Stormy Dark. With Yellow

It was a dark and stormy night.
Suddenly, a shot rang out, a maid screamed.

It is a dark and stormy night. No, really. But I'll get to that shortly. But since there's a break in the weather just now, I'm doing a little blogging as I watch the shot put events at the Olympics.

Yes, I'm on that schedule lately, since so much of the events happen live during our east coast wee hours. If Freestyle Snooze Alarm were an event at the Summer Games, I'd be in contention for a medal.

Anyway, the Garden. I'll lead with this new snapdragon that's begun blooming at the edge of the thistle cloud. It's really the only color other than yellow I'm offering today(and so, James, if you need to scroll down, I'm okay with that...).

It's not that there weren't other colors. As you can see from the long shot below, there were plenty of morning glories, but you know, we've been seeing those everyday for a while.

But yellow seemed like a good idea for this gray morning and so that's mostly what I seem to have captured. The glow of Apollo made a few sporadic appearances during the course of the day...most notably in early evening, when the deep orange light made long shadows outside of work.


But considering how gray the morning was, I think you can understand my wanting to focus on the yellows, like the evening primrose and marigolds above.

Soon there'll be new flowers and colors to share with you, as I've now officially found the first cosmos bud on one of those seashell-flowered plants.

The rain we're getting tonight should be an encouragement. I wonder, probably Sunday morning it will open.



In six or seven different places along the fence garden, you'll find clumps of this threadleaf coreopsis, regularly providing fresh little flowers as long as I remember to deadhead the old ones.

I do think this little guys are pretty enjoyable and I'm always amazed to remember that they have grown so prolificly from the tiny little side shoot that I dug out of my friend Paul's Wellfleet garden back in 2001.

Down below you'll find one of the tickseed coreopsis, re-blooming in a smaller fashion than earlier in the summer. As with most yellow flowers, I think they are pretty terrific, but I do think they are at their best when they mingle with other colors for contrast.


On the way home tonight around 11:00 p.m. was when I first spotted the lightning (I'd stayed to have a bite to eat while I watched the Mens 100M Butterfly swim with Michael Phelps on the bar TV. One more gold medal--this guy is amazing. But I'm not addicted to the Olympics. I could stop any time I wanted. Really.). By the time I got home the storm was ramping up pretty nicely, with some big lightning and heavy rain.

I stayed in the car in the driveway for a few minutes once I'd arrived. Partly for safety, but also to watch the lightning dancing across the sky.

When I was finally inside, I got a few candles lit. The power doesn't seem to go off too often here in Harwich, but I like to be ready when there's a big storm. And the radar map was making clear that this was a big storm.

It has been a lightning filled early morning, some of it pretty dramatic...and only hinted at in this latest series of screen caps.





Since it looks like a dreary mid-afternoon, I do feel the need to remind you that this last image was captured at about 12:35 a.m.
It's very quiet now, as the storm has moved past, a quiet darkness of dripping and crickets, punctuated by a distant roll of thunder receding in the distance.

Oh, and the crack of a starter pistol on television for the one of the races of the Heptathlon (Which always makes me think of the contest they had on Paradise Island to decide which Amazon would be Wonder Woman.). Time for bed!

Changing Weather

The rainy night passed and morning came to Not Wisteria Lane. It was not a sunny morning, but there were blue patches of hope appearing amongst the lingering cloud cover. While the garden is looking a bit overgrown and now a little bedraggled and rain-battered, there were still plenty of surprises and discoveries.

First, allow me a moment to crow about the corn in the Three Sisters garden. It's at least as tall as me (5'11") now and the beans are nicely working their way up the stalks. One of those stalks is actually a few inches around. I am totally impressed.

I wonder where the credit is due, but there are so many factors. First, we must not discount the position of nearly full sun. This patch is actually seriously shaded in the morning hours, but gets strong sun from about 10 a.m. to about 6 p.m.

Second, there's some nice soil in that part of the yard, plus it was supplemented with a big harvest of seaweed and saltgrass and other shoreline debris I collected at Rock Harbor and spread over the top back in April.

Third, there's the soaker hose weaving its way just underground through this bed, which has resulted in it's having been well-watered down at the roots where it counts most for a plant.

Fourth, in addition to the seaweed and all, the corn has also received a feeding or two of organic fertilizer pellets over the season and is additionally receiving the benefit of the nitrogen which its bed-mate, the pole beans, are fixing in the soil as they grow.

I also wonder if the corn being planted in raised mounds has an impact. No doubt, such a situation seems like it would cause the soil to heat up and encourage hearty root growth. Like I said, it's probably a convergence of all those things.

I do see a few ears forming here and there, which is kind of exciting. That sort of balances out the fact that I went looking for zucchinis this morning and couldn't find any. After the great rush of flowering last week, I'd have hoped for something...I wonder if my bunny friends have been nibbling on flowers again.

The morning glories are continuing to be a fun and ever-changing show in the early hours of the day, especially as the later plantings begin to bloom and different colors mingle together.

These new purple ones--there seems to be just one vine of this particular shading--aren't flowering heavily yet, but I still get excited seeing them. What a color!

One of the larger sunflowers with the giant drooping faded flowerheads has now decided to present a few smaller side blossoms and the first one unfurled this morning.

On a gray day like today especially, it's easy to see where they got their name. It almost seemed the flower was coaxing the sun to come out of the clouds.


Although the clouds were thinning out, there was still a lot of darkness in the sky to the north.

The storm we'd received the severe warning about on TV last night actually moved north across the Upper Cape, around Sandwich area, so we only saw some distant flashes of lightning...and there were a few showers on and off throughout the night.

Since I had noted the direction of the storm on radar (I'm such a weather geek, eh?), I didn't shut down the computer, as I said I was going to do and would probably have been a smart move, just the same.

While mostly sitting back and enjoying the late night Olympic coverage [oh, man! I'm watching tonight as I blog, too...and swimmer Micheal Phelps just won his tenth-ever gold medal!! Woo hoo!], I was also keeping an eye on the radar. It was fascinating to watch the storm (even in the limited color range my monitor currently allows) pass over land and then blossom into a much bigger business as it crossed the waters of the bay.

On the animated radar map I was watching, you could see little bits of storms swirling in a larger funnel pattern, all centered around the Cape, with that intense storm at the heart of it.

By the time I woke this morning, it had all solidified into a large storm over the waters north of the Cape and it looked like it might actually swirl back down over us again. That didn't happen; it went north to Maine instead, but the dark clouds in that direction made it seem a little uncertain early on.

There's a long shot of that hanging basket of lantana. I really way the tiny flowers change colors as they mature, so that their compound flowerheads are ultimately patterned with different colors. I gave them a sniff last night, after some discussion on the subject in comments. I don't find they have any particularly rich or notable fragrance...just a sort of pollen-y pungence, if that makes any sense.

I've always been quite comfortable admitting to you all that I don't know lots of things about plants and gardening. One of the persistant mysteries of the last few years of gardening (and actually most of the three year history of this blog) was the identity of the white flowered plant below.

I had discovered it in the meadow at our old house, where it's seedling self was growing shoulder to shoulder with the coneflower rudbeckias, then also seedlings and some purple siberian iris (which the bunnies mowed completely this spring).

It looked like an interesting plant and in the orchard garden's partial sun it grew to astonishing heights. True, it's tiny white flowers were a bit of an anti-climax, but the butterflies loved them and I thought they might have been Joe Pye Weed, if not for the color of the blooms. Now I have learned the two plants are indeed related.

Today I learned this is called common boneset, or eupatorium, and it is an important species in the butterfly life-cycle, so I'm glad that I've welcomed it and taken some "on the road" with me.

I have a newly-discovered fellow blogger to thank for the information, as well. Recently I joined Blotanical, which is a sort of MySpace for garden bloggers. You may've noticed the widget in the right column that links to random other garden blogs out there on the internet.

I haven't had as much time to explore the whole community as I might've liked so far (but limited exploration has brought delightful discoveries every time!), but today discovered some lovely photos at Nature Remains, where Nina had captured one of those unexpected Cycle of Life moments in the canopy of this plant, which she called boneset. I won't give away what she saw...you can check that out for yourself.

Plus, there's a blackberry cobbler recipe!


The agastache has grown into a tidy little plant this year, about two feet tall, its flowers wonder fully purple and long and attractive to some industrious bumblebees.

Here, the agastache - or hyssop- is joined by some allyssum, marigolds and a single pink bachelor's button.

It's doing very nicely in this location and looks like it will remain sort of tidy this year, though I imagine next year it will get very tall, if it continues to be happy with its accomodations.



Everything in the garden is looking a little wild these days, owing to the queen anne's lace and evening primrose I've given free reign to. The queen anne's, at least, I planted as close to the fence as I could. They tend to have a bit of a boarding house reach, though.

The evening primrose actually seeded themselves in, growing often in the front areas of the garden, where it might be tidier to have lower growing plants (although the allyssum, at a foot tall, are barely cooperating with that plan, either).

Second generation daisies on weaker stems lean over into the picture, with a variety of marigolds rising from the chaos of the nearly-hidden floor of the jungle. And out of the chaos appears a crazy tangle of super-producing cherry tomatoes!


In another part of the garden, this plant of white garden phlox has begun to bloom.


Hey, since I know you're just dying for an update, I'll let you know it's now been 25 days (20 hours, 54 minutes and 5 seconds, but who's counting? Not me. QuitNet does that for me.) since my last cigarette. I remain grateful to the makers of both Altoids and pretzel rods.

According to my habit before quitting, I have not smoked 388 cigarettes...and have now added nearly three days onto my life.

Eccentric Old Gardener of the Future, here I come.

I went to work via Brewster this morning. Since it was a gray and spattery morning, it seemed not unreasonable to think I might be able to actually approach the shoreline and that proved true. I was, in fact, easily able to find a spot to park at Linnell Landing's small permited lot so I could take a look at the storm clouds over the bay.

The air was sharp and salty with the sea as I stepped out of the car, the bay churning with chop from the storm moving off to the north. God, I love that smell...

An intrepid bunch of beach and boat-goers were clearly not going to be deterred by a little spritz of rain, as you can see. As the day went on, their faith was rewarded, as the clouds did clear away leaving a beautiful afternoon behind.

This north-facing beach looks into the curve of the Cape's landmass, toward my more usual stomping grounds at Skaket and First Encounter Beaches and Rock Harbor, so it offers an interesting perspective.

This wonderful place is cleverly called Linger Longer and is a private home located just to the west of Linnell Landing. They must have had a most fantastic view of the storm as it moved across the bay late last night. Sunrises and sunsets and even the Cape's most dismal days must look beautiful from there.


Sometimes I wonder if I wouldn't cheer on the wholesale collapse of society for the opportunity to live in such a place.

As I said before, the sun burned through the clouds which didn't drift off on the breezes and I found a great day just beginning to fade as I left the office around dinnertime.

Naturally, I couldn't resist a drive-by Rock Harbor and watched for a few minutes as the tide rolled into the harbor and up the boat launch ramp.

This evening, I spotted a blue heron in the pond at the end of Not Wisteria Lane, as Emily and I enjoyed our night perambulation, but was camera-free at the time.

Then, as we passed around the loop that brought us facing to the west, Emily put on some speed (she likes to get past Snoopy the noisy Min-Pin's house as quickly as possible) and only because a neighbor called a warning did I realize how close we came to colliding with one of the broods of turkeys who were crossing the road just ahead of us.

Em seemed not to notice them, as further along, a terribly portly black pug we'd never seen before came out of his house to bark at us as we passed. But we only missed the mama turkey and her six youngins by about a foot! I went back with my camera when we'd finished our walk, but they were long gone by then. The heron, too.


Here's another look at my favorite, the marine heliotrope. Oh, how I wish I could figure out some way for you to smell it through your computer. It is just amazing. Perhaps its just my memory, but I am thinking that I can smell it drifting through the open window on the night air...and its just heavenly.

So the day turned out pretty right, after all. In fact, as I finish this (11:54 pm), the moon is setting in the southwest and it looks like it may be a nearly perfect night for some Perseid meteor gazing and just in the nick of time!

Here's another one of those orange sulphur cosmos flowers. That towering monster in the background is one of the latest sunflowers, climbing toward the sky and currently topping six feet.

Weekend Garden Update

Saturday morning was nice and sunny, with temper atures quickly rising into the 80s, as I listened to reports on the Weather Channel of big storms approaching Manhattan and also sliding across the state in our general direction.

As you can see, the corn in the Three Sisters garden is doing quite nicely, even tho it is shaded in the very earliest part of the day. I've never had such success with as I have this year and it's lots of fun to watch as it grows taller all the time.

The pole beans are merrily twining up the vines, according to plan and at the feet of all that, the zucchini plants are blooming heartily. So that's all working out pretty nicely.


Couldn't resist a few more morning glory shots for you, as I know much you enjoy them. These two, with a few drops on them from the morning watering were especially sweet looking.


More cherry tomatoes are ripening every day and they are a nice addition to my morning breakfast routine.


There must be twenty or more house sparrows (and a few catbirds) who call the great mass of tree and shrubs next to the Three Sisters garden home. Some mornings, I don't see a single one, but can hear a great chattering and tweeting from inside. Other times, I walk near and they all fly off at once...which is a little startling, but pretty cool.



Here's another one of those evening primrose blossoms. Every morning, I see a few new ones, freshly opened from the previous night's dusk. Every now and then, I come out in the morning to find they are sparkling bright yellow all up and down the plant stalks.


Similarly, a few more sulphur cosmos are blooming every morning. With the evening primrose, they are working together to levitate the colors of the various marigolds which are blooming down below.


And the Queen Anne's lace is delightfully out of hand.

By evening, the storms had arrived for us and we saw some nice heavy rains, which had tapered off by the time I was leaving work.


This morning, this little bunny was munching in the grass when I came out the front door. He turned to move away and stopped for a moment, surveying the garden to see if he could find a way through the border. Eventually, he opted to dash off to the side yard, instead.


Today, we attended the birthday celebration of our friend Sebastian's eighth birthday. I forgot to take a photo of the birthday boy, but I did capture this shot of the delightfully big and squishy ugly rubber bugs I found as a gift for him. (That's a standard sized highlighter included in the shot for perspective.) He was thrilled.

I was a little concerned that his Mom and Grandma might not share his enthusiasm, but by the time the party was over, they both had designs on using them to have some fun with unsuspecting friends and co-workers.

On the way home, I spotted these wonderful clouds over the bay, and stopped briefly at Rock Harbor to capture this shot of the cloud-obscured sunset.

The Bachelor's Buttons

The morning sunshine was more a theory this morning than actual blazing rays of orange and gold. A quick check of the forecast (where every day in the coming week had been wet with rain a day ago) revealed now only a "chance of a shower" today, and as there'd been no rain in the night, or at least very little, I went about the usual routine.

Unexpectedly, the overcast mornings are often when you get the best garden photographs. After all, you don't have that brilliant light directly on your subject, but a nice strong bright light, naturally diffused by the clouds. Of course, there was a strong breeze continuing. This is comforting, in light of the recent humidity, but it does make it more difficult for the subjects of the photo to sit still, especially if they are thin stemmed, as the bachelor's buttons are. I imagine it's a lot like trying to take class photos of kindergarteners.

Still, I managed some nice shots in between gusts...tho I can assure you there were plenty of misfires deleted from my memory card in addition to these three sweet shots.


I just love how easy it is to grow these little guys. Because they are lovers of full sun, I haven't had the pleasure nearly often enough. But whenever I have, I've had nothing but praise for the show they put on, in exchange for some commitment to deadheading.

Curt asked about the story behind the name, bachelor's buttons (Centaurea cyanus) and so I did a bit of checking around. They are so named because, as they are small (an inch and a half across at their fullest), and hold their shape well out of water, they became a popular choice as a bouttonniere. According to the Victorians' Flower Code, bachelor's buttons symbolized solitude. (So if Superman had landed back then, he might've had a Fortress of Bachelor's Buttons instead, which might've looked pretty cool! Hmmm...)

Since the blue ones (originally the only color) grow wild in the fields of England, they are also known as cornflower, for their appearances amongst the corn stalks there.

I'm sure the way they bend and bounce on the breeze works to their advantage as far as getting their seed flung as far as possible. I'm always fascinated with the devious and delightful ways plants have for reproducing, on the pollination end and the distribution of the resulting seeds.

This is my sixth gardening location on Cape Cod--nine if you count workplace gardens--and I imagine it won't be the last, either. It makes me happy to work with plants who I suspect may carry on after I've moved on to my next bit of earth.

The flowers only last a couple of days at best, but each plant will flower all summer as long as you continue to snip off the fading flowers. I don't have any problem letting them drop down into the bed of the garden as I do snip them, since they will re-seed nicely.

If you have a small patch of bare earth that you want to dress up real simply, I think you couldn't pick an easier (and relatively quick growing) combination of seeds than bachelor's buttons, cosmos (they'll be blooming shortly, I think...) and allyssum.

As an added bonus, at the end of the season when I do let them go to seed, they will be popular with the local finch populations. I remember the first time I saw a tiny goldfinch perch on the flimsy stem of a bachelor button plant...and it was a great insight for me into the tiny bird's weight that the plant didn't drop to the ground like Charlie Brown's Christmas tree.

Not that I'd thought birds were heavy exactly, that would make no sense as far as the Flying thing goes...but it just wasn't something I'd really given any thought to before, and really, it was just idle musing as I watched the miniature acrobatic show as the finch feasted on all the seedy past flowerheads. I know there are goldfinches hereabouts on Not Wisteria Lane, so hopefully we'll see that show again here, too.

While I love the true blue of the originals for their cooling of the oranges and yellows I enjoy so much, I've quickly become a big, big fan of the different colored hybrids...particularly this purple one. I wonder if they will come true from seed or revert back to the original blue? Either way, I think I win.


One more thing I almost forgot to tell you about bachelor's buttons: they are an edible flower! I've not tried them yet, but I've read that they bring a nice spicey note to a salad. Can't think of a more fantastic garnish for anything, though!

These smaller variety sunflowers are certainly doing their thing in a strong way. This is the first plant to bloom and the new flowers just keep on coming. The best part is that, while the current crop is distracting me with their commanding floral presence, I can see the later successions growing taller and fuller in my peripheral vision.

I still have sky-scraping high hopes for some of those Russian Gray Mammoths. Who knows what August may bring?

Here's a great shot of the marine heliotrope. Two of the plants have been cut back after their blooms faded, as they were a little leggy when they came home from the nursery. I see all kinds of side shoots forming on them now, so the Cropping was a wise choice.

Meanwhile, this one, which hadn't been blooming when it came home has now begun scenting that corner of the lamp post bed with its distinctive, but hard-to-describe scent of intoxication.

As you can see, the latest seeding of allyssum has come in nicely in the background there. This morning, I got out the edging shears and tidied up the outside of the beds, and was somewhat stern with the earliest allyssum plants, as well. While they were still flowering, they were doing so on stalks that were now going on four or five inches long.

I cut them back in patches, so that some remain, which I'll deadhead a little later on. That way I should have a nice staggered cycle of blooming from them for the rest of the season. The dianthus are picking up a little slack along the lowest edges of the garden and the pansies are still blooming their happy little heads off.

As Jenn pointed out the other day, the Midnight Garden is also a Learning Place, and so, while we continue to learn about the blooming habits of the hens and chicks, I present to you the first flower on that stalk I've shown you in previous posts. As you can see, it looks to be one of many and I'll do my best to show you the full glory of it all.

As I mentioned before, the sunflowers really have been going to town and are forming the framework of the garden "wall" which is slowly rising all along the fence.

The daisies, I'm sad to say, are requiring deadheading at a faster pace, and for them, this doesn't always bring reblooming. Perhaps we love their joyfulness all the more for it's brief stay.

But the cosmos will be coming into their own shortly and the Queen Annes lace (there are more than I remember transplanting, which is by no means a complaint) have just exploded into clouds of those distinctive and detailed flowerheads, each one like a giant snowflake floating at the top of a stem.

While there's obviously no lack of flowering to hold my interest in our front yard, I'm also happily drawn around the block to all of the beautiful things happening in everyone else's yards.

There was a stand of deep purple astilbes blooming around the corner last week, but they didn't last particularly long...at least not long enough for me to remember to bring my camera along on our nightly walks.

This blue hydrangea across the street caught my eye this morning and drew me over for a closer look. I do miss the hydrangeas we had at the old place, but they were too large to move and really at home where they are. But I don't mind not having too many of them here, as the mid-cape area has been known for hydrangea-nappers.

I know, it sounds ridiculous, but almost every August since I've lived here, there's been a news story about police arresting someone with their cars loaded with trashbags full of cut hydrangea stems harvested from people's homes, businesses and condos. Apparently, a single stem can be sold for $4 or more each, because of their popularity in flower arrangements for weddings. Crazy world, isn't it?

Not that I'm in any way trying to devalue the flower's beauty. Sigh. It just feels wrong to put a price on it.

Tomorrow, I will have to pay some attention to the cleome flowers, as they continue to bloom as their stalks climb, but they leave long seedpods hanging out from the stalks where the previous flowers were. You can see one of them here, in the lower right.
I haven't grown these in a while, so I'm putting out the call for advice here. (Lost, you know these guys, right?) The seedpods are a pretty distinctive look as the cleome gets taller, but should I remove them in order to keep the flowering going?


A few new evening primrose flowers had opened this evening, as I went about lighting the candles along the fence at dusk.

I would've taken the time to sniff for their scent, since that is surely how they attract the night-time pollinators, but I'd forgotten to douse myself in OFF and as the breeze had become more occasional, I was swarmed with mosquitos and so kept my time out there somewhat brief.



But I did notice that, in the section of garden underneath this particular coreopsis plant, there was an unseen cricket tuning up for an evening's outdoor concert in the park.

Our temperature at 10:15 is 74 degrees and I'm enjoying the cricket's debut summer concert through the window as I write this.

Anyone else a fan of this book?