Return of the rain

It’s been another hot and dry summer. Last year, the Carlton Complex fire was the largest in Washington state history. This year, the Okanogan Complex fire has surpassed it as the largest in state history, and it’s still burning and will be for some time and it seems likely that more acres of Washington forest will burn than have burned in any other year of the state’s history. Last year, 2014, was the hottest year on record for planet earth, and this year, 2015, is expected to easily surpass that record.  Anomalies or not, these are sobering statistics.

Driving home recently from a seven-day, occasionally smokey backpacking trip in the Pasayten Wilderness, which is adjacent to many of the state’s fires, I encountered an eerie scene of nearly abandoned towns in the Methow Valley, charred hillsides along the Columbia River, caravans of fire vehicles and National Guard trucks heading from other regions to the fires, a leaden sky and near horizons framed by billowing smoke, and I heard sad news that three firefighters had died fighting the Twisp fire.  Most of the state was blanketed in smoke, all the way to the Olympic Peninsula. Grim.

So, it’s good to have the rain back. Some heavy rain fell on the weekend and the moist, cool air today feels positively therapeutic. Let’s hope for more rain to damp down those fires and let them just creep along, burning off some of the ground fuel. Maybe, hopefully,  we will get a colder winter than last year’s, with a solid, long-lasting snowpack in the mountains.

The garden has come through the heat looking a bit crispy in places and the recent heavy wind and rain has nearly flattened some plants which I’m tying up as needed, but on the whole, it’s in pretty good shape right now. Here’s a little of what you would see if you were here.

 

One of the pomegranates has a fruit that is nearly regulation size (I said nearly.).

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Exhibit A: one fine looking pomegranate (Punica granatum) and it’s not yet ripe, on the border of section A, next to the olive shrubs/trees which mysteriously produced no olives this year after producing profusely last year.

 

 

And for the first time, the bai bu is flowering, though you wouldn’t know it if you didn’t look closely at its small and inconspicuous flowers.

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Bai bu (Stemona japonica) in section B. It’s flowering for the first time. It’s also the sole representative of its family, the Stemonaceae, in the Medicinal Herb Garden.

The crepe myrtle (Lagerstroemia indica) in section D lost some branches while I was away, but it has produced more flowers than I have ever seen.

Crepe myrtle Lagersroemia indica) in section D. The whole tree was covered in flowers... and then the wind and rain came and a lot of branches came down. It still looks great, though.

Crepe myrtle (Lagersroemia indica) in section D. The whole tree was covered in flowers… and then the wind and rain came and a lot of branches broke off. Most of it still looks great, though.

Nuttall's sunflowe (Helianthus nuttallii) in section A comes into its own in September.

Nuttall’s sunflower (Helianthus nuttallii) in section A comes into its own in September.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Faded cardoon (Cynara cardunculus ) flowers in section D. Soon they will open to allow the beautiful seeds to float away.

Faded cardoon (Cynara cardunculus ) flowers in section D. Soon they will open to allow the beautiful seeds to float away.

The chayote (Sechium edule) in section C suddenly has respectable fruit. Last I checked they were about the size of a marble. Don't turn your back on a chayote.

The chayote (Sechium edule) in section C suddenly has respectable fruit. Last time I checked, they were about the size of a marble and now some are just about mature. I’m surprised there aren’t more people growing these in Seattle.

Maypop (Passiflora incarnata) flower and immature fruits. It has, so far, been a banner year for maypops.

Maypop (Passiflora incarnata) flower and immature fruit. It has, so far, been a banner year for maypops.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Tian men dong (Asparagus cochinchinensis) took off this year. It ran up the tripod and looks like it would have kept growing upward if the tripod had been taller. It's covered in green fruit at the moment. When the fruit turn red it's going to be quite a spectacle.

Tian men dong (Asparagus cochinchinensis) took off this year. It ran up the tripod and looks like it would have kept growing upward if the tripod had been taller. It’s covered in green fruit at the moment. When the fruit turn red it’s going to be quite a spectacle.

This crossvine (Bignonia capreolata) just sat there for a couple years, but this year it needed something tall to run up. Next year, maybe, just maybe, it will flower.

This crossvine (Bignonia capreolata) in section E, just sat there for a couple years, but this year it needed something tall to run up. Next year, maybe, just maybe, it will flower.

Tall tickseed (Coreopsis tripteris) in section E. The rain had it splayed out on the ground when I got to work on Monday, so I retied the twine. It's over six feet tall.

Tall tickseed (Coreopsis tripteris) in section E. The rain had it splayed out on the ground when I got to work on Monday, so I retied the twine. It’s over six feet tall.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Unfortunately, the prairie dock (Silphium terebinthinaceum) has so much weight in its flowering branches that it's almost impossible to keep it upright without making it look like a prisoner. It looks like a hard wind is blowing over it. In the wild, the tallgrass prairie, its native habitat, would help to support it, but...um...there's hardly any of the tallgrass prairie left. It once covered 170 million acres of North America. If you want to see the remnants, about 4% of the historic range, go to the Tallgrass Prairie National Preserve in Kansas, where most of it is growing.

Unfortunately, the prairie dock (Silphium terebinthinaceum) has so much weight in its flowering branches that it’s almost impossible to keep it upright without making it look like a prisoner, tied up in twine. In the wild, the grasses and forbs of the tallgrass prairie, its native habitat, would help to support it, but… there’s sadly little of the tallgrass prairie left. It once covered 170 million acres of North America. If you want to see a large swath of its remnants, which equal about 4% of the historic range, go to the Tallgrass Prairie National Preserve in Kansas, where most of it is growing. While you’re in Kansas, be sure to stop by The Land Institute to learn about their amazing work.

 

 

 

 

men shooting from trains

as bison graze lush grasses

last prairie vignette

 

 

 

See you in the garden.

 

 

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