My kitchen window serves me well. It is the place where great ideas bubble up and profound insights are realized. Well, maybe!? And of course it is most often entry into my backyard nature, especially when weather or life’s other events keep me inside. This morning was no exception.Peeling the last of my fresh and deliciously dripping Georgia peaches, I looked up to see goldfinches at the left feeder and a ruby throated hummingbird on the right. As usual, by the time my hands were cleaned and the camera was found, they were gone, but not for long. To my delight many flew into the feeders, not all goldfinches nor ruby throated hummingbirds, but others as well. A few agreed to have their beauty photographed as they dined, and only too late did I ask myself why I hadn’t removed the window screens that I usually do for the summer.The goldfinches have always been such a delight to see when they fly through and visit the feeder, often in numbers, families I suppose. I must study up on their habits, but I now remember how well they love the old fashioned Black-eyed Susans, wildflowers actually, and many other of the yellow flowers that are fairly prolific in the garden right now. Just yesterday I had almost cut back the Black-Eyed Susans which are looking really bedraggled now, but I was reluctant, wanting to give them one last stand. I’m so glad I left them to host those little golden jewels.
I think one of the things that intrigues me most about photography is the ability to focus on the beautiful. This morning’s magnificent Pee Dee hydrangea bloom gives no hint to the totally burned leaves of the mopheads sharing the same hot and sultry garden bed. Throughout my blistered July garden I do find beautiful places to focus my lens.
I turn away from the newly planted and already wilting tomato plants to find the adjacent three year old Japanese maple saying, “Look at me! I’m making it.” It has recovered so amazingly from having several limbs succumb to a falling Leyland cyprus in a past winter snow. The maple’s leaves are a bright emerald green, showing few signs of heat prostration. So many bright yellow blooms, some beginning to lose a few petals, but others standing tall and resistant to the already brutal morning’s heat. I capture a stunning showing of golden blossoms, taking care to avoid the foliage of the spent lilies behind them. Through my camera’s lens I focus on a lovely pink coneflower bloom, not the spent and dusty brown petals of its sister flowers sharing the same stalk.
A ray of sun catches a remaining sprinkler droplet on a trio of rose blooms, and with my lens I am able to isolate them from all those brown and crinkled neighbors, awaiting a deadheading attack. Yes, I was glad to have my camera along this morning to improve my perspective. I can only hope that my Creator is using a similar lens on me.
I knew it would come to this, just not quite so soon. Usually into August, in the dog days of summer, my garden becomes a “window garden.” But this year, with temperatures in the mid 90’s starting as early as June, I’ve pretty much left my garden to the butterflies, birds, and the bees already. That’s certainly not to say that its glorious rainbowed beauty is going unappreciated, but just mostly from the perspective of my kitchen window. My strolls through the garden are early morning or late evening, accompanied with the beverage of my choice, no longer trowel or shovel. I pray for rain and cooler temperatures, but doesn’t everyone here in the Southeast?
Those little sunflower heads that began blooming last week and disappointed me with their size have put on a quite a stage show this week, dancing with the afternoon breezes. In mass, their chorus line is lovely and very inviting to what appears to be miniature honey bees who nestle and buzz in those brown powder puff centers. And the dwarf zinnias that I used to replace some spent perennials have now put my taller and mostly wilted zinnias to shame. Lots of color, a successful annual entry into the mostly perennial garden. Just more testimony to the wonder and unpredictability of gardening.
The morning sun following an evening of rain crispens all the garden a very special green, welcoming me no matter that I am still in my pajamas and drinking my second cup of coffee. Even though our temperatures will once again be in the 90’s, there is a bit of a morning breeze, albeit somewhat humid.
And what to my wondering eyes should appear -- my first sunflower. I am trying hard not to be disappointed in this very small pale yellow flower atop an extremely tall stem. It tends to resemble the baseball placed at the top of my grandson’s tee, so small compared to its trunk. What was I expecting? A saucer sized golden petaled Van Gogh specimen? Maybe that will teach me to read the seed packet just a bit more carefully next time. Here’s hoping a bit of Miracle Gro might help inspire those dozen still in the bud stage?
The hummingbirds are back! The ruby throated little guy that met me at the kitchen window this morning, he drinking his new and fresh sugar water and me pouring my first cup of coffee, seemed to want to offer Doug his thanks for cleaning and refilling his feeder. Come August, and the show will begin -- those little jewels lining up for the feeder and dive bombing each other when they think it is their turn. And as I write this, the cardinals too are delighted with their fresh seed supply, again thanks to Doug who stays attuned to their needs.
Salvador has come this morning to help Doug with some new gutter guards, one more attempt to eliminate gutters as the source of basement water. Before Salvador leaves I hope to have him plant my 3 new tomatoes. I took his advice and bought one Better Bush variety, and then as an experiment, I bought two Talladega varieties, supposedly bred to resist Southern wilt. We’ll be doing a bit of research into this and I’ll keep you posted on the results along the way. The way I figure it, I’ll have a chance at homegrown tomatoes again in mid September. Yes!!!
The garden has responded to last night’s rain with renewed determination. You can almost hear the plants struggle to say, “I think I can, I think I can . . .” This summer’s early extreme temperatures lasting for days at a time have left the garden begging for respite. I try to reassure it with my morning walk, encouraging each plant that seems to be ready to give up the good fight.
I must check out the cause of this “wilt” thing that so many are giving way to. Too much heat? Too much exposure to the new grass irrigation? Plants too close together with no breathing room? Or heaven help us, something in the soil? This year was my first seeming success with tomato plants which actually birthed double digit numbers of absolutely divine tomatoes -- but then the wilt took hold and only one withered plant of the four remains. I can only hope that the two pink tomatoes clinging to its vine will ripen as a last minute tribute to their host.
And then there’s this wilt problem with my oak hydrangeas. This year and its rains brought wonderful new green leaves and freshened up the existing two or three plants that have stood on this particular shady side of the garden for years. But over the last few days several of the old stalks, the ones with the summer’s blooms, have withered or wilted away. I must check with Salvador to see if he might have put the mulch too close around the plant. Could it be suffocating?
One cause for excitement on this morning’s walk was the beautiful New Dawn rose bloom reaching out from its intended arbor to catch the morning sun. While one might say it is in need of threading back through the arbor, how can I blame it’s long reach for those warm rays. I too would have escaped such confinement, pointing my pink petaled face toward my maker in order to bloom one last time this season -- “I thought I could, I thought I could!”
Rain is a threat again for the afternoon. I shall not complain, even though it leaves behind its constant Southern summer companion, humidity. This year’s rain has been such a gift to those of us who garden, and after several summers’ droughts, I know how to appreciate afternoon showers. Bring them on . . . . . even at the expense of a bit of wilt. Like Life, just another trade off.
