bluejay with a problem

Bluejays are very common around here, and they enthusiastically go after the sunflower seeds and especially the peanuts we feed them.  

I noticed one bluejay tilting his head and looking very uncomfortable as he struggled to pick up a peanut.  Looking closer, I saw that he had no top beak!  Yikes!  How can he even feed himself?  He looks just as plump and healthy as the others, but he sure has trouble picking up peanuts.  He chases them all over the table.  We put down a tea towel and shelled some nuts so that it would be easier, but he seems pretty self sufficient.  

I  put out some shelled sunflower seeds, but he didn't like them at all.  Spit them all out.

It does not look like an injury.  Online you can find pics of overgrown and deformed bluejay bills, but I found none like my guy.  Overgrown bills may be due to a virus, and maybe that is the case here too.

Good luck to this guy.  We will continue to feed him.
 

ticks

Whitie the cat was on my bed, begging for attention, when I found this thing sticking out of his neck.

It seemed like a wart, but when I looked closer I discovered it was a TICK, probably a black-legged tick, the kind that carries Lyme disease, with his head in my cat and his bum up in the air.

I really hate ticks.  And I really hate thinking about them sucking my blood and giving me in return a disease that if not caught early is incurable.  The symptoms of Lyme disease include permantent muscle weakness, lameness, fever, loss of appetite, fatigue, or difficulty breathing. Lyme disease can also affect the kidneys, joints, nervous system, and heart. Many cats do not show noticeable signs, despite being infected.

Being an independent, self-sufficient person, I yelled for Wayne.  We went to YouTube for an answer, and found recommendations to get the tick off using a little crow-bar type device called a Tick Twister.  Wayne rushed out the door at 7:30 pm, and came back with the goods.

When he twisted out the tick, he found ANOTHER ONE. YUCK - YUCK - YUCK

Not very big - about a quarter of an inch - and that is when they have some creature's blood in them.  They start off as big as the period at the end of this sentence.  

They hitch a ride on migratory birds, and then drop off when they get to my yard.

They hang out on blades of long grass with their front legs waving, waiting for some hapless warm-blooded critter to amble by.  Once they crawl up to a warm spot and latch on to the skin, it takes 24 hours to transmit lyme disease.  Cats don't seem to be affected, but dogs have the same symptoms as people.

After their photo shoot, these two guys were put into a disposable cup, doused with dish soap and water, and died a quick death.

gems in an autumn garden

 It is just 16 Celcius out there to day on this September 16th, and although it's sunny, there is a definite tang in the air.  Beach weather it is not.  Our skies on the east coast are being clouded over by the smoke from the wildfires burning all the way across the continent on the west coast.  We also suffer from a lack of rain, but compared to the west, we have nothing to complain about.

Some beautiful late flowers are still bringing me joy:

Black-eyed susans (Rudbeckia) are looking particularly glorious.  They have reseeded in many places around the yard, and the bees love them.

The red oaks, PEI's provincial tree, are loaded with acorns.  Our squirrels are pretty delighted. 

The first oak I planted 24 years ago is now 30 feet tall and almost as wide.  

Wild apples are blushing with colour.

One tree that came from a seed buried in compost was growing very close to the house foundations.  We had already cut it down twice, but was again as tall as the house.  Broke my heart to cut it down again.  It blooms beautifully and produced 10 transparent apples.

Hardy hibiscus has flowers 9 inches across.  Last year the buds dried up before they opened.  Then I figured out it might want some water during dry spells.  So this year I dragged the hose to the bed a few times and gave it a good soaking.  Success!

Here is a cluster of hibiscus blooms before they open.  Love those dark red leaves.

After the leaves fall off, the strong, woody 3-foot stems stand up all winter.  In spring, I cut them to the ground and mark where they are, because they wait until late June to put out new leaves.

Plant in full sun, mulch around the roots, and water deeply every two weeks if there is drought.  That is all the care they get!

These wild asters have seeded themselves throughout my garden.  They make a big impression in a garden that is saying goodby, and the bees love the flowers.

I spent way too much ($60) on a few dozen gladious bulbs, and the drought meant the blossoms were rare and fleeting.  This is a hardy variety, so I will leave the corms in the ground over the winter and hope to see them bloom better next year.

Bee Balm (Monarda) is like a star burst.

Chinese lanterns established themselves very slowly in my garden, and then suddenly took off.  Now their underground roots have invaded. I followed and yanked out their white lines, so now their numbers are more manageable.  Such a burst of colour through!

Summersweet (Clethra) is an unremarkable deciduous shrub that puts out very remarkable flowers this time of year.

Apple mint has fuzzy leaves and pale flowers that the bees love.

Sedum Autumn Joy flowers look like broccoli until they turn red in the fall.  Bees love them.

This is a great plant for dry sunny areas, and can easily be divided with a sharp spade to make more.

Coral Bells (Heuchera) come in many varieties and leaf colours, from bright acid green to orange to almost black.  The flower spikes are held aloft on thin stalks.

This spring, I moved my holly from the south-facing, dry front of the house to the shade of the back.  It's really happy now, and has put out lots of berries.

Jack in the pulpit has turned brown and crisp, but has left bright scarlet berries behind.

More red berries on the native mountain ash trees.

keeping the hummers happy and the hornets away

As the summer progresses, the hummingbirds are more frantic about sipping as much nectar as possible so they can gather their strength for the long migration ahead. Their acrobatics as they confront their rivals and their constant cheeping is fearsome.  I'm just glad they are as small as they are - they would be pretty scary if they were bigger. 

Caring for a hummingbird feeder is fraught with problems.  The ant moat on top is filled with soapy water and is supposed to capture the ants that want some of that sweet stuff.  But they get into the feeder anyways, and end up drowning. And don't get me started on the racoons, who also like sugar water and have even unscrewed the feeder to get every last drop.

Our strong winds often push the feeder sideways, which spills the nectar and attracts even more ants.  I came up with the bright idea of tying the feeder to the railing with shoe laces, which is a bit inconvenient, but stops the endless swaying.   

By August, the ants were joined by hornets of every size who also wanted some sugar water.  I tried making a fake hornet next with a paper bag, but it didn't scare them at all.  Then I thought about making a trap.  I poured sugar water into a plastic container, set it under the feeder, and voila!  the hornets and many of the ants made a bee-line for it, and ended up drowning, while the feeder became safe for the hummers.

When I clean out the feeder, there are far fewer dead bodies now.  This used to be chock-full of dead hornets, and now there are just a few ants.

feeding critters

 

When I put away the bird feeders this spring, I missed watching the wildlife, although it was nice to wash off the bird poop and reclaim the deck for ourselves.  I hung a bird feeder on the washline pole, and it took less than half an hour for the chipmunks, squirrels, and birds to find it.

gems in a late summer garden

By mid-July, the fireworks in the garden seem to be over.  The spring bulbs, irises, and peonies are but a distant memory, and the spent blossoms have been cut off.  You have to look more closely to see what is now bravely blooming, and these are all the more precious for being rare.  Above is a bottle brush plant, with soft pink fuzzy flowers.

 Daylilies come in all colours, and I like the bi-colours best.  They are actually not lilies at all, but from the hemerocalis family.  They suffer from no pests, and that makes them easy to care for.  All I do is cut off the spent stems after they stop blooming.

I wish I had more purple cone flower plants.  They are tough and bloom a really long time, and come in shades from dark pink to pale to white.  And as a cut flower, they last for weeks.

Foxgloves appear scattered throughout the garden.  I don't plant them on purpose, which makes them all the more precious when they appear.

This scaggy little plant is Edelweis.  Three years ago, we were in Vienna.  I excitedly bought a small can of Edelweis seeds for 15 Euros (about $25) which is an astronomical price.  I froze the seeds for 5 months, and then carefully planted them indoors.  A few germinated, and I cared for them tenderly until planting them outside.  Then they all disappeared.  This year, just this one plant came up, and I am delighted.  It is an alpine plant, so not really suited to the humidity and heat of a PEI summer, but it is hanging on.

wild berries

 Here on PEI, it has been an exceptionally dry summer.  We have received only 20 percent of the normal rainfall, and things are parched.  The lawn is crispy, my raspberries dried up much earlier than usual, and I am sick of lugging a hose around trying to keep my plants alive.

Yesterday I took a bike ride along the Confederation Trail.  It's a 180-km former rail line that spans almost the entire Island, through fields and woodlands.  This time of year, wild blackberries are everywhere along the trail.  I pack containers into my bike basket, and usually pick at least 8 cups of berries.  Those wily blackberries make me work for their fruit.  Wicked thorns and prickles snag my skin, and they are most abundant on the edges of steep banks.  But the fruit is so rich and tasty, I pick them anyways.

This year, because it has been so dry, it was really hard to find any berries at all.  I had almost given up, when one rich vein made the long ride worth it.

The best berries are clustered around a memorial to Gordie Constable, who died at the site in 2001 as a result of a snow mobile accident.  I met him once - he fixed my car.  I never fail to say hi and thank him for the berries when I pass his memorial.

I braved the thorns and the steep banks to pick about a cup of berries.  They tasted all the sweeter for the effort it took to get them.

milkweed from Ingrid

For years, my cousin Ingrid gathered milkweed seeds close to her home in Kitchener, Ontario, and sent them to me here on Prince Edward Island.  I planted the seeds faithfully in a sunny bed, but they didn't grow. 
In December 2013 Ingrid died of undetermined causes.  She seemed perfectly healthy.  Being three months younger than me, it was a terrible shock.  The following spring, a surprising thing happened.  A single milkweed plant pushed to the surface, followed by many more over the years.  They even pop up in the lawn, but I'm ok with that.  I feel like Ingrid is giving me a wave, from wherever she is.

Milkweed is the favourite food of Monarch butterflies.  They have not found this patch as yet, but I'm always on the lookout for a striped green, black and white caterpillar.  I hope Ingrid will send some when she is ready.

in praise of volunteers

Human volunteers are unpaid helpers that add untold value to an organization.  Plant volunteers are just as valuable.  They weren't planted on purpose - they appeared from seeds spread by the wind or stuck to clothing or tools.  They keep their secrets, and are a delightful surprise.
These rudbeckia sprouted in the strawberry patch as if by magic.

A local nursery is selling them right now, but I don't know how they managed to make it to my garden.

Borage has become too much of a good thing, reseeding all over the vegetable garden, blocking the walking paths as they fall over.  The blue flowers are lovely, and the bees are all over them.  Today a horde of ants attacked me for pulling some out.  The flowers are edible, and the leaves are said to taste like cucumber, but not to me.  Their spikey stems force me to wear gloves to pull them out.

Creeping jenny:  this is sold as an annual.  A few years ago, I dumped my containers in the garden in the fall, and was delighted to find creeping jenny still alive the next spring.  I planted it in several places, where it took off.  It forms roots every few centemeters, chokes out other plants, and is impossible to remove completely.  Even pesticides don't work.  Now it is invading the lawn.

Sumac spreads by underground runners from the mother plant.  Luckily, it is easy to pull out or mow down the ones I don't want.

Here is a volunteer I actually like to see in my lawn.  Wild creeping thyme turns whole sections of the lawn purple in summer, and smells great when stepped on.
When I worked at Vesey's Seeds, customers from the Island would come in and complain about the purple stuff on their lawn.  I told them nothing less than a nuclear explosion would get rid of it.  And tourists would come in raving about the beautiful purple lawns, and want some to take home.  One person's weed is another person's treasure.

Golden rod is kinda pretty contrasted with purple monkshood.

This mallow appeared a few years ago.  It started small, but now it's about 5 feet tall and wide.

I planted poppy seeds in a garden far from where these two popped up.  This is an annual poppy with silky pink petals and gray-green leaves.  I cut off the seed heads to encourage more flowers.  But they still manage to reseed like crazy.

For a long time, I wondered why so many volunteer tomatoes popped up in the vegetable garden.  My husband Wayne is the culprit.  He hates tomato seeds and the gel around them, so he scrapes it all into the compost, where it sits over the winter.  After I spread it out over the vegetable patch in spring, the seeds spout.  The plants come late, but some do produce fruit.  I'm sure if I purposely planted tomato seeds directly in the garden, nothing would sprout.



Early this summer, we mowed around the clumps of ox-eye daisies that spring up all over the lawn and flower beds.  They didn't attract a lot of bees, but small flower flies came in abundance.  After the blooms faded, we mowed them down, surely spreading more seeds ready to pop up next year.

viburnum under attack

Last year, a lovely viburnum shrub appeared in the very inhospitable gravel around a drainage pipe in our front yard.  I carefully dug it up, and made a new home for it in rich soil in the back.  It looked green and healthy last year, and leafed out well this year.
Then I noticed holes in the leaves, and soon there was nothing left but the veins.
Viburnum beetles have been a growing problem in the US and Canada in the last few years.  Adults bore rows of holes in the thin branches, and lay eggs that hatch in the spring.
The larvae eat the green leaves, leaving only the tough veins behind.  Then the larvae fall to the ground, pupate, and in the autumn, the new adults crawl back up the plant, bore holes, and lay more eggs.
In the mean time, the plant eventually puts out a few new leaves, but is considerably weakened, and does not have the energy to flower.                     
Online research recommends waiting until fall, cutting off and destroying the branches with the tiny holes, which will break the cycle.  That chore is on my to-do list in October.

arbour time

Wayne in construction mode

One thing about my garden - there is very little hardscaping, because neither of us are adept at building walls or benches or stone pathways. 
I have always wanted an arbour to convey the idea of walking out of the yard and into the unknown - in this case, a path that leads through the fields to Veseys Seeds.  I have been nagging Wayne for years to build me one, and this year I received a little box at Christmas with a promise inside:  "this entitles you to one arbour". 
Arbours are not an easy item to find at the local hardware stores.  I wanted one made of wood, not that flimsy PVC plastic.  And I wanted it pretty.  So I went online.  You can pay frighteningly big bucks for an arbour with seats (that's what I really wanted) but I settled for a nice regular one.
We researched how to secure it to the ground, because I did not want a repeat of the disaster with my first arbour, a metal one that fell over a few times and ultimately was buried in the snows of 2014 and then crushed under their weight. 

We used a level to make sure the top was straight.

The kit was delivered in a flat box.  After putting the pieces together, Wayne set it up.  I loved it right away!
 

It took some shims and some elbow grease to get it level.

concrete footings

We purchased heavy bag of quick-set concrete, which came mixed with gravel.  We dug 2 18-inch deep holes, dumped in the concrete, mixed it with water, and then set in metal pieces that had been screwed to the arbor's legs.  We had to work quickly, because the label warned that the concrete sets fast. 

And that's it!  one arbour, built and installed in one afternoon.  Now for the fun stuff - installing plants.  I found a neglected clematis buried in a bed of tall ostrich ferns and bleeding hearts.  It had already grown about 10 feet.  As much as it killed me to do it, I snipped off that growth and left just about 6 inches, because the transplanted roots would not have been able to support all that top growth as they adjusted to their new home.  The clematis was well watered in, snuggled in with mulch, and didn't die.  The few remaining leaves are staying green.  Success! 

Now my dream of hardscaping has expanded.  I got Wayne to scrape and repaint my adirondak chair, and I'm dreaming of a bench.  A garden is a work in progress.