A Week Has Whisked Away

A week since I last posted!  Stories and ideas have run about in my head--a result of trying to finish a family history project [not finished!] in between the demands of harvesting and putting up produce.

Odd segments of days and nights pop out with clarity---for the most part, the days were a repetition of hot and humid weather that left my brain feeling muffled.

The sunflowers are enjoying the heat.  The ones in the rear of the bed are towering. 

Today I found that one had crashed down.

I have to look up the name of this wildflower--again.  Bovey Belle kindly identified it for me last summer.

I used to remember this sort of thing.

Daisies, fresh before the heat of the day exhausts them.

Queen Anne's lace--to me one of the most beautiful and intricate of common wildlings.

I spotted this oddly branched goldenrod from a distance.

The dense bit in the middle looked like a bird's nest until I got closer.

This photo was an instant favorite.  I looked back at the tobacco barn awash in a field of Queen Anne's Lace that danced gently in an early morning breeze.

I remember as a child the sensation of lying down in a stand of uncut hay to gaze up at the sky--or flopping face down, supported by elbows to look at the grass roots.

I balanced on one knee to take this shot--there is a slight rise up to the barn, emphasized by the angle of the photo. I almost think I could paint it.

The Edge of Autumn

The spider who has been living for several weeks in her zig-zag stitched web by the front steps has laid her eggs.

Here is the egg sack attached to a post of the porch.

It seems a precarious place to leave spider babies-to-be.

Some of the roses and flowers in the border are reviving in the cooler weather.

The dew lingers long each morning.

These filmy sparkling webs cling to the French marigolds [which have turned into lusty shrubs] and are spread over the flat-clipped box which edges the porch.

Spice pinks, gilly flowers, if I may call them that--grown from seed.

I want to call this roadside charmer Ironweed, but it may be a form of aster.

I need a wildflower book geared to Kentucky.

[Ironweed checks out in on-line photos. "Vernonia"--probably the variety "gigantea." It does seem to be related to the larger family "asteraceae."]

The honeysuckle which bloomed so sweetly at the end of May is again perfuming the area around the clothesline.

Definitely New England Asters.

The dauntless zinnias continue to attrack butterflies and insects.

This creature refused to unfold its wings for a better view.

This swallowtail was quite kind enough to display its colors, after I galumphed round about the flower border several times in pursuit.

I wonder if particular colors attract certain species.

Thistle in bloom,

I dead-headed some of the zinnias last week and threw the spent flowers on the ground.  [Yes, I know, very untidy.]

The rain swept several heads into the edge of the next vegetable plot.

J. asked this morning what was growing there in these little clumps--how quickly the seeds sprouted in the moist heat.  I don't suppose there will be time for them to reach flowering stage before cold weather.

The spicebush swallowtail looks very dramatic on a hot pink zinnia.

There was a wonderful cool breeze all morning.

The tomatoes were not quite ripe enough to start canning, so I put on my rubber boots and wandered around the yard and along the verge of the road, enjoying everything which is in bloom.

It was as perfect an August morning as anyone could wish.

Leopard's Bane?  It grows in the rank grass at the roadside--coarse, shaggy clumps.

Again. I need a proper wild flower guide.

This is the foliage of the above plant.

Simply Wildflowers

I noticed this unfamiliar flower stalk in the weedy verge across the road as we drove out on Friday.

Closer inspection didn't help with identification--likely not a plant which grew in our New England fields.

Time to dig out the old wildflower book and search for a look-alike.

A shorter stem of the same plant. The actual flowers have a bit more pink in their coloring than the camera caught.

Brown-eyed Susans, cheerful and hardy.

I have always liked Queen Anne's lace.

Quite a marvel that the flat flower head turns to a nest of seed.

This seed head has a definite tint of rose.

Wildlings seem to survive drought and all manner of abuse while our pampered and pricey perennials may give up.