Summertime . . . .

If you can't read this, it says 105F.

Well, summer has arrived in Central Texas. It's even worse in other areas, but I'm not there, I'm here. And it's hot.

Hot enough to fry an egg on the sidewalk, if we had one. Which we don't.

Hotter 'n hell. Well, probably not.

From my husband, master of colorful metaphors and similes:  Hotter than frog legs in a frying pan.

And appropriate for our house:  so hot the chickens are laying hard-boiled eggs.

Anyway, you get the idea. If you have any fun things to add, feel free. Keep it clean, though. This is a family enterprise.

This is what my east bed and my beautiful phlox look like after the sun has its way with them - taken at about 1 p.m.

We have to shade our veggies here in Texas. We learned this trick last year, and it does prolong the life of our garden a little while.

Windfall (not the monetary kind)

Wow, it was blowing dogs off chains a few days ago! If you live anywhere in the middle of the country, you know exactly what I’m talking about.  I’m not complaining, mind you. Compared to the blizzard conditions experienced in other places, we got off easy.

Wind gusts exceeded 50 mph in our area. According to the National Weather Service (From Jim Spencer’s weather blog on KXAN), Hays County’s highest measured gust was 53 mph.

I am amazed at how strong trees are, and how much movement and stress they can take. Looking out the window the other day at the trees thrashing about, I expected more damage. But those trees are tough. Our damage was limited to occasional broken Ashe juniper branches, though one of those was quite a large branch in a tree directly in front of the house.

Besides the woodpile, a few branches fell, also.

One unforeseen problem emerged. In a recent tree-cutting spree we stacked wood five feet high between several moderately sized cedars. When the winds started gusting, the trees started swaying – and a good bit of our woodpile toppled. Now we get to stack that wood twice. Live and learn.

Did you notice the noise of the windstorm? Even inside the house, I could hear a low sustained roar. Outside, the roar was intense:  an amalgam of wind whistling through branches, leaves rustling, limbs crashing against each other, and trees creaking and groaning – for miles around.

“Awesome” – though overworked – is just the right adjective!

Favorite spot in the garden:

The violets have begun blooming, few and sparse right now. These little darlings appeared without my help and began proliferating under the roof overhang and live oak tree. According to the Wildflower Research Center they are “Good for the moist but well-drained woodland shade garden.” Well, that’s not exactly what I’ve got, but I’ll take ‘em! I think they are Missouri violets (Viola missouriensis).

For some reason, I thought of poetry when writing about the violets, and I found this sweet little poem to share.

Who hath despised the day of small things?

By Cristina Rossetti

As violets so be I recluse and sweet,

            Cheerful as daisies unaccounted rare,

Still sunward-gazing from a lowly seat,

            Still sweetening wintry air.

While half-awaked Spring lags incomplete,

            While lofty forest trees tower bleak and bare,

Daisies and violets own remotest heat

            And bloom and make them fair.

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).

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.

There's no place like home.

I love these morning glories!!

There’s no place like home. <click click> There’s no place like home.

After most of three weeks on the road, we are settled in back home, awaiting the start of the school year.  We spent two weeks in Colorado (oh, those 45 degree mornings!) followed by a week touring southeast Texas visiting relatives.

Unloading the car after the Colorado portion, I looked around my woods, and thought, “Something’s missing.” I promptly realized it was the tall trees and mountains that I had been looking up to for the past 10 days.

Note from Colorado:  Did I mention we saw a bear? Pretty exciting stuff for us life-long Texans! Luckily we did not see him in our tent (!), but he was fairly close to our campsite, loping across the road in front of our car at straight up noon. I always thought this would be the perfect way to see a bear – when I’m in my car and he’s not.

Trusty summer bloomers - flame acanthus
(Anisacanthus quadrifidus var. wrightii).

Note from southeast Texas:  Do you know that people in southeast Texas use sprinklers to water lawns? I find I am mesmerized by sprinklers clicking and spraying water, not to mention by green lawns. Neither of these things is common in my neck of the woods.

The day after we drove north a huge storm delivered over two inches of rain. We came home to a tattered jungle. The rain powered a huge growth spurt, and then the heat put the whammy on all that new growth.

Bit by bit, I am watering and mowing. It’s too hot to do much out there (at or near 100 degrees each afternoon). But I will reclaim my yard, and slowly shape things up for the cooler weather to come.

I've featured these bachelor buttons (Gomphrena globosa 'Fireworks')
before - but they just keep blooming and spreading!

We had some casualties of our vacation:  we are down to two chicks out of the 12 we had before we left.  We’re not sure how they met their demise, though my husband did find and dispose of a 3.5-foot rat snake in the chicken coop.

This Brazilian rock rose
(Pavonia braziliensis)
piggybacked its way into
my garden.

(Truly, it’s a wonder chickens as a species have survived.  You may have read this here before, but let me reiterate: Chickens are not bright.)

Vacations are wonderful, and I do love the mountains, but I am glad to be home and am eager to resume my dispatches from the hill.

And no, Aunt Em, it was definitely not a dream!

As for wildflowers, the white heliotrope (Heliotropium 

tenellum) continue to steal the show. These are beside
my driveway and have gotten no supplemental water.
Wow!

Now for my Garden Bloggers Bloom Day report:

Thanks to that rain a month ago, my summer stalwarts are blooming. Things are hot and dry, but are a whole lot better than this time last year!  Hope you enjoy my blooms!

The flame-leaf sumac (Rhus lanceolata) is blooming and setting fruit. I've never noticed how lovely the berries are at this stage - then again, these might be the buds.

I happened to catch a bee enjoying the blossoms on the same tree.

Stop by May Dreams Gardens to see what’s blooming in a variety of other gardens.

News from the hill

The lantana (Lantana montevidensis) and  
Gomphrena globosa 'Fireworks' make lovely companions.

Day flowers have put on blooms again after rain.

We've had welcome rain on the hill this week. Over the past seven days, 4.2 inches of rain have fallen. More is falling right now!

The county commissioners instituted a burn ban on July 5 (after all the fireworks!), and the rains started three days later. Good job, commissioners!

This rain fell just in time to give plants a boost through to cooler weather. It was pretty durn hot and dry leading up to this week.

Petunia the hen leads her little flock to safety. See how ruffled up she is?
She does not like me so close. These chicks are a couple of weeks old.

In other news, we have three batches of chicks in the coop - the most we've ever had at one time. I can't explain this outburst of fecundity, but we are enjoying all the chicks.

The latest batch are miracle chicks. Petunia the hen had trouble this time around. She broke all of her first batch, then moved to a new nest. After a week or so there, she moved again, leaving eggs behind. My husband gathered the eggs and relocated them to the new nest. After five weeks, four chicks hatched successfully.

The second batch is shepherded by Gracie. Gracie was a perfectly mild-mannered hen (though while sitting she growled like a pteradactyl) who has turned ferocious after the hatch. She attacks anyone who gets too close to her five chicks. Now the family has figured out how to escape the outer sanctum, and they spend their days in the woods. One chick has disappeared so far. It's a jungle out there.

The oldest batch are still staying close their mother hen, Cream Cheese.

The oldest chicks, which are about three months old, have really interesting colors. Unfortunately, two of them appear to be roosters.

That's all the news from the hill this week. And that's the way it is.

Farewell, trusty helpers.

I am mourning today the loss of . . . my favorite gardening gloves.

You have served me well, you lovely, spring green gloves emblazoned with the word “GARDENER” across the knuckles. You fit so well, and remained at the ready for any task, large or small, over the last few years. How will I go on? Something vital will be missing from my garden endeavors. I fear I will be less productive, and I hope that my garden will not suffer as a result of this tragic loss.

Yes, I have a picture of my garden gloves - what of it?

How could such a thing happen, you ask? Every gardener knows she must guard and protect her precious helpers.  Alas, I was careless.

After working on the gardens at our neighborhood club on Monday, I removed my trusty gloves and placed them on the hood of the Beast (my SUV). I know, I know, I hear your indrawn breaths of horror. I think I retrieved them from this dangerous spot, but . . .

When I arrived home I realized I could not find my friends. I searched in the car and in the house, to no avail. My daughter and I revisited at the club, and then scoured the roadside to see if I had indeed left them in that terrible place and they had blown off – again, to no avail.

Maybe they have run away and are hiding, in retaliation for my carelessness in placing them – even for a few moments – in such a dangerous situation. If that’s so, and they somehow hear about this post, I say to them, “I’M SO SORRY, SO SO SORRY! PLEASE COME HOME! I NEED YOU!”

Perhaps you think I am being melodramatic. I assure you, this is not the case. I don’t know about other gardeners, but my garden gloves usually do not last long:  the fingertips wear out or they split between the thumb and first finger.  They are too large or too small; too heavy or too thin.

These are the perfect gloves. I bought them at that behemoth W**M*** - not normally where one finds fine gardening tools. I bought a first pair, and they lasted for much longer than other gloves. Several years later, I found another pair there – only one – and brought them home. We have been very happy together, these past two years. They were aging, like me, but still (like me!) had some good years left.

Now they are gone, GONE, I TELL YOU.

I’ve not been able to find the next generation at the behemoth, nor on the Internet. If I could find them, I would buy a dozen and hand them out at Christmas to those who would appreciate such paragons. (If you are rolling your eyes at my histrionics, and muttering “Good grief,” you are not on that Christmas list.)

I hope you don’t think I am being heartless in my speedy quest to replace my old and trusty friends.  It is the sincerest form of appreciation, knowing that my life will not be the same without these companions.

And after all, they are just gloves.

Favorite spot in the garden:

It’s raining as I type, a slow gentle rain tapping on the tin roof. I have finished planting (except for two silver dianthus). All of the new (and established) plants are bedded down out there, soaking up the good rain and enjoying a respite from the beaming rays of the sun. My favorite spot today is all of my garden and property, happily sucking up the good rain. I can almost hear it happening over the  drumming on the roof!

You see here my highly sophisticated rainwater collection system. 

"Oh what a beautiful morning . . . "

Last night, we fell asleep to the sound of a lovely rain, monotonously drumming on the tin roof. 

Look closely - see steam curling off the left trunk?

When we awoke, the rainy weather had moved on, leaving 1.4" of water in the gauge and a lovely morning.  It was that sort of morning when colors are vivid, water drops are sparkling everywhere, and the air smells clean.

As I looked out the window (the beauty distracted me from my book and coffee!), I noticed steam curling off the trunk of a tree. That did it. I grabbed the camera and headed out in my robe, slippers and curlers. (I didn't really have curlers in, but it makes a great visual, doesn't it?)

Here's how it looked on the hill this morning. Enjoy!

Seedlings by the
thousands!

This fellow stopped by
while I was out taking photos.

Beautiful green yarrow, . . . 

. . . wet shiny stones . . . 

 . . . and rusty hues of prairie flame-leaf sumac.

The full effect - fall color central Texas style!

Fall blooms on the hill

The woolly butterflybush (Buddleja 

marrubiifolia) is a Texas native, according to the 

Wildflower Research Center. This cool plant 

survived the summer in my hottest bed 

without supplemental water. It grows 3 to 

6 feet tall (mine is about 3) and 

attracts butterflies, as its name implies.

As per usual, I am posting for Garden Bloggers Bloom Day, hosted by May Dreams Gardens one day late. In my defense, it was raining yesterday. While we were thrilled by the 1 inch we received, my camera was not and took the day off. That inch of rain brings us to 15.1 inches for the year (our average is about 33 inches). It's astonishing anything is blooming at all. But voila!

We are having a beautiful fall in central Texas. The temperatures have been mostly in the upper 70s during the day, 50s and 60s at night, with a few quick cool spells. This moderate weather is probably drought related, but I'll take it. Monday evening, I was out in shorts and t-shirt. I'm so happy to live in Texas right now! (I might not have been so happy at the end of this past summer.)

Also, we have not had a freeze yet here on the hill, though some of our neighbors have. Our lowest temp so far has been 37 F.

Here's another Texas native perennial strutting its stuff. The white mistflower
(Ageratina havanensis) is a butterfly magnet, though it hasn't drawn many this year.
However, the bees were ecstatic this morning! Again, from the Wildflower Center,
this is a Texas native, found on the Edwards Plateau south to Mexico,
blooming in October and November. 

 

Above: Moses' boat, bedraggled,
but hanging in there!
Left:  Tropical sage (Salvia coccinea)
is a southern U.S. native. It suffers in
drought here, but perks up nicely with rain.

Fleabane! This stuff volunteers - I love it!

Still blooming - new gold lantana  . . .

These blackfoot daisies (Melampodium leucanthum) reappeared after our fall rains.

Last, but not least, flame acanthus (Anisacanthus quadrifidus var. wrightii)
is still blooming and nourishing lots of bees. I tried to get a picture of a bee dining,
but the darn things would not pose.

It's not my fault!

From left, nolina, Jerusalem sage and agave, given no supplemental water.

Hurrah!!! I’m so relieved. What a load off my mind! Whew!

The stats are in, and it’s not my fault.  (I’m still looking around for a politician to blame, however.)

According to NOAA (National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration), many atrocious records were set this summer in Texas. Here’s a list as of Sept. 9:

• Warmest August on record (same for Arizona, Colorado, New Mexico, Oklahoma and Louisiana).
• Texas’ June-August average temperature was the hottest ever recorded for any state (86.8 F) – Oklahoma was second (86.5 F).
• March-August average temperature in Texas was the warmest on record here.
• It’s also the warmest year-to-date average temperature on record here (69.9 F).
• This was Texas’ driest January to August period on record.
• 2011 was Texas’ driest summer on record; statewide average rainfall was 2.44 inches (5.25 inches below long-term average).
• According to NOAA, “The Palmer Hydrologic Drought Index indicated that parts of Louisiana, New Mexico, Oklahoma and Texas are experiencing drought of greater intensity, but not yet duration, than those of the 1930s and 1950s. Drought intensity refers to the rate at which surface and ground water is lost, due to a combination of several factors, including evaporation and lack of precipitation.”
• And more, “An analysis of Texas statewide tree-ring records dating back to 1550 indicates that the summer 2011 drought in Texas is matched by only one summer (1789), indicating that the summer 2011 drought appears to be unusual even in the context of the multi-century tree-ring record.”

This area looks pretty, though it's not flourishing. It gets
a couple of hours' soak every three to five days.

Looking out the window or strolling around the yard, it is so hard not to take the devastation personally. I look online at blogs – even those in my area – and see plants blooming that died in my yard months ago.  

Perhaps I haven’t chosen the right plants, I say. But almost all of my garden denizens are natives or are plants considered adaptable to my area. 

Perhaps I’m not watering enough. Other gardeners have fancy drip systems, with timers and whatnot. But I’m already watering more than I ought to, given the drought and worries about our future water supply.

Maybe I should have built shade covers. Really? Over the whole yard?

I shouldn’t have made so many beds in areas that get full sun. Okay, that’s unreasonable– you work with what you have, right? My house is on top of a sunny hill. Ergo, sunny beds.

I know, I didn’t hold my mouth right.

But now, the truth has been revealed. The spring and summer of 2011 have been terribly hot and terribly dry.

It’s not my fault that so many of my plants have died. The state of my flowerbeds and yard is not a reflection of my gardening talents. I could improve the irrigation situation, and I will definitely have the opportunity to rethink plant choices in those sunny, hot beds. But really, IT’S NOT MY FAULT.

I feel so much better.

Favorite spot in the garden:

I think I will call this the resurrection plant. I stuck two pads of spineless prickly pear (Opuntia ellisiana - maybe, but a large pad variety) by the front parking area three years ago. They were supposed to be anchored by a flowering shrub. One held on and started growing while the other promptly died. I thought. Several weeks ago I went out to hand water the latest shrub offering (Mexican bird of paradise - Caesalpinia mexicana - tough!)), and noticed a new green pad on the old, dead, desiccated pad. Amazing!