Beautiful Name

A Kansas Country Garden

May 2015

After several meager years this  Dave Austin rose, Heritage, is in top form this season. 

A Kansas Country Garden: Held Hostage

A welcome visitor on the Verbena bonariensis

The weather is balmy and pleasant. The garden is thriving, but so are the weeds. I'm on summer break with the luxury of a little extra time. There's plenty to do in the garden (and you know I love working in the garden), but I'm not spending much time there. The curse of the hungry mosquitoes is holding me hostage.

A Kansas Country Garden: After the Rain

Rain is a good thing.

Raindrops cling to the lovely lilies.

Few gardeners complain about the rain. None in Kansas, I'm pretty sure. Not after suffering through several summers of drought and scorching heat.  So when the sky clouds over and thunder begins to rumble as it has been doing lately, that's a good thing.

A Kansas Country Garden: Is This A Good Thing?

Martha, our lone guinea fowl has laid some eggs under the rose bush right next to our home and is now setting on them. Is this a good thing? 

It's a good thing because. . . .

A Kansas Country Garden: Mid-June

The scent of this David Austin rose is just as lovely as the rose itself.

Stella D'oro day lilies and catmint is a long lasting combination.

Hollyhocks begin to bloom.

Here's to June in Kansas--the days are long, the wind is wild, the wheat is golden and the skies are blue. It is a pretty nice place to be.

A Kansas Country Garden: June Begins

I didn't plan it, but dark purple clustered bell flower, Campanula glomerata, and the magenta never planted wildflower, Winecup (also called Prairie Rose or Callirhoe involucrata) have an attractive color combination. 

Yellow centers of Shasta Daisies match the Golden Yarrow.

What interesting color combinations are found in the garden. A few are planned. Many are not.

A Kansas Country Garden: May Comes to an Enchanting End

An old-fashioned, rather wild rose blooms once a year and has a lovely scent.

Please don't eat my roses, Buddy!

Is there another month as lovely as May? In my garden it is a time of pinks and purples in abundance. The sweet, delicate scent of roses waifs through the garden.

A Kansas Country Garden - First Week of May

The peony bushes were not full, but the individual flowers are beautiful

When I showed a student some photographs of iris, she asked, "Are those the flowers that wear dresses?". Iris and peonies make a lovely combination.

Note to self: Do NOT drink caffeinated tea after 1 p.m. again. Ever. You know why. But, if I had followed my own good advice on Friday, well, I might have not been quite so alert for some nocturnal garden adventures.  
We've had an invasion of "miller moths".  Annoying? Yes.  But miller moths lay eggs that hatch into army worms and they are much more than annoying. They may be evil.

Temperatures in the 90's meant fleeting bloom for peonies.

I discovered the army worms as I was watering at dusk. Some plants didn't look so good.  By the time I'd gone inside and googled them, it was dark. The news was not good. Army worms come out at night to do their damage. They were just beginning. Wait until morning to do something? Would there be anything left?

A perfect rose. It is a David Austin Rose, but I am not certain which variety.

This is also a David Austin rose. The bush is quite short.

Flashlight in hand, I returned to the garden. It was even worse than anticipated. The lilies! Worms, lots of them, were munching on the leaves and the buds that were just beginning to swell. NO! Not the lilies. You shall not eat the lilies! (think Gandalf's "You shall not pass.") And do you know what I did? (Stop reading now if you're squeamish.) I squished them. Yes, I did. Mild mannered, nature loving me. Wearing plastic coated gloves,  I grabbed them between the left hand thumb and forefinger and applied just a little pressure. No more lily eating for them.

We interrupt the photos of roses for this not-so-pretty photo of an army worm on the lilies. You can see that the worms caused quite a bit of damage to the foliage, but I am hopeful that I will still have some blooms.

This bush blooms only once, draping over the fence.

Hours latter, lying in bed, wide awake, but trying to sleep, I heard a chicken. Oh, surely not.  Then I heard it again. It didn't sound unhappy. However, a few months ago, dogs got through a fence into our barn and chicken pen and killed  almost all our chickens. Mike has been slowly rebuilding the flock. We often comment that if we had been able to hear what was happening in the chicken pen, perhaps disaster could have been averted. And now I was hearing a chicken. Probably that should be checked out. Beside me my husband slumbered. Thoughts of waking him were dismissed. I slipped on my garden clogs and went out to investigate. A full moon lit the way, but I had also grabbed a flashlight. 

Fragrant Sweet Briar Rose, Rosa eglanteria, wanders like the wild rose it is.

There wasn't much to see. All was quiet except for two chickens strolling around in their pen. Banished to the outside pen because of behavior or lack of egg laying, they couldn't go into the barn. Evidently the full moon had deceived them and they were just enjoying the weather. No danger as far as I could tell. 

Before returning to the house, I thought again of the lilies. Had I saved them? Not entirely. There were a few more army worms on them. I returned to the house for my plastic coated garden gloves and took care to them, too. 

This is a David Austin Heritage Rose.

And that, ladies and gentlemen, is an exciting night in a Kansas Country Garden. One I might miss next time if I stay away from that caffeinated iced tea!

This old-fashioned rose has a brief bloom.

A pink rose.

Rose bushes on the east side of the house do quite well.

Blue salvia has a long bloom time.

Allium Christophii, Star Onion, have multiplied over the years. After blooming, the seed head still adds interest to the garden.

Not invited, but who wouldn't welcome a flower called the Prairie Wine-cup or Buffalo Rose (callirhoe ivolucrata)? This wildflower can be purchased from mail-order catalogs now.

A butterfly visits a blooming shrub.

A Kansas Country Garden-Fourth Week in April

This is an old-fashioned, almost wild rose. The plant spreads quite rapidly. It only blooms once.

This David Austin rose reblooms.

Roses do well on the east side of the house, protected from afternoon sun.

The roses have begun their bloom! This is always a wonderful time of the year. Who doesn't love a rose? They are flowers of exquisite beauty with a memorable scent. The first flush of bloom is the most extravagant. Some rose bushes may continue to bloom throughout the summer, but the bushes will never be as lush as they are right now. So, stop. And smell the roses.

I received this plant from my mother-in-law. I have never seen it anywhere else. The blooms and and leaves seem "thistle-like", but it has no thorns or stickers. 

The first peony begins to bloom.

I love the true-blue colors of the bachelor buttons. They are reseeding annuals. I have fewer flowers this year than in the past

I believe this is a Globemaster Allium.

I believe this is also a allium, although it does not have the lollipop top. 

I love the alliums with their lollipop blooms, a round ball on a slender stem. 

The Allium chrisophii or Star Onion begins to bloom. This is a recommended plant from The Undaunted Garden by Lauren Springer, my favorite garden book.

The Honey Locust tree has an insignificant bloom that has a sweet scent and attracts honeybees and moths. Standing under the tree you hear the happy hum of bees.

I purchased this bush through a newspaper insert for around $1. It was advertised as a white lilac. It is not. It could be considered a garden "thug" I suppose because it has a tendency to spread and grow runners, but I like it very much. The flowers have a sweet scent that waifs through the backyard and it attracts butterflies. I don't know what kind of bush it is, however.

The Mock Orange Shrub is full of blossoms.

Still Blooming

My favorite iris. The photo doesn't quite have the color right.

Not all of these iris were blooming last week, but some of them were and I decided to keep them together.

After a few days of hot wind this week, there are just a few poppies blooming in exuberant orange.

 Vegetable Garden

We harvested our first rhubarb.

 Animals in the Garden

Under the mulberry tree, our guinea, Edna, is setting on her nest. We are not optimistic that she will succeed in hatching her eggs. But she is persistent. Read more about Edna's parenting problems here.

Bloom Brightly till Winter Comes

There is a chill that signals autumn’s end. Tonight the cold, hard hand of killing frost will descend. Tomorrow the garden will be stiff and silent. And so I’m in the garden picking roses. Every single one. A week ago I would have left a bud to bloom another day. Not this afternoon. I pick them all.
   
They are full and flourishing, unaware of impending doom. Soon my hands are full of extravagant beauty - heavy heads of lacy petals bowing on slender stems; bright red, rosy mauve, palest pink and creamy white.  A scent of musky sweetness wafts in the cool air. I bring them in and place them in a pitcher. There’s no arranging, I just stuff them in. I am astounded. No summer bouquet was quite so lovely. Perhaps I have never seen such a beautiful display.

There is a chill that signals another end. The bearer of bad tidings is gentle, for we both know what it means.  Carol has decided that there will be no more treatment; its not working anyway. My heart protests, “Too soon! Not yet!” 

Just yesterday we chatted and she was her charming self. I brought her a rose from my garden. She was sporting new red hair and a pleasant smile. She was beautiful. Of course I knew that she was more ill than she appeared. She was in the hospital, after all, and there was an IV dripping with life sustaining medication.  But she was vibrant and joyful. “How’s your spirit?,” she was asked.  “It’s good, just trusting God, you know.”  
   
I want to argue, to halt the approaching winter.  This is not what anyone wanted. She has a million reasons to live and she’s much too young.  But, she has fought hard; has tried everything, gone everywhere. And now it’s time to stop. I blink back tears and shiver. Winter is coming  too soon to this  rose of  poignant beauty glowing in autumn’s  bitter wind, all the more lovely because we cannot keep her long.
   
Moments later, I walk without knocking into the home of my old friend, Lois. I know where to find her and she cannot come to me. Her world is the four walls of her bedroom. She has not left her home in quite some time, barely even her bed. Her welcoming smile is tender and her voice is soft and gentle. I am grateful that I do not hear in her voice any of the crushing, excruciating pain that has kept me from visiting in recent weeks; although I know that she is never completely free of pain.  But she is weak, so very weak. The room is pleasant and toasty; still there is the chill of approaching winter.
   
I’ve brought a few roses from my bouquet and I place them on the microwave that sits on her dresser. I warm her meal, but she does not sit to eat; instead  she leans on her side and takes a bite. A conversation can exhaust her and so I try to wait quietly, let her tell me what she needs to.  I want to tell her that she’ll get better. But I can’t. She has been disappointed many, many times.
   
My visit is brief. I pause to pray with her before I leave. She stops me. A prayer request?  Of course. “Pray for courage for me. I’m not getting any stronger.”  She is a delicate, fragile rose blooming in this secret garden; whipped by harsh wind, yet there is the lovely scent of peace and acceptance.
   
When I return to my home, I am struck again by the loveliness of the bouquet and the lavishness of a multitude of flowers. A spicy, musky scent fills the room mingling with the grief I feel. It has been a sad day. I breathe deeply and stand still and simply look, trying to memorize the beauty. It will not last long. Already a petal has fallen from a heavy, nodding flower.     


  
 Two weeks latter I attend Carol’s funeral. The November weather is unseasonably warm. When I stop to see Lois she says, “Oh, I’m so happy for her.”  People with the hope of heaven can talk like that, but her bright smile does not hide the longing, perhaps even envy that I hear in her voice.
   
In my garden, I find a rose blooming. How did I miss it when I was picking flowers? How did it escape the freeze? Some of the petals around the edges are slightly shriveled, darkened by the cold wind. It dances high on the bush, nodding in the day’s warmth. I pull it down and breathe deeply. Yes, there is a faint scent.


Written in 2003. We remember fondly the vibrant life of Carol Heinlein. Lois Taylor's condition remains largely unchanged, although I believe changes of medication have been helpful. She appreciates all prayer support.