Late Summer Meadow with Sounds of Nature and Traffic 

It's not the country; it's the suburbs.  A busy street and an even busier highway are the borders of this meadow of native wildflowers and naturalized species.  Most of the trees are the now hated Callery pear (Prunus Calleryana).

This small plot of land is home and larder to several critters: rabbits, groundhogs, hawks, eagles, geese, crows, cardinals,  bluejays, birds I can't name, deer and numerous insects.  I'm sure many more live secretly among the tangle of plants.  The meadow's dynamic.  A different plant dominates a season from year to year.  Last year at this time, it was filled with goldenrod (Solidago spp); it's now relegated to the edges.  This year the cloudlike boneset (Eupatorium Perfoliatum) reigns.

The wonder is how it survived the juggernaut of development.  There's no value or profit in this wildness.  Deep down, I know it's end is near.  Thus, I document what may be the last years of this suburban meadow.  With just a touch of melancholy.  

Wow.  This took a detour.  I meant to celebrate the changing of the seasons.  Next time.

Please enjoy this video of a late summer meadow in the Virginia suburbs of Washington, DC.

Morning Glory: Up at Sunrise, Done at Noon

I'm a seed fiend.   It's hard for me to pass a seed display without looking, wishing and ending up with twenty seed packets in my hands.  

While not looking for seeds at the dollar store, I came across some seed packets scattered on a shelf.  That's when I saw it: a packet of morning glory seeds with a photo promising the usual pink shades and an unlikely deep violet.  My eyes fixated on that deep violet flower, forgetting my skepticism about "mixed color selections."  So what if I wind up with only cotton candy pink flowers?  For fifty cents?  That's not rage worthy.

I made a lot of comical, amateur mistakes growing from seed. But morning glory seed grew undeterred into a vine with lush foliage and flowers.  The most important thing was the inky bloom; the second was those charming, heart shaped leaves.  All that glamour for pennies.  So I grew it every year on bannisters, fences, tripods, barely living shrubs and sometimes as a groundcover.

Of course, I love all morning glories including the ones I've haven't grown.  But the one known as 'Grandpa Ott' will always be my fave.  The pinks of the color mix aren't half bad either.

You're saying to yourself "that's not all that deep, inky or violet."  I agree.  It's not the fault of the flower; it's the photographer.  That'd be me.

Praying Mantis: Not Cute, Not a Vegan, Kinda Scary

Why am I writing about praying mantis?  Because it's an insect with a neck. 

I discovered this while maniacally snapping pictures of a praying mantis stalking a bumble bee.  I think I annoyed her.  She turned her head and looked me up and down; I wasn't prepared for that (WTF?).  Something told me that I was being insulted and dismissed all in one glance.  She turned her attention back to the bee.  I kept taking photos while she ignored me.  Poised and intrepid---she's my supermodel.

Marigolds: Dahlia's Country Cousin (and One of Those Grandmothers' Flowers)

I've ranted elsewhere about grandmothers' flowers.  I'm not in the mood for a rant.  I want to show marigolds some love especially for being grandmothers' flowers.  They're tried and true.

I've loved marigolds ever since I was girl.  Yes.  My grandmother grew marigolds.  But she grew the groundhugging, bedding types.  I grew tall marigolds (Tagetes Erecta 'Crackerjack') because I'm a masochist (they needed staking).  I'm willing to suffer a little for my garden ideals.  Insects appreciated my suffering.  The marigold flowers buzzed with life during the day then became the beds for sleepy bumble bees in the evening.  That alone convinced me to grow them forever.

Dahlia's a beauty with a wardrobe of many colors; she has many weddings to attend.  Marigolds have a minimalist's closet of maybe five colors (the cream colored is finicky); maybe you'll see her at the county fair.  More often than not, tall marigolds are apart of a "color mix."  Why can't I get single color seed packets?  Why is it I NEVER get the orange marigolds that are supposed to be included in the seed mix?  

Sigh.  So I ranted a bit.  Sorry.  My point: the marigolds brought in that dimension to the garden that I didn't plan or forsee.  The joy of gardening wasn't just about the greenness of my thumb but making a welcoming place for living creatures.  Marigolds did that.  Do dahlia's do that?

Insects: Beloved Butterflies  

"I hate butterflies," said no one.  I've come across as a hater in some posts, but I'm really not.  It's hard to hate something so beautiful and ephemeral.  So I'm conflicted.  Allowances must be made for their offspring in the garden...unless you grow vegetables specifically for them to devour; I don't.  Also, they're not the easiest to photograph, but modeling isn't a butterfly's calling.

You know who's an unflappable model?  Praying mantis.  Shockingly for some, butterflies are on its menu.  I have video of this carnage, but I don't think y'all want to see it.

Native Trees: Magnolias

I don't know if trees get more majestic than our southern magnolia (Magnolia Grandiflora).  Redwoods can hold their own but no showy flowers (if you're a giant you may see them).  I never smelled a redwood tree---I imagine it's deliciously "woodsy".  I'm lucky to know the scent of magnolias.  Don't ask me to describe it; magnolias smell like magnolias.  If possible, cut a magnolia bud and put it in water in a not too cold room.  When it blooms, a nectar oozes out to perfume the air.  A sensual perfume that penetrates dreams.

One thing is certain: redwoods and southern magnolias aren't suitable trees for the average yard or garden.  These are landscape trees.  A good alternative is sweetbay magnolia (Magnolia Virginiana), a medium sized tree compared to the towering Southern magnolias.  Plan ahead; the tree takes ten years to bloom.

Insects That Are Not Honey Bees or Butterflies II

"Oh, the noise!" people exclaim.  Fascinating cicada is known for the worst song on summer's soundtrack.  I mean, you spent most of your life underground, then you had a few weeks to do your thing...  Wouldn't you scream at the top of your lungs?  I prefer the cicada chorus to the leaf blowers and weed whackers racket any day.

More on summer's soundtrack.  The hypnotic sound of cicadas transports me to lazy, unscheduled summer days. Laying around and waiting for someone to slice the watermelon.  Or getting lost in a world of make believe until called into the house for lunch/supper.  Cicadas are intertwined with those pleasantly redacted memories.

Maybe the husks cicadas leave behind are unsettling.  Add the husks to the compost heap and return them to the earth.

Unvalued Flowers: Vegetable Flowers II

At a glance, the flower in one of the photo looks like Queen Anne's lace.  Look again.  It's missing the purple thingy (see Wild Things below) that Queen Anne's lace flowers have in the center.  This, my friends, is the flower from the free carrot seeds included with my seed orders.  I just flung them into the backyard flower/compost to get rid of them.  So, of course, a few defiant ones germinated.  Had I carefully sown them... Sigh.

Onions, I think, are an undervalued vegetable and deserves more attention as a main character than it's given (a la onion tart).  They're one of my favorites.  And I like a lot vegetables.  I could go on and on about onions' virtues.  But I won't.  Maybe later.

I never had enough room to grow bulb onions (and they're cheap in supermarkets).  So I grew scallions or bunching onions (Allium Fistulosum 'He Shi Ko') in abundance.  I squeezed them in wherever they'd fit.  The spherical flowers are similar to ornamental alliums except scallion flowers hate prolonged wetness.  Like many things, they're unsightly when wet.  Bonus: cut the greens down to the white part leaving the root inground.  They'll grow new leaves until a hard frost.

Native Wildflowers: The Tamed

Purple Coneflower (Echinacea Purpurea) is always included in top native/perennials to grow in your garden.  Though I don't love or hate the color pink, I ended up growing more pink flowers than anticipated.  The purple coneflowers complemented the hydrangeas and created a tonal palette.  Others enjoyed this pink phase in the garden.   By mid July the pink got more subdued, and I got relief.  

But back to purple coneflowers.  Who can resist their allure?  Perennial, 8 to 10 weeks of blooming, native wildflower and attracts insects and birds.  The scent is never on the list:  a well established stand of purple coneflowers emits a honey perfume through the garden.  I don't know if it's supposed to be a secret, but I'm telling it.

Wild Things: Native Plants

Common Milkweed (Asclepias Syriaca) is an eastern US wildflower.  The name suggests otherwise; I assumed it was from Persia.  So did Linnaeus the Botanist, the source of my confusion.

 When I first encountered this plant in a field, I felt the fangirl giddiness rise.  Like unexpectedly spotting  that sexy someone on your favorite TV show in the wild.  Over the top reaction, yeah...but common milkweed is plant famous.  And I am a plant zealot.

I knew it'd be the source of many future photographs.  I was right.  Common milkweed has it all: umbellate cyme of flower buds, small yet detailed flowers, weird seed pods and seeds adorned with silk threads.  But, wait!  There's more!  Not only does it attract the renowned monarch butterfly,  bees, beetles and other photogenic insects adore it.  

The sweet scent of the common milkweed field at sunrise/sunset.  Sublime.

Wild Things:  Plants with Warning Labels 

Queen Anne's Lace (Daucus Carota) is a flowering biennial.  Winter annual is a bit more descriptive: it germinates, grows basal foliage and blooms the following summer.  Her cousin, bishop's lace (Ammi Majus), is better behaved but lacks the mysterious dark petals in the flower's center.  I was smitten from the first moment I saw it and collected roadside seed to sow in my backyard flower bed.  Maybe one plant made it to the flowering stage.  Like humans, I guess it's only wild under the right circumstances.

Native Plants: Woodland Sunflower (Helianthus Divaricatus) 

Why the aversion to bright yellow flowers?  Perhaps they don't conjure clichés of romance and femininity.  You know, the pale shades associated with weddings.  I love how one seed company described a cultivar of marigolds: chrome yellow (book lovers note this also a title, minus the h, of an Aldous Huxley novel).  Chrome yellow is difficult to mix into a planting scheme without forethought.  The color shines in the gentle light of spring and autumn.  Begin the gardening season with daffodils, tulips, and forsythia.  End the season with marigolds, chrysanthemums, helianthus and goldenrod. Chrome yellow flowers planted en masse look like shafts of sunlight.

My fantasy garden will feature this cheerful though shunned shade of yellow. 

Insects That Are Not Honey Bees or Butterflies 

What unpoetic soul hates butterflies?  I've never heard anyone admit to ambivalence to butterflies.  No one goes around swatting butterflies or shooing them away.  I confess my love/dislike relationship with butterflies.  Butterflies are stunning and so photogenic.  BUT...they are voracious in the larval stage.  AND...I suspect their role as pollinators is a little exaggerated, but I may be wrong.

Eastern carpenter bees don't get as much press as honey bees although they are first rate pollinators and incredibly charming.  Unlike many insects, they aren't skittish so you can take as many photos as you like while they rest, mate or ravage a flower for its pollen. Carpenter bees are curious; they'll hover over your shoulder as you garden and turn towards your camera while you obsessively snap photos.  The Eastern carpenter bee is an underappreciated native insect. 

Unvalued Flowers: Vegetable Flowers

Okay.  Vegetable flowers aren't technically unvalued.   Especially if you want to eat vegetables.  The flowers' pollination is necessary.  It's their beauty that is unvalued.

When I was a kid, okra had to be deep fried to keep me from running away from it.  When I was a teenager, I experienced the itchiness from picking it .  When I became an adult, I grasped that it is essential to gumbo.  And I discovered the beautiful okra (Abelmoschus Esculentus 'Hill Country Red') flower.  Only nature could come up with a color combo of the palest butter yellow and burgundy.  Okra flowers are so delicate and so fleeting.  Admire them while you can.

I sowed patty pan squash (Cucurbita Pepo) because the shape intrigued me.  What I got was astonishing flowers and no squash.  The geek in me needed to know if the seeds from the store bought Tuscan melon (Cucumis Melo) would germinate.  Expecting nothing, a few grew into vines that covered a small chain link gate.  I got lovely little flowers but no melons.  And a very cheap annual vine. 

Grandmothers' Flowers?  

I learned a few years ago that grandmothers' flowers is a passive/aggressive diss to stalwart flowers.  Lovely beauties cast aside for novelty.  Get this---the woman who told me that was deep in grandmotherhood.  Surely,  gardeners don't wait until they're grandparents to grow these plants.  Maybe.  I didn't.

I do know hydrangeas (Hydrangeas Macrophylla) most likely fit the profile.  Whoever planted these in my front yard in the 1970s whether she was a grandmother (what about grandfathers?) or not received my praise.  Three hydrangeas dictated the color scheme of the front yard as they transform throughout the summer and autumn.  Pale shades in June, muted antique colors in mid summer, green tinged with burgundy in late summer and completely burgundy in autumn.  The underplanting of sedum 'Autumn Joy' echoes those changes. The autumn color scheme is my personal favorite---so gothic.  A daywalking vampire would've loved it.  I reckon some grandmothers know their stuff. 

Maligned Plants:  Rose of Sharon (Hibiscus Syriacus)  

Well, it's sort of maligned.  You see it planted in the yards of 20th century homes as a lone specimen and growing in alleyways (where I procured my seeds).  Rose of Sharon is usually a landscaping crimes victim.  Such as someone torturing it into a rhombus shaped hedge.  Or benign neglect grows it  into the bushiest bush vigorously dispersing seeds throughout the 'hood.  I love it.  ROS blooms for most of the summer and into autumn.   That's the case in zone 7A. 

I grew three beauties (always caught people staring) from seed, and it didn't take long for them to bloom---3 or 4 years?  Don't remember.  Three mauve flowering plants sired a white flowering plant.  Ain't nature grand?  Remove the seed heads before they dry; they are interesting in floral arrangements.  Beware:  seeds are very viable.  Also, pruning in spring gives a good shape and large flowers.   Are you an authentic garden geek if you haven't grown a shrub from seed?

Ikebana Inspired Floral Arrangement

I read a fascinating early 20th century book about Japanese floral arrangements.  Japanese floral arrangements are inspired by nature and the changing seasons.  That's a simplification.  Ikebana is a discipline of intense study.  Of course, the seasonal focus inspires me.  Restraint is a hard thing to master.  I've been too influenced by everything-in-the vase oil paintings from centuries ago.  Ever notice the impossible floral mashups in baroque oil paintings?  They boldly disregard seasons in the northern hemisphere. 

So until I learn restraint, I combined the summer ikebana element of exposed water and summer flowers. Botanical elements you rarely see in floral arrangements: spiderwort, sedum Autumn Joy, petalless single feverfew, wild onion bulbils, catnip and agastache flowers.  All in an old nonstick wok with the handle removed.