The last days of summer

Days are getting shorter. Just a month ago, at 7:00 in the evening the setting sun would still be above the tops of the tall pine trees that spread across the western horizon prospect from my backyard. Today, by 7:00 the sun will be well behind those trees, just about down to their bases. 

Moreover, the sun has started on its long trek to the south for winter. After reaching its northernmost point in the sky several weeks ago, the sun is now several degrees farther south, looking from our planetary perspective. And so the seasons change.

There's only a month left in this season, but it is likely the most miserable month for us. The heat and humidity now are just about unbearable for outdoor activities of any extended period. And the plants which must stand out there all day under the broiling sun are looking wilted and tattered, much the worse for wear. A few leaves are already dropping, harbinger of the deluge to come.

The bottom line for gardeners is that it is almost impossible to keep the garden looking good at this time of year and some of us just surrender and wait for the cooler days of fall. The main attraction in the garden these days is the wildlife but even they are rather quiet. Except for the cicadas, of course.

Most of the backyard birds are still molting and they tend to be fairly silent during this period, almost as if they are embarrassed to call attention to their disheveled appearance. Silent though they are, there are plenty of them around, both adults and juveniles.

Just this week, I've seen a pair of robins escorting a couple fledglings around. There's been a whole tribe of wrens, including four or five fledglings, scouring the shrubbery for bugs. 

A young Carolina Wren looking for a snack in a 'Pride of Barbados' shrub.

And the yard is virtually overrun by cardinals. In the late afternoon when the cardinals come to the backyard feeders, one can see twenty or more of the beautiful birds of all ages as they gather for their late day snack.

A molting male Northern Cardinal eyes a feeder containing sunflower seed.

I can't say how many hummingbirds are in the yard these days. They zip around so fast that I can't count them, but I know there are at least three.

Most of the hummers that I am seeing now are Ruby-throated males like this one sitting just outside my office window.

I see posts on other birding blogs of hummingbird feeders that are being visited by large numbers of the little birds, and I wonder, how do they do that? Maybe my birds are just especially intolerant, but they will not share. If another bird comes around while one is feeding, the chase is on. They do not peaceably feed together. Admittedly, the chases are very entertaining, but it would be nice if they would all sit down for a meal together. At least then I could count them!

There are also plenty of butterflies in the garden in these last days of summer.

The little yellow Sulphur butterflies are ubiquitous in the garden at this time of year.

Milkweed is not just for Monarchs and Queens; Pipevine Swallowtails like it, too.

 

Gulf Fritillaries are very active at this time of year and they love these flame acanthus blossoms.

A Giant Swallowtail nectars on milkweed.

I've mentioned here before that the numbers of green anoles in my backyard are down this summer compared to previous years. It's likely that the cold snaps last winter reduced their numbers. Last summer they seemed to be everywhere, but this year I can sometimes walk through the garden without seeing a single one.

There is one little guy that I can count on seeing regularly though. He's my patio buddy.

Just about any day that I sit on my patio I'll see him there, checking the pavers for insects.

And, of course, displaying his impressive throat pouch for all to see.

He's looking around to see if anyone noticed his display.

The plants in the backyard are looking rather sad as summer winds down, but the critters are always entertaining.



  

Summer heat

The colors of the blossoms of early July in my garden reflect the weather. In shades of red, yellow, orange, and purple, they are hot!

The swamp hibiscus 'Texas Star' sets the tone.

Which is reflected by the Turk's Cap 'Big Momma.' This plant, which usually blooms twelve months of the year for me, died back to its roots last winter and is only now beginning to bloom once again.

The yellow esperanza, aka "yellowbells," always dies back to its roots in winter but comes back strong and blooms all summer and autumn.

Its cousin, the mahogany esperanza, is not that well-established yet. It was only planted last year, but it provides sporadic blooms.

The Clerodendrum philippinum 'Cashmere Bouquet' provides these bouquet-sized blooms all summer long.

Yellow cestrum is also a dependable summer bloomer and a favorite of hummingbirds and butterflies.

In several beds around the garden, these old species cannas send up their flame-like blossoms.

Some plants, like the wax begonia, carry the red hot theme right through to their leaves.

Caesalpinia pulcherrima 'Pride of Barbados' is a heat-loving plant that is in its glory in summer in my garden.

Planted for summer color, the cosmos is beginning to provide it, while in the background the prairie coneflowers bloom on.

The crocosmias could well be named the "Plant of the Week." They are at their best just now.

Summer phlox, Phlox paniculata - I love these bright pink blossoms.

And nearby the phlox is the wonderful crinum 'Ellen Bosanquet,' brightening a bed along the north side of the house.

 Crape myrtles, that staple of southern gardens, come in many shades of hot pink in my garden. 

This is a light one - though not the lightest. There is one paler.

This one is a middle tone.

And this one is darker still.

Over it all hotly shines my happy little sun!

Wordless Wednesday: Summertime...

Wordless Wednesday: The sunflower and the bee

Note: This blog will be wordless for about a week while I am on the road. Meet me back here around the middle of next week and we'll continue the conversation.

"Sumer is icumen in"

Sumer is icumen in,
Lhude sing cuccu!
Groweþ sed and bloweþ med

And springþ þe wde nu,
Sing cuccu!
- Middle English lyrics of English folk song

Summer has come in,
Loudly sing, Cuckoo!
The seed grows and the meadow
blooms
And the wood springs anew,
Sing, Cuckoo!
- Modern English translation of lyrics

The calendar may still say it is spring, but when the temperature is in the upper 90s and the humidity is close to the same, I'd say that summer has definitely "come in". For several days now, my area has enjoyed(?) those conditions and there is no doubt in my mind that summer is definitely here.

Even the cuckoo agrees. The Yellow-billed Cuckoo has been present here for some weeks now and I hear its quirky calls high in the trees often throughout the day. This is the bird that, as a child, I knew as the "rain crow". This solitary and secretive bird was a well-known visitor to our woods in summer. Its call was said to presage the coming of rain. As farm people, we liked to believe that bit of folklore during our hot and dry summers when the earth and the people were parched and thirsty for rain.

Sometimes the bird's calls did actually come before a shower or thunderstorm and that confirmed our belief. Most of the time, no rain fell after the calls were heard, but we just shrugged our shoulders and ignored that evidence. Just like believers of other myths, circumstances that seemed to intersect with our beliefs were accepted while anything contradictory was cast asunder.

The Yellow-billed Cuckoo may not actually be much of a rain forecaster, but, as a bird, it is very interesting. It is, as I stated before, very secretive and, even though it is a fairly large bird, it is often hard to see amid the leafy trees where it does most of its gleaning for insects, its main diet. In fact, its call is often more than likely to be the only evidence that the bird is present.

This bird and its cousin, the Black-billed Cuckoo (which also is sometimes commonly called "rain crow") spend their summers with us here in North America and then head south again when autumn tells them that cooler weather is on the way. Thay are birds that definitely like it hot, all the time.

As things continue to dry out here on my little half-acre, I listen to the calls of the rain crow and I hope that he knows something that the weatherman doesn't. My thirsty garden hopes so, too. Summer is most definitely here and the summer drought is well under way.