A season for surprises

I would never pretend to know the names of most of the plants growing here. My inability to recall which plant is what extends even to perennials I've personally planted here over the past several decades.  In my defense, there are a lot of plant possibilities to consider for the varying microclimates that can occur on even a mid-sized suburban plot, especially as you get a little further away from the center of town.  In these hills just south and west of Austin, there exists every planting and growing situation you can imagine.

Coming into the game a blank slate, as I began to try gardening here I had a very steep learning curve.  Figuring out what might work versus what was out of the question required a methodical approach.  I used nothing of the sort, wandering through each nursery and big box store willy-nilly, drawn to whatever looked best that day.  I read every identification and "requirements" tag and once purchased, completely ignored most of them.

If something was pretty I got one.  Sometimes more than one.  I bought a lot of plants that died.  A whole lot.  Was it any wonder I needed to forget?  Time passed and I grew more philosophical about my losses.  A few plant names I'd somehow always known and eventually I learned a few more. It got to the point where I could remember what to call Verbena without having to scrape too hard.

Some plants, small trees especially, have always been here and I either mis-identified them (you are shocked - I know!) or I simply never took the time to learn their name.  These little roughleaf dogwoods out back were persistently referred to for years as "you know, those bushes out back that aren't altheas".

So it was no surprise really, or at least it should not have been, when my daughter mentioned she thought the fruit on the small tree in front of where she parks is really pretty this year.  "Fruit?" I asked.  "What fruit?  Fruit where? What small tree!?".  So she took me out to see.

She is right.  The fruit on this small tree IS really pretty this year.  More remarkably, this is the first time any of us ever noticed ANY fruit on this tree. I'd never really looked closely at it, not once. All this time I'd idly assumed it was just another yaupon growing up under the live oaks.

Not even close.  This is a slightly sun starved specimen of Diospyros texana, the Texas persimmon.  I never noticed any flowers on this little tree (Next year! Next year I'll pay attention!) but the fruit are hard to ignore.

Can you imagine I had this beauty right under my nose all this time and never noticed it before?  Me neither.

Perhaps I garden too much with my head down and focus kept narrowed.  Clearly I need to look up and around more often and pay better attention to more than just the task at hand.

Hot but not especially bothered

It took longer than expected this summer, but the temperatures have most definitely eased up into "hot enough for you?" range.  Faced with daily highs in the upper nineties and the occasional foray into triple digits, even established plants begin to look tired, especially those planted in full sun.  It is too late to prune, too early to plant and too hot to weed.  As a result, there's not a lot to post about this time of year.

Nothing much bothers with setting flowers in August under ordinary circumstances, and after our colder than usual winter, a lot of my usual late summer bloomers (most of them non-natives) are running several weeks late. The vast majority of my native plants have bloomed and set seed and are now content to coast and reserve their energies for cooler days to come.  The view outside is set for the season and at the risk of sounding like a piker, things in the garden just now are fairly boring.  That is what makes these exceptions so notable.

Garlic chives have taken advantage of their propagation dominance and are overrunning their bounds.  But.  They bloom in the heat of August, and though the cut stalks smell (and taste) like garlic?  The flowers at least look sweet, a bit like miniature lilies.

Another bed bully that at least partially redeems itself this time of year is mint.  I harvest a bit of it to use for tea, salads, and sauces, but mostly I appreciate how it holds up in the heat, blooming when little else will.  Bees seem to enjoy the tripartite spears and I can only imagine what a lovely top note that might give the resulting honey.  The white blooms in combination with the bluish green of the leaves and stems are as refreshing to the eyes as they are to the palate.

Then there are the annuals, typically much more well mannered. Specifically, the basils.  I cook with them some, but I plant a smattering of these in the garden each year just as much for their contrasting foliage, late summer blooms, and seeds.  Finches love basil and I enjoy watching the tiny birds hanging on to nodding stems as they work to harvest seed.  This year I planted purple,

Thai basil,

and the usual sweet green Basil.

I didn't spot the crab spider hiding behind the white blooms until after I enlarged the photo for editing. These little guys have fewer potential lairs this time of year so I'm happy he found a good spot. Did you know basil blossoms are as delicious as the leaves?  They are not only beautiful looking but quite tasty sprinkled into salads or arrayed atop sliced tomatoes for a more floral version of a Caprese salad.  Just be sure to shake the spiders out, first.

Last but certainly not least is a native workhorse, Prairie verbena (Glandularia bipinnatifida) which is apparently a distant relative to teak trees.  These purple blooms are central Texas garden standbys, persistently offering a bright splash of color to their surroundings from March through at least October, and occasionally blooming through until our first frost.  It is my tendency to take these little troopers a bit for granted because they are so reliable.  In mid to late August however they prove they are stars in their own right, as they shake off heat and drought in a beautiful way, inviting late Summer skippers into the garden.  Here, a verbena offering what I'm pretty sure is a Erynnis funeralis a midafternoon meal.

I haven't always done a great job of planning for year 'round beauty in my garden beds, but late August, even with its blaring afternoon heat and searing breezes, still holds plenty of rewards for any soul brave (or crazy) enough to venture out.  That suits me just fine. I grew up here and enjoy mad dogging it outside in the summertime no matter how toasty it gets.  Now, if I could only get a handle on my January and February views!