Dodder must go.

A scourge is upon my land.  A plague.  A ­­­pestilence.

Perhaps I’m overstating.  Let me backtrack.

Several years ago one of my gardening gurus, while perusing my garden, commented, “Oh, you have dodder.”

I had noticed this plant (Cuscuta sp.), twining over two native black daleas (Dalea frutescens), but was unsure of its identification. After ascertaining that it was also a native, I just let it be. Periodically, I would pull off the vines and clean up the daleas.

This year, I decided to be more proactive, and began pulling off the yellow, stringy vines earlier in the process. But the strangest thing happened. The more I pulled, the more the plant grew. Days after I spent 20 minutes pulling, the daleas were covered over again.

I looked around, and noticed small clumps of dodder in my yard, draped over prairie fleabane (Erigeron modestus).

It was time for research. After said research, it’s become crystal clear that I’ve made a terrible mistake letting dodder become established.

Dodder is a parasite.  It grows from seed, shooting up a small tendril. When the tendril encounters something to wrap around, it does so. From the website for the University of California’s Statewide Integrated Pest Management Program:

“Seedlings are dependent on carbohydrates stored in the seed (cotyledons) until they attach to a suitable host. When it contacts a host, the stem coils around the host plant and produces little structures called haustoria that penetrate the host’s vascular tissue. The dodder plant begins to extract nutrients and water from the host, and its connection to the soil withers and dries.”

Sounds kind of like a horror movie, doesn’t it?

According to Mr. Smarty Plants at the Wildflower Research Center, about 24 species of dodder live in Texas. They produce seed prolifically, and the seeds can lay dormant in the soil for 20 years.  Also, if you remove a tendril that has a haustoria, it remains viable for several days. It has lots of fun names: love vine, strangleweed, devil's-guts, goldthread, pull-down, devil's-ringlet, hellbine, hairweed, devil's-hair, and hailweed. Some of these names are very apt.

Dodder can only live on certain host plants, and apparently dalea and prairie fleabane are two of those. I don’t have many daleas. I have a whole lot of prairie fleabane.

Yesterday, I yanked up every fleabane (also some Dahlburg daisies) with dodder and tossed them in the trash. According to UC, I missed a step. I should have sealed them in plastic bags, so they won’t root elsewhere. (You know it's bad when you are supposed to seal it in plastic before discarding!)

Unfortunately, the daleas must go, also. Removing the host plants is the only way to get rid of this stuff, when it is so well established. Then I will need to replant the area with something dodder can’t use. If the dodder seedlings can’t attach to a suitable host in 5 to 10 days, they will die.

Then all I have to do is spend the next 20 years or so diligently removing new plants and their hosts.

Good grief.

Favorite spot in the garden:

The zexmenia (Wedelia texana) have taken up with the narrow-leaf dayflower (Commelina erecta var. angustifolia - I think) outside my kitchen window, and it's a very serendipitous pairing. These are volunteer natives. Aren't they lovely?

Cool plant #1: Twist-leaf yucca

Today I bring to you the first in an occasional series on interesting plants endemic to my area, the Edwards Plateau located in Central to West Texas. What characterizes the Edwards Plateau? I’m so glad you asked! From the Texas Parks & Wildlife Department:

“The Edwards Plateau is an uplifted and elevated region originally formed from marine deposits of sandstone, limestone, shales, and dolomites 100 million years ago during the Cretaceous Period when this region was covered by an ocean. The western portion remains a relatively flat elevated plateau whereas the eastern portion known as the Hill Country is deeply eroded.”

We live in the Hill Country sector. What an odd idea, that we live in what was once an ocean. Proof is all around us, however, with sea creature fossils decorating many of the rocks we find – and we find lots of rocks here.

Our featured plant today is the twist-leaf yucca (Yucca rupicola). This is a cool little yucca with - you guessed it - twisty leaves! Its leaves are one to two feet long, with a colored margin, which can be light brown, yellow, orange, red or white (depending on the source consulted). Tiny sharp teeth march along those leaf margins and thin white curly hairs cover the leaf. The bloom stalk shoots up in the spring (April to June), and can be up to five feet tall, with large, heavily scented white or greenish white petals.

If you look closely, you can see the tiny teeth at leaf's edge. 
Also, notice yellow leaf margin on the upright leaf,
and red margin on leaf at bottom right.

And boy, is it tough. The twist-leaf yucca grows in full sun or part shade and on shallow rocky soil, is heat and drought tolerant, and is deer resistant (except for the blooms). Some years the deer leave the yuccas alone, but when food is scarce they will top them all. This is a sad sight to a gardener, but part of the natural cycle, after all.

These yuccas grow fairly commonly on our property. One has popped up in a flowerbed.  This could be an unwelcome addition, but the plant only gets up to two feet in size and is manageable in its volunteer location.

If you live in the Hill Country, I hope you have some of these neat plants growing on your property. If you don’t, maybe you can find one at a native plant nursery.

Favorite spot in the garden:

Well, I haven’t added this feature lately, but today I have such a spot. This area is outside the living room French doors, and catches the sun so prettily (though it is cloudy today). Newly planted snowdrops (Leucojum aestivum from my mother-in-law's grandmother's house) surround the area, with rich purple oxalis (Oxalis triangularis) and wandering Jew (Tradescantia pallida, I think) in the middle, backed by a lush spread of yarrow (Achillea millefolium).  I love this color combination!

Pruning my physical and mental gardens.

Rock rose (Pavonia lasiopetala) in front.

I’ve been tidying the flowerbeds and yard this past week.

It had crossed my mind in recent years that some of this work need not be done by hand, though of course that is the most peaceful way to accomplish the task. However, as my gardening time is limited this year, on Sunday I gassed up and restrung the weed eater and took the tops off of zexmenia, dried out grasses (trying to avoid the little bluestem), blue mistflower, live oak seedlings and anything else in my path.

Yes, it’s faster, and yes, it’s less peaceful.

I’ve trimmed by hand, also, cutting back the lantanas, flame acanthus and autumn sage. There is more to be done, and I’m looking forward to getting back out there.

Narcissus (Narcissus tazetta italicus) with
Mexican feather grass (Nassella tenuissima) behind.

I really enjoy this time of year in the garden. Removing brown, shrubby, messy foliage and leaving behind bristling clumps (a.k.a. dormant plants), variegated brown mulch, and small sprigs of green poking their heads up here and there is rewarding. After cutting back a large area of new gold lantana, I discovered the narcissus bulbs planted a few months ago have come to life, with leaves several inches high. Big smile.

I can see clearly the limestone outlines of the beds, rocks painstakingly collected and arranged. Later in the year, plants will spill exuberantly out of the beds obscuring those borders.

I wish I could enter my mind and clear it as effortlessly.

Wouldn’t it be lovely if one could prune the mental deadwood away?

(One would have to use hand clippers; a weed eater would be entirely too ruthless for this job, and the noise would echo off the inside of one’s skull.)

The sticks you see are new gold lantana (Lantana 'New Gold').
Cutting back the deadwood exposed violets (Viola missouriensis -
I think) and oxblood lily foliage (Rhodophiala bifida),

Imagine cutting away dead limbs of imagined insults, useless worries, baseless grudges, unpleasant memories. Imagine leaving only useful knowledge,   hopeful plans and lovely memories, in a clean, organized and peaceful mental garden. Imagine hauling all that ugly stuff far away to decay.

Imagine a brain like a Zen garden.

Stepford wives probably had Zen garden brains.

All that ugly, unpleasant stuff contributes to who I am, of course. The trick is to encourage that stuff to compost internally and enrich my little brain. To keep it from poking and prodding here and there, interfering with healthy, positive thoughts.

When next I am working on cleaning the garden, I think I’ll visualize tidying my mind, also. I won’t try to clear-cut either one, but will prune and neaten as necessary to encourage beautiful growth.

I know this works in the garden. We’ll see if it works in my head, as well.

My daughter's view of nature

Tree frog found when we were cutting drought-felled trees.

My daughter (age 11) has been roaming the great outdoors with a digital camera in hand over the past several months. She likes getting very close to her subjects, and she's gotten some nice shots. I like that she is outdoors exploring nature up close and personal!

Silver ponyfoot (Dichondra argentea) (above and below)

Wood-sorrel.

 

 

 

 

Ashe juniper berry.

Yarrow (Achillea millefolium).

Wood-sorrel (Oxalis drummondii).

Since so many of these are foliage shots, I am linking to Pam at Digging's Foliage Follow-up meme. Foliage is an excellent thing to focus a camera lens on at this time of year, when blooms are few and far between.

We hope you enjoy!

Here comes the sun.

After two weeks or so of cold, gray, drizzly weather, followed by a nice rain, the sun has emerged!

One of my favorite parts of winter:  the little bluestem (Schizachyrium scoparium) turns rust! I did not realize this grass grows nationwide, and throughout much of Canada.
I bet it's lovely against a white backdrop . . .

Sickness engulfed my household over the holiday break. Day after day of that Oregonian weather did not help matters. I would go off the deep end if I had to put up with such weather for months on end. Apparently I live in the right geographical state for maintaining a healthy mental state.

Some thistle - this is likely its prettiest phase.

Spider web adorned with moisture.

But a bountiful rain (a relative term) over the last two days has led to a beautiful day, with everything looking fresh and clean and sparkly. My sense of well-being is directly related to the amount of sunshine I’m exposed to, so I’m feeling pretty good right now!

I have always just called this nolina 
(Nolina lindheimeriana), but it has a really fun
common name:  Devil's shoestring!

This morning I ventured out with the camera to see the sights and enjoy the sun and cool breeze. I was astonished to find a single wildflower in bloom, took pictures of drops of water beading on leaves, checked on the bluebonnet seedlings (yes, they have germinated!), listened to a few ecstatic birds, and thoroughly enjoyed communing with nature.

Winter is not over, of course. More rain is forecast for this weekend along with a “polar” cold front, as a weatherman termed it. Of course “polar” in Central Texas does not mean the same thing as it does in Alaska. Perhaps we will get a freeze out of it, perhaps not.  My daughter might feel moved to wear her boots rather than her preferred footwear:  flip-flops.  Or not.

The Texas redbud (Cercis canadensis var. texensis) is so confused.
It normally blooms in March, but it misunderstood the recent warm weather!

I hope wherever you are the day is as gorgeous as it is here, and you get to spend some time enjoying it!

Plains or prairie fleabane
(Erigeron modestus) -
the first wildflower
of the year!

Prairie verbena (Glandularia bipinnatifida - left) and
bluebonnet (Lupinus texensis).

Rounding up the year - garden projects completed.

Can't wait to see if cleaning and amending
the iris bed pays off with spring blooms!

It is gray, foggy and drizzly outside, and a cool 58 degrees: perfect weather for reflecting on garden accomplishments of the past year. 

Nearly a year ago, I posted about my garden plans for the year 2012. Four projects were on my list, some in varying states of completion.

You know how these New Year’s Resolution lists are. Generally they end up making one feeling inadequate, lazy or incompetent. Take your pick.

I blogged about the completion of this project in September, You just can't rush these things.

I am pleased to post, however, that I actually completed every project on my list.

This is probably the first time in my entire life that a New Year’s Resolution list has been fulfilled completely. If I had known this would be such a successful list, I could have added additional, important items to it:  GET A JOB  (oops, sorry, did not mean to shout that), finish a cross-stitch project (underway since at least 2010), write a novel.

Completed rock garden out front;
apparently I never blogged about this!

More of the rock garden, which extends
across the front yard and parking area.

Bed populated with blue mistflower. If you are familiar with this plant,
you know that it will fill in the bare spaces very quickly!

Perhaps it is best to keep the list small and manageable.

I hope you were equally productive with your projects. Even if you weren’t, I hope you had a wonderful time dreaming about your projects and spending time in your garden. After all, that is the most rewarding part of gardening, is it not?

Where's the rain?

It's a good thing to have drought-tolerant plants
when you garden in a drought-prone area:  Silver pony-foot
(Dichondra argentea) under Lindheimer's muhly
(Muhlenbergia lindheimeri), with spineless prickly pear
(Opuntia ellisiana, maybe).

We just wrapped up a November totally devoid of measurable rain. I can’t find any records for Hays County, but in Austin where they track such things the last dry November was in 1897.

As you know, this part of the country recently endured an extreme case of the dries during the summer of 2011, culminating in the terrible fire near Bastrop. The next summer and fall were reasonably wet. We gardeners were ecstatic! Probably the farmers and ranchers were pretty happy, too.

But anyone who has even a passing acquaintance with history (which accurately describes my acquaintance) knows that droughts can be multi-year events. The drought of record in Texas happened in the ‘50s, and lasted seven to 10 years (depending on the source). And when you see a factoid like this – the last dry November was 115 years ago – well, your heart sinks a little.

I read somewhere (and now can't remember where) that when very thirsty, the Agave americana's leaves start opening wider. These are pretty wide.

According to the U.S. Drought Portal, 82 percent of Texas is in moderate to extreme drought as of Dec. 4. Hays County is in the “moderate drought” category. To my recollection, we have been categorized in some drought category or other since 2011.

The Keetch-Byram Drought Index measures forest fire potential on a scale of 0 (saturated soil) to 800 (completely dry soil). The majority of Texas counties, including Hays County, appear to be in the 500-600 level.

I may have posted this before, but I still find it fascinating so here it is again: an animation of the drought index:  http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=58S0cmdfoKg.

I’m not a meteorologist, nor do I play one on television, but I’m beginning to wonder if drought is just Texas’ natural condition in the brave new world of climate change.

Days with 20%, 30% and 40% chances of rain continue pass by dry. Seems like there’s a good chance this drought is not through with us.

Favorite spot in the garden:  The white crape myrtle behind my porch swing is at last bowing to the season, and losing its leaves. The fall color of its leaves, decorating the tree and the ground underneath, really accentuate the red of its trunk.

Oxblood lilies arise

Hear ye, hear ye, the first rain of fall has . . . fallen. After that first rain (in late August or September) the loveliest thing happens in my garden – the oxblood lilies arise from the mud! Of course the rain lilies bloom, also – though sparsely this time, perhaps due to tough summer conditions.

Inspired by these lovelies, I chose to write a lily post. Perhaps I could wax poetic about the graceful, nodding flowers atop long slender stalks, and refer to lily lore – such as how lilies have symbolized “purity, innocence and goodness” (Chicago Tribune, Sept. 18, 1988) from the times of the ancient Greeks and Romans, and continuing to this day in Christianity. Perhaps I would mention famous people named Lily, though I could only come up with Lily Tomlin. I could trot out famous expressions, such as “gilding the lily.”

I googled oxblood lilies, to begin learning about this beautiful flower, and made a crushing discovery.

Oxblood lilies are not lilies. (Rain lilies are, however.)

What cruel trick is this? This derails the whole theme of my post! Who can I complain to? Who is responsible for this travesty in plant taxonomy!

Oxblood lilies (Rhodophiala bifida), also called schoolhouse lilies, are members of the Amaryllis family.  According to The Southern Bulb Company, German settlers introduced this Argentinean native to central Texas.

My mother-in-law dug these bulbs from the front yard of her grandparents’ house, and years later passed some along to me. Her grandparents, Emil and Laura Brune, ran Pearfield Nursery in Colorado County. Laura’s father, German immigrant J.F. Leyendecker, established Pearfield in 1876.  According to my mother-in-law, Peter Heinrich Oberwetter, a German Texan who studied bulbs, introduced oxblood lilies to Texas about 1900.

“Whether or not J.F. Leyendecker had them, I can't say for sure, but Grandma always had them,” says Mary Anne. “They used to line her front walk, which is why I planted mine out in the front.”

This group of lilies is by my front step.

I love how these lilies surprise me each fall. After they bloom, the foliage grows during the winter, and then dies back with the heat. By the time they bloom in the fall, I have forgotten they even exist. These babies are tough - drought tolerant, soil tolerant, preferring part shade to full sun. Apparently they don’t require dividing, but can be after the foliage dies back. The blooms proliferate over the years.

This is probably an evening star rain lily (Cooperia 
drummondii). You may remember my earlier post
about rain lily identification issues.

They did not bloom at all during last year’s drought. Perhaps a gardener could be forgiven for thinking they had died.  But the fall rain resurrected them, and they are more beautiful this year than ever before.

Here’s to oxblood not-lilies!

Favorite spot in the garden:

See above!

Full disclosure ahead . . .

We bloggers have the luxury of showing the best points of our garden on any given day. A reader might think that my garden looks great year round, if she were to judge by blog pictures alone. 

Inspired by the need for full disclosures during this heated political season, I will offer full disclosure of my garden during this heated gardening season.

My lawn!

Wonderful pomegranate (Punica 
granatum 'Wonderful') - yes, I've watered it.

Tropical sage (Salvia coccinea) - not irrigated.

As I bare my garden, let me enumerate the gardening conditions.

Artemisia (Artemisia 'Powis Castle" and
Texas lantana (Lantana urticoides) - poor babies!

One:  Most of my yard is in full sun. Related to that, it’s been in the upper 90s for most of the last two months.

Two:  Our water comes from a well, so watering plants is low on the priority list. I do water; however, it is done on an emergency basis.  As in, “Yikes, that’s about to bite the dust!!” Our last good rain was almost two months ago.

Emaciated giant spineless prickly pear.

Three:  Central Texas.

Oh, you want more on that last one? Here in Hays County, we subsist from drought to flood and back to drought again. The plants had better be able to live with that cycle. As you can see on the right, we are in moderate drought according to the U.S. Drought Monitor and we just turned red on the Texas A&M drought monitor (which measures forest fire potential).

The weathermen are forecasting rain for the next few days.  My little plants surely need it, as you can see.

Favorite spot in the garden:

Well, I’ve already told you how the garden looks. So my favorite spot today is a hardscape area. In an effort to spiff up the front entry, I bought some tumbled glass and tumbled it among the paving stones already in place. I love it and plan to obtain more. The grass is native volunteer, suffering from the heat like everything else.

You just can't rush these things . . .

This weekend, thanks to my husband, we finished a long-term project.

Several years ago, Dan bought a fountain pump and peripheral equipment for my birthday. However, my original plan for its placement required still more peripheral equipment – a longer cord. Six months passed before I obtained said cord.

Before . . .

Now the job had turned into a big, complicated electrical one. These types of jobs require lots of planning, perhaps an environmental study or permit.  Maybe it would require the blessing of a uniformed officer of the electrical code.

Six more months went by, with the equipment residing on the laundry room counter.

Then came a Eureka moment:  I should put a pond right outside my living room window in a bed still to be developed! This would be much closer to the house, ergo closer to the electrical outlet thereby simplifying the job.  I rushed out to buy the pond, lugged it home and set it in place.

Six months passed. The pond collected water from roof run-off and became home to some minnows, dead bugs, an occasional waterlogged toad and green pond sediment.

Look, I even used tools!

In early spring, something moved inside my soul. I knew it was time for the next step in this project. My husband finished moving rocks. I moved dirt and plants to surround the pond. Now, it was a flowerbed! A flowerbed with a pond! Maybe now . . .

No. Six more months elapsed. The plants grew, the minnows swam, but alas, the sound of tinkling water did not fill the air.

Sometime during this period, I saw a cool idea on Pam Penick's Digging. She had visited another gardener and seen her fountain, and then copied the idea for her own garden. These two gardeners had rigged a fountain to run water through a hose bib. I found a discarded hose bib and decided to follow in their footsteps (the sincerest form of flattery, right?).

Labor Day weekend arrived. While discussing what projects we could undertake, I suggested that perhaps my dear husband could get the fountain up and running. I pulled up Pam’s page to show him how her husband had managed this engineering feat.

My husband hemmed and hawed, then struck out for the hardware store. Like Pam and Cat, he bought metal plumbing pipe and elbow joints. He assembled the pieces of pipe and set the unit in a one-gallon plastic plant pot, then mixed some concrete and poured it in. The bottom of the pipe stuck out the side of the pot/concrete. When the concrete was dry, he cut off the pot, connected plastic tubing from the pump to the bottom of the pipe, and set all in the pond. He did a little hocus pocus electrical work, and then plugged in the whole apparatus. Water began splashing gaily into the pond! Hurrah!

This little fella was in the
pot I moved - the first new
resident of our revamped pond!

I placed a sad little water plant from the other pond beside the concrete block – I’m hoping the cooler water and shade will provide it a better home. Four big beautiful goldfish now populate this more upscale pond.  

Now we are eager for cooler weather so we can open the windows and hear the soothing sound of water splashing right outside.

. . . and after! The bed is home to Turk's cap (Malvaviscus arboreus var. drummondii),
heart-leaf skullcap (Scutellaria ovata) and a white potato vine (Solanum jasminoides).