The Cutting Garden at DIG Nursery on Vashon Island.


I posted a bunch of pictures today I took on the day (6 August) that DIG Nursery had public access to their cutting garden. So many amazing flowers; it was frustrating that the mid-afternoon light was so harsh, so hot and so nearly overhead. Still - lots of amazing shots and very cool images. Not to mention a visit to the Vashon Farmer's market and a couple of very pleasant meals to round out an excellent day.

The view of Mt. Ranier was particularly spectacular on the ferry ride back.

The Start of Autumn

In the entry before last, I wrote about how there is a day when summer seems to end. And another day when the plants seem to give up the struggle. And then finally a day when Autumn starts. Though technically, the Autumnal equinox was yesterday, Autumn really arrived here a week ago last Wednesday. A few leaves turned: each of the Japanese Maple had a few leaves that had changed colors. The weather felt like fall. But the odd and kind of humorous thing is just at about midafternoon last Saturday, I was standing in the backyard, looking out into the woods when a single yellow leaf from the Bigleaf maple came gently tumbling down.

The Bigleaf maple in the yard is perhaps one hundred and some feet tall. It's an amazing tree. There is just something so astounding about a tree with leaves the size of dinner plates; a tree with such a mass of leaves that the mounds of dropped leaves are eight or ten inches deep across a 75 foot diameter canopy. Talk about biomass. The mind just boggles. Unfortunately, this tree had a rough summer. An early hail storm last spring was quite destructive to the emerging leaves, and later, because of our odd, early too wet/late too dry summer, it developed a mild case of a dry white fungus on some leaves. Not bad - just not too pretty. Unfortunately this particular tree was diagnosed with Verticillium Wilt last year - an untreatable condition that will, over a period of years, eventually kill the tree. That day, my heart will break. But in the meantime, the Bigleaf and I have bit of an agreement - it grows and does as well as it can - and I keep an eye on it everyday, doing what I can to make sure it's in good shape, trimmed up with regular examinations by the arborist.

But back to the start of Autumn. That single yellow leaf, slowly fluttering down, right in front me, tumbling end over end to land a few feet in front of me could not have been any more of obvious announcement. This week, the procession of autumn events continued. Leaves on the mountains are changing colors fairly rapidly, though they have not yet begun to fall off. The seedpods of the Crocosmia are shrinking into small orange balls and the tall flower wands of the fairy candle bug bane plants are transforming themselves into heavy seedhead branches.

The wonderful and surprising news is the behaviour of my Salvia collection. As is always the case, S. Ulignosa (Bog Sage) is one of the last to bloom. It's sky blue colored blossoms appear on the tops of tall but lank (and noxious smelling) branches. But by now, S. Patens (that of the giant blue blossoms) has usually given up the ghost for the season. Not this year - not only are the potted specimens still blooming but the specimens in the ground are continuing to bloom bountifully as well. A huge surprise is the S. Flava planted in the same pot as S. Ulignosa - it has ten or so flower stalks - all loaded with blossoms - nearly as many stalks and blossoms as it had this spring. S. Hot Lips continues to bloom profusely - though all the blossoms have turned to white. As is usually the case, there seems to be no particular reason for the lack of red or bi-color blossoms - I've seen many other specimens that have the usual combinations of red, white and bi-color blossoms this week, so it's just this particular plant being weird apparently. S. Guarantica v. Black and Blue (below) is just booming along as well - many stalks of blossoms and quite a number of buds as well. Of course S. Farinacea v. Victoria continues to bloom strongly, the cobalt blue flowers and stems bold against the other fading colors of autumn. S. May Nights is budded as well; though just barely and I'd be amazed if I got any flowers out of it. The big and surprising news is that both S. Grandiflora and S. reptens specimens are budded as well - I'm hoping that they blossom shortly so that I can get a few pictures.

As usual, many other things in the garden are going on - and we'll save those for another entry. But without a doubt Autumn has arrived. Though normally I find Autumn a somewhat sad time of year, the unexpected gift of all those salvias blooming so late means there is no room for anything but smiles from me.

My Other Home on Flickr

Though I know no one has been reading these ramblings - or at least commenting on them, I thought I'd explain that I've been posting quite alot on Flickr at http://www.flickr.com/photos/dougr. As a result, I'm going to try to post more often here - but shorter entries that have more to do with the work I'm doing over there.

That odd time of late summer.

There exists a day, sometimes a few days, but no more than two, when the plants seem to just give up a little. The vibrant work of creating green slows just a little and the upright growth relaxes ever so slightly. Then, a bit later; a few days, a few weeks or even a month, the plants just let go - give up so to speak, and accept the oncoming notes of autumn.

That first day of relaxation came here last week. There was a certain loss of energy in the air - a slight but new transparency to previously vigorous and opaque green leaves. That day always comes with a certain mournfulness since it presages the beginning of the dormancy of winter. It happens to all the plants in turn: the hostas and ligularia, once so proud and upright, relaxed most today - their leaf tips nearly touching the ground now, the solid mounds of foliage now growing attenuated and mournful. The hydrangea blossoms - once so large and upright, dinner plate sized and dark blue, now bend under the greying lilac weight of their fading blossoms. Even the weeds - blackberry among them seem to give up the struggle a bit.


I had hoped that that second day would delay a bit - to give us a a few more weeks of the joy of summer and the seemingly boundless energy of sun and moon and heat to help grow and bloom. Yet today, despite the lovely produce much in evidence at the farmer's market, came that second signal day, a mere week after the first. Today was a gray day, one that felt more like early fall - more like late September or even October. A few yellow leaves dropped from the taller trees, a few others appeared on more trees, and the relaxation in the gardens grew still more obvious. More than a few flowers needed deadheading and a bit of pruning to keep up appearances. Still others are putting in that last manic blast of energy to produce a lesser fall flowering in the hopes of producing another crop of seeds to see them through the winter.

The grasses - tall miscanthuses of all types, the needle grasses, and the all the various carex forms also seem to have relaxed a bit. The miscanthus are all letting the odd stalk fall over and most are starting to show seed heads. Soon it will be time to tie them up like corn shucks to give height and texture to the winter landscape. The needle grasses too are going to flower, their infinitely thin and pale yellow strands twisting now amongst the green mounds of foliage.

The lady and bracken ferns are losing color now - becoming green and white stained foliage memories of their former selves. Then too the Stinky Pete, usually so energetic in its will to take over as much of the world as it can reach, has become content to turn a delicate pinky-orange as it it deteriorates back into a ghost of it's formerly robust self.

Signs of a very early fall: something to wonder over without a doubt. Yet the astounding abundance of the earth makes it impossible to worry just yet. The market never fails to amaze and fill me with joy at the amazing bounty it presents.