June Bloom

Our June gloom seems to be getting longer and deeper as the years go by.  I like it, actually.  More time for the summer bloomers to put on growth before the heat comes on.

A few flowers of note that shone out on a grey morning:

Eriogonum giganteum, St. Catherine's lace has finally bloomed.  Actually the tiny buds are just beginning to open, beginning to attract hordes of pollinators and their predators.  The other buckwheats,   (e. fasiculatum and e. grande rubescens) have not started to bloom yet so for the time being St. Catherine has the conn.

I planted Blue hair grass, Koeleria glauca, in a cool old bbq grill (planting to be revealed at an undisclosed future date) and it is blooming:  First the inflorescence uncurls, then it stands straight and the flower parts begin to emerge, then the flowers hang out in full force and wait for a pollinating breeze.

And the succulent I believe to be one of the forms of Cotyledon orbiculata produces these amazingly pretty drooping pepper-like buds that open to pretty drooping lantern-like flowers.  You can see the color of the stems (actually pedicels seen here) and sepals is nearly white . . . the leaves are even whiter and are long and fleshy.

Cheers to June blooms everywhere.

Blooms Avec Bugs

A few samples from the bloom-bug continuum, April edition.

This honeybee (Apis mellifera) demonstrates technique for nectar extraction from the complicated flower of Phlomis fruticosa.  I watched honeybees working the Jerusalem sage for awhile and discovered the majority of them use this upside down position, while a few attempted to enter the nectar tube from the bottom, crawling up the lower lip of the flower.

The carpet beetle (Anthrenus verbasci) adults are out in force now, eating the disk flowers on my daisies and seeming to especially favor the tiny flowers of the not obviously daisy-like Ozothamnus, which of course are also daisies (Asteracea).  I guess the bugs' primitive daisy radar is in line with our big-brained taxonomy.

I still haven't identified this plant since our first encounter.  Let's call it rabbitbrush for now and possibly ever.  The lygus bugs that live on this plant haven't changed either, and have either arrived or arisen from their overwintering just like in springs past.  I think this one is Lygus lineolaris, but it could be another similar species.  Lygus bugs are well-known plant pests, but the rabbitbrush seems to prevail.

Bloom lights

Our So Cal world keeps switching from bright to dark with the variable weather this spring. On a recent cloudy day, shafts of light found brugmansia (variety unknown . . . mom's hand me down) and Salvia clevelandii flowers setting them to glow like solar garden lamps.

Batteries not included nor needed.

Monkey and other Flowers

Mimulus cardinalis overhangs the stream of traffic that flows on and off my front porch.  Sometimes, like this time, a flower falls into the dry streambed and rusted trowel below.  In nature the plant likes a permanent watercourse near its roots, so I need to mind the water in the pot in which it grows.  This is the 'Golden Form' of scarlet monkey flower so that explains the yellow flowers.  I got the plant, a tiny 3" pot, from Theodore Payne foundation last summer and it has grown well in the light shade of the acacia iteaphylla.

Nearby on the porch an old concrete frog from an old neighbor's estate sale stands guard with the lavendar lobelia.  It's nice to remember old neighbors that way.  Concrete lasts a long time, lobelia not so much but there's always more at the nursery; well maybe not this color but it never hurts to have a look.

The coral aloe, Aloe striata, has been blooming for at least a month and is still in good form.  I often see  hummingbirds hanging inside the inflorescence to feed as I sit on the front porch bench tying on my boots. I'll be scouting another one or two of these for spring planting.  Good for the hummingbirds; good for the gardener.

The trail where we walk on an supposed-to-be daily basis is sprinkled with rockroses which have been in bloom for weeks.  The cistus in my semi-shady yard are just starting to get warmed up.  This is the first flower of cistus not sure which one.  Much more rockrosing to come as the sun rides higher every day.


















Thanks for visiting, gardeners everywhere.  Garden well wherever you garden.  Last but not least, I have grown to like Persicaria capitata.  Weed?  Cute!

Winterbloom

Some dried rudbeckia and gomphrena in a balsamic vinegar flask (empty of course) silhuoetted in my happy orange summer window of sunflower batik fabric mod-podged onto the south-facing glass . . . winterbloom.

A bee, a caudiciform, a self-satisfied cackle

I found a honey bee clinging to a flower in the middle of the day, appearing to be at the end of its last honey run.  While a bit sad the scene was pretty with the bee glowing in the sunlight reflected off the flower that I was darned if I could remember the name of.

An iceplant (aizoaceae family); for sure.  This one grows erect and shrubby, with typical iceplant leaves and of course the small orange flowers.  So I searched on the internets for "shrubby iceplant orange flower" and scrolled down the page.  Not Ruschia pulvinaris or mesembranthemum; not lampranthus of any kind but there toward the bottom of page one I found a promising entry: Mestoklema arboriforme at San Marcos Growers.  No photo.  Search for Mestoklema (no wonder I couldn't remember the name, it's hard to type and hard to say) and photos confirm this is the genus but my plant could be either M. arborifome (more likely to form a water-storing stem or caudix) or M. tuberosa.  Still, I couldn't suppress a little gurgly cackle of self-satisfaction with my researching skills.  You know how Gollum sounded when he caught a fish in the forbidden pool in Two Towers?

Anyway, next day I found the bee dead, its tarsi still clinging to the Mestoklema (I'm going with) arboriforme flower.

Some Flowers for October: part 3

Another reason to always grow rudbeckia hirta are the amazing dried flowers.  These two have dried on the plant with no additional effort required; just go out in the yard this time of year and cut great looking blooms in full senescence for your harvest-time arrangements.  I suppose if I picked the flowers when they were in full bloom and dried them in a protected area maybe they would be prettier.  But that sounds like work, and I like the naturally decrepit look of these field grown daisies way past their prime, which one was like this:

I grew some red rudbeckia this year; I have gathered a bunch of dry ones which are nearly black and will make a suitable arrangement for a ghoulish feast later this month.

Some Flowers for October: part 2

It's a fine day in October when your mini rose is blooming and two tiny katydids (Scudderia furcata) pose attractively in the buttery autumn sunshine.

Some Flowers for October: part 1

I shambled into the backyard this morning, my mind in a bit of a fog thinking about corporate greed and all the bad that comes with it, when I noticed a stench of dead animal.  Seriously, I was mincing my steps as I scoped out the vegetation for buggies and stuff, imagining my foot's encounter with a possible half-rotten carcass lurking under a dried-up fallen-over corn stalk or an overgrown buckwheat or something.

Then I remembered: it was the sweet smell of stapelia in bloom.  This spring I divided my big old potted clump of stapelia gigantea, aka carrion flower, creating many more smaller plants.  This succulent plant, a member of the milkweed clan, is ridiculously easy to grow and propagate.  But once propagated bloom they will . . . beware the stench.  One of the cuttings shown here with a big balloon-like bud and a withered up claw of a spent flower.

Flies are attracted by the smell and meat-like appearance of the flowers, and they actually lay eggs on the flowers which hatch, live for a few days, then die of hunger.  The top photo shows a beetle of some unidentified sort that was also attracted to the flower.  Here's a fly and the beetle.  More about flies and stapelia here.

First Flowers

Oops I missed posting on bloom day in a timely fashion, but that doesn't mean there weren't flowers that arrived exactly at the appropriate times:
The first (and 2nd) rudbeckia hirta of the summer;

a cactus I've had in a pot for years offers up its first ever bright orange blossom.  The bud enticed for many days but the flower had faded by the second afternoon.

Of the multiple morning glories one blooms its first on the front porch; another one that nearly died waiting for me to transplant it puts out a flower which later faints into the nearby fencepost;

an unusual and unnamed aeonium blooms after years of pretending to be dying;

and the uncarina roeoesliana blooms beautifully but in vain since there is no pollination partner anywhere near here.

Bloom Day Bs

Borage (Borago officinalis) is welcome in my garden not only because it attracts insects like a magnet but the star shaped blue flowers aren't too shabby either.

Occasionally there is a pink flower like this one, maybe these are older sun-faded flowers or ones that haven't been pollinated.

Part of the attraction for insects is the flowers, but also the hairy stems and leaves provide good habitat for a variety of buggies usually.  The borage is doing its part putting out lots of blooms and hairiness, but our days are so cool and sunless the insects just haven't revved up into summer mode yet.

Just a few dedicated honeybees were found visiting the borage flowers.

After the flower is pollinated the ovary swells; each one has four spots for seeds although a lot of the seeds fall out before you notice them.

I hear that borage will grow readily from seeds, although mine hasn't yet self-sowed successfully.

Borage is grown commercially for the seed oil; I read that it is a good companion for tomatoes because it deters tomato hornworm.  Next year I'll try that instead of deadly nightshade.

Obligatory Fennel Post

The fennel has started blooming, attracting small hordes of syrphid flies despite the persistently gloomy June weather.

This fly is Allograpta obliqua, the common oblique syrphid which is a very common denizen of the small sky over my garden.  Here the fly is feeding on nectar but it will also be likely that she (if this is a she) will lay eggs among the fennel flowers.  The larval syrphids feed on aphids, and aphids are very common feeding on fresh succulent fennel flowers, stems and leaves; and they also persist on the stems as the fennel matures into senescence.  So eggs laid on fennel are likely to have a good source of food for some time to come.

But for now the fennel is fresh and new and aphid free.

Bloom Day Solanacea

We planted up some big pots with veggies in April including tomatoes and what the garden gurus identify as good companions such as onions, mint, nasturtiums, marigold and geranium as well as "other nightshades" (eg tomatoes, peppers, potato, eggplant, and well, nightshade?)  I happened to have a one gallon Solanum wallacei, Catalina nightshade, hanging around the yard looking for a home so I popped it into one of the pots.  It spills out of the pot with long stems covered in downy leaves and sprays of purple tomato flowers.

I was wondering one day as I watched flies and bees working the flowers: whether pollen transfer from the poisonous nightshade could effect the fruit quality of the tomatoes, as is the case sometimes with cross-pollinated squashes.

The tomato plants are loaded with fruit that is just turning red:  we will keep an eye out for signs of poisoning as we enjoy their juicy goodness.  Meanwhile the nightshade has set no fruit so far.

small things

As I weight the merit of spending the weekend working on the tax return against filing an extension and going to the Green Scene, I stop to appreciate some small-scale blooms on the estate today including Dodonaea viscosa,

Pelargonium grossularioides,   
Senecio radicans,  
Pelargonium carnosum, Cynara cardunculus,

and a grass of forgotten identity in no particular order.

The hop bush is one of my favorites, its flowers usually described as "insignificant".  I bought coconut geranium years ago at a garden show and it has never failed to delight me with its fragrance as it returns from the dead clumps, or sprouts from wayward seeds, each spring; the flowers really are small for a "geranium".  String of bananas is almost done blooming now, most of its composite flowers are hanging upside down full of marigold-like seeds, which is fine since we only grow it "for its form and foliage".  The grass has been moved around the garden quite a bit, but I seem to like it in its present location and so it rewards me with abundant if hardly noticeable flowers.  The fleshy-stalk pelargonium is favored by caudiform collectors for its stalk, but the flowers should never be overlooked.

This artichoke bud is small, for an artichoke.  The form 4868 is small, for a tax form.  It is after all the small things that, when we take time to appreciate them, make our lives richer.