Last year it took me quite awhile to capture one of the requisite bumblebee close-ups that seem to appear on every photography-focused gardening blog. But this morning I happened upon a lazy fellow -- clearly in no hurry -- who made my job very easy. Thus I present my bumblebee close-up 2008 hat trick:
Last year I received some Lily of the Valley in a plant swap with my sister and put it in a container at the far end of my (small) back yard. Throughout the season, I struggled to outsmart the squirrels that were fond of digging in the container. By September, the smaller of the two plants had disappeared completely, and the other featured a single drooping leaf. Knowing Lily of the Valley's reputation for hardiness, I wondered if it might come back this year. A few checks of the pot in the past few weeks yielded no news.
But this week, a careful examination....
resulted in a joyful exclamation....
SURVIVAL!
And so the the tough-as-nails Lily of the Valley plants (and I) live to face another season of battling with the pesky critters!
The sighting of this critter -- at least two inches long and stretched to full capacity -- incited a "whoa!" moment in the yard, followed by relief that I hadn't planted my foot slightly further forward with the result of a quite unpleasant "squish."
So we both survived to exhibit our sluggish ways in the garden for the day.
This is a tricky time for gardening and gardeners, I'm discovering. There are still a few flowers blooming, but the falling leaves and brown grass diminish the overall impact of their vibrant beauty. Plants are withering and yellowed foliage needs to be cut back. The accumulation of fallen leaves has gone well beyond the single-clump pick-ups I had been doing, and I won't rake until the leaves are done dropping, so the yard has lost its neat summer look.
My main project on the outdoor to-do list is gathering and spraying the container plants and bringing them inside for the winter.
Fall has always been a season that I love, but there's a distinctly wistful quality to it this year because gardening season is coming to an end. I'll transition into a different seasonal focus soon, but it's too early to go into winter hermit mode and curl up under a warm throw to do my garden reading and planning for next spring. For now, I'm in feeling "in-between." And a little bit sluggish, I must admit.
'Tis the season to be finding many, many acorns sprinkled among the fall foliage and flowers, courtesy of the tall pin oak tree that dominates the front yard. A small collection makes a lovely seasonal "bouquet."
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And this cluster of acorns attached to a sprig of leaves makes quite a charming autumn nosegay:
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Leave it to the official taste tester to interrupt the still life photo shoot in order to determine if the morsels are worthy of consumption. After all, acorns are technically a nut, are eaten by birds and rodents, and were once a dietary staple in some human cultures.
But don't worry -- she's just checking them out, not eating them. Apparently they didn't pass the sniff test.
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Acorns are symbols of patience, fertility and immortality because they're only produced by mature trees and because they're the seeds of mighty trees that can live hundreds of years. They also represent minor experiences or decisions that result in significant change or growth.
"Great oaks from little acorns grow."
English proverb
To learn more:
Plant an Acorn - Grow an Oak Tree at About.com
Harvesting Acorns at BackwoodsHome.com
Interesting Facts About Oak Trees at Arcytech.org
Oak Tree Stories and Pictures at Arcytech.org
Acorns: Masters of the Forest at the Smithsonian National Zoological Park website
This bird's nest was just discovered to be the cause of some recent aggravation and consternation:
Over the past week or so my front yard, below this tree, had become littered with mysterious clumps of debris that looked to me like lint from a clothes dryer. I thought that one of the neighbors had a faulty vent and all their lint was blowing onto my lawn. Enough finally gathered that I took a walk around and picked it all up to put in the trash. As I got up close to the gunky stuff, I saw that it had tiny bits of brush and other natural elements in it. Suddenly it dawned on me that it could be from the bird's nest in the tree above. (I knew a nest was there because earlier in the season I had found evidence of the new arrival it sheltered.) When I looked up I could see that the nest was coming apart, as shown in the photo. My irritation turned to admiration when I realized that these birds had constructed the equivalent of a million-dollar mansion -- quite an impressive structure! I clearly still have a lot of debris-gathering ahead of me as the nest continues to deteriorate, but I'll just let the singing of the birds in the yard entertain me as I work. And I'll wonder -- could this song, or that one, or that one be coming from the young bird that entered the world among the limbs of this tree?
The critters who tend the yard and garden 24/7 (sometimes for better, sometimes for worse) are occasionally visible when I'm around and many times not. When I encounter them, I'm often startled, but I shouldn't be surprised by their presence. They are the constants; I'm the one who's in and out.
Black Inchworm
camouflages itself by position if not by color
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Ant
works the territory
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Praying Mantis
makes an imposing sentry at 4-1/2" long
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Though the area they traverse must seem vast, it's just a small yard. And that yard is part of a neighborhood, a town, a state, a country, a continent, a planet, a universe. As I inhabit and traverse my own little corner of the world, it's both comforting and amazing to know that I too am part of something much, much bigger.
I happened upon this caterpillar while deadheading petunias this morning:
Quite unusual, at least for my yard. Here's a closer look:
I checked a web page called What's This North American Caterpillar? to try and identify him. But I couldn't decide if he fit into the tufted, hairy or bristled category. Therefore he shall simply be called Caterpillar "L'il Dewd."
It was a glorious morning. Rain had come, the heat had broken, and the air was fresh. It was the kind of morning that makes you want to play hooky from life and spend all day in the garden. I merrily went about my tasks, weeding and deadheading in a leisurely rather than an I-can't-wait-to-get-back-into-the-air-conditioning way. I also quelled an attempted coup by the salvia in the side border, examined the four wee new cherry tomatoes, ruffled the herbs while sniffing appreciatively and -- as always -- took photos.
I've come to the conclusion that a garden blog isn't "official" until it features a close-up of a bee hovering on some flowers. Despite repeated attempts, I haven't been able to get my qualifying photo. But this was my morning, and so with this shot I catapault -- at long last -- to the official status of garden blogger:
On this all-around delightful morning I waited until the last minute to come inside, and on my way I stooped to pull a few yellowed leaves from the base of the gerbera daisy pot. Something behind the container that looked improbably like a gourd caught my eye, and I leaned in for a better look:
What a great garden buddy! Unlike the bees, he was a patient, motionless model, but I had to rush because my outside time was past up. It would have been a littly iffy, to say the least, to arrive late for work with the excuse that I had a frog-related photography emergency.
This caterpillar is a master of camouflage... or just has the inside scoop on where to hang out in the garden to best blend into the surroundings.
Can't see it? Unlike the common green inchworm, this one's color-coordinated with the yellow center of the cosmo flower. Here's a closer look:
One of the greatest delights that any garden provides is the multitude of small details that present themselves for examination every day.
Gerbera Daisy Center
Appreciation at this "micro" level allows us to really pay attention to everything that's going on in our gardens.
First Seedlings
Rather than buzzing through all of life at an 80-mile-an-hour pace, we take these moments to slow down and observe the world around us.
After the Rain
We crouch, stoop, and kneel to get closer to the action. This kid-style curiosity brings new discoveries and adventures.
A Close Encounter
New developments are often revealed in barely perceptible changes. Sometimes exciting progress seems to have occurred overnight.
First Lavender Bud
Details that we didn't even notice from a distant vantage point stand out. First hints of problems or challenges appear.
A Lawn's-Eye View
These tiny details offer metaphors for life, still-life images of beauty, small but wondrous miracles, slow-motion snapshots of growth.
Sedum's New Growth
What new details will come into view in the garden today?
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