Shooting stars and a savage garden

I missed the fireworks tonight but I have my own starburst display in the front yard. The Whirling Butterflies (gaura) are shooting out right and left, reminding me of those cool starburst fireworks that rain down from Fourth of July skies.

The slightest breeze sets the blossoms fluttering on their long, wand-like stems, imitating a cloud of white butterflies flitting across my yard. This guara is called Geyser White.

What do you do with a day off in the middle of the week, with two days of work behind you, and two more to come? A holiday in the middle of the week doesn’t lend itself to serious pursuits like heavy-duty gardening chores. No, much better to fritter the day away, which I did, with this book.

A Savage Garden? How can that be? Finding the answer was a pleasant summer read - a delicious trip through a mysterious 15th century garden (which is much more than it appears to be) in the heart of Tuscany. Complete with a 400 year old mystery, a World War II murder, and a young scholar trying to unravel numerous threads; it was like reading The Da Vinci Code, only without the religion, and with a garden as the main character. I liked it.

Occasionally I got up and wandered around and pulled a weed or two, and petted a neighbor’s cat that prefers my back porch during the day. I was treated to the sight of four fighter jets flying in formation overhead, and later the deep boom of fireworks. I can no longer see them from my back porch as well as I could 30 years ago before the trees got bigger. Just a hint of shooting stars overhead.

BIRDS OF A FEATHER

When you walk in my front door birds chirp. Not real ones. There are an assortment of wooden and mechanical birds on the divider between the hallway and the living room, and some of them have motion sensors which make the birds chirp as you pass by. Some people think it's really annoying but I like it.

I don't get any chirping from these birds. This was a whirligig on a post but the post would never stand up straight so I moved it under a small Flowering Almond tree. Now the branches hold it up and it looks like a Western Tanager and a Mountain Bluebird or two stopped by for a rest.

Speaking of birds, I just finished "Brief encounters with Che Guevara" by Ben Fountain. It's a collection of short stories about Americans doing good and not-so-good in third-world countries. I really enjoyed it, especially the first story about an ornithologist who gets captured by guerilla rebels in a Colombian rain forest. All the stories were fascinating, some were wickedly funny, and all were thought-provoking. This was a good read.

RAINDROPS KEEP FALLING

Yesterday afternoon we had a great rain. It started out as a gentle drizzle and turned into a veritable downpour. Let's see, Saturday afternoon, it's raining, can't garden, what better thing to do than to lay back on the sofa, read a book and doze to the sound of raindrops on the roof? It was great and I slept for awhile but woke up to find the raindrops had fallen not just on the roof but right through it. The skylight in the kitchen has leaked off and on forever but frankly, with as little rain as we've had in the last few years, I'd forgotten about this minor problem. Mopping up wasn't too bad (wish I'd cleared the kitchen table of all the papers and mail and junk that accumulates there) but the thing that worried me was all the little Post-its with the ink washed right off. Hope those notes weren't important. I'll be darned if I can remember what any of them said. Details.
There was a nice rainbow afterwards. Looking around the yard today at what plants the rain beat down reminds me that it's about time to do some serious cutting back. The mailman still hasn't forgiven me for the Nicotiana Sylvestris that he has to push back to get to the mailbox on the porch, and on the other side is a Graham Thomas rose that prefers to reach out and touch someone. The Russian Sage is practically sprawling on the ground, and has been helped along by the House Finches that like to land on the long wands and peck away at the purple flowers. Anyway, I won't have to water again anytime soon, and the birdbaths all got a fresh refill which helped along my lazy Saturday afternoon. Oh, I finished the book, "The Lost Van Gogh" by A.J. Zerries. Nazi-looted art turns up in the U.S., long convoluted plot. Interesting read, no gardening in it though.

WHAT DEAD LIMBS?

These are actually "approach branches". The birds that come to my feeders prefer to scope things out first and bare branches are the perfect perch. The Silver Maple in the center is suffering from several years of drought and the bare limbs are a typical reaction. Yeah, I should get it trimmed, that'll be the first thing I do when I have an extra $400 for the tree man. The bare branches from the Honey Locust on the right are intentionally left on the tree, otherwise I'd need a skyhook about 15 feet long to hang the feeders. So no matter how it looks, it's a perfect set-up for our feathered friends. They can check out whether they have a clear shot at the feeder or if they have to wait till the squirrels are done gorging themselves. If the coast is clear the House finches and Black-capped Chickadees will perch on the sunflower seed feeder until the squirrel or a bunch of bullying Grackles dislodge them.

The peanut feeder is an old nesting shelf with a missing roof meant for the Robins but it's gotten more use as a hangout for the "big guys", mostly bluejays and magpies, than it ever did as a nursery The robins preferred the downspouts. Magpies, affectionately known to some as "scavengers in tuxedos", are making a comeback in the Rockies after their numbers were decimated by West Nile Virus a few years ago. There are those who don't like jays and magpies because of their nest-robbing tendencies but I subscribe to the "nature, red in tooth and claw" sentiment put forth by Alfred, Lord Tennyson. A far cry from the anthropomorphic "Old Mother West Wind" stories I devoured as a kid. But occasionally in the late evening I swear I see Reddy Fox slinking around the backyard heading for the Old Briar Patch, with Hooty the Owl eyeing him from an approach branch high above.

A MILLION BELLS AND ONE PIG

Calibrachoa is not as easy to say, but that's what it is. I'm pretty much enamored of these prolific bloomers. I found them in several colors at the garden center and this salmon one looks good in a pig planter I bought at a garage-sale. When I first planted these I thought I was going to spend a huge chunk of time deadheading them but that doesn't seem to be necessary. When a bloom fades and closes up you can't tell because there's still 999,999 in bloom. Here's another one in a coral red, planted with pot marigolds, red petunias and blue lobelia. These are on a terrace next to my back porch. I call it my Southwest/Mexican garden. It's not far away from a Buddha and some japanese lanterns which I call the Japanese garden. And then there's the main garden which I call the Cottage garden which also encompasses a large patio which holds my Tropical garden in containers. I hate to limit myself.


Last night the insane raccoons came back as usual. I didn't hear a thing which is just as well. I'd have freaked if I'd heard the gnawing and gnashing of teeth in the middle of the night as they chewed on a plastic garden table. When they were done with that they played tiddlywinks with some colored glass stones that are normally piled in a pot holding a small gazing globe. I'm a little disappointed. I grew up reading Thornton W. Burgess's "Old Mother West Wind" stories and Bobby Coon never acted like this. Sure he got in a few fights with Sammy Jay but he was no gangster.