Mornin', Glory!

My first 'Heavenly Blue' morning glory for the summer just bloomed this morning! There's something magical about looking out the window and seeing something in bloom that you didn't know was there! Yes, I did plant it, but I've had really bad luck with morning glories, so I didn't expect it. I somehow missed seeing the vine snaking through a lilac shrub until the sky blue bloom unfurled. You can't imagine how delighted I am!

I know what you're thinking: "How does one have bad luck with morning glories?! Isn't it a seed that will grow in any soil, anywhere?" You're right. I probably shouldn't even be admitting it. But, while I hope it's not indicative of my overall gardening potential, I haven't been able to grow a morning glory to save my life! Every summer I soak the seeds and nick them with a knife and plant them in great climbing locations in full sun and crappy soil (I always plant them with moonflowers for the day-night, yin-yang effect), but about the time they should start climbing, they die. The only other summer I saw any blooms, it was so late in the season that they were frostbitten within two weeks--like these probably will be. And yes, I've tried several times to start them early indoors in peat pots (I know they don't like to be transplanted)--and I've gotten nothing, nada, zilch.

I'm usually not so persistent. I'd have given up by now on other plants, but morning glories hold a special place in my heart. My Grandma and Grandpa Key lived on a farm in Hartman, Arkansas, where I spent one or two weeks each summer growing up. They lived in a classic, old two-story farmhouse with wrap-around porches that sat way back off the gravel road at the end of a long dirt drive. They had barns and chicken coops and other out buildings just like you see in pictures of old farms, and it was a great place for us "city" kids to get a taste of country living. They had acres of crops--I'm not even sure what they grew--but near the house they had a huge vegetable garden that served as their main source of fruits and vegetables summer and winter, spring and fall. We spent much of our vacation helping with gathering and cooking or preserving their garden bounty, and I truly believe my interest in gardening started at my grandparents' farm.

But Grandma's practical nature must have precluded her from having the beauty of flowers. I don't remember that she had any at all--except for 'Heavenly Blue.' Morning glories by the dozens roped around the porch rails, up the downspouts and along the clotheslines. They blanketed the fence separating the farm from the fields, and they climbed around the old Ford truck that Grandpa only used when he needed to haul something. I loved them. I was fascinated with the little shell-shaped pod that would swirl open as the sun came up. My sister and I would use them in play, imagining tiny little faces in pale blue bonnets, or dissecting them like scientists. In early evening, I'd watch to see if I could catch them closing with their little pursed pout.

I don't remember anyone else paying much attention to them, and I recall Grandma once telling me she didn't plant them--they just came back every year on their own. My mom had told me the flowers only opened during the day, then closed at night, but I don't know if I knew they had a name. What I remember most happened one morning when I went with Grandma to gather eggs. A perfect blue bloom, worn on the craggy structure of the hen house like a corsage, greeted us. Grandma leaned in and spoke to it, "Mornin', Glory!" It thrilled me to my bones! How clever of Grandma! After that, I'd tell the glories "Mornin'!" every day. I'm sure that got old for Grandma, but she never shushed me.

It was several years before I realized the flower's name was morning glory, not just glory. Seeing them takes me straight back to Grandma and Grandpa's farm, and I'm going to plant them every single summer, whether they grow for me or not.

Felled Giants

Prairie Village, a quaint yet trendy little suburban village, is bordered by quainter and trendier Fairway, also officially known as "The City of Trees." That's what the signs say. And it's probably true, but the trees don't stop at the city line. This whole area on the Kansas side of the state line that shoulders up to Kansas City, Missouri, and is officially known as Shawnee Mission, Kansas, has more trees per lawn than probably is legal in new neighborhoods!

Until last summer, we had eight on our short acre. A huge pin oak and gorgeous sugar maple live in front, and the back had a sweet gum, silver maple, Russian olive, Norway maple, an opportunistic mimosa and an enormous hackberry. The house directly next door to the west is historic in that it was the first home, a farmhouse, built in our county (Johnson) in the 1880s. The owners have a picture that was taken of the front of the house circa 1910, and our hackberry is in the background! We're talking elderly. Many years before we were its keepers, its huge Y-shaped trunk had been chained to prevent splitting. The chain, each thick link the length of my thumb, had been swallowed by the 50-foot tree as it continued growing so that most of it was hidden within a large scar. I was never overly fond of the big guy, which contributed nothing in the way of fall color and was constantly dropping sticks. I often threatened to chop it down. But one afternoon last July, my husband Rick and son, Ryan, were at a baseball game, while my daughter Megan and I were home. Our other son, Trevor, was at a friend's house. It had started out as a hot, sunny day, but had started clouding over before they left for the game. As it became apparent a big storm was brewing, Megan and I were watching TV near our large picture window that offers a panoramic view of our backyard. Suddenly, we heard a burst of strong wind and watched as the hackberry just lay over on its side. It was a very graceful, quiet fall. The only noise was the sound of electrical surges as it took down all of the power lines in its path. My reaction to the surreal scene was palpable--I almost threw up. It was as if someone died.

Luckily, it fell into the open yard. Had it fallen toward the house, it would have done a lot of damage. When we got estimates for its removal, tree guys said we were unlucky--if it had hit the house, insurance would have paid for the repairs AND removal of the tree. Interesting perspective. As it was, we were out the megabucks it costs to remove a 100+ -year-old tree! As you may have guessed, it was having problems that we couldn't see. It seemed to be attached to the ground by only one large root--the rest had rotted, as had much of the tree's inner base. Our tree guy said it was essentially sitting on top of the ground connected by that one root! Thank God it fell when it did and we avoided a truly tragic scenario. But that's not all...

The Norway maple was the most perfectly shaped maple I've ever seen. It wasn't a maple that turned the glorious reds and oranges of fall; its leaves turned a ho-hum yellow. Even so, it was the focal point of our backyard because it sat right in the middle and had such a perfect umbrella shape. Also at least 50 feet tall, it was healthy until two summers ago. That year, it leafed out, then shortly after, lost all its leaves. We called in a tree guy, who diagnosed a girdled trunk. A root completely wrapped the base of the tree, strangling its food/water supply. (Sadly, he also realized our sugar maple in front has it, but it's not struggling yet. He thought it may have 8 to 10 years left. It's very common for maples to girdle.) He said the Norway maple may not be dead yet; we should wait until the next spring to see. Well, last spring it had only about five deformed, shriveled leaves, so when Mr. Hackberry kicked the bucket, we arranged a double funeral. So we lost two huge trees at once. Talk about the microclimate of a lawn changing! In past springs, the shade was so heavy on the roof that we could wait until afternoon to turn on our air conditioner--not this year! And my only real planting bed went from part shade to full sun, so I've been dealing all summer with the ramifications there!

Once we're out of hock for the tree removal, :) we plan to plant at least one to replace the two we lost. Rick really likes black gums. I tend toward maples. Suggestions are welcome. We're in Zone 5. Any really great trees out there?