Giving April her due

Time for a slightly different approach.

I find this passalong Pavonia consistently charming.

I don't have much to say today.

Didn't see the butterfly that laid the egg for this guy.  Fortunately my observation was not key to the process.

I did want to share a few recent images from the garden.

Cedar waxwings stuck around to fill up on loquats before heading north.

Intermittent rains both watered and kept the heat at bay through the end of April.

Plants and pollinators alike are happy about that.

Pollinators of every stripe have been happy to share the loquat bounty.

So am I.

Question Mark Butterfly, (Polygonia interrogationis) is a fan of the fermenting loquat fruit. 

My oak pollen "problem" is over for another year, though other trees continue their courtship dances in and on the wind.

I am able to enjoy my gardens from the other side of the windows again.

Here's to time spent outside with no more than the usual set of possible consequences.

Pipevine Swallowtail (Battus philenor) visits Lantana.

Fare thee well, April, here's looking forward to May!

I finally heard it - maybe you have too?

I thought I'd become immune.

I thought I'd gotten

 too hardened,

 frustrated to the point of no return.

But I kept being called out, drawn into the garden spaces.

I pretended to see if I needed to trim something a bit...

but then I'd stop to admire while acknowledging nothing needed trimming.

As I ventured out in my garden beds, I began hearing something.  At first it was barely audible.

But it happened again...and again.

A little snatch of tune...a snippet of melody...just the notes at first.  Until finally...the words became

just 

clear 

enough...to catch.  I had to actively listen, to hear.

To finally admit and understand.

It was only, ever, going to be a matter of time.

Because when it comes to the great awakening of garden and gardener alike? We silly humans may swear we are done, that this gardening thing, it is all over. We can say we have washed our hands and walked away forever.

But the garden, deep in her heart, she simply knows better.

Time, as always, is on her side.

Sings my garden:

Time is on my side, yes it is

Time is on my side, yes it is

Now you all would say, that you wanna be free

But you'll come running back (Like I said you would, baby)

You'll come running back (Like I told ya so many times before)

You'll come running back to me, yeah

You're searchin' for good times, but just wait and see.

You'll come running back (I said you would, darlin')

You'll come running back 

You'll come running back to me

Go ahead, baby, go ahead. Go ahead and light up the town.

Baby, do anything your heart desires remember, I'll always be around

I know, I know like I told ya so many times before

You're gonna come back, yeah you're gonna come back, baby 

'Cause I got the real love the kind that you need

You'll come running back (I knew you would one day)

You'll come running back (Like I told you before)

You'll come running back to me, yeah

Via Wikipedia: "Time Is on My Side" is a song written by Jerry Ragovoy (under the pseudonym of Norman Meade). First recorded by jazz trombonist Kai Winding and his Orchestra in 1963, it was covered (with additional lyrics by Jimmy Norman) by both soul singer Irma Thomas and the Rolling Stones in 1964.
 

Anticipating Autumn

Though the calendar reads "September" and we've enjoyed a welcome sampler of rainy spells interspersed with some cooler mornings, it is not yet reliably Autumn per se in the Austin area.  We are stuck for a few more weeks in what is more accurately described as protracted Summer.

Early signs of Autumn abound, but those have been well described and beautifully displayed in posts on multiple other (excellent) local garden blogs.

Schoolhouse and pink rain lilies popping up cheerfully in response to long awaited September rains?  Yup. Those have already been blogged about. Several times.

Turk's cap in bloom? Posted elsewhere. Beautyberry bushes and Pidgeonberry eponymously decked out?  Duly noted and reported on other sites.

Inland Sea Oat seed heads shown to their best backlit advantage?  Uh huh, saw that already. Datura blooms?  Photographed in daylight as well as in the moon's golden glow.  Garlic chives?  With and without bees. Lindheimer's senna? Various salvias and Leadwort plumbago?  All shown in flower and exquisitely documented elsewhere.

The usual suspects have definitely already gotten their fair share of the attention.

I wanted to post, but didn't see where I'd gain traction posting more (and not necessarily better) photographs of the plants already listed alongside various lame versions of "what she said".  My frustration mounted. Had I missed Autumn's boat? Was this territory too familiar, too well trod?  Had those other (better organized) bloggers covered alpha all the way to omega?  Couldn't I find one single as-yet unsung wonder left out there waiting its turn in the spotlight?

I groused, I deleted, I muttered. I was about to give up when, scrolling through my most recent photos, I saw both the plants and the light. There were a few also-rans out there not yet covered. Team captains had chosen their favorites first, but there were definitely other players remaining. So here they are, in no particular order, "latter but not least" additions, my own nominees to the lineup of late summer/early autumn stars designate for Central Texas in September.

To kick things off, a native, Texas Kidneywood (Eysenhardtia texana), which is currently flaunting a scent so pronounced it demands attention.

And attention it gets.  The flower spikes open a few at a time, advancing in numbers day by day until the entire tree becomes a fully loaded, heavily scented pollinator magnet.  Gray Hairstreak (Strymon melinus) butterflies favor it, nectaring alongside honeybees,

all sorts of native bees, bee mimics,

and even wasps.  Like this blue-winged Scolia dubia. They all spend hours darting in and out amongst the flowers, drinking their fill.

Scolia dubia- female blue winged digger wasp.

All that traffic drew even more attention, including that of the local anole population (Anolis carolinensis).

Using their coloration disguise to full advantage, they are lurking in proximity to branch ends in numbers, hoping to snap up a delicious meal all their own from amongst the winged visitors.

In fact, anoles can be seen everywhere these days including this little lip smacker perched on a flower spike of H. Duelberg salvia.

The delicate pink blossoms of Coral Vine, (Antigonon leptopus) are visited all day by pollinators of every stripe....

followed by even more anoles.  Dinner's on!

Non-native but well adapted and widely appreciated south of I-10, Firebush (Hamelia patens) comes back from the roots and kicks into high gear during our very hottest weather.  As the arrival of summer's heat was delayed, it got off to a slow start this year.  Unlike many other plants that went leggy with a vengeance, this seasonal beauty has only grown to half its usual spread and height.

I don't mind a bit.  I like it small or tall, and look forward to when glowing embers at branch ends are lighting up the bed it graces.  Hummingbirds love this plant though you'll have to take my word for that.  The delayed timing this year must be wreaking havoc with their usual feeding habits.

Beleaguered but persistent Fall Obedient plant is finally attempting blooms. Physotegia virginiana likes things wet, but the weeks of heat with no rain that followed spring's bounty took their toll.  This is a tough native however, and good year or bad, I know these will always come back for more.

This little patch of Virginia dayflower, (Commelina virginica) is blooming for a few hours daily, but it is new for me in this spot and I haven't watched it long enough to know if the current show will be reliable year to year.

Like the Firebush, October showstopper Giant Cosmos (Cosmos sulphureous), while only half its usual six foot size this year, is budding out.

Just beginning to appear, Goldeneye (Viguiera dentata) flower heads are small but expanding daily.

There you have it -  my add-ons to the pantheon of reliable late summer to early autumn bloomers in the central Texas area.  Taken in total they provide heat weary Texans with assurance weather is on the way better aligned with the calendar's insistence.

This year has certainly been one for the record books.  What about your garden spaces?  Seeing any surprises in your late summer garden after all our weird weather this year?  I'm sure there are wonderful plants I've overlooked or simply don't enjoy success with here. Lycoris radiata have been reported in bloom a few miles from me, but mine have yet to show.  Are you noticing other emerging changes?  Feel free to list them in the comments section.

Let's keep building the list!

Killing Things - Difficult Choices in the Garden

Warning:  If you are at all queasy reading about or looking at wasps, go no further.  If you are sensitive to the sight of a wasp nest that has been sprayed with poison, move along.  I'm writing about a difficult choice I made here, and I'm using my somewhat graphic photos because it felt dishonest not to.

The agaves...  Oh, the agaves.  They got larger than I thought they would faster than I thought they should. The ones I tested by growing in deep shade gained size more slowly but they all pupped prolifically.

Curbside, in full sun, the agaves are now presenting a physical hazard to pedestrians on our side of the street. Of particular concern, their potential to snag unwary elementary school children, trudging wearily up the steep hill in front of our house weekday afternoons after their bus stops at our corner. Agaves are hogging all the sunny spots, blocking the sprinkler system, extending their heavy and dangerously serrated leaves in every direction. They've simply got to go.

I was barely fifteen minutes into the removal process, sawing off agave leaves with enthusiasm and relief to finally be getting started.  Just as I began to attack the right hand side of my inaugural clump, the jiggling motion unleashed a large swarm of Polistes bellicosus, yellow and brown paper wasps.

They came speeding out, flying directly at me. I backed away equally speedily (adrenaline apparently a great lubricant for a "mature" lady's joints) and with a bit of flapping and squawking, managed to not get stung.  As I retreated ever further away, the wasps kept coming out, circling in agitated fashion. The "Bellicosus" in their name turns out to be predictively descriptive.

Regular readers may recall I was doing pruning recently on the downhill side of the driveway when I was stopped in my tracks by the presence (and agitated behaviors) of wasps of two different types in other nests.

The first was a Polistes bellicosus nest and the other belonged to red wasps, Polistes carolinas.  I managed to get the bare minimum of work done that day, approaching plants to prune from a different vantage point, and the rest of that job I relegated to an "after it freezes" timeline to avoid further disturbance or the need for eradication.

Unfortunately this job, removing the agave clumps, just won't wait that long. Unlike with bees, there are no wasp keepers to call to relocate a colony.  My hand was forced.  Sadly, I realized this nest and the wasps defending it had to go.  I reluctantly got the appropriate spray, and went back out to drench the nest, doing my best to assure the wasps were at least killed quickly.

As it was now late in the morning there were other wasps returning at intervals from foraging to their now dripping nest. They circled but seemed to understand not to land.  Polistes wasps are social, and provide many benefits to the garden.  Unless you are messing around close to their nest in some way they deem potentially threatening, they are not aggressive and co-exist peacefully with people and pets alike.

While I used to feel slightly nervous in their presence, now I welcome their ongoing patrols for pests to take back to the young in their nests. From what I've read, the spared foragers from the nest I destroyed will either go out to start their own nest or join a sister's nest as subordinates.  As I stood watch from a safe distance, I felt both defeated and sorrowful.  I say I garden for wildlife, and here I was, taking life.  It was and still is unsettling and unpleasant.

There are those of you out there who will strongly feel I was wrong to poison the nest.  (I first wrote that sentence using several different euphemisms but poison is what I used and poison is what I did.) Life is life.  An argument can be made that I have no right to kill insects when they were only defending their nest and young.  As a mother, I hope I would do no less.

There are also those of you out there who will think me silly to be bothered by killing a nest of wasps.  These are not human beings after all, they are insects. There are plenty more wasps where these came from.  I know of at least a dozen other nests and have no doubt there are others I have yet to encounter, all within the bounds of our small suburban lot.  The two nests I discovered further down the hill were both spared after all, and some might find that a more than reasonable compromise.

I'm fairly certain once I'm able to replant the soon-to-be cleared areas I'll rediscover the joy gardening more often brings, with its focus on growth and life.  I understand wild creatures live and die all around us every day.

I just don't like being the direct cause of their dying.