veggies: Tomato Monsters

Some of you may recall my declaration last summer that I was done with tomatoes. I had had it up to here with the leaf-footed bugs sucking out my tomato juices and the squirrels carrying off and half eating my few ripe tomatoes. BUT, I'm a sucker. I couldn't resist the tomato plants at the garden center and went for it anyway. And what do I get? More bugs! Yay!

And speaking of, this morning I noticed the tell-tale signs of the presence of a tomato or tobacco hornworm - the larvae of the sphinx moth, Manduca sexta - tomato stems completely denuded and chewed to a nub. So I followed the trail down the stems and lo and behold: a hornworm!

Now, I do have a major love for sphinx moths, so this always puts me in a quandry.

Most folks would probably not hesitate to pluck that little f*cker off the plant and drown it in soapy water, squish it, or throw it over the fence. But I LOVE sphinx moths and their caterpillars. Look how exquisitely gorgeous this little creature is, all plump and green with eye-like spiracles passively inhaling my garden air. It's crocheted prolegs holding tight against the tomato stem. It's head and thorax held tight like a sphinx. The scary red horn on its end that's nothing more than ornament - not really prickly at all.

And the adult moths are like little fairies swirling around the gardens in the dark evenings, sipping nectar from plants like datura. 

So, probably, since those other crappy bugs are eating my tomatoes and I'm unlikely to get many for myself anyway, I will leave my little hornworm to devour the tomato plant. He will get much bigger and much juicier. Perhaps he will become infested with little parasitoid wasps. Maybe a bird will find him for dinner. Or perhaps, he will leave some tomatoes for me.

plants: Mystery Mint

UPDATE: I'm pretty sure this is American germander, Teucrium canadenses. The Wildflower Center entry says that it likes moist soil, which would explain why I always see it around creeks and why it's doing so well this spring/summer.

Anyone know what this plant is?

It's definitely in the mint family, as it has square stems and spreads with underground runners. Plus, the flowers are very minty fresh. (That makes it sound like I've tasted them, which I haven't. But it's not a true culinary mint, whatever it is.)

This is a pass along plant given to me by an old neighbor who said it is native. I've also seen it growing down by the creek. (Neither of those data points mean that it is actually native.) She told me the name, but it's now escaped me. The plant, which started as a few twigs planted in the far front corner of the front garden has been really benign for about 4 years. But all of a sudden, it's going gangbusters (and spreading like mad)!

It has a nice form in mass, and I imagine that when all of those blooms open, it'll be a beaut and probably attract lots of bees...

garden: Through a Vintage Lens

What would my garden blog look like if this was 1970? If we had computing technology, but still used funky old cameras? Yep, I discovered Hipstomatic on the iPhone.

deep thoughts: Evolving From Planter to Gardener

I've mused on the difference between a landscaper and gardener in the past, and this is a related thread.

I was sitting around the garden last night beneath the twinkling strings of lights, the sounds of frogs and our various wind chimes jingling in the summer breeze. I noticed that I was fairly well enveloped in plants and that so many of our plants are just getting humongous. Crowded, in fact.

I've never had this experience.

And so, I was thinking that all this time I've been planting and planting and moving earth and hardscaping and weeding, I have been nothing but a "Planter" in my garden.

[The back berms in Sept. 2008, waiting for planting.]

But now, I am able to begin editing, pruning, shifting, moving things around, gently filling in open spaces, creating better plant combinations. In short, I think that now I can be a "Gardener."

[The same space now, waiting to be gardened.]

But this is really a brave new world for me. Will I be able to do it right?

[Back berm from the other direction in Sept. 2008.]

[Same general view.]

[And another just for kicks.]

plants: Lavender 'Goodwin Creek'

I've tried lots of lavenders over the past few years and none of them have done very well, either outright dying or just withering away and looking terrible. Mostly, I think it's because my garden is pretty humid and the "Houston black" clay is really challenging.

Finally, I found one that is doing great, a variety called "Goodwin Creek." The plant tag said it did well in the humidity of San Antonio, so I thought I'd give it a try.

I bought to new ones this year to fill in some space, and they too, are doing fabulous thus far.

bugs: Caterpillars

There are lots of caterpillars munching away in the garden these days, and here I tried to capture just a few.

This one is resting on the lavender. Hard to tell, but it has a bluish hue on all those hairs. Given its furriness, I'm guessing its a moth of some kind.

This looks like it might be a sphinx moth (Sphingidae) of some kind eating on the lemon verbena, given its horn-like structure on the rear.



Something fuzzy munching on my beans

And of course the black swallowtails. This one is on my fennel, but there were tons on the dill and the parsley too. Most have wandered off to make themselves into butterflies. This is the lone soldier right now. But they'll be back...

art: Favela Painting

This is so incredibly cool. Haas & Hahn do the favelas.

deep thoughts: To Kill a Mockingbird

I just finished rereading Harper Lee's classic and wonderful book "To Kill a Mockingbird." I'm sure I was forced to read this book in high school, but I remember it was one of the few that I enjoyed. (I didn't appreciate reading much then. Now, thankfully, I'm addicted to it.)

I've been trying to reread many books that I read as a youngster, because my experience of them now is so completely different, and so much richer. The only thing I really remembered about "To Kill a Mockingbird" was Boo Radley, but I couldn't recall what that was about.

One of the things that struck me this time through the book, now that I'm a gardener and plant person, is the depth with which I understood small references that Harper Lee makes to the environment in Maycomb County, Alabama. Lee was either a gardener or did good research.

The cozy Southern characters live their lives beneath the live oaks and pecans, and prune their camelias and azaleas. But Lee also makes mention of quite a few invasive plants too.

Chinaberry makes an appearance or two. Scout and Jem Finch built their fort in a tall one in their backyard. Johnson grass grows "in abundance" in the front yard of the famous Boo Radley house, along with rabbit-tobacco (a native, I believe, that "country boys" used as a tobacco substitute).

One of my favorite references to a plant in the book is to nut grass (Cyperus rotundus) - a weedy plague to many gardeners and farmers in Central Texas and one that has obviously been pesky in the U.S. South for some time. It's one I hadn't dealt with before moving to Austin, but I've had my fair share of fun with it since.

Here's the passage, where Scout, the book's narrator, is describing Miss Maudie:

She loved everything that grew in God's earth, even the weeds. With one exception. If she found a blade of nut grass in her yard it was like the Second Battle of the Marne: she swooped down upon it with a tin tub and subjected it to blasts from beneath with a poisonous substance she said was so powerful it'd kill us all if we didn't stand out of the way.

"Why can't you just pull it up," I asked, after witnessing a prolonged campaign against a blade not three inches high.

"Pull it up, child, pull it up?" She picked up the limp sprout and squeezed her thumb up its tiny stalk. Microscopic grains oozed out. "Why, one sprig of nut grass can ruin a whole yard. Look here. When it comes fall this dries up and the wind blows it all over Maycomb County!" Miss Maudie's face likened such an occurrence unto an Old Testament pestilence.

Man, can I identify with Miss Maudie this time around.

public spaces: Solar Sunflowers

It's not everyday that most sane people find themselves walking next to I-Shitty-5 (translate: I-35), the worst and most heavily trafficked interstate highway in the United States.

But, there I was on a gray Saturday morning.
 

I was walking on one of the trails at the new Mueller development to go pick something up at the Home Despot. The development is going to have all sorts of stuff, but it's the landscapes, trails and prairies that I like so much.

This section of the trail and green space is sandwiched between I-Shitty-5 and the asses of the Big Box stores. Not really pleasant locale to begin with. But the Mueller folks have made the best of it, and eventually runners and walkers will be able to take an entire 7-mile loop around the neighborhood on this trail.

Once I tuned out the constant hum of the freeway, I found the trail and plantings to be surprisingly beautiful. The narrow green space is chock full of native wildflowers and other well thought plantings. The horsemint and Indian blanket are in full bloom and Mexican feathergrass was blowing in the breeze (or was that backdrafts from semis? - oh never mind).

Lots of yaupon hollies, rock rose, muhly grasses and Texas persimmon along the edges. The mockingbirds where in there doing their thing, which is a good thing.

The whole space is anchored by a series of very cool Solar Sunflowers. These towers are nice piece of public art and make for a cool feature to walk beneath and through. I doubt they'll do much for the energy grid, but anything is better than nothing!

Anyway, I wouldn't necessarily recommend taking a walk under the Sunflowers, but next time you're speeding by on I-Shitty-5, just know that birds and bees and wildflowers and joggers are making happy little times there, in what could've been an awful hell strip of nothingness...

garden: In the Purple-Pink Mix

Well, the purple-pink and yellow floral hues of early spring--that of yellow columbine and Gulf coast penstemon--have given way to the yellows and purple pinks of late spring and early summer here in CenTex.

The purple coneflowers (Echinacea purpurea) and Engelmann's daisy (Engelmannia peristenia) are in full swing.

Also blooming are the red yuccas. Fabulous. This is the first year that all of them are blooming at the Grackle garden.

The combination of purple coneflowers, hymenoxys, spineless prickly pear (Opuntia) and red yuccas is working really well in this mixed border up front.

plants: By the Light of the Moon

I was giddy with excitment this morning to wake up to the bright white light emimating from my first ever datura flower.

Oh my. I planted a couple of these from seed last year, and they are really taking off this year.

Datura wrightii. Sacred datura. Jimsonweed. Angel trumpet.

I have so many great things to say about this plant. First, it's large, furry gray leaves are unusual in my garden.

Second, it's native. Third, the flowers attract my favorite family of insects: the hawkmoths (Sphingidae). Fourth, the blooms smell good (I can't wait to have a whole plant full of them!). Fifth: the seed pods are killer-cool looking. Sixth: the ephemeral flowers open mostly at night, and whither by mid morn. And finally, these particular propagations come with a story: they grow from pass-along seeds from a good friend Robert, who got his seeds from his mom who is now deceased. So, it's kind of like little reminders of his mom spread around the state (they are originally from the plains of Abilene).

The 5-inch long buds look sort of like enormous butterfly chrysalises. What's lurking within, ready to spread its wings?

But beware, this plant is also highly poisonous.

geology: Fossil Finds

Tromping through West Bouldin Creek in South Austin a week or so ago, I came across this fossil clam shell. Then, as I headed upstream, I found the exact place that it came from. Fits like a puzzle piece. Now, it's a neat stone I can have in my garden. Exploring nature is fun.