Bee Mama Missive: Beetles Bee Damned, Part II

In my last post I promised an update on the Small Hive Beetle, Aethina tumida, (also known as SHB), infestation of our beloved Scar and Mufasa hives.  SHB can wreck honeybee hives by damaging comb and spoiling honeystores; they can be the death knell of weak hives.  We’ve had more of the SHB making themselves at home in our hives this summer, due (probably) to the wet spring.   Bee Daddy and I  are attempting to control their population and help our bee-gals gain the upper hand against these noxious creatures by setting non-chemical traps.  We checked the hives twice, once in late August and again, two weeks ago, and the Beetle Bee Gone traps continue to do what they’re supposed to do–trap beetles.  Yay!

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Scar, the weaker of our two hives, had very few beetles at last check–which is excellent.  Mufasa, though stronger, still had more beetles than I’d prefer, but significantly fewer than at the beginning of summer.

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We’re doing our part and the honeys are doing their part. Just as we were preparing to open up the hives, these girls were cleaning out the bee ‘hood.  They were removing some of the fuzz, beetles entrapped, from the hive.  I smoked the bees, then pulled out the  material so the girls could put their efforts toward more important work.

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Hmmm.  I wonder if I could get them to clean my house?

Both hives also had capped and uncapped brood and Mufasa was so flush with full honeycomb that we harvested one comb, though I haven’t had time to squish and drip the golden glory into bottles.  I’m guessing this haul is worth about 24-32 ounces.

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Once our autumn blooming season kicks into gear, the bees will be in honey flow mode and more of the gorgeous goo will be made for winter storage.

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We’ll pull some off for ourselves, leaving the bulk of honey for the bees to nosh during the cold and the dark of winter. Not that it gets that cold and dark in Central Texas, but yeah, we do have winter!

Sort of.

All good news on the honeybee front for now!   I will check the hives again soon, but am confident that the SHB have declined and are no longer threatening our darling girls.

Go honeybees!

In Late Summer

I enjoy reading garden bloggers who live and garden in the northern parts of North America, Canada, or in Europe. I’m charmed as they describe the crispness in the air as September rolls around or their lament that summer wanes and autumn is upon them, rendering summer a memory. Here in Central Texas, summer is still very much a reality. Sunlight falls differently, that’s for sure, but our afternoon temperatures are still reaching the low to mid 90s, if not higher.

Oh sure, I can post about blooming things in December and probably even in January, and I’m certain that those same gardeners experience a tiny twinge of envy of my long growing season as they’re locked into snow and ice.  But the promise of a soft and cool autumn is something I can only dream about for now–it’s my turn to feel wistful because the “seasonal” change doesn’t happen in my Austin garden.

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But is that so?  No matter how summer-like our September days are, there are flowers that bloom and shrubs that berry in response to seasonal changes, even if we humans only recognize, and therefore complain about, the heat and lack of rain.  There are a number of native and well-adapted  plants in my Texas garden that started blooming at the peak of summer’s heat and continue floriferous action, and others that come into their glorious own as the hot, dry months drag on (and on…) in August and September.

These stalwarts remind me why I love this place.

The burgundy Red Ruby RunnerAlternanthera polygoinoides,

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…which is part of the biological filtration of my ponddefinitively runs amok during the blasting heat.

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That which sprawls receives no water from the ground, though I’m sure it’s siphoning it out of the pond.  It receives sun until about 3pm and never wilts.

The pretty yellows of the Mexican or Yellow Butterfly Vine, Mascagnia macroptera, began blooming in the heat of July/August and will remain in bloom until the flowers metamorph into the namesake seed pods.

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An adored plant of mine, the hybrid white Tropical Sage, Salvia coccinea, flowers in shade or full sun,

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…and provides for honeybees,

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…and native bees, like this Horsefly-like Carpenter bee,

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…and butterflies and moths, like this Small Pink Moth, Pyrausta inornatalis.

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This herbaceous perennial has reseeded itself in my garden for many years.  In mild winters, it’ll bloom throughout, but most years it’s knocked down with the the first hard freeze.  Returning in spring, the plant focuses on foliage growth, until ramping up the flowering in August.  The pollinator-favorite blooms continue until winter’s first blast.

Its scarlet kin, the red Tropical SageSalvia coccinea,  also picks up bloom speed during the dog days, but doesn’t always return after a cold winter.

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The rich blooms are welcome in the heat and during the autumn months.

Lindheimer’s Senna,  Senna lindheimeriana, adds its happy, sunshine voice reliably each August.

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Outrageous purple berries form on the American Beautyberry, Callicarpa americana, 

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…ripening in August for the birds.  Purplicious-ness continues during the broil and toast of late summer with the bloom-up of the native Drummond’s RuelliaRuellia drummondiana,

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…and the cultivar, Katie’s Dwarf Ruellia.

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Of a more delicate hue, the new-to-my-garden Branched Foldwing, Dicliptera brachiata is dainty, but apparently tough in the Texas heat.

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A few Gregg’s MistflowerConoclinium greggii, blooms have opened up for fuzzy fall business before things actually cool off, much to the appreciation of the tiny native bee (Perdita ignota?) working the bloom.

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Intermingling with the native Gregg’s Mistflower is another groundcover, the non-native Leadwort PlumbagoCeratostigma plumbaginoides.

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Bright blue flowers and attractive foliage thrive in July and August heat, reflecting the clear blue Texas sky as fall approaches.

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Emerging seemingly overnight at the end of August/first of September, I always forget that they’re part of my early fall garden–the dramatic and ridiculously red, Red Spider Lily, or perhaps I should use the other name, Surprise LilyLycoris radiata,

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I should have taken a wider shot, because you could then see the cracks in the soil adjacent to where that gorgeous thing popped out of the ground.

Preparing to greet the migrating Monarch butterflies, Frostweed, Verbesina virginica, dons its cauliflower hat in August, though it’s considered a “fall” bloomer.

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The pinnacle of blooming coincides with later cooler temps and more butterfly action.

With its tiny, pink florets and bright red berries that follow, PigeonberryRivina humilis, keeps its cool for a long flowering and berrying season.

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Especially lush and welcome during the hottest of the hot, mine usually begins blooming mid-summer and will remain in bloom-n-berry mode until the first near-frosts in November.

Very few perennials flower for as long and prolifically as does the Turk’s Cap shrub, Malvaviscus arboreus. 

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As if it knows that September heralds the end of flowering season, Turk’s Cap throws out masses of petite, crimson flowers and fruits for a couple of months, preparing for nectaring by migrating hummingbirds and Monarchs and munching by birds prior to winter.

This is the first year that I’ve grown Garlic Chives,  Allium tuberosum, but am  loving their cool white in my garden.

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Blogging buddy, the fabulous TexasDeb of austinagrodolce, gifted to me several clumps of this perennial plant and culinary favorite last August.

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Along with this gardener, the bees are happy about this plant too.  Garlic fall honey, anyone??

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All of these plants thrive during the downside of our summer months, as the change in sunlight, though not a fall in temperature, suggests a seasonal lumber toward autumn. Hardy in tough conditions, none need much water or care.

September: the time when most of the Northern Hemisphere cools and readies for autumn, preparing for the end of the blooming cycle for the year. Here in Central Texas we won’t experience that chill for a little while yet.  September blooming and berrying are the harbingers of change–the beginning of our second spring–the autumn flowering that is our reward for July, August and, at least in some part, of September.

September 2015 Tree Following: The Next Generation

Summer retains its strangle, I mean, hold, on Central Texas, but there are promises of cooler and wetter weather in the forecast.  Today is the 7th of the month and time to join with British blogger Lucy at Loose and Leafy and her informative Tree Following meme, which is all about trees from many spaces and places.

My Retama, Parkinsonia aculeata,  remains beautiful and cooling after the harsh Texas July and August.

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A tough native tree, Retama chuckles at day-in/day-out 100-plus degree temperatures and months (almost three) with no rain.

Beautiful flowers are  blooming, though mostly at the top of the tree as is normative for my particular specimen because it’s not planted in full sun.

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These flowers have been pollinated and that’s obvious because of the orange “honey” petal–the one that turns from yellow to orange after a visit from a bee, butterfly, moth, or hummingbird.

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With near constant breezes, I’ve found it difficult to capture clear shots of the cheery Retama blooms, but yesterday morning was quiet and calm and the flowers posed well when I said “smile!” and snapped some photos.

The foliage remains lush, but dainty and delicate in late summer.

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This tree endures and thrives.

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What is new this month, is the discovery of a Retama offspring.

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This tiny guy is about 15 feet away from the tree and has suffered a bit of sunburn. I rarely spot seedlings from my tree, though plenty of seeds are produced throughout the long blooming season.  My hope is that birds carry them off to distant gardens to spread the Retama joy.  I’ve offered the seedling to some fellow gardeners and it is now promised to a neighbor. I hope it grows as well for her as its parent has for me. There was a second seedling, a couple of inches taller and located nearer to the tree, but I wasn’t able to find it when I began the photography for this post.  I doubt it succumbed to the heat and dry of the latter half of summer, after all, that’s when Retama struts its stuff best, but maybe the dog stepped on it and broke it.

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That’s right, whenever something goes wrong with a plant, blame it on the dog.

I’m toward the end of my Year Of The Retama–in November I’ll choose  a new tree to learn and write about.

For now, though, here ’tis.

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Green, gorgeous, tough and Texan.