Poor Showing

 

Day 255: Well, there you have it: the delphinium, singular. There was one other stalk which got beaten down by rain, but that's pretty much the whole show right there. The trend seems to be fairly widespread, too. Almost everything is coming on late or being non-productive. The neighbour's pie cherry trees are covered in little hard green things which are nothing more than a thin skin over a pit. The gooseberries are hard as rocks, and by now I should have been out there picking them daily. Snapdragons, usually enthusiastic volunteers, are simply not showing up for work. While these usually abundant plants are faltering, success is coming from unexpected quarters. The figs are swelling nicely, and if even a tenth of the kiwi flowers form berries, I'll have enough kiwis to feed a small army. I suppose in trading off for only one delphinium, I'm still getting the best end of the deal.

Delphinium

Day 255: There is an abundance of confusion when it comes to the delphinium/larkspur debate, much of it arising from revisions of taxonomy coupled with inconsistent application of common names. This is a garden variety Delphinium, and by "garden variety," I mean precisely that: a plant you'll find in the garden. Delphiniums are generally perennial, tall, with flowering stems sometimes reaching up to six feet, with flat-faced, open blooms borne all along the spike. The Delphinium known as Larkspur is commonly an annual, shorter, with wiry stems adorned with only a few flowers spaced rather more openly. "Delphinium" currently applies to both, but "Larkspurs" were classed previously as Consolida. As romantic as the common name "Larkspur" is, if it's in a garden, call it a Delphinium. If it's in the backcountry, call it a Larkspur. That should get you through most situations where you have to make a judgment call.

Grand Finale

Day 249: The flower beds are winding up in a grand finale, with a last, lavish display of colour from the columbines, honeysuckle and delphinium, and will soon yield the stage to the lesser players of volunteer snapdragons, Nigella and the rest of the supporting cast. I have never been one for putting in bedding plants, although every year I give the thought a brief moment of consideration. It seems so wasteful to plant something, only to have it wither in the hot summer spotlights. Let the stage crew have its day in green workman's overalls. Foliage! Without it, the show could not go on.

We Saw This Really Blue Flower...

Day 319: Rangers at the desk of the Visitor Center are frequently asked to identify a plant, bird or animal from the briefest of descriptions. It happens less often when we're out in the backcountry, although it is still a fairly common occurrence. A perfect example would be, "We saw this really blue flower near Tipsoo Lake. What was it?" The query may be accompanied by a postage-stamp sized out-of-focus photo from which it is likely impossible to tell whether the plant in question was Monskhood (Aconitum, left) or Larkspur (Delphinium, right). When asked to give a clearer description of the blossom, the visitor falters and then says, "I think there was some white in the middle." How about the foliage? That's asking too much. It had leaves, and they were green.

While botanists get seriously up close and personal with their plants, counting stamens, examining leaves for fine hairs and so on, we ask nothing more of you than that you count the petals, decide whether they are all the same shape and size, and tell us whether the leaves were long or rounded, single or splayed out like fingers on a hand. These simple bits of information (or other obvious morphological characteristics) are usually enough to put us in the ballpark when coupled with season and location. Referring to the photos above, Monkshoods upper petals form the distinct hood which gives the plant its common name, while the petals of Larkspur open out like those a child might draw. That simple distinction could answer the question of "What was that really blue flower we saw at Tipsoo?" without the need for a ranger's suggestions. But then, everybody likes to talk to a ranger, right?

Summer Blues

Day 267: I get the blues when it rains. Or rather, I get the rain when it blues. When the delphinium spikes open fully, it seldom fails to either rain or blow or do both at once. At four or more feet in height, the inflorescences are particularly vulnerable to inclement weather even when staked. I keep mine in tomato cages, sometimes tied to the rings to prevent them from being toppled. Although it's not easily visible in the photo, each flower has a spur similar to that of a nasturtium in which the nectar accumulates. The hummingbirds love them, hovering at each individual "bee" (the white center) and working their way from bottom to top as they sip the nectar. Bumblebees are drawn to the flowers as well, so that there is often a bee in the bee, buzzing happily as it gathers pollen. Delphiniums do not re-seed easily and thus are easy to maintain in their appointed spots. Mine are right outside my window where I can watch the hummers and buzzers in comfort even if it blows or rains.

A Glad, Good September Morn

Day 323: A Glad, Good September Morn to you, my friends! As many (but not all) of you know, this is my personal "holiday," second only to Christmas on my calendar. Traditionally, it is celebrated with a swim (or at least a dunk) in a chilly alpine tarn somewhere, but with this being Labor Day weekend, the celebration will have to be put on hold until it can be performed without the chance of being seen. Instead, I have chosen to bring you the beauty of my garden, just a small bouquet which includes no more than three stems of any given plant species. Believe me, the sacrifice was negligible! Included are two types of Coneflower (Rudbeckia), two Cosmos, Nasturtiums, Lavender, Delphinium, hardy Fuchsia, Snapdragons, Nigella, tall Phlox and a few California Poppies which were in a "wildflower" mix. May your coming year be as bright and festive as these flowers, and may you find joy in the Beautiful Month.

Singin' The Blues

Day 230: I was singin' the blues because the steady stream of Rufous Hummingbirds at the feeders seemed to have dwindled over the last week, but then I discovered why. They're going to the Columbine, the Honeysuckle and the Delphiniums instead! It's good to see my clientele turning to a more natural diet, and after all, that's what my garden is about: hummers and pollinators. Most of the plants I've added over the last several years have been chosen with them in mind.

While Delphiniums draw bees as well as hummingbirds, they come with a built-in "bee," the term arising from the central structure's resemblance to the insect. More than once, I've bent over next to a Delphinium only to find that a real bee was nestled into the flower's "bee," gathering pollen. Seen side on, the blossom "bee" is even fuzzy!

With birds and bees humming happily in my garden, I'm joyfully singin' the blues: Delphinium blues!

I've Got Those Old Delphinium Blues

Day 253: Forget what you've heard about Hummingbirds' fondness for the color red. Just plant some Delphiniums in your garden and they'll scorn the feeders in preference for diving head-first into one of these rich blue blossoms.

Shortly after I purchased this property, a friend came up to help me renovate the old grassed-over flower beds. We excavated to a depth of 18", filtering the soil through our fingers and retaining any root which looked like birth a desirable plant. In so doing, we found the Delphiniums which were to become the foundation for my current "hummingbird garden," although I didn't realize it at the time. When the first Hummers arrived to sip nectar, I bought several feeders and filled them, but they went unnoticed until the Delphiniums had faded. The feeders hang nearby to provide the equivalent of a "fast-food snack" for my little clients while they wait in line for a table at Café Delphine.