Devine Datura

Datura (Bergmansia)

At last my carefully tended Datura has bestowed upon us a pale pink baby. What a beautiful flower to so demurely face downward.  If I had such perfection I would proudly throw my face skyward for all to see.

This robust new plant, whose alias is Bergmansia, is growing strong and tall, bursting at the seams with new buds after seeing the success of its firstborn.

Having shed its first leaves, those that came to life in the protection of a sheltered propagating fortress, its latest green wardrobe consists of a sturdy, tougher surface; one that can withstand scorching sun and prickly little bird feet.

A giant, shelled aphid enjoyed chewing on the first leaves but these newer prototypes repel the perpetrator, clever plant.  The tough as nails Datura-eater has had its day.  It can take its triangular roman shield of a body elsewhere!

There is promise of great things to come from this beautiful resident.  We have an unspoken contract between us.  I will give it shelter for the winter, and it will perform its magic show each summer, thrilling spectators as they pass by, cameras clutched at the ready.

This shy blossom has been tied upwards

 

Now it faces eveyone

Carefully swaddled

 

Our fence cat keeps guard

 

 

Garden Walkabout

 

Each day I am driven to seek my dose of garden.  Surely every drip from a plant I've just shared my last drop of tea with is a whispered "mmmnnnn, thank you" for my ears alone, and as I pass by a bowing bush it's stroke must be a personal welcome.

We have an understanding, my garden and I.  If I listen and feel very carefully, it makes me aware of the slightest nuances.  A close study of the baby willow tree, taking in her slightly curling new leaves, may lead me to discover a new farmed colony of aphids; their presence as a lightly undulating small black mass coming into focus under my scrutiny.  This would be short-lived.  The ant farmers would need to find a less permanent homestead.

My daily walkabout can't be hurried.  There are nooks and crannies I need to keep an eye on.  Are slugs at the salad bar my pansies provide?  Did Solly the cat pick right where I tucked in the baby lavender to dig about? 

Today I was anxious to check the new Datura.  It has promised me a spectacular sight the day it chooses to unfurl those long, exhibitionist flowers.  But today is not that day. It waits behind the newborn stargazer lilies, like a jet plane waiting its turn for takeoff. 

But what an act to follow!  The stargazer lilies are in a class of their own.  Huge, stunning, curled petals striped in pink and white, fastened like a floral bow on a gift. Petals bending backwards as gracefully as a gymnast, they face the sun and stars proudly, their potent orange stamens proudly thrusting out from the middle of their stage.

Yes this walkabout was as delightful as usual.  Can’t wait for tomorrow!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Goodbye Lobelia.




 

Lobelia, you did your best to prolong your delicate blooms, but we all know your time to shine is long gone.  With a pouty-lipped flower in a palette of blue, you coated your corners of flower boxes with panache.  Racing the alyssum to maturity, you spent your energy on quantity, sending out a prolific bouquet of tiny landing pads for specific lobelia-bees.  They frolicked amid your bountiful offerings, and even now, in your sunset days, you provide your faithful fans with final flourishes of late-comer blossoms.  We will miss your reaching arms full of offerings, but never fear, there is always next year.

To the compost you will be relegated.  I know your seeds will do you proud.  Wherever I spread the spring layers of compost your offspring will carry on, racing to provide their welcome color and hidden scent to creatures with far more sophisticated senses than this mere human.

All done.

Former glory

Damage Control in the Garden

I think this little duck was protecting itself from the smoke!

Damage control in the garden community today.  On my walkabout I immediately smelled trouble, literally.  The heavy fumes of a cigarette permeated the air.  On occasion there are wafts of smoke from the neighbour, but we all have to live with that, the plants and us.  No this time it was a smoker at the front gate.  Fancy admiring a garden yet unwittingly harming it?  By the time I reached that far the smoker had moved on by. 

Out of the corner of my eye I'm sure I saw the perennial alyssum, trapped in the gate planter, squirming uncomfortably.  I believe it was gasping for air, the smoke fumes still menacingly spiraling about it.  And to add insult to injury, there, shoved missile-like into her meager allotment of soil, was a still-smoking butt!  The poor plant looked like it was trying to tuck its little roots as far away as it could.

After disarming the offending stub, I added some unpolluted earth to try to mollify the shaken alyssum, to gently nudge it to relax its little root hairs. I practically had to promise it immunity from future smokers for heaven's sake!

Did you know that persistent smoking around plants can actually kill them?  Surprise, surprise!

Alyssum leaning away from its nemesis! Solly is curious.



Spider Zip-Lines

 

Just a little guy



Oh those late-summer spiders and their obsession with stringing up zip lines across the garden path.  And I fall for it every time.  I will stride out the door and collect ribbons of web across my face before I take two steps. I know they are smart animals, but their ambition surely exceeds their talents! Who else but someone my size do they expect to barge into those skinny guy-wires anyway?  What a wasted effort!  Maybe they are so exuberant at this time of year they can't help themselves from spinning, and there's nowhere else to tape their long excess strands. 

If I do catch one of the webs, I try to relocate it. With one finger I scoop up an end and re-attach it to a more appropriate tether, hoping to impress the owner with a site that promises a more attainable goal!

Nevertheless it seems that the seasonal spider madness eventually works itself out.   By autumn their spinning becomes much more professional, and positively artistic, decorating anything that stays still long enough. 

But more on the web artisans later. That form of art deserves it's own blog and I'm satisfied those zip lines I will be finding soon will be a short lived passion for the up and coming generation of spiders as always.

one of the single practice strands

After The Storm



a garden whimsy

I take a deep breath.  There's nothing like the air in my garden first thing in the morning after the rain.  It should be bottled. There would be no more desire for everyday perfumes.  A whiff of damp soil, a touch of the garden's humid breath. The flowers exhale after a storm, releasing tendrils of scent to be carried in the gentle funnels of freshness, felt as you just stand there.

The birds, of course, take all this magic in their stride. Although there's a certain lilt to their voices as they take advantage of the bounty temporarily available to them.  Unabashed, they glide down to land inches from my perch on the stoop, and cock their heads, listening for a worm now close to the surface but invisible to me. Then a stab and a yank! One more hapless worm pulled unwillingly from its precarious shelter, it's only defense to stretch like an elastic, snapping out of the ground with a pop.

Babies in nests  throughout the garden can be heard gorging on the after-rain treats, "cheep, cheep, more, more!!!"

I spy little reservoirs of rain supplying all and sundry with precious summer water.  In  sheltering flowers all manner of bugs are gauging whether it's safe to leave, wary of the crushing droplets in the rain.

One more deep breath before I get back to my guests' breakfast, so clutching my bounty of edible flowers, I will reluctantly leave my magical moment.

bugs' summer watering holes

bug taking shelter

lily with water drops

 

Carried On the Wind

 

There's the promise of a storm in the gusty air today. Everyone in the garden is excited, flapping their various leaves or wings in a common anticipation.  There's a general understanding that loosely attached bits and pieces will be whisked away, so now is the time to clean up finished hangers-on, like spent flowers or discarded leaves.

Those little white butterflies are behaving like flotsam in a stormy sea. Their usual semi-controlled fluttering is now at the mercy of a playful breeze.  Their efforts to choose their own direction are persistently stymied by gust after gust. It limits them to a sort of drunken lunging with one step forward and two steps back. If you ask me they should all grab onto something and wait it out!

The old cat Solly, who rarely deigns to move faster than a slow trot, is making the odd leap after absolutely nothing, uncharacteristically hyped up in spite of herself. I think she just embarrassed herself and is now turning her back on me trying to save her dignity.

If I were a bird right now I'd be clinging to the most bouncy branch singing, "whoo-hoo!,,,"



I think I can!

He's on the upper left.  Click on this picture

Phew!

Poor little butterfly was quite exhausted by the time he could grasp his lilac.  See him in the middle picture upper left?  click on pictures to enlarge them.

 

 

 

Crowded Airspace

I've never been in an airport with quite as crowded an airspace as the centre of our garden.  Biplane dragonflies zig-zag back and forth snapping up little gnats with barely a disturbance in their drills. Meanwhile those same gnats, with their ever-present crowd-mentality, continue to swirl in funnels in shafts of sunlight, never missing a beat when the dragonflies swoop through them.

Charging through the busy milieu are the bee commuters in ones and twos, traveling invisible freeways on their way to workstations throughout the garden. Of all the flyers in this hub, bees are most likely to crash. I think they are so OCD that their minds are one-tracked. Get the nectar, get it home. In the meantime, while they furiously tuck pollen balls into their leggings, their minds are not on a flight path. They sometimes careen into me with barely a "how do you do", and assuming they miss me, with their hormones raging into their stingers, they wobble their way back on track, grumbling at the lousy driver that just whacked them!

Throw in the various songbirds that inhabit our little Eden, and you can see how populated the higher realm of the landscape becomes. Next time you relax in a garden, look up into dappled patches of sunlight and let your eyes really see. There can't be any mood-enhancing drugs to compete with the endorphins released by giving yourself a dose of Nature's design.

 

 

Two species in the flight battalions above our garden!

 

Marvelous Mimosa

My dear Mimosa tree lifts my spirits every time I take in its beauty. Its gently waving, delicate fronds lift at the slightest breeze.  Its umbrella-like countenance makes such a pleasing vision.

When I first brought it home the poor little thing was just like a Charlie Brown tree.  Just two little antlers on a lanky, knobbly stem.  But I knew there were great things in store for my Mimosa.  Now in its third year, you'd hardly recognize it.  With a stunning grace, its beauty goes unmatched.

Do you remember in the movie Avatar how the Tree of Life's seeds floated through the air to land on the hero? Those seeds looked like dandelion wisps, only upside down. Well Mimosa's flowers are exactly the same. They are pink and fluffy, and they perch on the top canopy like sunbathers worshiping the sun!  The producers of Avatar surely must have got their inspiration from the Mimosa.

All passers-by whip out their cameras to catch my beautiful specimen tree at its best.  It discreetly hails people with gentle dipping and bowing. "What is that tree?", they ask.  I nonchallantly answer, "Oh that. Why a Mimosa of course!", though I am secretly thrilled with each person who simply must know.  I'm sure I detect envy, and I lap it up.

Have a look below. You will see why Mimosa has caught my heart and my imagination.

See the little antlers sticking up behind the lilac tree?

two mimosa flowers

 

a close up of a branch with flowers.

 

 And finally the widespread canopy.  See the lilac to its left?  No contest now!

 

By the way, the first picture shows my unruly Montana clematis from another post.

 

Click on a picture to see it bigger.

 

 

All the voices of the garden

Is there a more perfect pitch than heard in a garden's song? The drip, drip of a sated plant box long after a generous watering, casually splashing on the flowers below? I swear it's like a roman courtier tipping wine to a reclining Caesar.

If those ever-fluttering little white butterflies could speak, they would be hurriedly repeating, "I'm late, I'm late, for a very important date!" As they dizzyingly whip about.

And the birds! Have you ever been in the company of a clutch of close friends as they converse, one over the other, in multiple layers of conversation? I'm not sure any of the birds actually listen to all the chatter of each other. I think, like some people, they just like to announce their opinions. But to me, it's an orchestra performing just for my pleasure.

Now I think the bees and like-minded creatures have the most pleasing of voices. Their varying buzzes, hums and whines tell stories of their own. Sometimes one gets cross, unable to force a snapdragon's mouth open without sheer brute strength.  But its angry high pitch becomes a satisfied hum as it finally reaches the nectar. See my blog on the snapdragon for a story about the trapped bee!

Bees fight too, like those territorial little hummingbirds.  I've seen them dive-bomb each other with Kung-fu yells; "zzzzttt", and "vvrrreeee!!!", vying for a particular blossom. But the satisfied purr of a multi-national gathering of bees on a bush that is in a perfect state of ripeness is a delight to listen to.  So wrapped up are the delegates that you can literally poke your face close and they hardly notice.

Free the Roses!

 

 

I think my lovely, but captive yellow roses have found an escape. Just the other day I was ruminating about what a shame it is for these elite factory roses never to have faced the sun, or to have felt the gentle caress of a multitude of pollinators. Instead they were bred and raised in captivity, force fed and given hormones.  Given by lovely friends with the best of intentions, my heart goes out to these darlings.

My earlier blog, A Rose Is Not A Rose, touched on this topic when I related my rose-attack incident. No truly, I forgive the Tree Rose. But it seems that these dear yellow roses were inspired by my words, as I talked of the freedom our garden roses enjoy.

 I was just about to relegate them to the compost, to at least give them a dignified end, when my eye caught two delicious healthy green shoots, one on each stem! Delighted, I quickly thrust them back into fresh water and plotted where in the garden would give them the best fighting chance at survival.

I can't wait to watch them thrive in Nature's embrace. I hope they will experience the warm breezes and come alive with the little footsteps of bugs, and the gentle strokes of bees.

 

The beautiful roses as a gift.                                            See the growth on the stem to the right?

Let's see how they do with their bare feet in the soil, and their skin in the breeze!!!

Honey Bird

At least that's what our daughter used to call Hummingbirds!  I think it's quite appropriate. After all, they drink nectar and hover over flowers. I'm a little suspicious that they are actually fairies though. Have you ever had a close encounter with one? Totally magical.

Come take a little journey with me to one day a while ago when a little hummingbird and I had a moment.

I was in my usual pose;  long summer dress, garden hat, and the hose in my hand sprinkling a garden bed.  I don't think the neighbors would recognize me any other way! Deep in reflection, I became aware of the familiar buzz and "chit, chit" of a hummingbird close by. I was loathe to move because you never know how close they will come. Then zoom, this totsy little bird zipped through the spray from my sprinkler!  I froze trying not to attract attention, just in case it wasn't an accident. But again it dashed through the spray, then to my astonishment landed right on my two foot watering wand, just inches from my hand.

I gently chatted with this juvenile sweetie while it preened without a care in the world. In the corner of my eye I knew the flower bed was drowning in the spray as I didn't dare move lest this magical visitor should leave.  Then as though sensing my distraction, the bird jumped off the hose to alight on a willow branch just two feet away. There it continued to preen and ruffle. Cheekily I flicked the water up over him, and he simply spread his wings to bathe some more!

As my fairy friend got back to work on the butterfly bush next to me, the mundane world came back into focus, and I realized some guests had arrived to witness this amazing moment.

I have to add to this blog that, as I write, I have had a visit from another hummingbird. It flew up beside me and stared at me from only 18 inches away. I greeted it, and it danced sideways in a semi-circle, stopping every few inches to have another look right into my eyes. Positively inspiring.  And I think I got the official okay for this blog.

In the very centre of this picture is a hummingbird sitting on a Crocosmia.  Click on the picture for a close look!  Thank you to our daughter for the picture.  They wouldn't let me catch them on film today.



Snappish Snapdragon

On a recent summer morning, as I glided through the garden in search of just the right flowers and herbs to adorn the breakfast dishes, I was distracted by a frantic whine. With my ear to the ground (or flowers if you like), I zeroed in on the high-pitched buzzing, as it had now become more of a fluttering frenzy. The hullabaloo was definitely coming from a snapdragon plant.

I gingerly poked my face in and around clusters of flowers, wondering how I was missing what I realized at this point was obviously a very upset bee. Other busy workers dipped and looped about, going about their daily chores as though they were all in an intricately choreographed ballet.  Knowing I could very definitely upset the apple-cart, so to speak, I gently pulled an unoccupied cluster of flowers closer as I had identified the problem. Well, I use the word "unoccupied" loosely. Certainly there were no pollinators right there, but just visible through a snapdragon flower was  a shadowy, vibrating, panick-stricken little bee, stuck inside!

The flower must have clamped shut its mouth and was refusing to let the bee out! In fact I'm sure it was smirking at how clever it was.  I took matters into my own hands, literally.  Very gently grasping the flower's gullet, I squeezed until the snapdragon was forced to pop open.  Out shot the exasperated and decidedly ungrateful bee. She soared up to the sky putting as much distance between us as her little wings could deliver.  Buzzzzzzzzz.... She was loaded with pollen from her cramped overnight rumble, and in a big hurry to unload!

Now I am reflecting on what a good job it is that I grew up in bountiful gardens and learned how to "snap" open a snapdragon!



  

So the first picture is the snapdragon flower with its lips tightly shut, being ornery, and in the second picture, my fingers have squeezed it open.  See the whole top is agape.  No picture of bee escaping I'm afraid.

My Lady Clematis

What can I say about a time-honoured lady such as Clematis Montana?  The trellis-work comes alive in early spring with elaborate displays of this climber.  A blanket of starry blooms hugs the length of growing vine and blankets the hefty canopy on top. With very little care, it chases itself up supports each year to provide shade, scent and colour.  At its zenith of growth during summer, I can be found up a ladder almost weekly tucking the straining ends into the trellis atop the arbor, and hacking at its out-of-control growth. Today as you may have guessed, is one of those ladder days.  I’d rather be under the tangle of clematis than in the scorching heat.  

As I reach for a spot to make my cut, the growing tendrils appear to strain skyward wrapping around each other in pyramids, trying to escape.  I trim this healthy plant a third of the way down the trellis each spring.  It’s a compromise I’ve come to with the complicated diversity of instructions usually found for each and every species.  However it seems that all summer I’m trying to tame my clematis.  I almost need a whip and a chair!  Oh Clematis, your enthusiasm knows no bounds. 

Covered in bits and pieces after my battle, I will carefully remove the trimmings below.  After all I must also look after the colourful annuals there, carefully positioned like handmaidens to cool My Lady’s feet.

No picture of my present clematis in spring, but here is a Nellie Moser from long ago.  Not so uncontrollable, and quite a show-off!



A Rose is Not a Rose

All roses are not created equally.  I recently received two beautiful yellow roses from lovely lady friends, and they were given in an honest expression of friendship.  Nevertheless I can’t help but compare these stiff, unemotional, perfect flowers with the rambunctious, bossy roses that live in my garden.

 

Granted the grand rose I call my Tree Rose is a very old lady, and she was here before I came.  I can’t shake the feeling that she is forever bedeviling me just because I thought she was a goner when I arrived here, and I almost relegated her to the Township compost dump.  After all, her motley thorned bones were a mix of grey and brown scabs, and not an inkling of life was showing.

Luckily for her, my husband insisted we give her a try, although I’m convinced he was afraid of her thorns and preferred ME to handle her than him!  To make a long story short, I stuck her unceremoniously into the garden in a sunny spot and regularly watered this thorny stick.  To my utmost surprise, she started an amazingly strong shoot, and to this day has never turned back.

However there is no befriending this grumpy old lady.  She insists I don’t touch her stalks or she will poke me, so that when I have to cut down her spent blooms I need to balance on one foot to reach, and only my pruners may touch her.  I’m sure she chuckles as I wobble, reaching for her tall peaks.  She waits for the day I fall into her prickly embrace, from which she wouldn’t release me until someone rescued me.  I’d be screaming, getting more stuck with every move.  What she doesn’t seem to realize is that most of her limbs would need to be cut to free me!! 

There was a time recently that I forgot myself and grabbed her stalk for balance.  She instantly stabbed my finger right through my garden glove!  I ended up at the doctor with that one.  Her thorn was so strong and hooked I thought I’d been poisoned so I got a tetanus shot just in case.  My finger was very sore for a couple of weeks!   And it was my middle right finger! 

Ah well, I must live with my guilt, and she does reward

us with wafting perfume and giant blooms.  Here is a picture of her.  She looks quite innocent and regal doesn’t she?  Well don’t let her fool you.  A rose is not a rose is not a rose!

Pictures of the Tree Rose flowers and its gnarly old stem!

 







A Moment With Royalty

The Echinacea is wearing a butterfly fascinator today!  It is jauntily placed just so on her soft petals.  What a perfect Monarch it is, daintily poking its proboscis into the bristly brown centre of the flower.  Echinacea is used for increasing immunity when prepared just so, but I find that merely being in the presence of it lifts my mood, so surely also my immunities!  Known as a purple coneflower, I find the common name beneath her.  I prefer the regal “Echinacea”.  It brings royalty to mind.  I think I will spend a little while with this beauty today.

See the Echinacea in the top right corner?  I didn't catch the butterfly, but here is a picture from another time...

 

My notes on Echinacea include the following, but I am not a professional so just use this for interest!  You should consult further if you plan to use it.

The root is most effective.  It is an immune system stimulant at 1 gram of dried root three times a day for 3 months!  Take a piece of fresh root, wash and cut into tiny pieces.  Boil it in water for 15 min.  Better tasting: Pour boiling water over a handful of fresh flowers or leaves, steep for 10 min, strain and sweeten.  You can just chew the leaves too.

In the Beginning...

All my senses are alive with my garden's blessing. A distracting butterfly flickers in my peripheral vision, while the dipping and bobbing fronds of my Mimosa tree vies for my divided attention. A sharp tweet to my right reminds me of my aging cat's recent lack of interest in the hunt. No way would she have once tolerated a cheeky sparrow chirping so close. Tinkling glass stars in the nearby wind chime dance in the breeze that slides across my skin. Every once in a while wafts of scented alyssum are carried on this same breeze.  It journeys from the alyssum to the wind chime to my skin. Cool.

As a first post on my first blog I am now curious and must finish to go have a look!



This is where I am sitting as I contemplate my garden.