Rite of spring

A spectacular show of crocus from about two weeks ago. We've had good luck in recent years--decent weather and the system of bamboo and bird netting keeps the deer and rabbits out.

Blooming ...

... on the berm by the road. Spring is starting to show.

Two steps forward, one step back

Around here, April showers often are April snows. No problem. The snow soon will be gone and the crocus should be just fine.

Above: The crocus berm Tuesday.

Right: The crocus berm today.

Can you see them?

They may not look like much but the first green tips of crocus are more than enough to lift winter-weary spirits.

Hoo-ray!

Not-so-sweet surrender

Reemay on a pitchfork was meant to be a temporary scarecrow. Now it's simply a symbol of surrender.

I'm over it now. Really. I am. Over. It.

Disappointment hung thick around here for a couple of days. Overnight, the much-anticipated Dutch crocus extravaganza was gone. Those bright, bold, sassy Crocus optimistas are now in the bellies of the almost-resident deer herd.

 The Dutch crocus show was off to a good start.

I thought everything was OK. The show was just opening; I sprinkled Milorganite. The live trap was set in a strategic position in case of rabbits. I feasted my eyes on what already was and imagined the potential. Although the deer had been noticeably absent in recent days, we made plans to spray Plantskydd, a nasty but generally effective animal deterrent with dried blood as a main component. 

The deer must have overheard our plans. They came in the night before the planned spraying and by morning the blossoms were gone. Those sweet, silky cups of color had been neatly excised, along with the tips of their foliage.

Arghhhhhhhhhhhhh!

 Foliage stubs are all that's left. The plants aren't completely toast; hopefully we'll get more foliage growth this spring for another try at blooming next year.

Other than a serious (make that expensive!) fence, there's really very little that stands between a hungry deer and a tender morsel. I'm not sure the Plantskydd would have been completely effective although it certainly would have helped. I mean, really, even if sprayed with repellent, a patch of succulent, fresh blooms would be hard to resist after a steady diet of brown twigs. 

A motion-activated sprinkler might have worked, but those are useful only when there's no danger of frost at night. Still a little too early for that.

So the crocus are gone, but the nighttime binge did reveal the results of an experiment. Last fall, we planted some Scilla siberica, also called Siberian squill, among the crocus. Scilla has a reputation for being deer-resistant so I (reluctantly) agreed to planting some in the crocus berm. The scilla appear none the worse for the marauding.

It's a tough call. Design-wise, I like the crocus on the berm where they make a statement viewed up close and at a distance. But the location makes it difficult to manage for wildlife. Scilla is pretty, naturalizes well and, given time, could make a nice statement, too. I suspect we'll be planting a lot more of it in the crocus berm come fall.

Scilla (right) is undamaged. Little is left of the crocus (left).

Blessings

Dutch crocus on the berm by the road.

1. Crocus are blooming on a warm and snowless Good Friday. (Easter bunnies welcome, as long as they don't come for dinner.)
2. Some daffodils and scilla are starting to come up.

3. Nubbins of sedums and phlox are showing purple and green.
4. Chives and sorrel are just about ready for nibbling.
5. Evening grosbeaks and juncos are among the visiting birds.
6. Lungwort is showing its spots and forget-me-nots are remembering how sunshine feels.
7. Rosy stubs of peonies and rhubarb are pushing up.
8. Iris is coming to attention.
9. Primula and tulips are breaking ground in anticipation of showing their colors later this month.
10. Shooting stars (Dodecatheon) are shooting through the earth.
(And this is just a partial list.)

The show is just getting under way.

First up: Ladykiller

'Ladykiller' pushes through a mess of leaf litter and reaches for the sun.

Break out the bubbly -- the season's first crocus is blooming at sillydoggarden. Crocus chrysantha 'Ladykiller' showed its handsome white and purple petals on Wednesday and, oh yeah, I was swooning for the rest of the day. It's a diminutive crocus, one of the species or snow varieties, but it's early, classy-looking and so easy to grow. It's a small patch just north of the front door so it doesn't make a big statement -- we'll leave that to the bigger and flashier Dutch crocus (C. vernus) on the berm near the road. Later, after the blooms are finished, 'Ladykiller's' ripening foliage will be hidden by hostas. It's a happy relationship.

I didn't expect to find this Friday afternoon.

I've been monitoring the Dutch crocus, watching as their slender leaves poke through the ground and sprinkling Milorganite to try and keep the rabbits and deer at bay. And on Friday, I was surprised to see one just barely flexing its petals. There's no denying it, crocus season is open. I'll have another glass of champagne, please.

Anticipation: This is a small portion of the crocus berm. With luck, we'll have a mass of purple, yellow and white in a few weeks.

Season opener ... and closer

It may look like they're confused, but these crocus are blooming right on schedule in November.

It was just six months ago that I was trumpeting the arrival of spring's first crocus. Now, in November, I'm all agog over its fall-blooming cousins. Symmetry in the garden, whether through time or space, is a pleasing concept and the little crocus supplies it in a big way. How many other plants can herald the start of gardening season and announce its end as well?

To my eye, crocus are among the most graceful of flowers. They show up in spring when most of the rest of the world is still brown. And they show up in autumn, when much of the world is turning brown again. It's a perfect fit on either end of the seasonal spectrum. Most of us are so conditioned to crocus as a spring flower that seeing its familiar form in the fall is enough to turn heads. The first time I saw fall-blooming crocus was in Washington state. I was driving down a street in a tiny town near Fort Lewis when I saw a line of purple shooting up through fallen autumn leaves that were piling up against an iron fence. I had to stop the car and look -- such is the power of surprise in garden design.

I planted a few fall-blooming crocus some years back in a thicket of lingonberry and in a patch of low-growing, creeping veronica ('Waterperry blue'). They're beautiful, but really, I should have planted at least 20 times as many. Like many small bulbs, they show best when planted in large numbers.

This fall, I planted about 75 fall-blooming crocus -- some by the stairs to the deck in a bed of pussytoes and some by the reflecting pool. (I've nicknamed those by the pool as "doe crocus.") I thought I was planting purple Crocus speciosus, but now, after examining the blooms for several days, I'm wondering if the supplier mixed up the order and sent 'albus' instead. I'm not seeing any purple, and what I am seeing seems to fit the catalog description: "A pure white form of C. speciosus with pointed segments and a yellow throat." It's not a major issue -- they're still lovely and I'll simply order more of the purple fall-bloomers next year.

I planted some in the pussytoes by the deck stairs where they'll get plenty of sun and a chance to dry out in the summer.

A purple crocus pokes its head out of a patch of lingonberry. (The bronze-red plant is a hardy geranium seedling.)

A delicate close to the season.

A week of rabbits

Living where I do, it's not uncommon to see the damage that rabbits do. This crocus, for instance, apparently was the blue-plate special for a cottontail.


But it's less common to actually see the critters that feasted on your beloved plants. This spring I was determined to have a nice crocus show; other years the show has been decimated by wildlife. So in addition to applications of milorganite and Plantskydd, we set a live trap in the crocus patch soon after seeing significant damage. It wasn't but a day or two later and we had our first victim. The bait of sunflower seeds worked like a charm. Let the relocation begin. We took the little guy to an undisclosed location far away from the garden and let him go.


And then, back home, we set the trap again. Just in case. Two days later, another rabbit in the trap. Time for Relocation No. 2. (OK, the video's a bit lame but it gives you an idea of how fast these guys can move.)

The rabbits apparently had enough of the trap because the sightings over the next couple of days were on the other side of the yard. The silly dog would have none of this; he chased the bunnies through the compost area, behind the herb garden and down the trail our neighbors have cut through the woods. Fortunately, the rabbits are faster than the dog. No blood was shed. But this got me to thinking -- how fast can rabbits run? This comes from the Minnesota DNR web site:

"Cottontails have shorter legs than hares and rely on quick, dodging movements to escape predators. If chased, they usually circle within their territory. They can run up to 18 miles per hour and leap up to 15 feet. Eastern cottontails are not fond of water, but they can swim if necessary.

While hares have long ears, the cottontail's ears are shorter than its head. The cottontail has excellent hearing and can move its ears continuously to detect sounds.

The cottontail's eyes are set high on its head, and each eye can move more than half a circle. Both eyes together give the cottontail a 360-degree field of view. This full circle of vision helps the rabbit spot overhead predators such as hawks and owls."

Seasonal delights
Spring is a long time coming up north. Case in point: Crocus. Elsewhere, the crocus are long gone; in my garden they're just starting to wind down.

It's been a good crocus year. The large flowering crocus (Crocus vernus) that I planted in the grassy berm near the road maybe a dozen years ago was gorgeous this past week. It's a mix of Flower Record, Jeanne d'Arc, King of the Striped and Yellow Mammoth I bought from John Scheepers. I don't remember exactly how many bulbs I planted. Maybe 500, many of which have now naturalized. I do remember planting them. With a trowel and a dandelion digger. In tough, clay soil. I'm sure I didn't plant them all as deep as recommended. After you do a few hundred, there's a tendency to get a little sloppy.

But this year it was all worth it. I managed to keep the rabbits and deer at bay -- for the most part. Regular applications of milorganite and Plantskydd helped, but nothing is foolproof. The lesson here is to overplant because you're bound to lose some.




More crocus
Nearer the house, we've enjoyed the species crocus. They bloom earlier than the large flowering crocus and have a more delicate demeanor. For some reason, the rabbits haven't bothered them. This variety is C. tommasinianus roseus.


And here is C. tommasinianus.