Oklahombres

This week we are weaning ourselves back to just two plants in bloom for our Friday Floral post: one shrub and one spring bulb. If you could only walk around the yard and see what isn’t being covered by this extraordinary restraint, it would make you weep. Maybe some of it will still be in bloom in future weeks. Let’s hope so. These photos were taken by my wife throughout this week. Enjoy.

The genus Viburnum represents a class of shrubs that has dozens, possibly hundreds of cultivars, and yet they are virtually unknown in the home landscape. So many plant materials are snubbed because they are not evergreen, despite the fact that the sameness of evergreens can sometimes translate into “boring.” This is something we have tried to avoid, using evergreens—mostly holly, and boxwood—mainly as hedge material on our property borders. On the other hand, so many deciduous shrubs have their week of glory, and then blend into a different kind of “boring” for the rest of summer. And they are leafless all winter long, to boot. I can understand that too. And that is the very reason we love the four different Viburnum in our landscape. They have more to offer than a short-lived pretty face in spring.  Beginning in winter the tidy, mid-sized shrubs are indeed leafless, but with steel-gray stems forming interesting patterns against the brown turf and blue sky. (Don’t even think about snow. I won’t allow it.) In late winter pointed scale-patterned buds stud the terminals of each branch. In early pre-spring those buds swell and take on a rich pink hue. Mid March heralds true spring with what you see here: the palest of pink blossoms covering the entire shrub. But what your senses cannot gather in from this page is the sweet smell that blankets our entire front yard. It is indescribable. This specimen is Viburnum ‘Korean Spice’ which is a hybrid of two other Viburnum species. After the big show in spring, Viburnum sports semi-leathery leaves, each species and cultivar with its own distinctive leaf pattern, veining, and hue. The flowers produce red berries, again each kind having its own shade of red, with some species sporting almost black berries. The birds devour the berries once they are ripe, so this part of the show doesn’t last all summer. Their combination of size and hardiness makes Viburnum perfect for the low-maintenance home landscape.

My wife loves hyacinths. Though the waxy flower spikes only last a few days, and the bulbs eventually have to be replanted every so often, they are well worth the minimal effort. They come in many colors, and all are fragrant. I like them too.

Have a good week end, and a blessed Lord’s day.

This week’s FFP reminds me of that one-sided phone conversation often found placarded near the desks of shipping-and-receiving clerks:

“You want it good, fast, and cheap? Pick two and call me back.”

I have to pick just one? Trying to pick just one floral photo per week is near impossible this time of year. Not counting plants that are still in bloom from previous weeks, I can count seven definite candidates. Some will still be available for next week’s slot, but which ones? Next week there may well be more options than there are this week.

Okay, so I’m going to make an exception.  Three seems to be a good number.

Nothing is more old fashioned than forsythia and quince. If you haven’t seen either of these two, then you have lived in a cave all of your life. Perhaps you are a city dweller, which would amount to the same thing. In any case these two have been found around houses ever since there have been houses.

The genus Forsythia was named after the Scottish botanist William Forsyth (1737-1804) who first brought the plant from China to England. I am not sure of the species of this particular plant, for there are many hybrids and cultivars around. This one appears to be an improved variety of some sort, as the blooms are a bit lighter yellow than most you see around old abandoned homesteads. My wife especially favors this light canary-yellow forsythia over the more common ones bearing near-orange yellow blossoms. She took this shot, framing our house in the back ground between the branches, which some describe as “leggy,” and others, more kind, “open.” You can’t force it to thicken up, so it’s best to keep pruning to a minimum, and only in the spring right after the blossoms fade. After this show in spring it’s just another deciduous shrub, so place it where it will “fade” into the general landscape.

Flowering quince, another old-fashioned shrub, is generally found where forsythia is found. It too has little to offer after the spring show, so don’t make it the centerpiece of your landscape. The old timers often mistakenly called it japonica after the species of its Latin name, Chaenomeles japonica. The red blossoms of the quince resemble apple blossoms, of which they are related, and a few of the blooms do turn into odd little misshapen “apples.” There is a quince of some near relation whose fruit is used to make jellies and preserves, but I’ve never seen one. This shot was also taken by my wife.

These last little dainties are snowdrops, Galanthus nivalis. One of the lesser spring bulbs, it is best viewed with your face to the ground turned sideways, as the pure white blooms droop down from stalks barely three inches tall. The little ring of bulbs we planted some years ago around a Chinese dogwood seem to be prospering, but I fancy our summer climate is a bit extreme. I have never seen snowdrops elsewhere, but the catalog photos show them to be a bit larger than these. This shot is mine, for alas, my dear wife’s shot was from an “aerial” vantage point.

Have a great weekend, and a worshipful Lord’s day.

his week finds the common daffodil in full swing, where, in the same spot this time last week, there was but one.

Just getting started is this little gem, a veronica, Veronica umbrosa ‘Georgia Blue,’ discovered in the Republic of Georgia in 1979, according to my sources.

Not anything like what you might expect, if you have ever had the more traditional veronica varieties with their striking blue spikes in early summer. This one hugs the ground at no more than an inch tall with so many half-inch blooms at its peak that you cannot see the foliage beneath. This early in the season, only a few of the blue blossoms are open, but you can see the potential in the many tight buds surrounding them. In the winter the foliage turns a deep purple/brown-ish-ness—well sort-a.

Have a good week end and blessed Lord’s day.

This first daffodil greeted me as I came home from work Thursday morning. There may have been one or more over on the west side of the house, but this was the first one I saw. It was still early and quite cloudy, and so the low light forced me to sacrifice depth of field. You can see that the trumpet is sharp but the petals are a bit fuzzy, the blades even more so, and the azaleas in the background are indistinguishable. By the time I got up in the mid afternoon, there were a half dozen or more fully opened. It’s going to be a site to behold this weekend and beyond.

Most of our daffodils are like this one: probably  the common ‘King Alfred’ or something similar. My wife and I dug them up years ago at an old abandoned farmstead on some land my folks owned. One of the hardiest of spring-flowering bulbs, the daffodil needs little more than to be dug up and divided every now and again.

Saucer Magnolia, Magnolia x soulangeana, is very popular in these parts, and for good reason. The open form and early-blooming, large, pink blossoms of this southern beauty  make it a traffic stopper. These assets can also be liabilities. Open can also be interpreted leggy, and early can be construed to mean frost-prone. As often as not a cold snap in pre-spring can ruin their brief display. As was the case in eastern Oklahoma’s December, 2007 ice storm, leggy can quickly turn this attractive little tree into splinters. All the same, the Saucer Magnolia is beautiful this time of year. Many, it would seem, believe it is worth the risks involved.

The little jewel featured in this week’s F.F.P is a near relative, the Star Magnolia, Magnolia stellata. Maybe better described as a large shrub than a small tree, the Star Magnolia sports all of the charm of its leggier cousin without any of its drawbacks. Blooming over a longer period, a hard frost may sully the portion of double blossoms presently open, but more will appear soon. I especially enjoy the unfolding drama of this particular blossom: First the fuzzy fat buds, that begin to slowly swell, it seems as soon as the leaves drop in fall. Then the buds peek out pink, followed by a near-white mop-headed double flower. Yes, and then the flower fades and dies. . .

But then there are more of these little dramas overlapping for a couple of weeks, and then there are the cluster of Blue Stars that emerge all around the base of our little tree-shrub. Even our little star’s summer cloak is a feast to the eyes with its leathery leaves; though not glossy, like that of the Southern Magnolia. It never looks stressed, even in the driest of summers.

The genus Magnolia was named after the french botanist Pierre Magnol, who lived from 1638-1715.

The plan was to have a Friday post every week this year showing off some “color” on our place, in an attempt to show, that with careful planning, one can have something in bloom in their landscape every week of the year—at least in North-eastern Oklahoma. Since this is the second Friday in February, and at the same time, only my second Friday-Floral-Photography post, you might conclude that I have failed. Let me adjust my little experiment by restating the premise.

With careful planning, and the grace of God, one can have something in bloom in their landscape nearly every week of the year—at least in North-eastern Oklahoma.

Yellow is not an uncommon color in the spring; daffodils and forsythia readily come to mind. But spring and yellow do not usually raise visions of dogwoods in the landscape. That is because you probably have never seen Cornus mas, or cornelian cherry dogwood.

All of the dogwoods are easily recognizable by their straight, slender branches, always appearing in opposite pairs. Dogwoods are one of only four genera whose branches line up in opposite pairs. There is an acronym which helps you remember which ones they are: MAD Horse, which represents maples, ashes, dogwoods, and horse chestnuts—or buckeyes, whose nuts closely resemble chestnuts. The use of horse in common botanical names almost always indicates strong or poisonous. Don’t ever eat a nut from a buckeye. You will regret it.

The dog in dogwood comes from the fact that dogwood branches—strong, straight, and slender—make good “dogs” or skewers. The cornelian cherry also has a place in Greek mythology. Apollo, or one of those mighty warrior-god types, is said to have let loose a shaft from his bow from the top of Mount Olympus. When the arrow landed at the foot of the mountain, it took root and became the cornelian cherry, and hence became the preferred wood for making arrow shafts, because it grew so straight and strong. Of course the common name “cornelian cherry” is derived from a combination of the name of the genus Cornus with the fact that the fruit of the tree resembles a cherry.

I know spring is officially more than a month away, but when I see yellow, it just has to be spring. In any case, spring can’t be too far off. Look at this next shot; I caught a number of honey bees working this little tree over. We planted this dogwood in our front yard as a way to celebrate and commemorate the marriage of one of our children. It has been in the ground about six years and has grown about a foot each year. It should top out at around twenty feet.

Not at all common in the nursery trade—especially here in Oklahoma—we had to locate this one on the internet. It came all the way from somewhere in North Carolina, if I remember correctly. As indicated by the close-up, the individual blossoms are anything but stunning. The cumulative effect is what makes this small tree stand out in the landscape. Add to that its early bloom, decorative peeling bark, and cherry-like fruit; and you get a small tree that is worth the extra trouble to find. It has not been hard to grow in our sandy soil. If you like yellow in February, you should get one.

Have a good weekend and Lord’s day.

ell, this is the first of what I hope to be a “Friday-Floral-Photography” post. I was going to see if I could post a floral picture of something in my yard every Friday in 2009, but it turned off quite cold right after Christmas, causing my hardy cyclamen to cut short its season just before the new year. There were a number of other prospects waiting anxiously those first three Fridays, but none offered to show true color until this week. These four tiny creeping phlox blossoms—there were others scattered about—are premature, to  be sure. The main show will be more than a month away. Notice how the blade-like foliage hasn’t even greened up yet.

Creeping Phlox—January 21, 2009