Sunflower gold for the goldfinches

Recall the lesser goldfinches inhabiting the seedbags, posted last week? In nature, the same goldfinches would be swarming that prolific sunflower bush in a couple of weeks once the flowers give way to seeds.

By the way, here are the same seedbag feedbags with a full complement of 21 hungry birds. My thanks to Bob for sharing this photo.

The cemetery wildflower crop

My apologies to the Yavapai Cemetery Association. I've borne a grudge all these years, it seems unnecessarily. To back up many years: when we first moved to Prescott, the Citizens Cemetery grounds as seen from Sheldon Street were brilliant with red paintbrush every spring. Not only that, but the cemetery harbored one of the few stands of mariposa lilies within the city limits. Admittedly, the grounds were not very kempt, but for my money, the wildflowers were well worth putting up with those straggly weeds and the general air of disrepair.

Then in the late 80s, I believe it was, a group was formed to rescue the historic old cemetery from its gradual decline. One of the first things they did was mow the grounds. No more brilliant paintbrush in spring. I was devastated -- not to mention pissed off to the point of writing a letter of complaint to the editor of The Courier. Now, thanks to an article in Friday's paper, I find that I jumped to conclusions. It seems that the group had in essence tidied the parlor but left the back yard on its own. Reporter Joanna Dodder wrote of all the wild flowers our wet May had brought to the grounds at the far end, away from the streetside. Among them the paintbrush you see here.

Friend Patty and I spent an early afternoon today admiring and photographing not only the flowers but also many of the tombstones and monuments. And yes, there were lovely little mariposa lilies scattered about in the midst of dry grass.

These wild desert lilies are among my favorite wildflowers. In addition to the white/pale lavender blossoms of the local variety, mariposas in the greater Prescott area also grow in buttery yellow (north toward Chino Valley) and vivid orange-red (slightly lower elevations to the south and west). Note how different the flowers are in these two pictures taken a few feet apart.

Another spring beauty you seldom see in the city is wild phlox. Plenty of them at the cemetery. I've tried to swipe a plant or two for my hillside, but discovered that the phlox, like the mariposas, have roots reaching down toward the center of the earth. That's the arid country for you. No nursery sells the plant nor have I been able to locate seed from sellers of wildflower seed.

One disappointment from today's excursion. Dodder's feature mentioned that there were also blue delphiniums on the cemetery grounds. Tho we looked, nary a blue blossom. The nearest to blue was the purple alfalfa. All in all, I have to admit that the compromise between tidy and wild struck by the cemetery association appears to be working well. (Yes, I'll soon post pictures from the cemetery proper.)

Linkage: The Verde Independent is running a series of articles on the Big Chino water controversy by Steve Ayres. Part 1, Part 2, and Part3 had been published as of this writing. For more info about Yavapai County Cemeteries, this page is a good starting point.

Cliffrose in bloom

Perhaps you have noticed the scrubby roadside plants covered in cream colored blossoms. Perhaps, but not as likely, you've been travelling with your windows wide open and suddenly been hit with a heavy fragrant scent while driving through the countryside. Odds are that the source is cliffrose. Whenever I hit a big patch of cliffrose, the scent can be nearly overwhelming; it reminds me of Dorothy's problem when she came across the Deadly Poppy Field in The Wizard of Oz.

Two dry country, scrubby bushes are blooming right now. In addition to the cliffrose, you'll probably also see Apache plume in the same dry, rocky locations. Easy to tell apart once you know the secret: cliffrose blossoms literally cover the plant; Apache plume flowers are far less dense and are whiter, while the cliffrose are cream colored. Both are important browse plants for deer.

And, yes, both are members of the rose family, though a quick look at the arrangement of the center of the flowers would tell you that. Note the contrast between the small, leathery leaves and the lush blossoms. Such minimalist leaves are typical of arid country plants. BTW, the Cliff Rose subdivision is named after the plant; Cliff Rose, if you will recall, is where many of the streets are named after the streets on the original Monopoly Board.

The Day's Linkage: If you hadn't already heard of the Lowe's owl family, you have now. The he and she nested in the rafters; now a third, much younger owlet has been photographed by Karoliina. On the subject of nests, Rich came across a mother humming bird sitting on her miniature nest. Finally, if you're a garage sale afficianado, this site is for you, even when you travel.

Spring wildflower garden report

We had snow last night. Oh, maybe as much as a melty inch; no big deal, but snow, nonetheless. Furthermore, today was a dreary chilly wet day, not the Arizona bright that I take for granted in April. But then we can always use the moisture. I thought that a few spring pictures might chase the blues away. For example, the trees still offer dangles (above and, below, taken at my table-top studio).
My neighbor is enjoying this bright yellow mystery flower, while I cleverly planted a handful of grape hyacinth bulbs in a tub on a ledge high enough that the javelina can't munch out on them.

The red barbatus penstemon continues to be reliable, with flower stems emerging rapidly. On the other hand, my big desert four o'clock is a good week or two later than last year, suggesting that our current spring is definitely chillier. This stem is growing in the midst of a grass plant, which I've left as a shelter from potential frost. For comparison, check out my wildflower garden report from April a year ago.

In contrast, the amazing giant super paint brush is maybe one flower ahead of the year 2008. To show how fast the plant develops, here are photos from March 31 (above) and April 9 (below). (It looks like I was trying also to contrast late afternoon lighting with morning sunlight -- not my intent, but certainly the result.)

Every yard needs a nolina

There are local wild plants that really deserve more attention in local gardens. For example, whenever I see Argentinian pampas grass, I mentally replace it with bear grass. Not quite as lush, to be sure, but then it is far better adapted to our low water regimen.

Above, bear grass in the landscape at a friend's house; below, a wild plant up the hill next door.

Our local bear grass is at its most spectacular when the flowering stems produce masses of honey-colored seeds in late summer, which natives are reported to have ground into a flour. This particular plant is a large wild clump that hangs out over Coronado Street, blooming reliably every year.

Though I have two substantial nolina clumps which I bought many years ago at Watters, I've tried planting the seeds too. Here is one of two success stories. The slow-growing member of the lily family is over 5 years old.

The fibers dangling from the leaves not only make a pretty close-up but also suggest traditional uses. The plant is known as Indian basket plant, because native Americans used the leaves and roots of bear grass to make traditional baskets. Bear grass baskets often integrated materials from other plants to make colorful patterns, and they would have been strong and durable. Some Indians also used bear grass to make protective caps for their heads, according to Wise Geek. Sandals were another use. Incidentally, I shudder at the idea of working with these razor edged leaves without modern protective gloves -- I've no idea how those Indian ladies did it!

Which buckwheat is that?

Count on it. I spy a few patches of green poking their way up through the earth and immediately begin thinking of flowers -- particularly wildflowers. Which for some unfathomable reason reminded me of my favorite mystery plant, one I am pretty sure is a buckwheat (eriogonum), American-style as opposed to buckwheat, European or pancake style.

This grey-green shrubby perennial is found all over the Prescott area. About 12" high, it begins to grow long leafless stems in mid to late summer, which will suddenly turn into white fluffy displays at the end of summer.

As the season wears on, the flowers gradually turn a brilliant rust color.

Close-up, the flower clusters are really quite pretty. This plant has frustrated me for years -- it is so very common here but I've yet to find a picture or a description in any of my layman's field manuals. However, my favorite A Field Guide to the Plants of Arizona by Anne Orth Epple, did have this to say: almost all species of eriogonum are difficult to identify, even for the expert botanist. For the amateur, simply recognizing wild buckwheat as such is an accomplishment. So there! Epple says that there are 53 species of eriogonum in Arizona. (Note: No doubt the plant is described in McDougall, but that's for the real pro's among us, not me.) Just incidentally, one plant list referred specifically to a Yavapai County buckwheat variety common in the Prescott area.

Walking along a neighborhood alleyway this past summer, I noticed that a tallish, straggly plant most people would label a weed was putting out the same kind of long, leafless stalk preparatory to blooming. Aha! Likely another buckwheat, sez I.

Once the plants blossomed, I broke off a few stems to photograph up close in my kitchen table studio. These flowers, BTW, are really quite tiny. But again, quite pretty, even spectacular if you're snail or grasshopper or bumblebee size.

The buckwheat that the gardener is going to find at such wildflower outlets as Flagstaff Native Plant & Seed is the showy sulphur buckwheat, which is quite common in the high country. The best specimens that I have seen were at the top of Mingus. I tried one plant -- and failed miserably. (FYI, this post is dedicated to my aggie SIL, who first turned me onto the buckwheat family.)

Follow Up: I posted a query to the AZPlants mailing list and received this response from an individual at New Mexico State University, the first 8 [pictures] look to be Eriogonum wrightii, while the next three are probably Eriogonum polycladon. With a label, I was able to check further in my little southwestern library and struck gold. Judy Mielke writes in Native Plants for Southwestern Landscapes, Wright Buckwheat blooms after many other desert plants have finished, so it can be used in flower gardens to extend the flowering season. A mass planting could be used for ground cover on either flat areas or slopes. A good suggestion; my plants are up the hillside, though I could do with a lot more plants to achieve that ground cover look. BTW, any Valley residents -- the Wrights is happiest at 3000-7000 ft. elevation, which probably lets it out as a good candidate for Phoenix gardens.

Kitchen table studio: goldenrod pods

Periodically, a small plant detail will shout, "Photograph me! Me! Me!" And I can't. Perhaps my body won't contort the right way for the right image. Or the plant may be the sort which invites the breeze -- deadly. At that point, I may decide it's time for "snip" and a session on the kitchen table top. Such was the case with the late season goldenrod seed pompoms. Pretty little things, about 1/2 - 3/4 inch in diameter, packed tightly together.

In the process, I discovered that the stems had a front and a back side. Further, that the back side presented a more elegant arrangement. Did I mention that, having read my Canon's manual, I now know how to work its macro setting, with results that aren't half bad. Obviously, I should do a little more reading and less whining.

White daisies of fall

The frosts have arrived in Prescott, meaning that our fall crop of wildflowers consists almost entirely of puffy balls and other seeds. But why not take time out to remember warmer days. How about a bouquet of wild white daisies, not a big category compared to the DYCs (damned yellow composites) that populate our fields in late summer and early fall. But pretty neat in their own right.


Starting out with creeping fleabane, which is just that; it begins its take-over in spring, as a rule. I was lucky to find this plant in flower so late in the season. Fleabane, a composite, is characterized by a central pincushion surrounded by a thick fringe of white ray flowers. This particular species spreads in the same fashion as strawberries -- by putting out above ground runners that quickly take root; one of my wildflower gardening books recommends creeping fleabane as a native ground cover in upland Arizona. I suppose that it might work, if one is careful to maintain a monoculture; when other plants are mixed in, the result is disappointing.

We are blessed with 12 different fleabane species in Arizona alone. I don't know the name of the local fall-blooming variety; what I do know is that it is a much prettier plant, with many more and larger blossoms plus more greenery as a rule, thanks to the summer rains. Of course, I've always wondered about the name; a quick consultation with The Google produced this comment about European fleabanes: [their] names being derived from the fact that, if burnt, the smoke from them drives away fleas and other insects. The generic name, Pulicaria, refers to this property, the Latin name for the flea being Pulex. Our American fleabanes belong to a different species (erigeron), but apparently the ray petals are very similar to the Old World namesake. Both European and American fleabanes have a history of herbal use, BTW. In any event, all are members of the asteraceae family.



Which brings us to my other favorite non-DYC of fall -- the white aster, which is a real side-of-the-road show stopper and, in my book, much prettier than the lavender aster. Reason: each plant is thick with blossoms; furthermore, the plants tend to mass together. A different habit from the purple, which tends to stand alone and produce fewer flowers. BTW, I do have quite a collection of seed pod images, which I'll pull together one of these chilly days.