Cruel Spring

This jackrabbit had a long wait for fresh greens (and even longer for reds and yellows, if this is the same epicurean who has lately been nibbling on newly opened primrose flowers).

Successive avalanches of snow off the neighbour’s new metal roof collapsed a section of our fence (thank you), opening the way for this big fellow. He sat quite a while but the grass refused to turn green.

Actually, it was a Pretty Normal Spring, slow to arrive and when it did get here, suddenly scorching hot, cooking the early crocuses to a crisp.

The first flower to appear was a Galanthus (snowdrop), whose leading stem speared through the leaf litter around the 19th of April — about two weeks later than last year and nearly two weeks earlier than in 2011. All three Galanthus that survived the first winter flowered this spring, and each is slowly increasing into a little clump. It’s boring showing pictures of the same plants every spring, but they’re all I’ve got: the Bulbocodium vernum in front (three bulb clumps remaining of five bulbs planted), little yellow crocus in the middle (cooked), and Galanthus behind, two together and the third off to the right.

First flowers in the alpine garden, late April

This crocus wasn’t here last year, or maybe only its leaves were, feeding the bulb so that it would eventually produce a spectacular flower too big to stand up.

Flop.

Primulas in March

April fool. Sort of. I have no flowers to show. To see pictures of Primulas this time of year, I recommend the Primula forum on the Scottish Rock Garden Club website. But I opened the cold frame yesterday, removed the insulating leaves, and took pictures of some of the better looking plants.

These two pots of seedlings are Primula halleri and P scotica sown a year ago from my own garden-collected seed. A downside to growing from seed is that you can end up with twenty or thirty plants when you have space for three. (Click to enlarge.)

year-old seedlings of Primula halleri (left) and Primula scotica

This is my lone named hybrid Primula allionii, ‘Clarence Elliot.’ Emerging after five months and some weeks buried under leaves in a snow-covered box, it looks only slightly worse than when it went in. It needs a bit of spring cleaning and will be budding up in a couple weeks, I expect.

‘Clarence Elliot’ ready to be growing

These three border auriculas, grown from Barnhaven seed, are entering their third spring as flowering size plants. There are other auriculas in the box that don’t look as good as these. Some of the named show auriculas, in particular, appear less than robust. A handful of snow and some sunshine should wake them up.

Auriculas undaunted by another zone 3 winter.

Everything in the cold frame appeared to have come through…

contents of the cold frame after spring cleaning and a reviving snow bath

…except the Cyclamen hederifolium. Somehow, their soil had dried out. The plants may be alive; I’ll wait and see. I had too many Cyclamen seedlings to bring them all indoors over winter and placed a few in the cold frame as an experiment — they are rated hardy to zone 5; this is zone 3. I also planted several good-size ones in the woodland bed. We have had good snow cover through a not extremely cold winter, so maybe they’ve survived. I’ll know in another month or so.

Cyclamen hederifolium — alive in there?

I also over-wintered some potted plants in the garage to give them an earlier start in the spring. You can see that if they were outdoors, they would be deeply snowed under. Now they can be moved out onto the plastic-draped rack, or “mini-greenhouse” (a bit of which is visible next to the cold frame).

In my dreams, I have a greenhouse.

Here, resting buds of Primula cortusoides can be seen below last years’ foliage. (Click to enlarge.)

new life if you look for it

Easter baking

And a Last Look at Last Spring (at the Devonian Botanic Garden)

Five days ago, we reached another important weather day, as the “normal” rose to 0C. Today it is up to +1C. Still, of course, nothing in the garden to show … but getting closer. To remind us what we’re waiting for, here are pictures from last spring’s visit to the University of Alberta’s Devonian Botanic Garden.

We went the third week of May, so about a month earlier than in 2011, but 2012 was an earlier spring than 2011, so the difference in plant growth was more like two weeks. We saw more primulas and were even too early for some, while last year we were too late for most. The first group of photos are from the Primula Dell, and the second group from the Patrick Seymour Alpine Garden.

Last year’s pictures are here and here.

The Primula Dell is not the most painstakingly curated of the DBG’s vast realms. Many plants have disappeared while their signs remain, and much space has been given to non-primulas that are bigger and hardier. While there easily could, and certainly should, be a lot more primulas here, there are still enough to make a worthwhile visit. If there were too many more, it would be difficult to leave the Dell and see any of the rest of the Garden.

I am going to throw up the pictures and come back and write captions later (maybe).

Here are (1) Primula chionantha ssp sinopurpurea (in bud); (2) Primula spectabilis; (3) the same again; (4) what looks like a variety or ssp of P elatior behind a sign that says Primula Abchasica; (5) P x ‘Peardrop’ and another, unidentified, P allionii hybrid, as well as an alpine show auricula (top right); (6) ‘Peardrop’ again; (7) P x ‘Lismore Jewel’ (an allionii hybrid); (8) P x pubescens ‘Freedom’ (an auricula hybrid); (9) masses of P auricula; (10) where once grew P stricta, now (poorly photographed) P denticulata; (11) Jeffersonia dubia; (12) newly emerged leaves of Astilboides tabularis.

=====

Outside the Primula Dell (beyond the spruce trees at centre-right in the first photo) is a meadow of unmown grass and naturalized pulsatillas — whether self-sown or planted by hand is not apparent. The small meadow is outside the garden proper, and not signposted or marked on a map, so when you see it (and you will, especially if the sun is out), it feels like your own discovery.

Mertensia paniculata, I think: a wild, native plant growing among the wild, non-native pulsatillas.

=====

We come now to the alpine garden. Here are (1) Primula auricula ssp Bauhinii; (2) apparently self-seeded Primula cortusoides; (3) another P cortusoides; (4) P x ‘Peardrop’ inundated by some form of Antennaria (pussy-toes); (5) P clusiana, just done flowering; (6) an unidentified Hepatica (acutiloba?); (7) buds of apparently self-seeded Dodecatheon and Antennaria; (8) Haberlea rhodopensis; (9) a carpet speedwell, Veronica thymoides var pseudocinerea (the sign says); (10) Saxifraga x grata ‘Gratoides;’ (11) Saxifraga x ‘Geuderi;’ (12) Primula x ‘Pink Ice;’ (13) Primula glaucescens; (14) Paeonia obovata var alba; (15) and a closer view.

Last Look at Last Summer

The winter solstice is one sign of the seasons beginning to turn, but the sign I watch for comes about a month later: the rise of the “normal” temperatures, after they’ve hit bottom. This year, the turn came on January 23. (This day ought to have a name and a festival.) After sitting at -8/-19 for what seemed like weeks, the “normal” nudged up to -8/-18, and it’s now already up to -7/-18.

This is the perennial border, if I can call it that, a small chunk of garden cornered by the lilac, the cherry tree (left) and the willow (right). (Click photo to enlarge.) Down in front, alliums are in full flower. Behind them are wild strawberries, lilies, Iceland poppies, a trollius, a nepeta (too big, will have to go), delphinium, aquilegia, and yarrow. The purple nodding onion is a great plant, easy from seed, quick to form a big clump and very interesting to watch (the flowers appear to “hatch” from transparent “eggs”).

perennial border

Now, this is the Jardin de Refusés, formerly a patch of grass and weeds that required a special trip out behind the garage with the weed-whacker, now a south-facing perennial border, about six metres long and less than a metre deep, along one side of the parking pad off the back alley. It is crammed with plants pulled from the garden because they’d grown too big or prolific. I dug this bed rather than throw them in the compost bin, but soon they will outgrow this space, too. The picture was taken when the bearded irises were in bloom. These are the common, very rapidly increasing varieties (the purple/white and yellow/brown, seen everywhere). There are also tall, bushy geranium (cranesbill), delphinium, ligularia, hollyhocks, daylilies, and a Hansa rose. These are perfect back-alley plants, because if someone digs them up or picks the flowers — good! The Jardin has been a spectacular success, and reached its peak this year (its second full summer). Next year, some of the plants will have to be dug and divided and the whole thing given a heavy feed of compost. The addition of some oriental poppies would take advantage of the full sun and make some big noise before the irises come out.

Jardin de Refusés

I never thought much of pelargoniums (filler colour for institutional plots) until two years ago I discovered how easy they are to grow from seed. Easy as beans. They sprout a few days after planting (indoors in late February/early March) and grow without trouble in a semi-sunny window until they can go out into a cold frame or unheated greenhouse in April. In summer, paintbrush-pollinate the flowers, and collect the seed when the feathery tails appear. (If they haven’t appeared by autumn frost, bring the seedheads indoors to finish ripening.) The professionals tell us to deadhead pelargoniums, but this is (conspiracy theory) to keep us dependent on the pelargonium industry. If everyone knew how easy it was to collect seed and grow new plants (their own eye-searing cross-bred colours), the dealers would be out of business.

seed grown pelargoniums

This is a three-year-old ornamental rhubarb that flowered for the first time last year. The first picture shows a new leaf, and the second shows the flower stalks. It grows in a fairly sunny spot, not too sunny, and likes to be fed and watered. It has reached dividing size, and I will have to think about where to put another one.

ornamental rhubarb

rhubarb in flower

And now, three pictures of two flowering potted sempervivums. The first flowered in 2011 and the second last year. (The yellow flower poking up between the pots is a sedum.) Semps are nice enough pot plants when they’re not in flower, but when they bloom, stand back. (The blooming rosette then dies, and the neighbouring offsets move in and take their turn.) This winter, I’m keeping the pots (semps, saxifrages, lewisias, androsaces, fritillarias, and a couple primulas) in a garage window over winter and throwing snow on them for insulation. Previous winters, I’ve kept them in boxes of leaves in the (unheated) garage or a pit dug in the garden and filled with leaves. I could probably leave them out on the picnic table and they’d be fine. I’m thinking in the garage window they may get an earlier start in the spring.

sempervivum in bloom

flowering sempervivum

blooming sempervivum

Pest

More pictures from warmer times. Here is a little falcon (a merlin?) that for a couple of weeks last spring liked to perch on the utility pole in the back alley and look over the world. (Pictures taken from inside the house, 30m away. Click to enlarge.)

The falcon was never there more than a minute before a magpie came to annoy him. The magpie flew right up and tried to flap the falcon off his post.

The falcon chased the magpie away. The magpie hid in a tree, and the falcon returned to the pole.

And the magpie came at him again. The falcon gave chase and returned. The magpie’s attack-and-retreat routine would continue until the falcon became bored and went to sit somewhere else. After a couple weeks of this harassment, the falcon stopped coming to the pole. I saw him and a mate a block away, so maybe they found a place where they could live in peace.

When you have magpies, you don’t have many other birds. A robin is less a harbinger of spring than a harbinger of a ransacked robin’s nest.

When the birds turn on us as in Hitchcock, the magpies will turn first. You can tell they are waiting, despising us, picking up dried cat turds and dropping the hairy peanuts on our patio tables.