The Writing Spiders have grown large enough to make their presence known throughout the landscape. The yellow-and-black beauties that scrawl squiggles in their webs are probably about half grown now — big enough to spot, sited strategically among bean vines and trellised tomatoes. They know where the tasty bugs are to be found. I don’t argue with them, as long as they don’t cast their webs across the rows where I must walk. There’s nothing like a face full of spider silk to wake a sleepy gardener from her early morning harvesting tasks.
Butterflies continue to increase in numbers and species diversity — finally! The online butterfly group I follow seems to think they are the result of a second reproductive wave that has been vastly more successful than the first one. Whatever the reason, I am happy to see them animate my landscape as they float from zinnia to anise hyssop to abelia to coneflower.
Recently, flowers of one Purple Coneflower and one Black-eyed Susan morphed into blooms that looked as if they belonged in a Dr. Seuss book. A quick search of the Web revealed they were afflicted with a disease called Aster Yellows. This disease is spread by leafhoppers; they inject the responsible organism when they feed on the plants. No cures are available. To avoid spreading the disease, the experts advise removal of the plants — and disposal in the trash, not the compost pile.
The disease can affect over 300 plant species, and grasses and weeds can act as reservoirs for the disease. Two of the most likely weed reservoirs are plantains and dandelions, both of which abound in my “lawn.” Symptoms of the disease vary with the infected species, but the Dr. Seuss-like flower tops are apparently key clues. The infected coneflower also had green, sickly petals — another sign.
The leaves of the coneflower looked green and healthy, and even the flowers didn’t look too bad, just strange. However, the infected Black-eyed Susan was clearly sick. Like the coneflower, it had the strange growths in the centers of its flowers, but the leaves were also yellowing and dying.
I photographed the infected flowers and then disposed of them. The link above also notes that the infection can be spread between plants via dead-heading, if you don’t wipe off your clippers with alcohol between plants. The disease was probably isolated to only these two plants in my garden because I don’t dead-head coneflowers or rudbeckias. I prefer to let them set seed, so the goldfinches and other seed eaters can enjoy them.
The Poke Milkweed (Asclepias exaltata) that I planted last fall is blooming. Compared to the showier butterfly weed (Asclepias tuberosa) and swamp milkweed (Asclepias incarnata), it is a demure plant. But I find I like the pendulous pale pink flowers. Alas, so far its flowers have attracted more ants than bees or butterflies. Still, it’s there if the Monarchs manage to find my garden.
I’m picking tomatoes and beans daily again, now that the temperatures backed down to the low 90s and we’ve had some rain. And the basil is having an excellent year. I cut whole stems of it for a vase in the kitchen, so that Wonder Spouse has leaves handy as inspiration moves him to add them to his culinary masterpieces.
The rains have also inspired the weeds to new heights and numbers. Truly, a gardener’s work is never done. I do the best I can, as I observe and enjoy the comings and goings of flora and fauna through their seasonal dance.
The heat and humidity have begun to wear on plants as well as humans in my patch of Piedmont. I saw a notice from a local extension agent that dreaded basil mildew disease has been spotted. I think it held off longer than usual — as did most of the fungal diseases — because our June was unusually dry and hot.
July has brought heavy, but scattered rains, and lingering humidity and heat. Fungal diseases are certain to soon plague my tomatoes, and perhaps the beans. The vegetables, while still producing well, are looking a bit tired. Many flowers are still blooming well, which the abundant insects are clearly appreciating.
The nearly butterfly-free summer continues at my house. Iridescent members of the dragonfly clan dominate the thick air, causing me to worry about the fate of the few butterflies I am seeing. The rains have finally brought around a few butterflies, I’m happy to say.
No clouds of Eastern Tiger Swallowtails this year, but a few are passing through from time to time. Pearl Crescents (I think that’s what they are) are easily the most numerous butterflies on my flowers.
I spotted a couple of dark swallowtails over the last few days.
And this one high up on a dogwood yesterday was drying out after a bit of rain from the previous evening.
My happiest butterfly moment of the summer so far was this Red Admiral sunning itself on my driveway yesterday. This is the first one of this species I’ve seen all year.
More numerous — by a bit — than the butterflies are the sphinx moths, also called hummingbird moths, because their mostly clear wings vibrate as quickly as those of hummingbirds as they hover beside flowers to drink nectar. As an amateur photographer, I find them very frustrating to capture. But I’ve gotten a few almost decent shots over the last few days, if you’ll indulge me.
Yesterday, I saw one spread out on a tomato leaf sunning itself in the early dawn light. We had very heavy dew on the ground, and I think it was drying itself.
And a final profile shot as it rested on the tomato leaf:
I’ll close this photo post with a few flower shots to show you what the insects are enjoying.
The rain made the weeds explode into productivity, of course. My gardening to-do list grows ever longer, while my enthusiasm for working in the summer weather continues to wane. Still, for fresh-picked blueberries, juicy tomato sandwiches, and a dazzling array of pollinators, I’ll endeavor to keep up as best I can.
Stay cool and hydrated, ya’ll. Fall planting season will be here before we can turn around twice.
Anyone not sleep-walking through life is aware that Planet Earth is metamorphosing into a world never seen by humanity before. Rapid urbanization, consequent deforestation and habitat destruction, invading animals and plants, epic levels of environmental pollution – all are driven largely by human population growth that most experts believe is already well beyond sustainable levels. These enormous problems cannot be solved by legions of gardeners, but we can alleviate some of the burden, rather than add to it. To do so requires a radical shift in the thought processes of most gardeners, but I believe that shift is critical to the preservation of what is left of the blue-green orb we call Mother Earth.
Today as we residents of the United States celebrate the birth of our nation and its continued progress into a new century, I’m asking that its gardeners participate in a revolution of their own. I’m asking that we embrace a nation-wide paradigm shift for our yards and gardens that celebrates our American landscape, instead of attempting to force it to look like something it never was and never should be.
This post today was prompted by an article in the latest edition of a gardening magazine local to my region. The article was written by an acquaintance of mine – a woman who lived most of her life in New York, but retired to my area, embracing gardening so enthusiastically that she became a master gardener via North Carolina’s Agricultural Extension Service. She loves her garden, and I am delighted by her enthusiasm, but I am dismayed by the opinions she presents in this article.
The author argues that native plants aren’t necessarily better than non-native plants. Her point appears to be that some native plants are challenging to deal with, just as some non-natives are, and that we should make our landscaping choices based on what she calls “desirable” plants. In her view, it appears that desirable plants are those that don’t create work for her. In her ideal garden, she would banish Tulip Poplar trees because they produce many seeds. She would eliminate all Sweet Gums because the seed balls sully her landscape; she asserts that dogs eat the balls and get sick. She would also banish our native Dogwoods in favor of more disease-resistant Asian ones, eradicate Redbuds because they produce too many seeds, and she considers Virginia Creeper to be almost as annoying as Poison Ivy. Of course, the author is entitled to her opinion, but her article will be read by many and assumed to be authoritative. With respect, I must disagree with her assertions and conclusions.
Her article reflects an approach to American gardening that our planet can no longer sustain. If gardeners and homeowners continue to make plant choices based on convenience rather than ecological integrity, by the time their grandchildren are adults, healthy native ecosystems in our country will be relegated to a few carefully defended preserves.
To avoid an epic loss of species that may result in a breakdown of ecological processes that could affect everything from water quality to weather patterns to nutrient cycling, gardeners and landscapers in the United States must embrace a new American gardening paradigm, one that makes the ecological context of a property the guiding principal for all design choices.
The great thing about the United States is that our country is enormous. If you want to embrace the stark beauty of a desert landscape, you can live in the American Southwest. If you like open vistas with lots of sky, our central prairies were made for your home prairie grass-and-wildflower landscapes. And if you live on our east coast, your choices should be based on the forest ecosystems that evolved on this land over many hundreds of thousands of years. Forests always have openings, so your landscape can have sun-filled spots, if that is your preference. But fundamentally, for the sake of all the species that evolved together over great expanses of time, you must respect the plants that were here before you were.
In the southeastern US Piedmont region where I garden, our forest habitats comprise myriad unique ecosystems adapted to the subtleties of our terrain. North slope-facing forests differ from dry hilltops; floodplain forests differ from swamp forests, which differ from remnant Piedmont prairies. As American gardeners in the 21st century, our goal should be to recognize the native attributes of our landscape, then work to enhance them.
Rather than replacing natives we don’t like, we should supplement what is already present to enrich the landscape for wildlife while simultaneously creating a more beautiful and sustainable home oasis. Instead of attempting to impose your will on your landscape, embrace your environmental context and creatively adapt to it. Your plants will be beautiful and healthy, and your workload will be vastly lighter.
In my area, pollinators are a topic of growing concern. At the NC Botanical Garden in Chapel Hill, for example, many exhibits and presentations on native pollinators and non-native honeybees are available to the public throughout the summer. Pollinator populations are declining alarmingly in many areas. Numerous explanations for their disappearance are being offered. But one thing we know for sure: native pollinators that visit our crops and flowers evolved to exploit native plants. If the native plants are unavailable, the native pollinators have no incentive to stick around.
The Tulip Poplars, native Dogwoods, Redbuds, and yes, Virginia Creeper and Poison Ivy that the author of that article advises we eliminate from our landscape all provide food for native pollinators. Tulip Poplar honey from non-native honeybees is considered to be excellent by many. The seeds of those plants – and the Sweet Gum balls – provide essential food for many native bird species and other animals.
I tend five acres populated by large native canopy trees that include the species the author dismisses as unworthy. Abundant, diverse wildlife devours most of their seeds. Yes, I see some seedlings, but they don’t present a great nuisance. I spend far more time battling Japanese Stiltgrass and other non-native invasive species than I ever spend on pulling seedling trees. Frankly, I rejoice in the abundant seed production. It’s a sign that my land is healthy, fertile, and full of life.
There isn’t enough money in the world to persuade me to cut down the massive Sweet Gum beside my creek that draws large flocks of Cedar Waxwings and other birds all fall and winter. Their antics as they extract seeds from the dangling balls are entertaining to watch – and encouraging, because I know these birds can use my yard as a food source, and a haven from an increasingly hostile, unfamiliar landscape. And, for the record, I searched online for instances of dogs being harmed by ingesting Sweet Gum balls, and I couldn’t find any. My dogs had free reign over my seed-ball-laden landscape for decades without ever even seeming to notice them, much less eat them.
Gardening means getting your hands dirty. Yes, seedlings happen. Bird-planted Poison Ivy pops up all over my yard. My policy is to eliminate it from my few formal beds, my vegetable garden, and any areas where people are likely to brush up against it. Otherwise, I leave it alone. There’s no way I’d ever eradicate all Poison Ivy from my five acres, and there’s no reason to even try. As for Virginia Creeper, I think it’s lovely. Like Poison Ivy, if it’s not in my way, I leave it alone.
As we move more deeply into this new century, many of our old ways of doing things are no longer adaptive; many are downright destructive. Those of us who love the natural world, who delight in digging good earth, harvesting food we grow with our own hands, and beautifying our landscapes with fragrant and colorful flowers will be essential in leading the way to a new paradigm for American gardens.
I hope you will join me in understanding and partnering with our uniquely American native landscapes. It is time to cast aside the formal lawns and hedges of our European ancestors. This is the United States of America. It should be filled with American gardens that reflect and celebrate the native plants and animals that make our country special. By definition, that makes all our native plants desirable, because they evolved here, and are deeply integrated into the complex dance of living organisms that provide fertile soil and clean air and water.
Happy Birthday, USA. Long may our people – and our native landscapes – prosper.
For more information:
For more information on understanding the environmental context of your home landscape, consider these books:
- Bringing Nature Home: How You Can Sustain Wildlife with Native Plants by Douglas W. Tallamy
- The Living Landscape: Designing for Beauty and Biodiversity in the Home Garden by Rick Darke
Also consider taking advantage of classes and talks given at your local botanical gardens, agricultural extension programs, and museums. In my area, for example, here are just a few upcoming offerings:
- Garden Tours of a Pollinator Paradise Demonstration Garden
- A lecture on Pollinator Habitat Restoration in NC Botanical Garden Nature Preserves
- A Slide Show and Garden Walk Showing Common Native Bees
- A Pollinator Hike featuring Birds and Bees, Flowers and Trees
- Observing Butterflies as a Citizen Scientist
The Author of the Article Responds
The author of the article to which I refer above responded with a lengthy comment. I think the easiest way to respond is to add her comments — and my responses — here.
First, to answer a query made by this author, I have my blog set up so that I review all comments before they are published. This is the only way to ensure that spammers don’t get through. WordPress has an excellent spam filter, but it is not perfect. Second, I didn’t respond instantly, because yesterday was a national holiday and I was out enjoying it, rather than checking my computer.
Now let me sincerely apologize to the author for misremembering where she lived before moving to NC. She reminded me — twice — that she lived in Washington, DC, not NYC. She seems to think I was implying that I am prejudiced against folks from New York. I’m not. But many of the transplants who retire to my area are from New York, and I forget sometimes that not all of them are. It was a genuinely honest mistake on my part, and again, I apologize.
On to the author’s comments, which are italicized. My replies are in standard type:
I think you have misinterpreted my article. I am not against tulip poplars, poison ivy, Virginia creeper, and sweet gums in the landscape but I will continue to argue that these are undesirable plants and trees in our gardens.
OK, I think you are saying that these plants are fine in so-called natural areas, parks, etc., but that no one should desire them in their yards, because of the issues you mentioned — seediness, allergies, diseases. That’s what I thought you meant, and that’s what I disagree with.
I could never recommend to anyone that they should plant a sweet gum in their garden as the drawbacks are too many: I have had several friends who have had to rush their dogs to the emergency vet because their family pets ate them and they are extremely messy in a one acre garden. As Michelle Wallace, the Durham Extension Agent told me, they simply don’t belong in the urban or suburban landscape.
And again, I disagree. First, I am horrified to learn that family pets are eating Sweet Gum seed balls. However, I’ve lived here for almost six decades now, and I’ve never heard of this until you mentioned it. I’d need a lot more data documenting your assertion before I’d join you in dissuading folks from adding these trees to their home landscapes. With respect to extension agents, they are espousing — as I think you are — a 20th-century view of American yards and gardens. This perspective ignores the environmental context of the landscape, the fact that “natural areas” are disappearing entirely in increasingly urbanized landscapes, and the increasingly evident negative impacts such views are having on native populations of plants and animals.
I would argue that the tulip poplar is another one that doesn’t belong in the urban or suburban landscape because it is extraordinarily seedy, a quality that if exhibited in an exotic would deem that exotic as invasive.
Again, your perspective seems to imply a “man-versus-nature” attitude, wherein anything in nature that annoys humans should be eliminated. My post above was my assertion that this attitude is not appropriate for the realities of the 21st century. I asserted that our yards and gardens must change, must be integrated into the environment, if we have any hope of preserving species diversity, clean water and air, etc.
As for poison ivy, I don’t want to live with it. It’s that simple. Birds love it but I am highly allergic to it and I have a son who has to get a cortisone shot if he even looks at it. It isn’t simply an “inconvenient” plant but can affect our health. As for Virginia creeper, I really see very little difference between it and English ivy, a plant I think is dangerous and invasive.
I’m allergic to poison ivy too. That’s why I eliminate it from areas where I’m likely to bump into it. But it’s never going to disappear from any landscape unless you’re planning to kill every seed-eating bird that lands on your property. And it dismays me that you cannot perceive the difference between English ivy and Virginia Creeper.
I know you know that English ivy is a non-native invasive plant, because I remember when you read the paper I wrote about invasive species when we were both in the master of liberal studies program at Duke. I was delighted when, after you read that paper, you decided to eliminate English ivy from your home landscape. I am thus surprised that you can’t see how Virginia Creeper — a native vine — is different.
First, it’s not evergreen, so even when it climbs into trees, its additional biomass doesn’t add dangerous weight to the trees, as does English ivy. Likewise, because Virginia Creeper is deciduous, winter ice doesn’t accumulate on it — as happens with evergreen English ivy — so trees aren’t likely to topple from the weight of extra ice. I’ve lived here nearly six decades. I’ve never seen Virginia Creeper overwhelm a tree or shrub the way English ivy does. Ecologically speaking, Virginia Creeper is not invasive in the Piedmont region of North Carolina. I am perplexed that you deem it to be equivalent to English ivy.
You have the luxury of having five acres but most of us have much smaller gardens and have to be selective in what we plant. I love roses, am concentrating on growing sustainable roses. I see no reason to limit myself to native American species roses. I don’t spray my roses and do not grow hybrid teas but I see no reason to deprive myself of growing Rosa bhaksiae, a species rose that is native to China. I also love the China tea roses and have them in my garden where they mind their business.
I grow non-invasive non-native plants too. I would never tell anyone to eschew a plant simply because it’s not native. And I don’t think my post above implies otherwise. Again, your use of the word “selective” I believe harkens back to my point about 20th-century thinking. My post advocated a new gardening/landscaping paradigm for this new century — one that acknowledges the increasingly tenuous health of remaining native ecosystems world-wide. One that suggests that home gardens and landscapes can respond to this situation by helping save what is left, rather than actively choosing to eliminate it.
As for “native” plants, I tend to agree with Tony Avent who argues that it can be very hard to determine what is a native plant. Should we stop growing okra because it originated in Africa? Okra has a long cultural history in this country and is part of the Louisiana cuisine. I do think we have to be very careful in selecting the plants that go into our garden but I am not going to limit myself to “native” plants. I love redbuds but I also love my Cornus kousa and as a Master Gardener I would never recommend our Cornus florida because it is so susceptible to anthracnose. I would recommend the Rutgers cultivars but they are stronger because they contain genetic material from C. kousa–so I would argue that perhaps they were not “native.” If you note, much of my argument was that it is extremely difficult to determine what is a “native” plant. Some would argue that growing Magnolia grandiflora in the Piedmont is favoring an exotic because it is native to just one small area in eastern North Carolina.
Yes, Tony Avent pulls out that argument about one’s inability to define natives frequently. When I interviewed him for that paper I mentioned on invasive plants, he argued that in Earth’s past, all land was one supercontinent — Pangea — so all plants were all part of the same land mass, and therefore all native. I feel confident that any ecologist on earth would find this notion absurd. Using the most conservative estimate I can find, Pangea broke apart into the ocean-separated continents we know today about 174 million years ago.
Yes, it is true that you can find members of the same genus that are native to Asia and to North America. But they are different species; they evolved in association with many other species in unique ecosystems that are not the same on the two continents. That’s why many of our most invasive plants are native to Asia. They are adapted to our growing conditions, but because they evolved on another continent, the animals/diseases/plants they evolved with are not present here, so there is nothing to hold them in check. Hence, their invasive status here.
And, of course, plants long cultivated for food, medicine, materials, etc. will continue to be grown wherever they are needed, regardless of their distant original native contexts. The challenge, I believe, in growing agricultural crops in the 21st century, is to find ways to integrate them into the landscape as much as possible, minimizing the use of chemicals and genetically modified materials that have been shown to damage adjacent native ecosystems.
The point I attempted to make in my post is that we can no longer afford to make gardening/landscaping choices without considering the ecological integrity of the land. If you eradicate all Tulip Poplars and Sweet Gums from suburban and urban areas, all the insects, birds, etc. that rely on those species have nowhere to go. If you haven’t read Dr. Tallamy’s book that I reference at the end of my post, I encourage you to do so. He delineates these issues in great detail.
Thus, the argument is not about how one defines a native plant. The argument is about whether a given plant will be recognized and function as a viable member of the ecological community you create in your home landscape. If nothing eats it, it is occupying space that an ecologically integrated plant — one that serves more than an aesthetic function in your landscape — could take.
Honey bees are not native to the US but I don’t think there are people calling for the US to rid itself of honey bees. Exotic species, like the honey bees, can have a positive effect on our local environment.
Again, I don’t recall advocating for the eradication of honey bees. I did advocate for not eradicating native species because they are deemed “undesirable” by 20th-century gardening standards that I believe are a threat to the future of the health of our planet. In this new century, I think we must revise our thinking, recognize that in a world of rapidly dwindling healthy ecosystems, every back yard — no matter how small — can be part of the problem, or part of the solution. Every back yard, every garden can contribute to the health of our planet by better integrating into its native environmental context. Yes, we will always grow our favorite non-native plants. But I respectfully ask that you please reconsider advocating the elimination of native species because you find them inconvenient.
I’m sorry that you found my article so offensive but I do think there is more than one side to this argument. I stand by what I said: I would like the dialogue to be more about desirable and undesirable plants–and the sweet gum is a highly undesirable tree in the urban and suburban landscape.
Your article did not offend me; it disheartened me, because it reflects an attitude that I believe is a direct threat to the future health of the native ecosystems remaining on our planet. That’s why I felt compelled to suggest a different approach. I know it’s a big leap for many traditional gardeners and landscapers. However, I believe this shift in thinking from defining plant choices by their desirability to choosing plants that are well-integrated into the environmental context of the landscape is our best chance for preserving water and air quality by maintaining the viability of native ecosystems.
And, again everyone, she’s from DC, not New York. My apologies again for misremembering.
This summer growing season has been a tough one for me. It started out slowly, because colder-than-normal temperatures lingered into early May. Then it stopped raining at my house for six weeks. During that time, my garden never saw more than two-tenths of an inch of rain, and that only every few weeks. We’re talking dust bowl. Add June temperatures that — for 16 days in a row — hit 90 degrees or better, with several well into the low 100s, and you’ve got seriously stressed vegetables.
My zucchinis quickly expired. One day they were lush and productive; the next day they were wilted and dying. When I pulled them, they had almost no roots. I’m fairly certain the voles did them in. They also got one of my Carmen Italian pepper plants in the same bed. I’ve still got three pepper plants surviving, I’m happy to report.
Finally, a few days ago in 48 hours, we got 3.5 inches of blessed precipitation. A tiny bit of dime-sized hail also hit us, but not enough to hurt anything severely. Strong thunderstorm winds also knocked things around a bit, but again, nothing that a bit of re-staking couldn’t repair.
My beans and tomatoes had quit growing when the heat wave/drought hit. I was keeping them alive by doling out my limited supply of water every other day, but they were not happy plants. Then the rains finally came, and you could hear the beans shouting, “Yippee!”
In the foreground of the photo above, you see the bean trellis. My Fortex pole beans on the right side have scaled the top of the trellis and are heading back down the other side. I grow Jade bush beans on the left side of the trellis. I long ago learned that so-called bush beans are not really bushy, by which I mean they don’t stand sturdily upright on their own. You must provide some kind of support. The simplest solution for me is to grow them on either side of a trellis and gently tie them to it as they grow tall and floppy.
I have grown the same two varieties of beans for a number of years. I’ve tried plenty of others, but I haven’t found any that match the consistent quality of Jade and Fortex. The Jades produce a typical-looking green bean — a deep Jade green color. The flavor is rich, but lighter than the meatier flavor of Fortex pole beans. We eat them both lightly steamed, and the Jades are excellent cold in salads. This time of year, we eat beans almost every night — not just because we have so many, but also because they taste so darn good.
We’re also eating tomatoes every day. This year, I limited myself to only four varieties (in my youthful years, I’d grow 8-10 varieties):
- Sweet Treats — the only cherry type I’ve grown for a while now. It is just too perfect to replace.
- La Roma II — this paste type is the latest version of a Roma. It is more disease-resistant, astonishingly productive, and this determinate tomato stays short, but bushes out in all directions to produce a fabulous abundance of fruits. The foliage grows so dense as the fruits ripen that I can’t take a decent photo of ripe fruits on the vine. The one above was taken before the leaves covered the developing fruits.
- Early Blue Ribbon — this was a new one for me this year. I always try one early slicer type, always eager for summer tomato sandwiches as soon as possible. This one has been OK, but I won’t grow it again. My quest for an irresistibly tasty early tomato continues.
- Amelia — this is the larger slicer type I’m trying this year. The fruits are only now beginning to redden. I think the heat wave stopped them in their tracks for a while. They look promising, but our taste buds will be the final arbiters of this tomato variety’s future in our garden.
I still have a few sad-looking carrot and beet plants in the ground, but the heat wave really pounded them. I’ll be amazed if they produce anything edible.
Wonder Spouse has not pulled his potatoes yet. The Purple Vikings still look vigorous, despite the heat. The Kipfel fingerlings and the Dazocs are looking kind of ragged. Wonder Spouse is planning to dig into them this weekend to get a sense of their tuber size and condition. Stay tuned for further developments.
The flowers I grew from seed have hung in remarkably well with very little water from me. Some of the perennials are actually going to bloom this year, which doesn’t always happen.
Early cold combined with prolonged heat and drought have very negatively impacted my large butterfly population. Finally, in the last two days, I’ve begun to see just a few, very ragged-looking larger butterflies. Here’s hoping their number — and appearance — improve soon.
Have a great Fourth of July, ya’ll.
It’s too hot to garden, too hot to write, too hot to think — basically too hot for anything but drinking iced drinks and moaning softly. Still, before the sun tops the trees on my eastern border, I drag myself out for a few quick photos. I figure if the daylilies and the animals are still making an effort, I must also. Thus, this homage to the newbies.
This one does like a bit of extra water, which is why I planted it at the base of the water feature.
Joan Senior is a ruffled white beauty that stands up to the heat remarkably well.
This very tall daylily is blooming profusely without the benefit of any extra water from me. Amazing.
This elegant tall spider daylily is having a great year because I actually managed to weed around it. Small victories. Baby steps.
When I stop paying attention, most of the daylilies set seed. When I really stop paying attention (say, during prolonged heat waves), those seeds actually mature, fall to the ground, and germinate. Given the location of this volunteer cross, we are guessing its parents were Red Toy —
— and Brocaded Gown.
A number of the other daylilies I’ve shown you previously are still pushing out blooms, but the flowers aren’t even lasting a full day, due to heat/drought stress.
The weather seers are promising dramatic relief by the weekend. Here’s hoping they get it right this time.
Stay cool, ya’ll.
As is my daily custom this time of year, three days ago, I climbed the hill to my vegetable garden before the sun topped the trees to glare down on my thirsty charges. I toted my camera in my harvest basket, in case something photo-worthy appeared. I was glad I had done so when I approached the garden gate and spied this fellow impatiently waiting for me, his neck outstretched as he puzzled over how to get past the pot I use to block the bottom of the gate. “It’s about time you showed up,” he grumbled. “The early turtle catches the worm, you know.”
“Good morning, Sir Turtle,” I replied. “I thought that axiom applied to birds, but if it’s worms you’re after, you’ll likely find more down on the floodplain. That’s where the Red-shouldered Hawks hunt for them. Are you sure you weren’t perhaps interested in something else in my garden?”
“Water,” he replied. “I smell water in the green things growing in there. I was hoping you would share.”
“Ah, now we’re down to it, aren’t we, sir? You aren’t the only creature interested in the growing food I’m trying to coax through this heat and drought. I actually put that pot there to deter the bunnies I meet often – right where you’re standing – their noses wiggling, ears erect, as they imagine gorging themselves on the fruits of my labor.” Sir Turtle snorted, “Bunnies are idiots, and notoriously greedy. If you let me in, I promise you won’t even know I’ve been there.”
I thought about it briefly, then shook my head. “I’m sorry, sir, but I don’t think it’s wise for me to trust your discretion in this matter. First, you would find yourself trapped within the fence — just as there’s no way in for you, there is also no way out.” “Second, you have a lean and hungry look in those red eyes of yours. I don’t think you could stop yourself from munching on low-hanging green beans, ripe tomatoes, and succulent squash fruits. Would you munch my drought-stressed parsley too? And the carrot and beet greens valiantly struggling to fill out their roots below in the parched earth? Would you nibble my zinnias, or perhaps my nasturtiums? It’s not a large garden. I’m afraid I just don’t have anything to spare, especially given our sky’s unwillingness to rain.” Sir Turtle pulled his head half way into his shell and studied me. “If it’s rain you want, I can help. If you open the gate and let me in, I’ll pull some strings and summon showers.” “I don’t know, Sir Turtle,” I replied. “You’re a land creature, not a water beast like your Snapper cousins who dwell in the muddy creek bottom. What sort of influence do you have with rain gods?”
“Trust me, old woman. Let me in, and I will call the rain.”
Frankly, I doubted his claim of watery influence. After all, the Yellow-billed Cuckoos called at the appearance of every juicy cloud that passed nearby, but the clouds did not come. The Copes Gray Tree Frogs chorused lustily every time a cloud darkened the sky or the humidity rose a bit. Same for the Narrow-mouthed Toads whose nasal drones rattled the windows as they sat around our front pond and begged the clouds for mercy. If these known rain-callers remained unsuccessful, I could not imagine that a dusty-shelled box turtle could do any better. “I’m sorry, Sir Turtle. I just can’t bear the thought of you eating your way through my little vegetable patch. I must respectfully decline your request.” I gently moved the pot out of the way, opened the gate enough to squeeze through, and closed it behind me.
Sir Turtle turned his back on me, but before he scuttled off through the dry grass, he paused to make his parting pronouncement. “You shall pay for your lack of generosity, old woman. The dawn of the Summer Solstice will greet you with a prolonged round of heat and drought, the likes of which will make you long for the weather of previous weeks. Old Sol will burn your tender green babies and drain your shallow well into muddy uselessness.” “You may well be right, Sir Turtle,” I replied. “Such is the lot of gardeners everywhere. We sow, feed, weed, and water as best we can. We rejoice in the good years, and weep at the bad years of whimsical weather patterns, reminded always that we are not in charge of our little green kingdoms, merely caretakers. Good day, Sir Turtle. May we all be blessed with what we need to flourish.”