The view from my kitchen sink

Our first frosts are in the forecast.

As usual, the seasonal changes are inspiring me to create flower arrangements.

This time of year I seem to almost follow a formula when I head to the garden to collect materials.  I’ve documented my process below.

Recipe for an Autumn Flower Arrangement

• Gather a variety of fall flowers. I scored asters, tea camellias, ‘Silver Dollar’ sasanqua camellias, a lingering sweet olive stem and some Chipola river daisies (Coreopsis integrifolia).  I allowed myself to pick one precious sweet lady’s tresses orchid (Spiranthes odorata).  I raided the prairie garden and snagged grass plumes from big bluestem, switch grass and purple top.
• Add blossoms from plants that are blooming out of season. The dropping temperatures always stimulate unexpected plants to flower.  I gathered  blossoms from ‘Nastarana’ and ‘Archduke Charles’ roses and was delighted to find flowers on the Sekidera azalea.
• Combine a pinch of fall fruit. Yesterday the garden yielded stems of rose hips and a fragrant stalk of sweet Annie.
• Mix well with colorful fall foliage. The scarlet tinted huckleberries (Vaccinium elliottii) filled the bill.
• Assemble in a vase and fill in with healthy evergreen twigs. I gathered one of my favorites Florida leucothoe (Agarista populifolia).
• Add water and enjoy.

The results reminded me why I love to do floral design.  The vases hold a distillation of a moment in garden time.  My favorites look like a portion of an overgrown flower border where the wild plants mingle with the garden exotics.

I particularly enjoy the arrangements that I place over the kitchen sink.   I have plenty of time to carefully study them while I wash the dishes!

Our threadleaf Japanese maple was beautiful last fall.

 About 20 years ago when we were still in the nursery business, my husband Richard took a roadtrip to some wholesale nurseries in Semmes, Alabama near Mobile.

He returned and gleefully presented a beautiful young 3 gallon threadleaf Japanese maple that he had purchased from Steven Sowato.  Richard was particularly impressed the the skillful graft that was done high on the trunk (so that the graft scar would be hidden by the foliage).  We speculated that his prize was probably a 3 year old plant.

We owned our own nursery and had little time to garden.  We kept this little gem as a container plant.   And so… through the years it grew and flourished.  We moved it to various sitting places – always in a prominent spot – and greatly admired its beauty.

Ten years passed.  The maple was residing in a 15 gallon black nursery pot and was in need of a bigger pot.

I was in the midst of landscape renovation and I set it into a plum position in the center of the back garden at our newly purchased house.

 And another 10 years passed. We looked down on it from out bedroom.  We photographed it decked out in autumn crimson.

R. I. P.

We moved next door to our old house and still visited it almost every day on our evening golf cart rides.

A couple of months ago we began the move back next door.  I had mixed feelings about this transition but was looking forward to the view of the maple from my bedroom window.

One day I noticed early fall color and then something seemed awry.

I looked closer and was shocked to realize that my maple was dead.

Logically I knew that it probably succumbed to a verticillium wilt disease brought on by stress from drought and heat and hurricanes.

Joe enjoys carousing in our dead maple.

But still I was in denial.  I kept scratching twigs every time I passed – hoping for signs of life.   It still has the same beautiful form and all our friends said “It looks so natural – just like it is sleeping."

Attracted by the crispy crackle of the leaves, the kitties began to rompabout in the branches.”

Attracted by the crispy crackle of the leaves, the kitties beagn to romp about in the branches.  I shooed them away - still in denial.  Oddly my reaction reminded me of the time my hound Doreen ate one of my Born shoes and I kept the other one for two years just in case the situation could be remedied.

Then... the telling sign - a fecund bloom of mushrooms sprouted at the base of the trunk.  Even i could not argue with such strong evidence.

Still though,  I have not cut it down.  I’ll let it linger through the fall.  I could probably even let the pretense continue through winter.

But I know now that it is a pretense.  I am looking for a replacement – something unrelated to the maples and un-susceptible to the deadly fungus that lingers in the soil.  I’m considering a large containerized ironwood that like its predecessor needs to be released from captivity.

But for the time being,  I’ll admire what’s left of the lovely form and let the disrespectful kitties dance on the grave as often as they like.

Sister Maybell likes the crispy leaves.

In the bee meadow, the sweet coneflower mingles happily with big bluestem.

Ever since I can remember there have been yellow daisies in my life.

First there were the black eyed Susans that bordered the gravel road we often traversed to visit my relative in the country.

They were probably just plain old Rudbeckia hirta, the most common black eyed Susan.

Still… I admired their cheerful demeanor – colorfully blooming from beneath a mantle of dust in spite of the drought and heat.

As I grew older, I was introduced to the exotic zinnias and dahlias in my Aunt’s flower garden.   Their loud colors and pom-pom shapes intrigued me.  They temporarily replaced the wild black eyed Susans as my favorites.

Then in college, I took a Plant Taxonomy class and the daisies and their kin fell further out of favor.  There are so many members of the Composite (a.k.a. Aster, Sunflower) family that it is very difficult to key out a damned yellow composite (DYC).

I was overwhelmed.  There were too many of them and they looked so much alike!

They seemed common and I was immune to their charms until I began to garden with native plants and rediscovered the Daisy tribe.

Since then I’ve been enamored of various Rudbeckia species.  I love the tickseeds (Coreopsisspp.), the native sunflowers, rosin weeds and likewise the purple coneflower (Echinacea purpurea).

The closer you get, the better a sweet coneflower looks!

This year I went full circle – back to my childhood favorite black eyed Susan.  The one I love most right now is called a sweet coneflower (Rudbeckia subtomentosa).

This charmer hails from the prairies.  It is generally 4 to 5 feet tall with sturdy stems.

The flowers are the typically arranged into a chocolate brown mass of disc flowers wreathed by a golden yellow halo of twisted ray flowers.  They smell sweet like licorice and bloom for a long time in late summer and autumn.

There is a sweet coneflower selection that is becoming popular.  Rudbeckia subtomentosa ‘Henry Eilers’ was named for the retired nurseryman who found the plant along a railroad right of way in Arkansas.

The ‘Henry Eilers’ sweet coneflower was promoted by my friend Larry Lowman and has found its way into many nurseries.  This cultivar’s claim to fame is that the ray flowers are narrow and quill-like instead of wider and twisted.  I grow it also but for now at least, prefer the original.

I have been visiting both of them in the bee meadow almost every day for the last two months.  They are still flowering and I am happy when they greet me.