Tag Archives: summer
I feel like I’m visiting my gardens now and then. We are travelling a lot this summer, so my relationship with the changing scenery outside is snapshots rather than the continuous story.
Not that I’m complaining. I loved the time in California, and I look forward to journeys to Okoboji and then England.
Spring has turned to early summer. Biking to campus today, I noticed a great patch of peonies on the back entrance leading to the library.
Peonies are popping all over town. They are barely getting going in my own gardens, but they are starting. Early in June, I’m enjoying irises, clematis, new phlox we planted this spring. It was a hard winter in my yards—four trees either completely died or were severely damaged, including a cottonwood (what kind of cottonwood can’t take a Midwest winter?).
But you can’t feel sad about winter losses in the time of Peonies. A soft scent, big showy flowers, vibrant colors. I love peonies, and they are a sign that summer is underway.
It began in spring. I have for years planted Milkweed seeds in my gardens, with almost no results. Last year, I purchased some “Butterfly Flower” Milkweed plants at a local nursery, and at least those plants did grow. Also last year, for the first time, a few baby plants that maybe could be Milkweed were spotted in the garden, but didn’t grow much.
This winter was a bit mixed. We had some cold. It was not a particularly harsh winter, but it lingered and the spring that followed felt very truncated before hot weather suddenly appeared.
And somehow that odd combination—a chilly winter and quick spring, followed by Iowa hot—seemed to be what Milkweed had been waiting for. While in past years, results had been limited, suddenly in the front garden last year’s baby Milkweed sprang up like, well, weeds.
The Butterfly Flowers didn’t all come back, but the plants that did grew robustly and bloomed with pretty orange flowers. The common Milkweed didn’t bloom yet this year—but several of the plants grew to several feet in height.
And in the side garden, a tall spiky stranger appeared, an impressive, 3-foot plant with pink flowers. I didn’t know what it was until we attended the Monarch Fest at the Indian Creek Nature Center, where there were pictures of Swamp Milkweed.
And not only was Milkweed suddenly present in the gardens, but Monarch butterflies on whose behalf these plants were installed didn’t waste much time in finding my Milkweed patch. Suddenly, this year, there were those distinctive black, yellow and white caterpillars. Indeed, the identity of the Swamp Milkweed was confirmed by the presence of baby Monarchs.
Well, it’s August and the press of school work is starting. I have syllabi to prepared, a newspaper staff to help organize and a bike club to encourage. The end of RAGBRAI, in my universe, is sort of the unofficial end of summer.
And this summer, we adopted a caterpillar from the Nature Center, fed it and had the pleasure of watching it fly off.
My gardens had a few losses from the winter that have not been restored—my two Rose of Sharon bushes both died, for example. I like that kind of flower and eventually will replace them, although I didn’t find them this year. No butterfly bushes are growing in my gardens this year despite the welcome presences of many butterflies—that perennial is dicey in my region of Iowa and is really almost an annual.
But this was the first year the dogwood tree in back bloomed, and the first year in which Milkweed firmly took hold in my gardens. All in all, I’ll list it as a successful growing season.
And now summer is psychologically, if not physically, over, the fall bulb catalogs are arriving, and the year is marching onward.
Not the chick magnet—the tick magnet. I was eating a late breakfast in the sunroom that overlooked our back yard, when I noted a freaky, scary looking creature casually ambling across the yard.
Behold the opossum. North America’s only marsupial, and about as ugly a critter as you would ever hope to see.
I went and got my 4-year-old granddaughter, who was staying with us for the day, and we watched the possum. It noticed the attention and darted off. Although they look fierce, most sources say the nocturnal opossum is generally shy and tries to avoid people. This one was certainly true to form.
And of all the native mammals to spot in my yard, honestly the freaky looking possum probably is about the least problematic. Squirrels dig up blubs and sometimes even bite holes in your eaves to set up house in your attic. Woodchucks chew woody plants. And rabbits—don’t get me started. As I’ve written on this blog before, if God were a gardener in the Midwest and Eden was in Iowa rather than Iraq, it wouldn’t be the serpent who messed up paradise. To an Iowa gardener, our native snakes are benign, helpful presences. No—in the Iowa Eden, the Devil is personified by that destructive critter second only to Bambi in its capacity to wreck havoc in the garden—the bunny.
That rascally rabbit.
Anyway, so what we saw was a possum. And, if it were a rabbit, I would immediately go outside and sprinkle around that kind of animal repellent that seems more like a prayer ritual than anything that has an actual impact on the universe, but we do what we can. For a possum? Meh.
It’s a tick magnet. Possums don’t pose any threat to plants, but are insect eaters, and, according to Iowa lore, their favorite snack is the tick. So you’re welcome to hang around my yard as much as you want Mr. (or Ms.) Possum. Ticks carry disease, and Possums eat ticks. The enemy of my enemy is my friend.
Anyway, in other garden news this week: Snow! Not winter snow, summer snow. Early each summer, the cottonwood trees release their seeds, and we have the faux snowfall that heralds warmer weather. Tuffs of fluff are in the air.
Also, most peonies are still in the bud stage, but a clump in front picked this week to bloom. I know some gardeners don’t like peonies because they are associated with ants, but ants are everywhere and I don’t quite get that attitude. I don’t do anything to prevent ants on my peonies—they in fact are eating nectar the plant is producing with the intention of attracting ants, so I let nature be. The theory on the Iowa Extension site I consulted is that ants helps prevent pests. They are not required for peonies to bloom, but helpfully remove the waxy nectar film, and thus promote blooming—mostly, they are a neutral presence the plant may have evolved to attract just because other bugs don’t appreciate crowds of ants.
And Irises are in bloom. Both Peonies and Irises appeared around town a couple of weeks ago, but my gardens are in a strange time zone where everything seems to bloom a little later. That’s OK with me, as long as the plants boom!
I’ve also been impressed with the bloom time of a Clematis in front that produces giant blue flowers. They flowers are in no hurry to fade, and there are many more buds. The Clematis season should go on for a while, since some plants in back are just starting to bud.
Anyway, it’s another rainy day today. I hope you enjoy some of the flower images from sunnier days this week.
The opening day retreat took place today at Mount Mercy University today, so summer is officially over. Students will be moving in this weekend, and the pace of academic life will take over my life.
It was a good summer, and it was a busy summer. It was the summer of a grandson. This summer, my wife and I watched a baby grandson who just turned 8 months old.
My wife did more of the baby care than I did, but there was often at least one a day a week when I was the primary grandson caregiver, and it was both exhilarating—a baby of that age is often quite charming—and tiring. Parenthood, I’ve decided, is for the young.
So it wasn’t as lazy a summer as some past ones have been, nor as lazy as some future ones will be, I hope. That’s OK. A baby is only young once, and it was nice to get to spend time with him. We also had several visits from other grandchildren, a few adventures and a couple of family reunions, but not much in the way of travel this summer. That’s as was planned, however. And I do expect that we will travel more in future summers. We have a son who now lives in San Francisco, and it would be a shame not to drop in on the West Coast next off season.
Anyway, it has been a warm, wet summer in our corner of Iowa, and on Wednesday, the day before school officially began, I shot some photos both of the damp post-rain morning and of the deck that will soon be gone.
We’ve put a down payment on a three-season room, which I hope means we’ll be spending even more time in the semi outdoors in future, lazier, summers. In a few weeks a crew will tear down our deck in prep to build the new room.
It’s a pretty positive change, I think. We can watch spring rains while sipping our morning coffee. I sometimes ate breakfast or other meals on the deck, and that was fine, but sometimes a buggy experience. I hope the three-season room is a bit less insect rich. The deck was fine, and I will miss it, but sometimes something good gives way to make room (no pun intended) for something better.
I’m not sure how to describe my mood as the school year starts. At the moment, I haven’t done all that well getting all the stuff ready that I need to, but I also just don’t seem too worried about it. The first class meets on Wednesday of next week, and I hope I’ve prepped a bit more before then.
Well, goodbye summer 2016. I’ll miss you and the playtime I had with a charming young boy. I’m sure I’ll get to play with him and other grandchildren in future summers, too—but this season was unique. And I’m a little sad to see it go and to say goodbye to both it and the deck, but I’m pretty excited to meet new students, see old ones and have another school year begin.
Well, that title is a little deceiving—I’ve planted milkweed for several summers in a row, but with no success.
First, I saved some seeds from wild plants at a daughter’s house, and sewed those in the spring. Then, I read more about milkweed, and realized the seed have to overwinter in order to germinate, so last fall, I planted the seeds I gathered right away to let them experience the Iowa winter as they ought to experience it.
But, no—I have seen some evidence that a seed I spread maybe sprouted in the woods behind my house, although, to be fair, one may have just blown there, too. In my gardens, there are lots of weeds that take root, but none of them tasty to Monarch butterflies.
This year, a professor at Mount Mercy gave me a plant from her garden, which I put in my garden and watered for weeks. After a month or so, it had not grown but also not faded, and I was starting to think “success,” when one morning, it was dead.
Milkweed is like that, gardeners.
Noelridge Park greenhouses have a Mother’s Day open house, and they gave out free Milkweed plants. I got one, as did numerous grandchildren, and I planted those. They are doing fine, but are also only annual plants—the greenhouse did not give out perennial Milkweed.
I transplanted some Milkweed from my daughter’s yard—four plants. Two did the “I will hold on for weeks and suddenly die” trick, but two have actually not just stayed alive, but have also grown. I don’t want to jinx it, but of the five native Milkweed plants I put in the ground this year, it’s possible two might survive.
And I bought “butterfly flower” plants, a type of Milkweed, both at HyVee Drug Store and a local flower shop. I went a little overboard, I suppose. There are at least four plants in back and four more in front—so eight store-purchased plants. None of those have died, but some have not yet grown and may yet be in the “failure to thrive” category.
But about half have grown—one has even bloomed.
I won’t know the results until spring, when I see what comes back, but I do finally seem to have Milkweed in my garden. Even with all of the other plants I purchased and put in and failed to hear from—where are you, other colors of Coneflower or any Toad Lilies at all?—that would make 2016 a good year in my gardens.
In past years, I have seen Monarchs in my garden enjoying the Coneflowers. None so far this year—but if the Monarchs ever return, I am hoping they also have plants to lay eggs on.
Now, if I can just persuade the Mount Mercy University Bike Club and the powers-that-be on the facilities staff—maybe I can get a Milkweed-butterfly garden going at MMU …
As I write this, another thunderstorm is rumbling through, bringing us more rain.
Like politics, gardening is local. South of here, they’re a bit parched. Here, the world is humid, warm, lush and green—it has not been a dry summer despite a few minor dry stretches. On the contrary, into mid July, rain has been pretty plentiful.
The dry “high summer” that sometimes arrives by RAGBRAI is not yet in sight. But some signs that summer is reaching is peak are around.
The Rose of Sharon is in bloom, a flower that I associated with late summer.
Anyway, when the sun was setting yesterday, and again this morning when it was shining before the rain clouds moved in, I shot some backyard pictures, sort of in praise of a green mid July in Iowa. I hope you like them.