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Wildlife

We have a nearby neighbor whom we affectionately call “Blower Man.”  We don’t actually know him – he lives directly across the quarry from us – but we definitely know when he’s outside doing yard work. The deafening sound of his enormous leaf blower drones on hour after hour, often chasing us inside until he finishes. As annoying as it is to be sent into retreat mode on a picture-perfect fall day, I find it heartbreaking to think about the environmental impacts of stripping a property bare of every fallen leaf. Autumn leaves are, I believe, Mother Nature's gift to the earth. 

While cliff golden rods and rough blazing stars are vying for attention in my front garden, my third, and unexpectedly new fall favorite, quietly fills a shady corner of my backyard with tall stems covered in soft rose-purple flowers. At a first, quick glance, the plants could be snapdragons revived after the heat of summer or digitalis giving one last burst of color, but a closer look reveals an entirely different plant, rose turtlehead, or more precisely Chelone oblique.   It’s a plant whose blossoms bring to mind dozens of small turtles raising their heads to see if anyone is looking for them and whose name recalls a long-ago story. 

The transition between summer and fall is, for me, a bittersweet time of year. The summer flowers are fading, leaving only seed heads and dried stalks. The tomatoes and cucumbers are struggling, but, on the bright side, my hummingbird feeders are busier than ever, as my tiny visitors prepare to begin their 500 plus mile journey to Central America, where they will spend the winter months.

In a normal year, if there even is such a thing anymore, I would wait until the end of April to begin preparing for the return of my hummingbirds. After checking this year’s interactive migration map (https://www.hummingbirdcentral.com/hummingbird-migration-spring-2024-map.htm)  however, it appears that I don’t have time to wait. Ruby throated hummingbirds, our regional species, have already been spotted across the entire state of Missouri, including a spotting right here on the Katy Trail. 

After two very successful seasons of trapping and relocating groundhogs, I thought I had finally conquered my four-footed enemy.  Since there had been no sign of him after July, I felt confident that he was gone for good... or at least one season. So, I went ahead and put in my dream spring garden.  I planted cabbage and broccoli, spinach and lettuce, bok choy and snow peas, carrots, radishes, onions, potatoes. I even added some marigold seeds to ward off uninvited insects.  Bordered with pots of pansies, it was beautiful!  I was happy.

Driving along Highway 70 today, I saw swaths of daffodils and tulips in bloom, groves of pear trees budding out and a warm breeze gave off that soft, earthy smell that signals spring has arrived. I should have been elated that winter was on the way out, but I wasn’t. March 4th is at least two weeks too early for springtime in our part of the Midwest. 

I was browsing the internet the other day, looking for inspiration when I ran across an interesting twist on the favorite January topic of gardening trends for 2024. Instead of what to do, this article described what not to do. While I appreciated the premise – there are definitely trends to let go of –  aren’t there viable alternatives? Looking for answers, I turned to the design staff at Embassy Landscape Group. 

A few close friends and I were having coffee the other morning when the conversation drifted off to holiday gift-giving and how difficult it can  be to find that exactly “right” gift for the “right” person. We started reminiscing about some of the gifts we have received through the years, usually from our husbands. Some were sweet, some were strange and some were absolutely hilarious.