Dominant

Brown-eyed Susans are one of the most common flowers right now -- mighty in both numbers of plants and numbers of blooms per plant.  There are actually several species which we sort of interchangeably call black- or brown-eyed Susans.  This one is the Rudbeckia triloba, but R. hirta is actually the most common, and my yard is dominated right now by R. submentosa, commonly called sweet black-eyed Susan.  

Playing Catch-Up

Last Friday -- yes, a full week ago, we went to the beach... and now, I am finally catching up on writing a little about it. Here are some of the flowers that grow there that we don't see too many other places... Flowering spurge, a diminutive flower atop a green leafy plant... you'd miss it if you weren't looking.

Prickly pear would be hard to miss.

Hoary puccoon.

And, at school, a very early rudbeckia shows its colors...

And butterfly weed is starting to bloom.

Summer Blahs, Already

I've been absent for a while. There are a couple of reasons. First, my back went out this weekend. I know, that makes me sound old, but I have a bad back (genetic, I guess) and every once in a while this happens to me. With that, just normal stuff -- and that's normal summer stuff, so it's pretty relaxed anyhow -- has been a chore. Today I am mostly better but not 100%.

Also, summer seems to have stalled before it's even begun. Every day, it's been in the 70s at the most and raining. Some storms, some steady rain, but every day, rain. And when it's not rain, clouds and general haze. This has added mental laziness on top of my physical malady.

That said, things have happened. Butterfly milkweed opened, in some places, and purple coneflower, in some places, and even a very early black-eyed susan. One of these days, I"ll get around to downloading pics. Probably.

So that's me, I hope the rest of you are better than me, not that I'm pitying myself. Things could be a lot worse. And it's good not to have to water anything while I'm under the weather, so that's a bonus.

"Winter" Wildflowers IV

These flowers -- some sort of black-eyed susan-y thing, grow like weeds around here.

Endings

Crickets chirp in the still, humid night air, welcoming the darkness that comes earlier as the days march on. The air is heavy with heat and the weight of the world.

In phenological recordings, people generally note firsts, peaks, and lasts... as in, the purple coneflower first bloomed on June XX; peak bloom was July XX, and the last bloom was August XX. Loyal readers may have noticed that I am diligent about recording firsts. They are exciting and new! Who wouldn't record a first? Peaks I sometimes mention, because they do tend to be pretty. But lasts? I am not so good at making mention of the lasts. Besides lacking the excitement of a first, they are often harder to record with certainty. How do you know that monarch is the last? What if I see another tomorrow? In fact, I falsely reported the last strawberry this June, and ended up getting quite a large handful a few days later. So lasts... not my thing.

But coming home from England, I have noticed some lasts. Queen of the Prairie no longer rules the "wet prairie" located at the end of my drain spout. Spiderwort is completely finished flowering (and probably was before we left). Bergamot is looking pretty sad. While some things are just getting started -- Joe Pye bloomed while we were gone; my sweet brown-eyed susans, much later bloomers than their black-eyed friends, are finally in full bloom; big bluestem and Indian grass are flowering; and better late than never, my compass plant finally got itself a flower -- but anyhow... while these things are starting, summer for some things is winding down.

Perhaps I am taking note of this especially because summer is also winding down for me. Hard to believe, what with the fact that I am practically melting (A/C malfunction, that's another story); the fact that I just today made my first, small batch of tomato sauce; and the fact that the summer solstice is like a month and a half away... but summer for us officially ends as we go back to work this week. Pfffft. It's been a fun, but short, ride. How depressing.

Almost Sunflowers

Brown-eyed Susan,

filling in the void before sunflowers bloom. They are well-adapted to survive long periods without rain, for their hairy stems keep water from evapo-transpirating very quickly and their roots are wide-spreading and fibrous.

Culver's root begins to bloom. These tiny white flowers are actually in the snapdragon family, like beardtongues or the foxgloves that my dad so admires in England. They bloom from bottom to top, with the bottom ones forming seeds while the top ones are blooming -- so these are just starting, with the top ones still buds and only the bottom few in bloom.

Below, the first large-leaf aster (or big-leaf, some people call them, but that doesn't sound as good to me). These woodland asters are supposed to be some of the latest blooming flowers in the fall, and yet, mysteriously, a few are starting to open up in my yard. No idea why. My yard is apparently a mysterious place.

It is sprinkling outside, almost raining. Could we please, please, please get some measurable precipitation around here?

Daily Updates

Something is eating my nasturtiums. I am not entirely certain what...
but I found this guy on the most eaten of the leaves (shown above). Leafhoppers are vegetarians, so that could be the culprit.

Cinquefoil blooming (unbidden) in my garden.

Water lilies at CBG.

One of many endless varieties of susans/yellow composites that are just starting to bloom.

Rattlesnake master is getting quite tall. This is a fun prairie plant for several reasons. The most obvious to a reader is its name, derived from the rattling noise its seed heads will make in the wind (later in the summer). The most obvious to an observer is its strangely desert-plant-like appearance. With its spiky, almost succulent leaves, it would look more at home among aloes and agaves than big bluestem and blazing star, and yet, here it is.

Goose babies are beginning to look precisely like goose mommies and daddies. (Can you tell which is which? The two in the back, slightly larger, are the adults.)