June Lilies

From Wikipedia: Hemerocallis fulva, the orange day-lily, tawny daylily, corn lily, tiger daylily, fulvous daylily, ditch lily or Fourth of July lily, is a species of daylily native to Asia.

I usually call them orange lilies. My mother-in-law gifted to me these summer beauties a couple of decades ago, as hers were in deep shade. She wasn’t a gardener, but somehow had these growing alongside her driveway, never blooming, but always offering grassy-green foliage on warm spring and summer days. I planted the ones she gave to me–it was only 3 or 4 individuals–and grew them in a part-shade area of my front garden during these past 20 plus years. The lily plants spread, foliage usually attractive (except for deep summers and winters), and flowers always showy. I separated the lilies, giving many away, moving others to varying parts of my garden, with mixed results. Though not native in my mostly native plants garden, these June-blooming lilies have always been easy to grow, requiring little maintenance. Not a huge draw for pollinators, some native green sweat bees will visit the stamens when the flowers open.

After winter storm Uri froze Texas in 2021, and we removed the remainder of the mature, but severely freeze damaged Arizona Ash in the following autumn, I knew these lilies would struggle in the full blast of the Texas summer sun. And so they did: the next summer, the lilies produced puny, dwarfed blooms and scorched foliage. If the lilies were to survive and grow their glorious selves, they would have to be transplanted to a different, more amenable, spot in my garden.

I dug up all the lilies and planted in several spots of my part-shade back garden. Huzzah! The orange lilies have thrived! It’s not really a surprise, as these are ridiculously easy plants to grow, requiring very little–just some soil, occasional rainfall, and the appreciative oohs and aahs of their many admirers.

This little group dances in the breeze, fronting a lush, just beginning its bloom time, Turk’s Cap, Malvaviscus arboreus, shrub. The thin, arching foliage of the lilies contrasts well with the wider, heart-shaped, tropical looking Turk’s Cap leaves.

The flamboyant flowers bloom atop slender stalks that reach one to two feet in height. There are usually 10-15 flowers per stalk, blooming over a period of weeks, each flower open for only one day.

In one section of my garden which now hosts orange lilies, I’ve also planted some companion Purple Coneflower, Echinacea purpurea, and I wish I’d planted more. I like this combo of color and bloom type. In autumn, I’ll add extra of both kinds of flowers.

Here’s a nice profile view, augmented by a spider’s web. Do you see it?

Near the pond, the daylilies are keeping company with various metal and wooden birds. Mexican Feathergrass, Nassella tenuissima, is a silvery bed for the lily foliage and flowers, while Inland Sea Oats, Chasmanthium latifolium, serves as a graceful backdrop to the pops of audacious orange.

There are still weeks left in their flowering season, each day supplying fresh orange beauty, and there’s always some promise of a few blooms appearing at the end of summer, after tropical rains. The part-shade from the Red Oak trees will allow the lily foliage to remain sweet green, even in mid-to-late summer’s heat.

The orange lilies of my garden are right at home, once again.

What’s Black and White and Cute All Over?

Migration season is mostly done and in my garden, it was a meh event this spring. I observed very few of the usual suspects either around my pond or in the garden proper. Those who showed up, Summer Tanagers, Lincoln Sparrows, Common Yellowthroats, and Clay-colored Sparrows, were brief in their visits. Absent were the Painted Buntings, Nashville Warblers, White-crowned Sparrows, and Orioles. I didn’t see any of those and I miss them. I enjoyed a quick look at a Canada Warbler, which I haven’t seen in a few years.

My pond has always been the draw for weary migratory birds, but the front garden is in full bloom and seed production with quite a bit of bird activity, and that’s the place to be if you’re a bird or a birder. The front garden is also a much more challenging area in which to watch birds; there’s no window for me to hide behind and no good place to plant myself where I won’t disturb my feathery friends. I also suspect that the wet spring in Texas has allowed for plenty of water and food sources for the migrants, so fewer dipped into urban gardens.

During an outing at Travis County Audubon’s Baker Sanctuary, I was privileged for the first time to observe some endangered Golden-cheeked Warblers. Males, females, and fledglings put on a nice show for excited birders, the birds swooping around native trees, cameras and binoculars pointed upward to catch the winged things. I knew I wouldn’t be quick enough with my camera, so chose to observe and appreciate this rare sight. Central Texas is the only place where Golden-cheek warblers breed and their breeding areas are in very specific habitats. These are not common birds in backyard settings.

In recent weeks, my backyard birding has been focused on watching hungry, often noisy, fledglings who are out of the nest, but still learning from their parents. Most are in trees, squeaking, squawking, and flapping their wings, foliage obscuring baby birdie meal time. Occasionally, parent and chick visit the feeders together, like this mama and fledgling Downie Woodpecker, Dryobates pubescens, pair.

Baby is at the left of the photo, hanging on to the pole that holds the feeder. It looks like she’s already had some food, as she forgot to wipe her beak. As an aside, I’ve seen her land at the pole, then slide down, fluttering up to hold on to the pole, unable to maintain her grip. Learning where the food is and practicing methods for proficiently obtaining that food is all part of her learning process.

The young one flit to the feeder, where mama was ready with a peanut.

I watched these two for several days, then noticed the fledgling visiting the feeder on her own. She was reticent initially to land on the feeder, but eventually gained confidence–and peanuts–as she became successful in feeding herself. I’ve seen young Blue Jays, Northern Cardinals, Black-crested Titmice, and Carolina Chickadees in similar situations. It’s much harder to observe the fledglings while they’re in trees, but as they learn to feed at the feeders, it’s enjoyable to watch and cheer their learning progress.

I’ve heard and seen our fledgling Eastern Screech Owls, but only rarely. I think they’re still around, but their territory will widen as their hunting skills improve. Summer backyard birding will be watching the neighborhood birds, seeing the fledglings molt to their adult plumage, and anticipating the fall migratory birds.

Hanging by a Thread

As I wrapped up some necessary gardening chores early this morning, I saw a newly emerged Pipevine Swallowtail, Battus philenor, resting near its former home, the shell of its chrysalis.

I should have dropped the pruning shears, wiped the brow, and grabbed my camera, but I didn’t. By the time I remembered that there was a photo worth getting, the butterfly was off to its adult business: its wings dry, its proboscis unfurled for nectaring, and the search of a mate a keen objective.

Every day, I pass by this seedling where the caterpillar made its home for a few weeks; I never noticed it. The chrysalises are such small, unobtrusive things, it’s easy to miss them in the lush of the garden. I’m not a scorched earth pruner, but when it’s hot and humid and I’ve had just about enough for one morning, it’s sometimes easy to forget the garden’s purpose. I guess the chrysalis isn’t the only thing hanging by a thread.

I’ve seen a Pipevine flitting in the garden today; I’m glad it was up and out in the early morning, shedding its temporary home for the wider world.