Water makes all the difference

Rock Flipping Day 2011, continued...

It was a relief to come back to my own sheltered, well-watered garden after the expedition to the desert-like conditions of the vacant lot. (Between a rock and a dry place).  I recovered my enthusiasm for the search, and decided to turn over some of my own rocks. And here, the moisture lovers thrive.

A few rocks and turtles holding down the base of a wooden heron.

Under the rocks, an orange slug nibbles the heron's toes.

Every rock concealed at least one or two earthworms.

On the bottom of a paving stone, a clump of snail or slug eggs, and a woodbug.

Tiny white springtails. These don't tolerate drying out.

I thought this was a single snail egg until I saw the photo; it is covered with white silk. A spider egg sac, probably.

Millipede. One of many.

The large fake rock (styrofoam) sheltered hundreds of beasties. Slugs and woodbugs clung to the underside of the "rock".  On the ground, rove beetles and millipedes dashed for cover, centipedes and worms burrowed quickly into the soft soil, leaving only many more woodbugs and slugs.

Temporarily tame woodbug.

So my summer schedule of watering every night has paid off; the garden is alive, top and bottom.

June bug in July

Coming home through Crescent Beach, we saw a sign, "Plant Sale", at the entrance to a shaded driveway. We had to stop, of course.

It was a private house; in front of the porch, flowers and shrubs stood in rows of black pots. Laurie wanted something for shade, not too tall, not too wide, evergreen. The gardener was happy to show him around suggesting one, then another, then another, describing their growth pattern, their care. I asked about deep shade gardens; "Come and see," she said, and led us around the house and down steps to her back garden, under tall pines. Here, hostas and ferns grew luxuriantly, in many shades, from glowing yellow-green, to ghostly white, to almost blue. But I was surprised to see many flowers that I would never have expected to bloom in shade. She picked a handful of seeds for me. "Let them dry, then sprinkle them around," she told me.

We returned along a sunny lawn bordered by fruit trees and shrubs, arriving at a potting shed, and then her private sitting area, where she found a pink astilbe for me, some flowering hostas for Laurie. Back at the driveway, we loaded the trunk and back seat with more plants (a winter camellia, among them), and said our goodbyes and thank yous. We'll be back.

At home, we chose sites for the plants; I put the astilbe directly into the shade garden. The others will wait until we remove a few more roots.

An hour later, Laurie went out to the garden again, then came running to me with a handful of struggling bug:

Male Ten-lined June beetle, Polyphilla decemlineata. 3 cm. long. (1 1/4 inches)

We don't have those here; they live near fruit trees. The adults become active on summer evenings, so this guy must have come with the plants we brought home, sleeping in a pot. At dusk, he woke up, just in time for Laurie to find him.

He has the prettiest fur vest, elegant striped "pants", buggy eyes, and amazing antennae.

A close look at one antenna. (Looks sort of like the sole of a high-heeled shoe.) The males have these; the female's antennae are smaller.

Once I'd cooled the beetle down, he was docile, but responsive. When I tickled one side with a paintbrush, he would tip the other way, looking like a tipsy canoe. I tickled the opposite side, and he tipped the other way. He didn't mind the brush at his rear, but when I touched those antennae, which he had been waving about, he folded them tightly, and tucked them away under his chin. He kept them hidden for several minutes.

Eventually, he decided he'd had enough of that, and started to walk away, slowly. I put him in a safe jar for the night, and left him outside. But not before I took a couple more photos.

Spines, hair, and scales on the thorax. I love the rich colours.

Decoration of the yellow and white lines on the elytra. (Wing covers)

These beetles are sometimes a pest in fruit orchards. The larvae live from 2 to 4 years, eating the roots of the trees. A large infestation can weaken or kill a tree. They pupate in the soil, then the adults emerge in June or July. The female may stay close to home, but the male goes off in search of a female; he has until the cold weather comes in the fall to find her and mate. She will lay her eggs, about 60 of them, in the soil at the root of the chosen tree; they will hatch in a month, and start the long cycle again.

The adults eat leaves, but don't do much damage. Once I'd determined that, I let my daddy June beetle go; he waited around until dark, then left. He may not find a female around here, but if he does, they're not likely to find fruit trees, so they won't be a problem.

Of bugs, flowers, and muddy lenses

I came home from hours of driving in the hot sun, in the front door and straight out the back to the shady garden. So cool! So green! So easy on the eyes! So buggy! I went back in for the camera and macro lens.

Fly on London Pride flowers

Delicate bloom of London Pride. Taken with macro lens.

American House spider. One of Fat Momma's great-greats.

While I was up on a ladder taking this photo, I dropped the camera. It was on a cord around my neck, so no harm done, but the macro lens fell off, landed in the damp mud of the garden, and split in half. This isn't as bad as it sounds; it's a home-made stack, which cost me nothing but work. I can fix it, given a slow, rainy day.

But I needed it for bugs. Or maybe not; I went in and brought out my old Olympus (SP55OUZ), which I had almost stopped using, because it got dust inside the lens. (At London Drugs, where I bought it, they told me the repair would cost more than the camera.) Sometimes, especially if I use the flash, the spots show up on the photo. But it takes good macro photos, as long as I remove the spots later.

I decided to experiment; take the same photo with the little Sony (Cybershot) and with the Olympus, then compare them.

Petunia. With the Sony. The Olympus needs more light.

Dutchman's Breeches. With the Sony.

Harvestman on hydrangea leaf. Sony

Harvestman under hydrangea leaf. With the Olympus. Almost enough light.

Tiny Cross spider. With the Olympus and flash. I couldn't get close enough to focus with the Sony without scaring the spider away.

Rhododendron buds. Sony. The Olympus doesn't like extreme lighting.

Ant in center of rhododendron. Sony. Not enough light for the Olympus. It doesn't allow flash with Super-Macro.

Bee on rhodo bud. Note the yellow pollen sac on his leg. Sony. The Olympus was 'way too slow.

Rhododendrons in the shade with sunlit trees behind. Almost looks artificial. Sony, again.

The upshot of all this is that I am still happy with the little Sony; it's fast, it's light, and it handles contrasts well. I can take photos one-handed, which helps when I'm up ladders. On the downside, it doesn't focus if the surroundings are too busy, and the flash is unpredictable. When it all works, it's great. But I need to keep using the Olympus; given enough light and time, it does much better on tiny bugs, as long as they're sitting still.

And maybe, when I rebuild the macro lens, I can adjust it more carefully to the Sony. I think I'll put it on a strap, too.

Shady pool, cool dip.

White crowned sparrow, bathing before dinner:

We have been gardening, pruning, potting, rearranging garden tools, doing a spot of carpentry, and hanging new curtains and rods on the glass doors to the back yard. This sparrow and her (his?) mate got tired of waiting for us to go away, and splashed away happily a few yards from me.

And I am tired, tired, tired. And sore all over. I'm loading up on painkillers and going to bed. G'night, all!

On a rainy morning ...

In my garden :

Bleeding hearts. I love the little frills around the lips.

Dripping begonia

Volunteer ferns.

Red, white and blue accents for the garden

I picked up a few new additions to my shade garden; first, a flat of annual begonias, which always do well here, blooming until the first hard frost as long as they get a touch of sunlight every now and then. Then there are three petunias, red, yellow and strawberry; I've never grown them here, so this is an experiment. And Bacopa, which I'd never heard of, but are supposed to like moderate shade. We'll see.

Strawberry petunia.

Bacopa sutera, "Snowstorm". Likes moist soil, drapes prettily over the edges of pots.

Not a flower. These flies buzzed all over the rhododendrons. Where the sun shone on them, their backs were a brilliant blue.

Slowpoke garden

I noticed yesterday that our neigbourhood is finally splashed with the bright reds and yellows of tulips, almost, but not quite, out-numbering the dandelions. Up here, on the higher reaches of North Delta, we run a bit late. Beach Grove, on Boundary Bay, is at least two weeks ahead of us. These three are from the 18th of April.

My shade garden, of course, is a couple of weeks behind everyone else, even here. We were out this evening looking for flowers: the London Pride is barely budding, so are the perennial violets, the lily-of-the-valley, the Dutchman's breeches and the pachysandra. The hostas and the astilbe are just leaves, so far. The ground covers, periwinkle flowers and dead nettle have a few blue and yellow blooms. And the native bleeding hearts are opening. There's no sign of the columbines at all.

The rhododendron has buds. That's all, so far.

Even the weeds are slow. I pulled a couple of baby buttercup plants out of the lawn. And a dandelion bud showed up. Just the one.

I compared with last year's schedule; the bleeding heart and the Dutchman's breeches were blooming nicely in March. So we're a good six weeks late this year. I wonder why. The wet spring, the too-long, too-mild winter? Something else?

But the hellebore is still holding its own; that's almost two months of blooms, now. I think I'll plant more.

Way to go, hellebore!

Sleepy hellebore

And me, too. I am weary tonight, drooping over my desk.

Goodnight, y'all! Beetles tomorrow!

Short winter

My hellebore plant decides the winter is over:

New flower heads sprouting.

A visit to Oyster Bay Plant Works

... still catching up on our vacation photos ...

On an after-supper walk near our motel in Campbell River, we discovered a gate with a sign; Oyster Bay Plant Works - Open 9 AM. Through the bars, it looked green and inviting. We hurried over right after breakfast the next morning.

Laurie surrounded by beauty.

The gate opened on a wide, bricked path with gardens on both sides; there seemed to be no-one about. Laurie disappeared down a mowed trail to our right, and I dawdled, taking photos of an old Austin in a garden shed. (I love old cars.) Before I was done, the gardener, Linda, had appeared, gloved hands still holding her tools. She was very friendly, and invited me to wander freely around; she would be handy if we needed her. I thanked her and followed Laurie into the shrubbery.

This quadrant is planted mainly in a variety of rhododendrons and azaleas. Flowering season for these was past, but other plants took up the slack. And the green was soothing after the harsh sunlight of the highway. The paths meander, always hiding what lies ahead, but tantalizing us with glimpses of colour.

Astrantia

Native rose, above my head.

Magnolia variety. When the light hits it just right, it looks really blue. The underside of the leaves wears a cinnamon fuzz.

At intervals, carvings and sculpture add interest.

Allium. Notice the bulblets at the base of the flowers.

In spite of the shade, the day was heating up already. I was glad when we came upon a small pond, with a bench under overhanging branches. I sat and rested, lazily taking photos from the bench. Laurie, more resistant to heat than I, scrambled around, getting the perfect angle.

The pool, from my shelter.

Small blue flower.

Tall pink flower, three-petalled.

Stone turtle, on moss and ground cover.

Back on the main path, we met Linda again. I asked about growing conditions for a pitcher plant that I had discovered by the pool. (More on that in a later post.) She took us under her wing, and gave us a tour of the rest, including the view from the front porch of her house. (Gorgeous!)

Then we went to look for plants for my deep shade garden at home.

The hosta garden. Deep shade. Garden sheds and office in back.

I wanted an epimedium; they retain their beautiful warm colour right through the winter, snow and all. And a hellebore for their early spring flowers. Linda found me both of these, and added a bonus; a small pitcher plant. I also wanted a Spring Snowflake, but try as I might, I couldn't remember the name, nor describe it accurately. Leucojum vernum. Now I've got it memorized, too late.

White lilies, like a flock of butterflies among the rhodos and ferns.

Laurie caught up to me, and we said our goodbyes. At the little office, while Linda toted up my bill, I noticed this tiny delight:

Red and cream. Unidentified.

I had a hard time choosing photos; there were too many. Another dozen are in the Flickr Oyster Bay Garden Works set.

And Linda, if you're reading this, the plants made it home, two hot days trip in the car, in perfect condition. I kept them inside the car, with the air conditioning on, and shaded. When we parked, I draped a wet towel over them to keep them cool. They're doing fine in the shade of my garden. Thank you!

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