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.
