is an orange-blend hybrid tea introduced by Meilland, but my 'Christopher Columbus' is a floribunda introduced by Poulsen, also known under the aliases of Candy Cover, Dipper Hit®, Nashville™, and POUlbico. That's a lot of names for a rose bred from two unnamed seedlings. Nashville™ is its exhibition name, and it is known as Dipper Hit® within the PatioHit® Collection. With all these names you might wonder why I still call him 'Christopher Columbus', but the latter is the name I purchased him under. If you lust after his stripeness, just tell the nursery you want the striped 'Christopher Columbus'. But good luck finding him because right now he is only listed under a German nursery and even then under the 'Candy Cover' alias.
In the meantime, however, I feel only fortunate to observe 'Christopher Columbus' as it leaps into this brave new post-hail world and receives its fifteen minutes of fame. I appreciate it even as I know it is destined to fade back into my landscape until such time as it is thrust again into the forefront by a freak storm.
Tuesday, May 10, 2016
Snake Ninja
Well, that respite didn't last long. My winters in this Kansas garden seem long and harsh, but I number among my few blessings that the winters here are also relatively snake-free. I say relatively because there is always the chance that lifting a rock might expose a hibernating little milk snake. I actually saw my first snake this year, a small foot-long, pencil-thick, rat snake, about a month ago when I picked up a bag of mulch that had been lying in the yard in the sun for a week. That one was pretty sluggish on the still-cold ground, although I presume it had taken shelter under the bag because the plastic-bagged mulch was warmed by the sun and beginning to compost.
Two weeks ago, however, I spotted this rather large common garter snake (Thamnophis sirtalis) stretching out in the open grass while I was out with Bella. It was interesting that my nose-driven, curious and crazy dog did not notice this snake at all, dancing oblivious within several feet of it before I called her away. Can dogs not detect the scent of snake? I've seen Bella follow the exact track of another dog through our yard more than a half hour after the dog ran through it. But she can't smell a snake several feet away?
If you've read this blog for any long period, you know of my snake phobia. I hate them, but since I hate rodents more, I don't kill the snakes. Well at least not the non-poisonous ones and I have yet to run across a poisonous snake in my yard, although I'm sure there are plenty of Copperheads and Rattlesnakes in the vicinity. Thankfully for my mental stability, I most often find either rat snakes or these pretty orange-black-yellow Common Garters. This guy is likely an old one. Wikipedia lists their maximum length as around 54 inches and although he didn't stand still for measurement, he was at least 48 inches nose to tail. Based on my reading, he may be a Kansas record, but now I'll never know.
As I've noted before, frequent noxious exposure has conditioned me to moderate my response to the sight of a snake and I was calm and collected as I spotted the snake and got the clear picture above. As I went in for a closer shot of the head, however, the snake moved with ninja-like reptilian swiftness and I found myself looking at a coiled, ready to strike, four foot long snake from about 2 feet away. Mildly startled, I produced this moderately blurry image from an elevated position of spontaneous levitation. The snake was not moving, but I certainly was. Or perhaps the image is just blurred from my heart rate, which went from 60 to 200 faster than an Indy 500 race car. My primitive brainstem doesn't seem to care that my highly evolved human cerebral cortex knows this snake is nonpoisonous.
Discretion being the better part of valor, I chose at that point to stand still and watch from about 10 feet away while the snake uncoiled and swiftly slithered across the yard and disappeared into the irises, leaving me panting, and at the same time, a little sad. I had great hopes for the irises this year, but now they'll just have to survive summer as best they can on their own.
If you've read this blog for any long period, you know of my snake phobia. I hate them, but since I hate rodents more, I don't kill the snakes. Well at least not the non-poisonous ones and I have yet to run across a poisonous snake in my yard, although I'm sure there are plenty of Copperheads and Rattlesnakes in the vicinity. Thankfully for my mental stability, I most often find either rat snakes or these pretty orange-black-yellow Common Garters. This guy is likely an old one. Wikipedia lists their maximum length as around 54 inches and although he didn't stand still for measurement, he was at least 48 inches nose to tail. Based on my reading, he may be a Kansas record, but now I'll never know.
As I've noted before, frequent noxious exposure has conditioned me to moderate my response to the sight of a snake and I was calm and collected as I spotted the snake and got the clear picture above. As I went in for a closer shot of the head, however, the snake moved with ninja-like reptilian swiftness and I found myself looking at a coiled, ready to strike, four foot long snake from about 2 feet away. Mildly startled, I produced this moderately blurry image from an elevated position of spontaneous levitation. The snake was not moving, but I certainly was. Or perhaps the image is just blurred from my heart rate, which went from 60 to 200 faster than an Indy 500 race car. My primitive brainstem doesn't seem to care that my highly evolved human cerebral cortex knows this snake is nonpoisonous.
Discretion being the better part of valor, I chose at that point to stand still and watch from about 10 feet away while the snake uncoiled and swiftly slithered across the yard and disappeared into the irises, leaving me panting, and at the same time, a little sad. I had great hopes for the irises this year, but now they'll just have to survive summer as best they can on their own.
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