Spring Whites

Day 220: Although one could hardly say it's a hard-and-fast rule, I've noticed over the years that there are "colour seasons" here in the Pacific Northwest. The blues come on first, followed by whites, then yellow, trailed slightly later by reds and oranges, then back into purples and blues to close. Certainly, there are strays, particularly when non-native species join the parade, but by and large, we have Camas, Dogwood, Scotch Broom, Paintbrush and Arnica, shading out into Asters and Gentians. Currently, we're in white mode, and that includes nursery plants. Snowball bush, Mountain-ash, Lily-of-the-Valley and Spiraea are in full flower in my yard, with the Columbines just beginning, and an embarrassed early Peony hiding its red face shyly behind their foliage. My flower beds will peak in two or three weeks, then slowly taper off until I start thinking I should buy some Chrysanthemums for fall. But I never do. It seems so silly to add them when I know first frost is just around the corner.

Matchmaking

Day 219: Ah, the matchmaking season has begun...in the horticultural sense, you understand. I've learned over the years that the two Akebia vines are only compatible when the females are purple and the males are white, so with a soft camel-hair paintbrush, I tease pollen from the anthers and transfer it to receptive stigmata, as evidenced by tiny drops of sticky secretion at the tips. This year, I improved on the system by first gathering the pollen into a tiny container (the bottom of an insect-magnifier box) rather than trying to carry it from one plant to the other on the brush. Last year, I got a little carried away and wound up with more Akebia fruits than I really wanted to eat (over 40!), so this year, I'm being a little more judicious with my hand pollination. While Akebia fruits aren't to most peoples' tastes, I rather enjoy having a few...operative word there: "few." A dozen will do nicely, thank you, and I may have already exceeded that number if all my attempts succeed. There does come a point, however, when matchmaking can become too fruitful (ahem!), no matter how much fun it is to pair up the boys and girls.

Scratch-and-Sniff

Day 218: I wish I could include a scratch-and-sniff patch with this post to carry to my readers the marvelous blend of fragrances rising from my yard on these over-warm afternoons. While the lilac dominates, an occasional current of air brings lily-of-the-valley into play, both scents riding atop a deeper, softer layer of mountain-ash. When these fade, the Philadelphus steps up, its sweet aroma filling the entire neighbourhood. It does my heart good to see the lilac strong again. When I moved here some thirty years ago, it was leggy and feeble, having grown in the shadow of an immense branch of Douglas-fir. When the branch was removed, I cut the lilac back radically per the instructions in a horticultural manual. They assured me it would benefit from the pruning and be back at full strength in just a few years. That was far from the case! It took close to twenty years before it bore a single flower. Since then, it has been putting on a few new spikes each year until now, at long last, it looks like a lilac again.

Hearts And Flowers

Day 217: Asian Bleeding-heart (a commercial hybrid) delivers hearts and flowers around Mother's Day here in the Pacific Northwest, larger and brighter than those of the native species. The plant itself is rather delicate in that the watery stems break easily, so place it somewhere it is not likely to be damaged. I learned this lesson the hard way shortly after moving here, but after I moved the plant to a north-side flower bed and set it back from the border where it could spread, it has done quite well. Hummingbirds are drawn to the bright pink flowers, but the main pollinators of bleeding-hearts, whether native or non-native, are the long-tongued butterflies and bees. While it is now regarded as the sole member of the genus Lamprocapnos (L. spectabilis), it may also be listed under the synonym Dicentra.

The Long Way Around

Day 216: The wooded lot adjacent to my property is home to an abundant population of Wild Ginger (Asarum caudatum). So abundant is it that a few years back, I decided to try to transplant some to my yard. The plants established in two of the three spots I chose for them and have been steadily spreading. Today I went next door to photograph the unusual flowers and, following a deer trail, cleaned out at least twenty occupied spider webs with my face. My ankles were savaged by trailing blackberry vines, my face scratched by dangling fir twigs as I tried to duck beneath them to get to the thickest ginger patch. When I arrived, I noticed that the leaves were still quite small. Closer examination found buds in the first formative stages, but none fully open. Having made the journey without profit, I forged a shortcut through the tangle to reach my back fence. Over the wire I went...to take a photo of the ginger growing in my very own yard. Sometimes, you just gotta do it the hard way.

Camas Prairie

Day 215: A regional legend tells us that at one time, Mt. Olympus (the highest peak in Washington's Olympic range) had three wives. The youngest was jealous of the other two, and decided to leave. Although she had no idea where she would go, she packed a cedar basket with food for her journey. Among the staples were the roots of the Blue Camas plant (Camassia quamash) which could be boiled or roasted and pounded to make flour. Leaving the Olympic Peninsula, she forged south, and after a few days of travel, she had reached the lower end of Puget Sound. By this time, she was tired and hungry and decided to rest and prepare a meal. As she worked, a few camas bulbs spilled from her basket, unnoticed. The next day, the young wife resumed her travel, eventually arriving at a place she thought would be a suitable home. There, she spread her skirts and settled onto the land to become the peak we now call Mount Rainier. The camas bulbs she had inadvertently left behind multiplied. Now you can see fields of them on the prairies around Yelm.

Evening Grosbeak Female

Day 214: Few things in life are certain: death, taxes and Murphy's Law. The latter was in full effect on Saturday when I should have been able to rack up several more species for Global Big Day but for the sudden disappearance of a few of my more common birds. And true to form, over the following two days, several of them showed up: the Red-winged Blackbirds (normally a constant nuisance), Canada Geese and a Red-breasted Sapsucker. On the other hand, only the atomic clock is more reliable than Evening Grosbeaks who have discovered an unlimited supply of black-oil sunflower seed, and they were arguably my most abundant bird in the count, even topping Steller's Jays. I never get tired of photographing them, and this was my best capture of a female. They'll be around all summer, sometimes in smaller numbers, sometimes greater, filling the air with their chirps.