Moisture-loving Swamp Milkweed (Asclepias incarnata) is slowly establishing itself in expanding colonies in the garden and bog. The individual flowers, shaped like an hourglass, are a purple-pink color and form umbrel-like clusters at the top of the stalk. The plants can grow to about 4 feet tall and are an important nectar source for many pollinators, like native bees and wasps, flies, and butterflies.
The bu
tterly most often associated with Milkweeds is the Monarch, which lays its eggs on this species alone. I’ve read that Swamp Milkweed is not often used in this way by Monarchs; they are said to prefer Butterfly Weed (pictured at left) or Common Milkweed (pictured below). I always inspect the underside of the lower leaves for eggs, and one summer had three or four catepillars happily munching away.
The most fragrant of the milkweeds is likely Com
mon Milkweed, which is less showy, but abundant and often grows in waste places and along roadsides as a *weed*. Including milkweeds in the butterfly garden is an easy way to help Monarch butterflies and other pollinators. My bee-keeping friend says that the pollen is especially loved by honeybees, but many die trapped in the blossoms. I didn’t find any insects visiting the flowers late this afternoon, but did find quite a few milkweed bugs on the foliage, as well as some aphids and ants. Milkweed bugs feed on the leaves and seeds and taste as bad as monarchs to predators that try to eat them.
All posts by laurahinnj
6/21/06 Mid-week bunny fix
Feeling a bit silly this evening so thought I should post an equally silly bunny pic! This is Missy doing her best imitation of a Mermaid for the PetBunny Halloween Ball in 2004. Our Auntie Judith from PB is a PhotoShop wizard and creates costumes for all the bunnies on the list each year. Pics of other PB bunnies in costume are available here. Auntie Judith’s bunny, Mr. Bee, is one of my favorite PB bunnies and Judith takes gorgeous pics of him. Have a look at her bunny gallery for a real bunny fix! If you look at the Halloween pics, keep an eye out for some of my other bunnies, and let me know if you *recognize* them in costume!
Garden spikes
“Everything that grows is both beautiful and abundant, lavish and luxuriant. If there ever comes a time to take five minutes at the end of a long day and consider the teeming generosity of this earth, this must be it.” – Hal Borland
Taking five minutes at the end of each day, with camera in hand, to consider the blooming bounty of my garden leads to an abundance…. of photographs! I remember longing for such color and finery just a few months ago in the depths of winter.
I focused my attention this evening on the upright, lance-like plants that are blooming around the pond. The flower stalks on this tall grass were impossible to photograph, but so beautiful backlit by the setting sun.
To the right is Ladybells (Adenophora liliifolia) a favorite, and easy to grow with good moisture. The nodding bell-shaped flowers lead to another of its common names, False Campanula. A beauty and compensation for my utter lack of ability at growing foxgloves and delphiniums.
Next, the flower spikes of catmint, which is very generous and grows everywhere in my garden to keep the bumblebees occupied.
Lastly, the noxious Purple Loosestrife (don’t hate me Susan!) which grows in the bog garden beside the pond. It behaves well there – I help it along by deadheading religiously so as not to allow it to disburse its seeds, but mostly I think the Joe Pye Weed that grows beside it keeps it in check. The Joe Pye is already twice the size of the loosestrife and needs to be pinched back before long, otherwise it will tower over the rest of the bog at 4 feet or more.
A dog’s world view
From here he watches over the birdfeeders and pond. From the corner of his eye he knows if the groundhog has ventured out from beneath the neighbor’s garage to raid the vegetable garden. He might consider making chase, but advancing age has lessened any chance of his being a real threat to any furry creature, be it woodchuck or bunny, or marauding squirrel with a taste for sunflower. Most importantly, he can see the bend in the road – the point at which his defended territory begins. He orients himself to that place where children on bicycles (or heaven forbid skateboards!) and dogs on leashes enter his realm. He lies in wait and worries the honeybees working clover until he spots an interloper on his street. Then the show begins and he is up and running like a young pup. Pulling at the lead that allows him run of the length of the yard, looking to all the world like he is about to do a cartwheel off the lead and launch himself into the street. The neighborhood kids know to ignore his silly antics, but to the unsuspecting he looks quite ferocious. He likes it that way and seems to take a certain 
amount of pride in the number of dog walkers (especially those with little yippy dogs) that he can turn away and convince to retreat out of his territory and back the way they came.
For all the years we’ve had him, we’ve tried to break him of this habit, of being so ridiculously protective of his place, but to no avail. When he’s finished his clowning he looks to me for the scolding he knows to expect, and smiles in his doggy way at having been bad. How can I fault him for protecting his pack and his place and for taking such joy in it?
The reluctant fisherman and other fathers in my life
I just love this pic of my dad – his goofy grin and the big blue sky behind him while he holds this little fish pulled from some Canadian lake. I didn’t think of my dad as the *outdoorsy* type – heck he wouldn’t even eat most fish, but the chance to go away on a fishing trip with my brother and his buddies, well. I think this pic was taken on *the* trip when my dad talked non-stop for the whole car ride there – that’s my brother Kevin’s story to tell.
My father-in-law, at least 20 years before I met him, and smoking a cigarette no less! I miss him – talk about a man who had stories to tell.
My brother Kevin on his daughter’s Christening Day
My brother Brian with his Julia – both all legs!
Fathers, especially fathers of daughters: know that you are loved and that your impact will live beyond you. And know that we see the light you hold in your eyes, just for us, your daughters.
Have you read it?
Here are the current top 50 books from whatshouldireadnext.com.
Bold the books you have read. Add comments if you like. Italicize the books you want to read. Pass it on if you feel like it:
The DaVinci Code – Dan Brown
The Catcher in the Rye – J.D. Salinger
The Hitchiker’s Guide to the Galaxy – Douglas Adams
The Great Gatsby – F. Scott Fitzgerald
To Kill a Mockingbird – Harper Lee
The Time Traveler’s Wife – Audrey Niffenegger
His Dark Materials (series) – Philip Pullman
Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince (Harry Potter 6) – J.K. Rowling
Life of Pi — Yann Martel
Animal Farm – George Orwell
Catch-22 – Joseph Heller
The Hobbit – J. R. R. Tolkien
The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-Time – Mark Haddon
Lord of the Flies – William Golding
Pride and Prejudice – Jane Austen
1984 – George Orwell
Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban (Harry Potter 3) – J.K. Rowling
One Hundred Years of Solitude – Gabriel Garcia Marquez
Memoirs of a Geisha – Arthur Golden
Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire (Harry Potter 4) – J.K. Rowling
The Kite Runner – Khaled Hossieni
The Lovely Bones – Alice Sebold
Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix (Harry Potter 5) – J.K. Rowling
Slaughterhouse 5 – Kurt Vonnegut
Angels and Demons – Dan Brown
Fight Club — Chuck Palaniuk
Harry Potter and the Philosopher’s Stone (Harry Potter 1) – J.K. Rowling
Neuromancer – William Gibson
Cryptonomicon – Neal Stephenson
The Secret History – Donna Tartt
A Clockwork Orange – Anthony Burgess
Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets (Harry Potter 2) – J.K. Rowling
Wuthering Heights – Emily Bronte
Brave New World – Aldous Huxley
American Gods – Neil Gaiman
Ender’s Game (The Ender Saga) – Orson Scott Card
Snow Crash – Neal Stephenson
A Prayer for Owen Meany – John Irving
The Lion, The Witch, and the Wardrobe – C.S. Lewis
Middlesex – Jeffrey Eugenides
Cloud Atlas – David Mitchell
The Lord of the Rings – J.R.R. Tolkien
Jane Eyre – Charlotte Bronte
Good Omens – Terry Pratchett, Neil Gaiman
Atonement – Ian McEwan
The Shadow of the Wind – Carlos Ruiz Zafon
The Old Man and the Sea – Ernest Hemingway
The Handmaid’s Tale – Margaret Atwood
The Bell Jar – Sylvia Plath
Dune – Frank Herbert
Most hated book on the list: Animal Farm. Freshman English class, need I say more?
Most loved book on the list: Shadow of the Wind or The Time-Traveler’s Wife.
I’d love to hear your comments on these books or if you make a list of your own.
In flower this week
Clockwise from left: Black-eyed susan, Moonflower, Orange flowering maple, Swamp milkweedFirst bloom “Colorado”
If you gave me several million years, there would be nothing that did not grow in beauty if it were surrounded by water. – Jan Erik Vold, What All The World Knows
6/14/06 Mid-week bunny fix (for Michelle)
A PRAYER
May you always rest in peace,
My darling;
May you sing with the angels
And the heavenly hosts
May you never go hungry,
Never be lonely,
Always remember that I love you,
That I miss you immensely,
That I shall never forget you.
Lastly, may you always
Be happy,
Forever and ever,
Amen
EMILY MARGARET STUPARYK
Michelle is a dear *cyberfriend* from the PetBunny List and tomorrow is her Hazel’s one year Bridge Anniversary. I stole this pic from her Webshots page – hope you don’t mind Michelle! I’ll think of Hazel tomorrow and picture her leaping and dancing in that rainbow dappled land just beyond the sun.
Four hundred tongues
The neighborhood mockingbird (the many-tongued mimic, known to Native Americans as “Cencontlatolly” or “four hundred tongues” has taken to beginning his evening serenade around 11 pm of late, just about the time the people down the street put their young dog out for the night. The dog whines and yaps incessantly and this seems to be the mocker’s cue to begin his recital for those of us awake and with the windows open.
MOCKINGBIRD MONTH
A pupa of pain, I sat and lay one July,
companioned by the bird the Indians called “four hundred tongues.”
Through the dark in the back yard by my bed,
through the long day near my front couch,
the bird sang without pause an amplified song
“two-thirds his own,” books told me,
“and one-third mimicry.”
Gray charmer, “the lark and nightingale in one,”
unremitting maker of music so full of wit
and improvisation, I strained by night and light
to hear the scientists’ record: “In ten minutes
he mimicked thirty-two species.” I counted eight
(even I) variations on cardinal’s song alone.
Cock of the neighborhood, his white flashes of wing
and long distinguished tail ruled the bushes and boughs,
and once, enchanted, I saw him walk past my house,
herding, from three feet behind, the neighbor’s nice, cowardly cat.
He controlled without any fuss
but took little time off. Most of our month he sang.
The sticky wings of my mind began to open
No mere plagiarist, a Harold Bloom singer,
he leaned on, but played with, robin, or jay or
starling or whippoorwhill. I began to prefer
him and house and hurting to the world outdoors.
Both art and art-lover attend to what may happen.
The weeks went by. At two a.m. he’d begin
my steadier, stronger, surer flight through his airs,
and the sun sent us into heights of his lyric together.
Virtuoso though he was, I was learning his repertoire.
Who would have thought the moth of me would tire?
Toward the end of a month in concert I began to complain.
Constant cadence, I told him, gives one no rest.
Is it my fault you must be lonesome for a mate?
There must be no nestlings to feed (when do you eat?).
What master of complexity won’t duplicate with incessant singing?
Delete, delete, delete,
shut up for a while my bird-brained, brilliant stylist!
I left him for the North and less prolific birds
(but not before reading a chatty chapter on him
by a man who threw a shoe treeward at four a.m.
to stop “that endless torrent”),
my movement a handsome tribute to his voice.
Leaving my pencils at home,
I resolved to husband my own apprentice words.
MONA VAN DUYN
Sometime past midnight I heard a neighbor yelling, “shut up! stop it”; whether to the mocker or the yelping dog I’m not sure. I enjoy listening to him sing as I fall asleep and do try to name the bird he’s mocking as I drift off. A pair nested for a number of years in a spirea bush in our yard, but since getting cable tv and doing away with our old-fashioned tv antenna they don’t seem to find our yard as attractive and have moved across the street to the cemetery. I used to love to watch the mockingbirds *dance* up there on the antenna – jumping into the air with wings extended, only to flutter down in the same place face-down, before turning around with wings out to repeat the dance, singing all the while.