Tuesday, October 31, 2006
Maplehead
Japanese maples are insidious; you buy this cute little maple in a one gallon pot and stick it in the garden; the next spring you find two more at the nursery, that are quite different than the one you already have (which looks quite lonely, being still only two foot tall, stuck out in the woods). The next thing you know, you have a whole bunch of them, in all colors and leaf types, and those little cuties are now growing like topsy everywhere. Let's face facts... you've become a maplehead! This fall was far from the best for their foliage, due to the severe early freeze, which occured while the trees were still in full, green leaf. However, here are a few pictures, in no particular order, of some of the Japanese maples in our garden.
Monday, October 30, 2006
Morning
Late fall mornings come hesitantly into our little valley; the sun ever-so-slowly pushes the night down the valley and across the river. When we remodeled our house, we had large floor to celing windows put in our upstairs bedroom (through which, this picture was taken) so we can watch the woods awakening. However, this time of year, I don't stay in bed long once the sun is peeping; there is too much to do outside. It always seems like my list of things that I need to get done before winter arrives, expands at an alarming rate; I feel like a little squirrel, running back and forth faster and faster, as the leaves flutter down from the trees and clatter across the ground, pushed by the cold wind that yesterday was blowing across the snow-streaked North Dakota short grass prairies. Although it seems impossible at this point, I know it will all somehow get done; then a day of unremitting cold and greyness will freeze the ground solid, and my gardening will be done, until the chickadee whistles his soft, sweet song to awaken the woods in earliest spring.Saturday, October 28, 2006
Eco Gold Spangles
Eco Gold Spangles is a hybrid toad lily, from Don Jacobs of Eco Gardens in Decatur, Georgia. The new foliage in spring is jaw-dropping, and the lemony, spotted flowers, shown below, are quite special. I have this toady planted in the shade of a large oak tree, next to a hosta that has very bright yellow foliage in the spring... hard to ignore.
Friday, October 27, 2006
The Hidden Drought
On a cool, grey morning after a day of misty rain, I was out to the garden, serenaded by the wild and forelorn call of loons on the pond. They perhaps are lamenting the loss of their dark Ontario lakes until spring. We have had about two inches of rain in the last two weeks, after three months of dry weather. Puddles by the side of the road are a welcome, if unfamiliar sight. Last year, the upper midwest suffered its worst drought since the dust bowl years... we did get some rain last fall, but the stress on the trees was apparent this spring, with many limbs dying back, for example, on the tall black cherry trees in our woods. The rain this year started promisingly, if still a bit below normal for us. Since mid-summer, upper Illinois, which suffered with us in dryness last year, has been deluged with rain, but once again eastern Iowa has been stricken with drought; the welcome rain in the last two weeks has replaced our topsoil moisture, but on digging down, one can see clearly that the top 8-9 inches of soil is wet, but the subsoil is still dry and hard. It's almost like desert caliche; the subsoil has set up like cement from the prolonged drought, so that water has trouble penetrating it... I fear for the tall trees, going into winter with their roots encased in dry cement.Thursday, October 26, 2006
Affinity For Affinis
Tricyrtis affinis is a Japanese species of toad lily; it is a bit stiffer and more upright than, for example, the hirta types, and the flowers are more upright as well as up-facing, on longish stems arising at the top of the plant. That being said, I think the affinis clones are grown as much for the foliage (which can be strikingly patterned) as for the flowers, which are small, and a little sparse. Lunar Landing, below, and Key Lime Pie, above, hint at the variety available. Wednesday, October 25, 2006
Further Foliage
Now, if you want striking, in toad lily foliage; this is Tricyrtis affinis 'Lunar Landing', with bright green leaves edged in darker green with even darker green spots, and purplish-black stems. Tuesday, October 24, 2006
Foliage Followup
A few days ago, when I posted a picture of the late fall blooming of Tricyrtis Lemon Twist, I mentioned its striking, waxy, spotted foliage in the spring. I lamented that I had no picture to show of its foliage, but I guess I should have checked my picture files before saying that: here it was in April. It looks rather like one of the spotted foliage species of erythronium (dog tooth violet). Workhorse Toady
Over the years, I've added a lot of fancy-dancy toad lilies to the garden; some are indeed nice, some looked nice in the catalogue but don't like our hot, dry summers, so the leaves burn, and a few of them took one look at an Iowa summer and disappeared forever. I certainly enjoy looking at all of them (well, maybe not the bare spots, if they died on me), but if I just want a whole bunch of toadiness, I go back to the first tricyrtis I ever bought: Tricyrtis hirta variegata. I've gradually split up the original plant, and everyplace in the garden I've stuck it, it's taken off; it's one of those plants which look quite refined, but when you're not looking, it mugs the plants next to it, so you suddenly wonder where your prized primrose went. Its now got its sights set on taking over one of my pathways... we'll see about that! 
Monday, October 23, 2006
Something Different: Tricyrtis X Tojen
On a cold, grey morning, it is almost dizzying going outside; the yard and woods are literally alive with birds, driven south all in a rush by seriously cold temperatures to our north. Hundreds of small birds... warblers, finches, and white-throated sparrows mostly, are whirring through the treetops; scores of robins and juncos are scurrying back and forth across the lawn, while jays, woodpeckers, and cardinals fly back and forth, as if caught up in the excitement. I negotiate my way across the lawn, feeling like a sheepherder, as birds hop this way and that, parting to let me through; in the garden, leaves that were frozen while they were still green by our early cold, are falling to the ground from the trees, almost with a clunk. Yet I am rewarded on this cold morning by finding Tricyrtis x Tojen (also spelled Togen) still in bloom. This tough toadie has one of the most lengthy blooming seasons of all the tricyrtis group. It starts opening its flowers in late August or early September, and continues blooming until finally felled by a really hard freeze in late October... it tolerates light frosts and freezes fairly well, only succumbing to temperatures in the low twenties. Of course this lengthy blooming season means that it opens its flowers gradually, not all at once, so the total effect is not as spectacular as some, but the individual flowers, arising on long stems from the axils, are quite beautiful. It is often called the "orchid toad lily", for the exotic beauty and color of its individual blooms, which are frosty lavender at the base of the petals, deep lavender at the tips, with a yellow throat. The foliage may be the finest of any toad lily, with the largest leaves; they are very broadly lance-shaped, and a lighter, brighter green than most other tricyrtis. The plant has a slightly drooping habit, so I have it planted to good effect on a downhill pathway, where its flowers are easily seen. It is apparently a hybrid of formosana x hirta; some of the formosana group in our climate barely persist (Emperor), and a few have disappeared (Samurai); I'm not sure whether it's our cold winters or our dry summers, or both. Tojen, however, always looks perfect, with no help at all from me. Sunday, October 22, 2006
A Spotty Reputation
Toad Lilies are best known for their fascinating, spotty flowers, but apparently the continuing search for new commercial varieties with heavier spotting, has led us down a risky pathway. Chris Hallson, of Hallson's Gardens has discovered that some of the newest, most popular toad lilies owe their coloration to a virus, which causes not symmetrical spots, but rather blotches of color to infuse the petals. Alas, 'Rasberry Mousse', shown above, perhaps the most strikingly colored of toadies, is the poster child for this virus (which can be transmitted to other toad lilies in the garden). Two other varieties thought to be infected, are 'Blue Wonder', shown below, which in its first year in our garden doesn't seem to show much blotching, and 'Empress', at the bottom, which is definitely blotched. How easily the virus can be transmitted, and which other varieties are susceptible, has not been discovered yet; also it's not known how harmful the virus really is; is it just a curiosity, or will the infected toad lilies eventually croak...
Saturday, October 21, 2006
Weather Vagaries
October is normally our most beautiful month; a time of endlessly blue skies, and bright sunshine... well, this October has not been normal. It's been the moldy strawberry at the bottom of the basket; a month of clouds and more clouds, and almost unremitting cold... the coldest, cloudiest October since skinny ties and Hula Hoops were in vogue. What's worse, is that global warming is to blame; that, and something called the North Atlantic Oscillation (N.A.O.). It seems that in winter, a warm high pressure bubble sometimes builds up over the North Atlantic. This area of warm air oscillates between Greenland and northern Europe... it currently has been stuck in the former position, and is very powerful due to global warming. When the N.O.A. is over Greenland, it blocks the circumpolar jet stream, which normally circles the globe in the far north, and causes it to buckle down over the central U.S., dumping all the cold air on you-know-who's little garden. Since all of the frigid air is in our backyard, apparently Alaska has been downright balmy; they're also getting all of our rain. With all our gloomy weather, the birds just sit around and look at each other, and even our little cat P.J., normally as cheerful a little soul as you could ever hope to meet, is moping about like she just found out they stopped making crab flavored Whisker Lickin's. Well, someday the sun will shine again, someday flowers will bloom and the birds will sing... just not this month. Friday, October 20, 2006
Toad Love
I love all toad lilies, but which do I love best? I suppose that the choice is so subtle, that as often as not, the one I like best is the one that I'm looking at now... but I can, I think, without too much pondering tell you which tricyrtis has the best flower... it's Tricyrtis Kohaku. It was bred in Japan as a cutting flower, and what flowers they are! They're very big, with thick substance (almost porcealin-like), and have numerous large maroon spots and a lemon-yellow throat, with the yellow color also infusing the backs of the petals. Notice I said it has the best flower; I'm not sure it's the best overall plant. It's a cross between hirta and macranthopsis, and has inherited the floppiness of the latter, especially a problem with the great number of heavy blooms. This is one of those plants that they're always telling you, looks smashing trailing over a stone wall... well, my garden is a little short on weathered stone walls, and that wobbly white plastic fencing just doesn't have the same effect. Anyway, look closely at the individual flowers of Kohaku, and all is forgiven. Thursday, October 19, 2006
Steal This Blog
Kathy, on Cold Climate Gardening, has a new piece discussing the theft of blog content (pictures and text); it is being hijacked for use by other nefarious websites. This raises a very puzzling and vexing issue; though I've not actively looked into it, to my knowledge, nobody has EVER stolen anything from this blog. God knows it would be easy enough: the door is always ajar, and the owner is usually outside, peering into a bush or something. I suppose it wouldn't do any good if I did find out parts of my blog were being usurped; as I understand it, the laws governing this area refer to theft of intellectual property, and I doubt my blog falls under that umbrella.
Wednesday, October 18, 2006
Fuzzy Wuzzy
In the garden today I spied this little fuzzy,I think he was crawling to the right... or was he?
A Cloudy Day
It is a day of sharp adjustment; yesterday we were in southern Arkansas, with roses in full bloom, and the leaves just starting to turn... today, here in Iowa, the leaves are in tatters, a cold drizzle is falling, and the garden is rapidly getting the late autumn floppy-mushies. However, a wet walk up and down the garden paths shows plenty to look at. In particular, many of the toad lilies are still bravely carrying on, as if winter was far away; this is Tricyrtis 'Lemon Twist', a cross between the two dwarf species, ohsumiense and flava. It is at most a foot tall, and in the spring has some of the finest foliage in the garden, with very thick, waxy, deep green leaves with large, dark spots. In the late fall, it has yellow flowers with speckles... a small spot of sun on a gloomy day. We're back. Tuesday, October 17, 2006
Hot Springs Hiatus
Just back from a road trip to Hot Springs, Arkansas... a beautiful trip, with miles and miles of forest and clear, rushing streams. However, two reminders to self for future cross-country sight-seeing trips: first, roads described as scenic, that cross large, blank areas on the map are NOT, I repeat NOT, going to be straight shortcuts. Second, when deciding to make a little side trip, it's probably best to use a regular size map to judge how far out of your way your going to be going, and not rely on a small road atlas. I knew we were in trouble on our back-country shortcut, when we started hearing banjo music.
Friday, October 13, 2006
Robin Follies
Well, it's that time of the year; I knew right away, when I walked into the garden, and a robin fluttered out of a crabapple tree and flew into a fence... every fall, flocks of fat robins migrating south for the winter, stop off in our garden and are astonished to find fruit hanging everywhere. They think they've died and woke up in robin heaven... they absolutely stuff themselves with this fruit, some of which has fermented in the warm October sun, so the robins get completely looped, to the point where I actually saw one fall off a limb once. They always remind me of the bird, Woodstock, in the Peanuts comic strip, who sort of flew upside down. The robins are supposed to just have a snack and a snooze, then head out for Missouri, but instead they just go on an absolute bender, hanging around until either the fruit runs out, or the snow starts blowing... and there's nothing more pitiful to see than a robin, too hung over to fly, sitting dejectedly in a bush while snow builds up on its head. I think even our cats are pretty disdainful of these partying redbreasts; normally the cats are very interested in any bird, but they want nothing to do with the robins... it's kind of like when you meet a drunk in the street, and you try to avoid them, because you're afraid they're going to throw an arm around you and tell you their life story. When the robins sober up, I bet it's going to be a while before they can stomach eating a worm again. Tricyrtis Mine-no-yuki
This was a new toad lily to our garden this year, and it's a bit different than a lot of the rest in that it's quite refined looking. The flowers are very pale pink, with quite pretty, light purple spots, and the foliage is deep green. It's a Tricyrtis hirta hybrid, blooming here in late September through October. Thursday, October 12, 2006
Cypripedium Parviflora
Seems like we could use some sunshine on a gloomy day; here's a picture of yellow ladyslippers blooming in our garden on a sunny day this last May. Give Me Shelter
The ice cold north wind blew and blew, and blew some more today, so if I wanted to work outside, I needed shelter. Therefore, I loaded up my old truck and headed over to the forty acre woodland preserve that I am volunteer managing. The woods is cut by deep ravines, so I hiked back into a south facing ravine, where the sun was shining, and the wind was blocked off. I'm currently working my way through the woods cleaning out untold thousands of multiflora roses; this particular ravine is just about solid multiflora, in great tangles up to ten feet tall. I soon shed my jacket as I worked my way along the steep slope, cutting off the roses at the base with large, anvil loppers, then treating the stems with Roundup. By three o'clock, the clouds came in low to the ground, with sleet and gusty wind, and my tired arms could hardly lift the loppers anymore, so I walked the mile back to my truck, and came home. A piece of leftover pizza revived me, and it was out to the garden... things were pretty frazzled from our freeze last night, but perhaps not as bad as one would think (with a fifty degree drop in temperature in 24 hours), as the wind kept the temperatures in our little valley a bit higher than they might have been if the night was calm and clear... still, it dropped to 28 above last night. I needed to dig up a couple of native ladyslipper orchids (Cypripedium parviflora; the yellow ladyslipper), as they were being crowded out by a rhododendron, which looked cute in its little pot when I bought it, but which seems destined to be as large as a garage. The picture above shows one of the cyps, out of the ground... this is by no means a large plant (it will have three stems next year), but you can see how extensive the roots are, to support the orchid... if any of these roots, which are very brittle, are broken, the whole orchid may succumb. If you've ever bought a native ladyslipper through the mail, this shows why your orchid probably died on you. Most of them are dug up out of the woods (usually from public lands), and cut into single bud pieces, with just a few scraggly roots. "Nursery grown" usually means the plant was dug in the wild, put in a pot for a short time, then sold before it dies (as opposed to nursery propagated). If you do try to grow one (and relative to other native orchids, the yellow ladyslipper is easy), the main thing to remember is that the roots must be splayed out flat, just under the surface, in very loose, duffy soil, with excellent drainage. Wednesday, October 11, 2006
Goodnight, My Baby
We've gone from pleasant upper 70's yesterday, to 38 degrees currently; headed to the 20's tonight, with gusting, swirling wind and stinging sleet. A walk this evening in the garden was somewhat incongruous. High in a white oak tree a bluejay tried to throw out his alarm call (for the weather?), but the wind grabbed his wild cries of "JAY!", and blew the tatters far down the valley. Every volley of cold air coming over the ridge, tore leaves from the treetops and sent them spiralling and skipping madly across the pond. On the ground, protected as it is, the garden was still in full foliage, with many late flowers blooming, appearing as if it was still late summer. This illusion will, of course, all be gone tomorrow, as if a stage has been cleared overnight of its elaborate sets; gone until the sun next spring rises high enough above the valley to finally cause the frozen soil to steam and melt, and tempt the snowdrops to venture into the cool air. A few things will survive the night... mums certainly, the cyclamens too, and the epimediums will retain their foliage until mid-December, with luck; but the lushness of the garden will be gone in the morning, so goodnight my baby... and goodbye.
Clouds On The Ground
On a dark day, with grey clouds racing overhead, so low they seem to almost brush the west ridge, it's a good day to walk through the damp woods, looking at cyclamens. A short while ago I posted pictures of a special silver-leafed cyclamen, called Nettleton Silver. Today I'm showing another hederifolium cultivar, Cyclamen 'Silver Cloud'. The so-called silver-leafed cyclamens have an overall silver wash, while pewter-leafed cyclamens still have a greenish edge, as shown below. The true silvers are quite striking and ghostly against the damp leaves. 
Tuesday, October 10, 2006
The Last Red Rose Of Autumn
Although cloudy, it was balmy shirt-sleeve weather today, but I have lived too long in Iowa to be fooled by this pleasant day, for the cedar waxwings are here. Lying in bed this morning, I could see them flitting through the treetops in the garden, and knew at once we were in for it. Usually they show up on a cold, wind-tattered day in November, moving through our garden like a wave, devouring every berry in sight for energy, then, when the garden is bare, they fly on to the south, driven by wintery weather moving in from the prairies of Alberta. I have never seen them here this early, so knew something unusual was afoot, and it turns out the cause of the waxwings early migration began in the Sea of Japan several days ago: two tropical storms combined forces in that far place, and moved rapidly northward, where they raised huge waves in the Gulf of Alaska, and crashed up against, then passed over, the Chugach Mountains. The blow was so great, that it has buckled the jet stream, forcing winds of 150 miles an hour aloft, racing straight south, down into the heartland. Our temperature will drop 50 degrees by tomorrow night, with bitter, gusting wind and blowing snow, turning temperate fall into cruel winter before the leaves have even changed color. The cedar waxwings dribbled into our garden and woods all day, until there were perhaps a hundred... there was no sound from them, just steady and purposeful eating of as many berries as they could hold. They then gathered in the tops of the tall black cherry trees to see what the night would bring: it was telling that they all seemed to be facing to the north, as if to discern what was following them. Tomorrow they will all, as if at a signal, depart at once; circling once over the pond they will fly rapidly over the south ridge and be gone. One second the garden will be filled with flocks of these sleek, masked birds, and the next moment it will be empty except for the gentle peeping of the chickadees. I will cut the last of the roses tomorrow, and bring tender plants into the greenhouse. It is raining steadily now; normally a pleasant sound, but the waxwings and I will both sleep uneasily tonight.Monday, October 09, 2006
I Am Truly Underwhelmed...
Rabdosias are woodland plants native to the moist mountainsides of Asia, newly introduced to gardening in this country. Brand-new to our garden this year is Rabdosia longituba from Japan, described as a late-fall blooming wonder, covered with clouds of purple flowers, astonishing to all who see it. Well... I won't dismiss the flowers as being too tiny for the plant (though I think I saw a bumblebee laugh at them), but I will say I'm altogether underwhelmed so far. It is, though, the first year, and our hot, dry summer certainly didn't mimic its native haunts, so we'll see what happens next year. I don't think I'll start a collection of rabdosias right away, though. The First Time Ever I Saw Your Face...
The Stinkhorns Of Autumn
Nature can be kind, she can be cruel, ...and sometimes she can be a little stinker. Case in point: the proud gardener is walking along his bark-chip pathways in the garden, admiring his hostas, when his nostrils are suddenly assailed by an odor that can be kindly described as a week old dead possum soaking in a rain barrel. It is the time of year when the stinkhorn mushrooms pop up magically, and proceed to smell the place up. They like to invade rotting wood with their mycelium, so wood chip pathways in the garden are like a motel welcome sign for them. In spite of their olfactory repugnance, they are fascinating little mushrooms; they arise from a round, pinkish sac that for all the world looks like a flower bulb... the one pictured below was lying on the ground, and I suspect a chipmunk thought he was digging up a nice, juicy flower bulb, then Woof!!, and he dropped it. You can just see the tip of the stinkhorn emerging from the bulb. This is Ravenel's stinkhorn; the head is covered by olive-colored slime, which contains the spores. Flies and other insects are attracted to the smell, eat the slime, and in the process become covered with it, and spread the spores. The gel disappears in a matter of hours, and the mushroom dies. Seeing the bulb-like sac with a mushroom starting to emerge, made me think you could take these inside and treat them like forced hyacinth bulbs on the windowsill, and watch the stinkhorn emerge. I thought better of it... sometimes Liz loves me more for what I don't do.
Sunday, October 08, 2006
Doll's Eyes
White baneberry (Actaea pachypoda) is a fairly common, rather pleasant woodland wildflower, with green, nicely-cut foliage. It's flowers are inconsequential, but it's berries, which appear in autumn, are another matter. Commonly called Doll's Eyes, they are shiny porcelain white, with black dots, arising from a day-glo red stem. It's a nice conversation plant in the fall, and it's always good to keep an eye on the plants in the garden. The "C's" Of Autumn
The two "C's" of autumn are cyclamens and colchicums; these two plants, that flower here in late September and early October, add a great deal to the enjoyment of our garden in fall. It's not as though I come running into the house one September day crying, "The colchicums are blooming! The colchicums are blooming!", but they are sort of like the nuts in my cookies... I don't think about them a lot, but I'd certainly miss them if they weren't there. These are the types of plants that add real richness to a garden, and only get better every year. 
Thursday, October 05, 2006
Yikes, That's Cold!
Wood's Secrets... Ginseng
You can ask me just about anything, and get an answer; I might be a little cagey about where the chocolate covered peanuts are stored, but in the end you'll likely get an answer. However, don't ask me where the ginseng (Panex quinquefolia) is growing in the woods... never heard of it! Tuesday, October 03, 2006
Puffballs
This is the time of year when puffball mushrooms appear in the woods; it's as if some wood trolls have been playing ninepins, and left their balls scattered everywhere. 
Monday, October 02, 2006
Lighting Dark Corners
There is a little nook in a ravine in our garden that never gets direct sunlight, and as the sun's arc sinks lower on the horizon in autumn, this spot can get a little gloomy... many of the flowers planted here are spring ephemerals, so long gone by now, leaving the earth covered by damp, brown leaves. Then one day in early fall, numerous small, shell pink cyclamen flowers appear in this spot, as if by magic, followed by these ghostly silver leaves unfurling just above the ground; it's Cyclamen hederifolium Nettleton Silver. It's as if a bit of shining cloud has shattered and fallen to earth, and against the dark, wet ground, it is quite striking. Sunday, October 01, 2006
Beyond Yellow
Now, if Tricyrtis ohsumiense seems like a rather pallid yellow to you, then how about Tricyrtis flava? This little beauty should satisfy the most avid yellowholic! It's also a small plant, perhaps a hand high, and nicely upright. 