August 2011

“Grilled”

ESPatch Aug 25, 2011 4 comments

It has been an eventful week in the Patch.

The gleaming surfaces,

the clean shining grates, I love getting a new grill can you tell?

My old Weber was, to say the least, looking very much under the weather, its visual hygiene compromised by the confounded laxative popping doves that seem to follow the grill around up in my pecan trees. I am convinced the accidents are not accidents at this point but a stupid bird conspiracy. As the summer is drawing to an end (tell me it is) I am looking forward to some much more humane grilling weather. I also fear for our sanity if the temperatures do not start to taper-off soon…

I found this rather peculiar sign taped to my daughters room the other day,

naturally curiosity got the better of me and I immediately had to “dstrib” her.

This is what shuffled past me as I entered the room, very “dstribing” indeed. The heat is certainly getting to us all at this point.

The long hot summer has been good for some things:

She practically grew gills this year,

whilst he weathered the heat, brushed up on his short game and tried to ignore the rather large dinosaur looming behind him.

Talking of gills and golf…

…I shot this writhing mass of feelers on a golf course this past week…Brrr.

From cat whiskers to horsetails:

This plant is dependable no matter the conditions, (well it is housed in a large container underwater). Unlike a lot of aquatic plants that outgrow their pots, get root bound and go into a steady decline in their maturity, this reed does not seem to care about its confinement at all.

I have grown it in the same container for years now and it always puts on a dependable great fall show.

Cattails are also great as tinder to ignite say a brand new Weber grill, did I already mention how I love getting a new grill?

Moving on…

One plant that has completely impressed me is this baby

Leucophyllum candidum

Thunder Cloud ™ (it is trademarked by Texas A&M University). Its naturally compact growth form, silver- white foliage color, and very dark purple flowers all combine to make this a great small, drought tolerant shrub. It gets to about three feet high and three or four feet wide. I planted this little one in the middle of our continuing 70 days of consecutive triple digit temperatures in a place that has killed many a healthy plant, and then I neglected it.

I was a very surprised when I put on my sun / UV reflective attire the other day to safely venture down my garden to see it not only alive but positively thriving…

…and covered in these deep purple blooms.

Make sure this one is planted in soil that has most excellent drainage.

I did bump into Ernie (my neighbor) on my dangerous venture to the back of the Patch, I think he may have spent just a little too long watering his vegetables.

As you can probably tell I am desperately trying to avoid publishing…

more pictures like this. It appears the heat is now randomly selecting loquats to fry up in the garden wok, garnished with some of my society garlic. This is one of my neighbors but my death toll is also rising, I have lost two well established trees so far.

A slight forgetfulness on my part with the garden hose gave Kumo “the opportunist” the chance to a) cool off in a wallowing-pig like fashion and b) dig out what was left of my Salvia leucantha whilst yanking out some dead gaura with his teeth as a sort of cooling-off hobby, well it saved me the bother.

Picture courtesy of my eldest halfling.

Considering that my garden looks like it is hovering in that parched veil between life and Ernie, I though I would leave you with this rather melancholic but very fitting poem for all central Texas gardeners right now.

Relax, I am not re-running the “Rhyme of the Ancient Mariner”…at least not yet.

This is a rather long poem but stick with it…

…there will be a multiple choice test on it next week. The winner stands to win Ernie’s ashes glamorously displayed in a nice contemporary vase, it was what he would have wanted.

The Garden of Proserpine

by Algernon Charles Swinburne 1837–1909

Here, where the world is quiet;
Here, where all trouble seems
Dead winds’ and spent waves’ riot
In doubtful dreams of dreams;
I watch the green field growing
For reaping folk and sowing
For harvest-time and mowing,
A sleepy world of streams.

I am tired of tears and laughter,
And men that laugh and weep;
Of what may come hereafter
For men that sow to reap:
I am weary of days and hours,
Blown buds of barren flowers,
Desires and dreams and powers
And everything but sleep.

Here life has death for neighbor,
And far from eye or ear
Wan waves and wet winds labor,
Weak ships and spirits steer;
They drive adrift, and whither
They wot not who make thither;
But no such winds blow hither,
And no such things grow here.

No growth of moor or coppice,
No heather-flower or vine,
But bloomless buds of poppies,
Green grapes of Proserpine,
Pale beds of blowing rushes,
Where no leaf blooms or blushes
Save this whereout she crushes
For dead men deadly wine.

Pale, without name or number,
In fruitless fields of corn,
They bow themselves and slumber
All night till light is born;
And like a soul belated,
In hell and heaven unmated,
By cloud and mist abated
Comes out of darkness morn.

Though one were strong as seven,
He too with death shall dwell,
Nor wake with wings in heaven,
Nor weep for pains in hell;
Though one were fair as roses,
His beauty clouds and closes;
And well though love reposes,
In the end it is not well.

Pale, beyond porch and portal,
Crowned with calm leaves she stands
Who gathers all things mortal
With cold immortal hands;
Her languid lips are sweeter
Than love’s who fears to greet her,
To men that mix and meet her
From many times and lands.

She waits for each and other,
She waits for all men born;
Forgets the earth her mother,
The life of fruits and corn;
And spring and seed and swallow
Take wing for her and follow
Where summer song rings hollow
And flowers are put to scorn.

There go the loves that wither,
The old loves with wearier wings;
And all dead years draw thither,
And all disastrous things;
Dead dreams of days forsaken,
Blind buds that snows have shaken,
Wild leaves that winds have taken,
Red strays of ruined springs.

We are not sure of sorrow;
And joy was never sure;
To-day will die to-morrow;
Time stoops to no man’s lure;
And love, grown faint and fretful,
With lips but half regretful
Sighs, and with eyes forgetful
Weeps that no loves endure.

From too much love of living,
From hope and fear set free,
We thank with brief thanksgiving
Whatever gods may be
That no life lives for ever;
That dead men rise up never;
That even the weariest river
Winds somewhere safe to sea.

Then star nor sun shall waken,
Nor any change of light:
Nor sound of waters shaken,
Nor any sound or sight:
Nor wintry leaves nor vernal,
Nor days nor things diurnal;
Only the sleep eternal
In an eternal night.

In the classical myth Proserpine was kidnapped by Pluto, the god of the underworld, to be his wife. She begged to be returned to earth, but because she had eaten some pomegranate seeds Pluto confined her to his kingdom for half of each year. Her reemergence each year ushered in the forces of spring and the growth of vegetation, causing Proserpine and the pomegranate to forever be linked to the emergence of spring.

Dante Gabriel Rossetti

Here is a depiction of her consuming a pomegranate which symbolizes captivity.

On Proserpine, Rossetti wrote:

She is represented in a gloomy corridor of her palace, with the fatal fruit in her hand. As she passes, a gleam strikes on the wall behind her from some inlet suddenly opened, and admitting for a moment the sight of the upper world, she glances furtively towards it, immersed in thought. The incense-burner stands beside her as the attribute of a goddess. The ivy branch in the background may be taken as a symbol of clinging memory.

Stay Tuned for:

“Detector”

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“All that Glitters is not Gold”

ESPatch Aug 14, 2011 6 comments

I considered starting this post once again with a rather long drawn out moan about the current conditions in central Texas, but then decided I would not subject you to another barrage of images of scorched foliage…at least not immediately. No, this post will start on a very different tune,

a fancy glittery tune.

This glittery mess on my back deck could have been the result of an arts and crafts project, or perhaps some sort of face painting mishap, but this time it wasn’t, this time it was caused by something much less predictable.

Our young puppy Kumo has been devouring considerable amounts of rather odd artifacts (of which there is no shortage) he finds lying around our house. On this particular occasion he came nose to nose with a vessel filled with glitter which, feeling very proud of his discovery, he quickly ingested…(I think you know where I am going with this)…Now I will spare you the rather disgusting details of the party that exited him some time later, but I will say that all that glitters is most certainly not gold.

And that’s all I have to say about that.

Now back to the burnt and crusty foliage and incessant moaning you have come to expect from me in this, our year of relentless triple digit heat.

Nothing is crusty in this bed though.

Lets take a peep through some barrel cactus eyes and see where the latest heat damage has occurred.

First out of hell’s kitchen and looking more than slightly overdone,

is this Persian ivy appetizer. Followed by a main course of Flambé Mexican bush sages and roasted artemesia on a bed of dry soil, drizzled with a dressing of absolutely nothing, naturally.

“Excuse me sir, would you like a side of

crispy cast iron with that”?

For dessert witness this poor post oak quickly seared on its extremities over my neighbors fence. This old tree has been getting watered regularly since the damage was initially noticed in the late spring..

It is going to take quite some time to see the extent of the carnage of this prolonged drought, especially on our larger mature trees. Keep a close eye on your specimens extremities and should you see some defoliation, just remember, long slow soakings are the ticket. (Now that is something you don’t get to say every day without a few odd looks).

The yuccas continue to perform well in the heat.

After my last attack from the snout noses (the evil weevils), I put down generous amounts of Diatomaceous earth around all the rest of my yuccas and so far it appears to be working, of course having no precipitation helps to not wash it away…a rare drought benefit. I think I will stick with this regimen for a while as I hope the Diatomaceous earth sticks to the noses of the weevils.

Check out Wizzie Brown http://www.urban-ipm.blogspot.com/ discussing the uprising of the snouts on a recent CTG episode, and thanks Linda http://www.klru.org/ctg/blog/ for the image credit on the show and your blog.

Moving on:

It has been a poor year for butterflies in the Patch, they have been few and far between. I did come across this Western Gulf Fritillary

Agraulis vanillae incarnata

this week on one of my yellowing rosemary plants. I leaned in close, hoping to catch a subtle breeze as it slowly fanned the surrounding heated air with the most amazing of wings.

More dead giant timber bamboo culms were felled this week…

“Thou shalt not pass!”

Talking of Gandalf the Gray,

he was looking a little dustier than usual so I swept off the cobwebs with an impromptu hosing…that took his breath away.

Evergreen wisteria continues to bloom as it has done sporadically since the spring,

and this purple oxalis hovering above a soaker-hose offers a welcome illusion of wetter and cooler days.

This brickwork is destined for removal in the fall,

Stop being dramatic William.

mainly for drainage issues. I have decided to continue the decomposed granite around this circular bed for better continuity.

Stock tanks are still providing color and

the opuntia tree in my Hell-strip seems to raise up its paddles to gather in even more of the sun’s rays. This is one tough trio.

and fitting to finish on a Mexican fire bush.

Inspirational image of the week:

Here is another idea for a rather unique garden shed should you have the time and the wine.

Images credit : The Bottle Houses

Edouard Arsenault started collecting bottles in 1979.

In the spring of 1980, at the age of 66, he began his construction, a mere hobby yet. As his six-gabled structure was taking form, visitors started coming in. Impressed by his work, they encouraged him to continue and to advertise it as a tourist attraction. And so, in 1981, the first Bottle House was open to the public. From 1980 to the spring of 1984, he cleverly cemented over 25,000 bottles of various shapes, sizes and colors, into three fantasy-like buildings.