The Trouble With Scilla

Scilla seem to be trouble. They spread exuberantly—in the case of Scilla bifolia, only slightly less quickly than measles.

Alpine squill, Scilla bifolia, is about 3 inches tall when it blooms. How can such a pretty, teeny-tiny plant be so virulently fecund? The planting bed under the witch hazel has had only a few stray seedlings, but the lawn had a zillion before I went after them with a trowel last April. They are a little unpredictable—some underground portions are short, some are long, and some curve around obstructions.

Scilla bifolia adjusts to all sorts of possibilities underground, including tree roots and my relatively long, slender trowel. Everything below the green portion of each plant was below ground until I unearthed it. Photographed on April 10, 2022.

This plant is problematic in a lawn. A dandelion digger misses a lot of bulbs, even if you are able to snap everything above the bulb off. A long trowel gets more bulbs, but it leaves the lawn looking bedraggled until it rains.

Then there is Siberian squill. It was brought in a few years ago by one of our numerous squirrels and spread into a pretty blue swath under the hemlock.

Scilla siberica is the most beautiful blue, but there are a disturbing number of seedlings towards the right edge of this photograph. Photographed on April 8, 2022.

After my experience with its tiny little cousin, I decided I better read up on it, since I seemed to have a lot of seedlings this spring.

Scilla siberica seedlings with seed coat, circled, still attached. Photographed on April 10, 2022.

Scilla siberica has discreet seedpods, each of which contain several seeds, according to Cowling Arboretum, at Carleton College in Minnesota.

It was worth the time to dig this patch up before it got out of hand. If you look carefully, you will see several young plants were nestled in with the full-sized plant.

Each adult Scilla siberica seems to come with offspring. Photographed on April 10, 2022.

Ugh. If I turn my back on this problematic patch, I will have a blue yard! I like blue, but not at the expense of everything else.

We will see what next spring brings. We started last spring “abnormally dry,” and had a lot of rain alternating with short but somewhat deadly dry spells. The pawpaw stump sprout expired last August, probably due to lack of rain, but this winter has been rather wet.

Finally, Snow

December toyed with us. Temperatures averaged 2.1° F above normal according to the National Weather Service (NWS), and we had just over half the average snowfall. Snow was predicted for Christmas, which we got, but two days before that, we awoke to temperatures below zero. The windows glittered.

This frost was inside the storm window, fortunately. Photographed on December 23, 2022.

Continue reading “Finally, Snow”

Thinking Ahead to Spring and Weeding

It all started when I was taking out the compostables Saturday. The ground had finally frozen solid! I dumped the compostables into the bin and took a brief prowl around the yard to check on the rabbits’ depredations. They mostly come out at night, so sometimes I see them sitting under the willow-leaved Amsonia or eating safflower seed that has been flung about by the finches when they careen into the feeder when I am cleaning up after dinner. Yes, they eat safflower seed, on top of everything else.
So far this winter, they have eaten the parsley and nibbled on the garlic. They have mowed the blue-eyed grass and tried the Iris cristata, which they have never bothered before.

The Iris cristata looked enticing enough to the rabbits for some cautious nibbling. This appears to be the only damage. Photographed on January 15, 2023.

Continue reading “Thinking Ahead to Spring and Weeding”

A Fig’s Year…and a Half

I decided that the alien marshmallow was a lot of effort for iffy results. Theoretically I could bury the fig, but there are probably roots from the smoke bushes—so, no room. So I wrap it; on January 2, 2021, I bundled that little tree up like a kindergartener walking to school on an arctic day, as I had done the previous winter. It was a winter of temperature swings, but it seemed OK until late March 2021, about when you would expect temperatures to moderate somewhat. They did not; they oscillated from the low teens some nights to 71°F highs three times in 13 days.

The fig started horizontally after the rough winter’s end. Photographed on June 2, 2021.

Continue reading “A Fig’s Year…and a Half”

Is the Dwarf Japanese Solomon’s Seal Dead?

It may seem brutal, but one of the goals for this garden is minimal or no supplementary watering. I posted what I thought was an alarming picture of a beleaguered section of dwarf Japanese Solomon’s seal, wondering if the problem was too much sun or too little rain, in another post.

It got worse. We started the year with precipitation well below normal—we had relatively little snow last winter—and then we had periods of entrained rainstorms followed by several sunny, breezy days this spring. It was relentlessly breezy, and sometimes hot as well. Continue reading “Is the Dwarf Japanese Solomon’s Seal Dead?”

Foreshadowing Summer

Purple greets you at the entry to the garden. The Baptisia australis, also known as blue false indigo, that first poked above ground May 1 is in full bloom. Disturbingly rare this year are the bumblebees that usually adorn these plants.

The Baptisia is in full bloom by the garden entrance. Photographed on May 31, 2022.

Continue reading “Foreshadowing Summer”

An Appreciation of Rain

We started the year dry, and the weather patterns are so all-over-the-place that it’s worth stopping to appreciate the rain.

It’s a secret—don’t tell anyone—but almost as often as not, morels come up in this yard. This year a few appeared and disappeared in the first week of May.

A morel. Photographed on May 7, 2022.

Continue reading “An Appreciation of Rain”

May Natives: Flashy, Until They’re Not

May is the showiest month in my garden. A lot of flowers bloom, including many natives. Which one is my favorite? The one I am standing in front of at that moment.

Take Dutchman’s breeches, for example. It’s in the same family as bleeding hearts, but far more ephemeral. They started breaking ground the first week of April, were blooming by the beginning of May, and completely gone by the end of May. That’s just two months of the year aboveground.

Dutchman’s breeches, the second early flower in this small flower bed, which they share with daylilies, daffodils, and crocuses. Photographed on May 1, 2022.

Continue reading “May Natives: Flashy, Until They’re Not”

A Lot Can Happen in a Week

We are roughly two weeks behind where we were last year, based on last year’s photographs. Everything I mention in this post was in bloom at this time last year. The weather changes so much from year to year that I cannot tell you which year is closer to normal—or if there is a normal any more.

Weather aside, I love spring ephemera and will search for them doggedly from mid-March on as long as it’s not pouring rain. They are mostly very small, so I have to actually walk away from the window, go outside, and exercise my eyes looking for changes. Changes are rapid, so there is plenty of incentive to go outside frequently.

Dutchman’s breeches, left, and twinleaf , right, erupt from the ground with flower buds. Photographed on April 3, 2022.

Continue reading “A Lot Can Happen in a Week”