#the last flower of the almond tree that bloomed early

[ausetkmt]

PULLMAN, Wash. — A massively destructive hurricane in Florida last year, a very stormy winter in California, and higher than average colony losses mean that 2023 is positioned to be a bad year for honey bees.

“I talked with a beekeeper recently who hadn’t lost more than 20% of his colonies in several years but lost 90% of his bees this year,” said Tim Lawrence, a recently retired Washington State University Extension associate professor who worked with the insects. “And he’s far from alone. I’ve heard from many beekeepers suffering high losses this year.”

Lawrence wrote about the potentially bad year for WSU Tree Fruit Extension.

The decrease is likely due to viruses exacerbated by varroa destructor mites, the main cause for honey bee decline, Lawrence said. The mites kill honey bee brood (pupae and larvae), introduce numerous viruses, and severely weaken adult bees and their immune systems, making them more prone to disease.

In most years, beekeepers who experienced significant losses would resupply by purchasing the insects from beekeepers in Florida. Unfortunately, the bee population in the Sunshine State took a massive hit from Hurricane Ian last year, limiting the supply.

Generally, the pollinator season starts in late February in California almond groves. Beekeepers from around the country bring their bees west to pollinate these early-blooming trees. But the steady series of atmospheric rivers dumping significant rain on California has limited the number of flying days bees have had to pollinate.

Bees generally fly when temperatures are above 54 degrees and winds aren’t too strong. The limited flying days also impact honey bee queens because they mate in the air. Less flight time means less mating, which means fewer and delayed bees and queens for sale that beekeepers rely upon.

“It’s been brutal,” Lawrence said. “Beekeepers are used to adapting, but getting hit from so many angles is a huge challenge.”

And all that could impact Washington crops that depend on hiring the domesticated pollinators.

“If I had an apple, pear, or cherry orchard, I wouldn’t wait to contact your beekeeper this year,” Lawrence said. “A lot can happen between now and when those crops bloom, but early crops could really be impacted. For growers back east, it’s likely there may not be any bees for the blueberry season.”

On the flip side, the unusually wet winter in California could lead to a phenomenal honey crop.

“Seeing the mountains and hills down there, the snow melt will probably lead to a tremendous flower bloom,” Lawrence said. “There may be fewer bees, but those present will have plenty of food to collect.”

Honey bees can have a big impact on wallets. For consumers, fewer bees for pollinating could lead to fewer apples or cherries in stores. That leads to higher prices for the fruit that does make it to market.

“Bees have had a tough time this year,” Lawrence said. “Beekeepers are good at keeping them going, but it’s the biggest challenge I’ve seen since at least 2005, when we started to witness major losses of honey bee colonies.”

[elisende]

The Acolyte

Characters: Halsin/Kagha Rated: E Warnings: Light BDSM, Choking, Suicide Words: 3277

When the wild druid from Kagha's fantasies spirits her away, she exults in achieving her greatest desire. But for such freedom, a price must be paid. Most people assumed Kagha was born into this life.  As though she’d slipped from the earth’s muddy womb to run, unshod, through the pathless forest with feathers in her hair, singing hymns to the Treefather in Wild Elvish under the light of the waxing moon. 

Most people were fools.

She did not used to believe so.  Kagha had been a biddable girl, and once a pliant bride.  She came from a good and ancient family, a line descended from noble Eladrin.  Her family words were Ta selun tor’selu, Highest of the high.  

When they thought no one could hear, polishing the family silver in the kitchen alcove, the servants whispered the words to each other and giggled.  But Kagha heard, and made sure those servant girls were put out on their arses without the day’s pay.  

Her family lived in Alaghôn, a once important city that teemed with once important elven families.  The glory days were long gone but their patina remained; the city stood upon a honeycomb of ancient tombs and palaces, full of relics of a long forgotten age, when dragons reigned and druids wove wild magic in the surrounding hills. Mischance and her incurable curiosity had led Kagha to just such a buried crypt: a druid shrine.  The figures on the walls had danced under the guttering light of her torch, making the mosaics come alive.  Of elf and beast and man all engaged in an ecstatic dance under the shelter of a great oak, from which a deity smiled.  

What captivated her most was the central figure, a wild haired elf, larger than life.  Half bear, even, depicted mid-transformation, his fingers dipped into the open mouth a half-elven acolyte.  His eyes direct, frank, challenging.  Vine tattoos twined up his cheeks, lapping his sensuous lower lip.

She’d discovered the tomb on her wedding night and when the bloom of her marriage faded over the coming months, almost as quickly as the snowy blossom of the dogwoods that proliferated around Alaghôn’s silent streets, she found herself spending most nights in the shrine, under the gaze of the druid, and in her loneliness and misery she fancied that he spoke to her, that she was his acolyte, that he slipped his fingers into her mouth--and more.  Much more.

Kagha recognized him immediately when the same druid came into her husband’s hall, bowed his head to them, drank their wine.  She trembled to see him in the flesh.  She was not gratified, or even pleased.  For she knew the power of her will had drawn him to her; and that had frightened her.  

He had come, he said, to ask a boon.  The key to a lost temple under the foundations of their home.  He spoke in pretty Elvish and he had good manners but he was a wild beast next to her cultured, urbane husband.  Seeing them standing next to each other, she realized her past was standing next to her future.  

Seducing the druid was harder than she thought.  For he, too, was strong willed.  She relished the challenge and where her husband was accommodating, gentle, and predictable, her new lover--for her lover he would be--was stubborn, wild, and prone to rages, like the bear within.  Deploying all of her guile and her considerable beauty, she only barely managed to convince the druid to take her back to his grove to take the trials of a novice.  

She left a single branch of dogwood on her husband’s pillow, its last white petals barely clinging to it.  He was sophisticated, and not unintelligent.  He would understand.

In his grove, the druid Halsin was unguarded, easier to approach.  Her aptitude stunned him, and her unyielding passion captivated him.  After the passing of three seasons she claimed him in a grove of flowering almond trees, planted by some forgotten woodsman.  He kissed her breasts as he came, sighing her name, and on his lips, it had sounded like a great tree cracking down its center and tumbling down.  Kagha.  Her joy in that moment, her triumph, had been unequaled since.  Halsin had a poor memory but Kagha’s was very good.  She could remember the highest point of her life with perfect, painful clarity.

They made love in waterfalls, under the stars in wild glades and secluded bowers, or sometimes even in the caves around the grove.  Halsin made no secret of their affair in the Circle, and, almost as gratifying as having him was the knowledge among the others that he was hers.  Their deference, edged with jealousy.  It was important to Kagha that they knew she was better, separate.  Ta selun tor’selu.

And then, like a towering oak struck down by a sudden clap of lightning, it had all ended.

It ended on a cool autumn day when there wasn’t much to do but lie together.  They rambled out early that morning, he in his bear form, she shivering in little but a filmy shift.  By that time--and through her tireless toil--the forest and wild scrub around the grove had been cleared of the goblin filth that had still infested the land when she joined the Circle.  But now the wood and shore belonged to the beasts and birds, warded by the druids--as it should be.

They found their way to the river and he caught a salmon for them to share in his paws, tossing it to her still flapping.  That was their game: it wriggled and slapped her arms as she caught it, screaming.  He shifted back to his elven form, laughing until tears gleamed at the corner of his eyes.  

Why had they always found that so funny? she later wondered.  Her past self was like a stranger to her.

With his hunting knife he cut her a bit of the flesh and fed it to her, raw.  Watching her as she ate it.  His eyes seemed to shift colors like the trees in the wind.  He liked to see her like this, untamed and even feral.  Even then, she was distantly aware how it was a salve to his ego, that he’d transformed a high elven matron of Alaghôn to a wild girl with her hair running wild down her back, eating raw fish from the end of his blade.  Wasn’t he the master druid?

He discarded the fish and fell upon her by the water’s edge, hands plunging into her hair, and her nose filled with his scent, cedar and smoke and something sweet, like forest berries, or perhaps the wildflower honey he loved to eat.  Their kisses were lingering, needy; up until the very end, they’d never been able to get enough of each other.  Her hand wandered to his cock to find him already hard, his hips lifted to her touch and he sighed into her ear. 

Kagha broke away with a laugh and ran past him to dive into the river.  Her shift clung to her breasts, hips, and the mound between her legs; she made sure to show it all to him from the high, flat rocks that stood like a platform in the center of the river.  With a growl he leapt into the freezing water, clambering up onto the rocks with such grace a bear of an elf could muster.  She laughed again, was still laughing when he climbed onto her and took her breast in his hand, thumbing her nipple through the wet cloth.  Her laughter became a gasp that he swallowed with another deep kiss, this one more forceful.  

This was the other game they liked to play. 

He shoved her onto her back, pulling her head back by her wet hair to expose her neck and claim it with harsh kisses.  His other hand found the damp mound of her sex and grabbed it, fingers roughly stroking her lips through the cloth.  She hissed and grimly he smiled, his eyes not meeting hers, all his attention focused on her body.  

Impatient with the damp fabric, he ripped her shift up to the hip, exposing her to the chilly air.  His rough fingers found her already wet; he circled and flicked her clit with his thumb as he extended a finger, then two inside of her--not gently.  She gasped and her hands found his cock again, clenching it so punishingly tight it made him groan.  

“Do you want me?” she demanded, her voice low but steady.  When he didn’t answer immediately, she loosened her grip, slid her hands down his shaft, teasing the tip with her thumb when she reached it.  

He sighed.  “Yes.”

“Then take me.”  A crack as she slapped his cheek hard with the back of her hand, its outline raised in red on his left cheek.  He looked angry--truly angry--but that was part of their game, too.  With a snarl, he ripped off what remained of her shift and positioned himself between her legs, even as he took her breast in his mouth, lashing her nipple with his tongue, sucking it as harshly and avidly as marrow from a bone.  

Crack.  She landed another blow.  Now he roared as he grabbed her hips, his hands rough on her skin and grip so tight it would leave bruises that would outlast them, outlast what they had together.  She would see them tomorrow and weep.

But now, there was only pleasure.  He plowed into her, and the world seemed to sharpen, become brighter.  The pain from the tiny pebbles and ridges in the rocks that scraped her back.  The sound of the water rushing all around them.  The glorious sense of fullness between her legs, the sweet throb of her pussy as she took all of him in.

His grimace made a mask of his face: he looked almost ugly, older than his five centuries.  She smiled, overcome by a sense of triumph as he continued to thrust.  She traced a hand down his muscled and scarred chest, then turned her caress into a rebuke with her sharp nails.  They drew blood.  He glowered above her like an angry god.  She lifted her hips from the rocks, taking him deeper, giving herself the pleasure she required of him.

“You know what I want,” she said.  “Give it to me.”

His big hands circled her neck and squeezed.  She choked and gasped, smiling defiantly.  If she had the breath, she might have laughed.  She’d learned how to get him to squeeze tighter.  And he did, and stars swam overhead as every sensation below became enhanced.  She felt every raw inch of him, each thrust pounding like a wave against the shore, a relentless onslaught.  It was the full expression and experience of his power that she lost herself in.  

As always, her climax came first, and forcefully.  Her hips bucked against his grip and she screamed soundlessly, for she had no more breath.  The stars in her vision brightened as she lost control, until she couldn’t even see his face anymore.  She sensed him coming, like a stormcloud loosing its rain from a great distance.  The hands around her neck slackened and gasped, vision returning.  They never held each other, after.  Kagha hated being held; it felt too much like being captured.

Instead they lay side by side, fingertips barely touching.  Kagha watched the rills of water that parted around the rocks, listened to the birdsong, and felt the contentment she was never to experience again.

*

When they returned to the grove, even the air seemed somehow poisoned--too quiet, pregnant with some unsavory possibility.  

Kagha and Halsin exchanged a look; he sensed it too.  At least they were dressed.   They had plucked some clothes from a line by the river; a careless novice who’d left the washing unattended in the sun had saved them from an awkward return to the grove.

“Kagha!  My love!”

She whipped around to the source of the voice, which was coming from a great tree at the edge of the grove.  

The idiot.  Her husband, the scion of a great house and a lord of Alaghôn, had perched in the sacred sycamore and covered himself in some kind of disgusting ointment.  He wore a massive set of antlers on his head, tied together with some string, only they wouldn’t stay up and he kept having to reposition them on his head.  He was stark naked.  

She buried her face in her hands.

Beside her, Halsin sucked in his breath.  “Is that…?”

“Yes,” she said, her voice harsher than she meant it to be.  “It’s Talarion.”

“He looks rather different,” Halsin said mildly.  A novice ran up to them, closely followed by Aelar, another high elf who had recently joined their circle from the High Forest.

“Master Halsin, there is a problem,” Aelar said breathlessly.  

“I had noticed,” he replied, a smile playing on his lips.  

“He refuses to leave until,” the elf gulped, glancing sideways at her, “Until he speaks with Kagha.  He says…”  

“Well, get on with it,” Halsin said, smile broadening.  Damn him, he was enjoying this.  Kagha had never been so mortified.  It was somehow worse than if she herself was naked and covered in filth in the sacred tree.  The idea of being connected with such a pathetic figure filled her with shame.  And rage.

As though he heard her thoughts, Talarion screamed her name again from the tree, desperation reaching new heights.

“The sacred balance of this place has been disturbed,” the novice said, speaking for the first time.  A drow girl with a saucy look about the eyes that Kagha disliked immensely.

“Balance has a way of restoring itself,” Halsin said.  “I don’t think the circle is in danger of irreparable harm.  You were saying, druid?”

Aelar gulped again.  “He... says he is Kagha’s husband, Master Halsin.”

A putrid silence followed this, one she felt obliged to fill.  “And so he is not.  I am done with him.  I am with Halsin now.”

The novice smirked, though she tried to hide her face behind her hand.  Cunt, Kagha thought viciously.

“Nevertheless, I don’t think he’ll respond to anyone else,” Halsin said.  His tone was measured, reasonable--conciliatory even.  That angered as much as the words themselves.  

“He is a fool and not my responsibility,” she said.  “I’m not going to placate a child who cannot accept--”

“O sun of my summer sky!  O sweet dawn of my heart!”  The verses stirred some vague memory in her.  But mostly they served to enrage her further.  The idiot, what could he be thinking?  

“Oh Silvanus’s mercy,” Halsin said.  “He’s reciting Daldorian rhyme now.”  

“He attacked everyone else who tried to come near,” Aelar said.  “One of the novices has a broken arm.  This elf’s magic is actually quite advanced.  But since he’s Kagha’s, er--well, as he knows Kagha we didn’t want to hurt him.”

“You have done well, Aelar.”  He turned to her, merriment still dancing in his eyes.  She could spit at him.  “Kagha, you know what you must do.”

She swore an oath that made the slut of a drow gasp and began to ascend the tree, all the way to its crown nearly a hundred feet in the air.  The sticky honeydew of aphids made her fingers tacky as she climbed.  

Below, the Circle watched.  She felt every stare as though it was a lance in her side.  She imagined she could hear their thoughts.  That she was pathetic, unworthy, ridiculous.  

“I, a simple shepherd under the numberless stars, sing the song of love to the vault of heaven, that the gods may hear my prayers!”

How had she ever cared for such a fool?  As she came nearer, the noxious smell intensified.  He had indeed covered himself in excrement, for reasons beyond anyone’s comprehension.  

Finally, she reached the branch where he paced.  He seemed shorter than she remembered, though in comparison with Halsin, he was bound to seem small.  His fine blond hair was caked with mud and shit.

“Talarion,” she said, sharply.  Perhaps his name would bring him back to his senses.  “What in the hells are you doing?”

“Kagha, my love,” he said.  He reached for her, arms spread wide to embrace her.  She twisted away with an exclamation of disgust.

“You are filthy!  How I could have been fool enough to marry you is an utter mystery to me.  I am done with you, do you understand?”

He hung his head and began to sob, crumpling to his hands and knees on the branch.  “Losing you has broken me.  Have you no pity for one you swore an oath to cherish and love for eternity?”

Gods.  With a mighty sigh, Kagha sat next to him on the branch. The stench was overwhelming.

“I am wretched without you, Kagha,” he whispered.

“You need to move on,” she said, not unkindly.  She patted his mucky leg.  “I am not coming back with you, if that’s what you hoped for.”

“No,” he said thickly.  “I know how bloody stubborn you can be.  I truly know you, far better than you think.”

She straightened her back.  Everyone always thought they knew her so well.

“You are a wild thing.  Out where the wild things belong.  I knew you wouldn’t come back,” he continued, “I suppose I just wanted to see your face.”

“Well,” she said.  “You’ve seen it.”

“Maybe I was hoping the druids would kill me.  Or I’d be eaten by a bear or some poetic end like that.”

She winced.  There wasn’t anything poetic about being devoured by a bear, particularly.  They were not great killers and were apt to eat you while you were still alive.  But of course, Talarion wouldn’t know that.  The only truths he knew were written in hexameter verse.

“I never meant much of anything to you, did I?”

When she didn’t answer, he laughed jaggedly.

Silence stretched out between them.  Finally, she glanced over to see him staring at her with his impossibly blue eyes.  He was handsome, she realized.  Just at the moment the thought surfaced in her mind he slipped from the tree and hit the earth with a wet thud.

No one knew then or afterward if it was an accident or intentional, though it seemed everyone in the Circle had their theories.  Some swore to their dying days that Kagha had pushed him.

Kagha, who had been looking into his eyes at the moment he fell--or jumped--could not guess one way or another.  In a way, she reflected, it didn’t really matter.  The outcome was the same.

Below, the grove rang with screams and Halsin rushed over to Talarion’s body.  But such a fall, from such a height--there was nothing the master druid could do.  His body was shattered, brains spilling onto the muddy earth.

*

It all ended, after that.  There was no tearful scene, no accusations.  Halsin wasn’t disposed to theatrics and Kagha had enough of the grove’s attention.  When he withdrew from her, after that day, she didn’t pursue him.  She refused to humble herself.

She vanished into the forest for a time, a season of reckoning.  

No one knew what happened to the proud elf in that bitter winter, its ferocity remarked upon even a century later.  But she came back from the wilderness hardened and impenetrable.  A honed edge.  And she became ever more comfortable with the lie: that this was what she had always wanted.

[carnegiemuseumnaturalhistory]

A Walking Tour of Blooming Trees in Pittsburgh

I live within walking distance of the Carnegie Museum of Natural History in the neighborhood known as Squirrel Hill. One of my favorite things about living in this neighborhood is springtime - more specifically all of the beautiful blooms. I decided to practice my picture taking skills for the upcoming City Nature Challenge, while staying socially distant from neighbors, by taking a walking tour of the blooming trees of Squirrel Hill. Let’s see what I found.

This tree is most likely an almond tree, based on the flower shape and colors. For some trees it is easier to identify them from their leaves, but this early in the year the tree doesn’t have any yet. I used my handy iNaturalist app to help me out with initial identification. While I don’t know for sure if it is in fact an almond tree and not a plum or something similar, now that I have posted it on the app, hopefully someone else will correct or verify the identification in the future.

Like the almond tree and this weeping cherry tree, most of the flowering trees in the neighborhood are fruit trees that individuals planted in their yards. This is important to remember when uploading information to iNaturalist, especially during the City Nature Challenge. When I uploaded these images I clicked on the button “Captive / Cultivated” to make sure that it is documented that these trees were purposefully planted by people and would not grow native here in Pennsylvania. While there is nothing wrong with adding non-native plants to our yards, it’s important for people using the data on iNaturalist that we include that information.

My last stop on the neighborhood tour is one of my very favorites: my neighbor’s giant magnolia tree. I recently found out that magnolia trees are a very ancient group of flowering plants, and they evolved to be pollinated by beetles instead of bees! There are a couple of characteristics that show that they were adapted for this type of pollination, including their flower color and size, and a special covering over their seeds to protect them from beetle mouthparts. This lineage of trees is so old that Tyrannosaurus rex and other late Cretacous dinosaurs walked past its relatives. Next time you visit the museum keep an eye out for a tree in Dinosaurs in Their Time that looks a lot like our magnolias today.

As spring continues the neighborhood will start to look different. All these shades of white and pink will turn to green as the trees grow their leaves and new blooms closer to the ground will take their place. I’m excited to go for more walks and document more nature!

You can learn more about magnolias from the Magnolia Society.

Jenise Brown is a Museum Educator with Carnegie Museum of Natural History. Museum staff, volunteers, and interns are encouraged to blog about their unique experiences and knowledge gained from working at the museum.

[johaerys-writes]

Dorian Pavus/ Trevelyan

A World With You, Chapter 20: Feathers on Fresh Snow

Being the Inquisitor is a hard and grueling job, but at least Tristan can have people around him he can trust. Or... perhaps not.  

Read here or on AO3!

**********************

“Meet me at the gates tomorrow morning. There is… someone I want you to meet.”

Varric’s cryptic invitation had not meant much to Tristan at first. He had just finished unsaddling his horse after they had returned from the Emerald Graves when the dwarf approached him. His voice had been carefully lowered, yet it hadn’t escaped Cassandra’s attention, who emerged from the nearby stall after Varric had left.

“It’d better not be who I think it is,” she had said, grinding her teeth. Her dark brown eyes sparked with anger as she glared at Varric’s back.

Tristan had been intrigued.

He had quickly forgotten about the whole thing – he had far too much to occupy himself with, after all, returning to his Inquisitorial duties after being gone for so long – yet as the hours went by and the commotion of the day melted into the hushed quiet of the night, he found himself pondering on Varric’s strange behaviour, and Cassandra’s even stranger reaction. From her anger, he knew it could only be one of Varric’s friends from Kirkwall. Perhaps even the Champion himself.

Tristan had heard much about him. He was quite certain there was no one in the Free Marches that didn’t know his name, and what he had done. He was particularly notorious amongst the Ostwick nobility, who spoke his name in hushed whispers, as if he were a demon of some sort. To say that his interest was piqued would be an understatement.

Still, his interest alone shouldn’t have been enough to keep him up at night. It had been a tiring day, and a tiring night, albeit in an entirely different way – Dorian had made sure of that – but sleep still refused to come. The golden light of morning now slithered through the window blinds, shrouding the small room in a soft, hazy glow, and his eyes were still wide open, staring at the ceiling.

With his arm tucked under his head, Tristan studied his surroundings. He had never visited Dorian’s room before. It was evident that Dorian had taken great care to make it look inviting, perhaps even homely. The narrow shelf next to the window was stacked with books and vials, carefully arranged in alphabetical order. The dark mahogany desk was neat and tidy, the vase on top of it holding a single embrium flower. There were more vials and books by the window sill, and on top of one of his travel chests was a silver tray, with a set of crystal glasses and a decanter, which was empty now.

The room was admittedly small and somewhat crammed, certainly much more humble than what Dorian was no doubt used to, but Tristan still felt more at ease there than in his own private quarters. Perhaps it was Dorian’s cologne mingled with his deep, earthy scent that lingered in every corner. Or the fact that the room’s window overlooked a corner of the courtyard where orange trees bloomed, instead of the frosty mountain peaks, like Tristan’s did. The glowing embers in the hearth bathed the room in a warm, golden light, whereas his much grander fireplace never quite managed to dispel the damp that still lingered in the dense stone. Tristan’s quarters were grand, spacious, luxurious; and he felt cold and tiny in them.

He let his eyes glide over Dorian’s sleeping form. His back was to him, the blankets moving softly with his breath. His hair was messy from sleep and black as night against the stark white of the pillow, raven feathers scattered on a field of snow. A bare shoulder peeked from underneath the covers, skin like burnished gold under the soft sunlight. Tristan wanted nothing more than to slither close to him, pull him flush against him and get forever lost in his inviting warmth.

Yet, Varric would be waiting for him. With a sigh, Tristan pushed the blanket off him, and rolled out of bed. He pulled on his breeches and his shirt, careful not to make any noise. His dark blue coat had been carelessly tossed on a chair the previous night, and he threw it over his shoulders, not even bothering to button it up. With a last lingering glance at Dorian’s back, he twisted the door latch and walked out into the crisp, cold morning air.

Nhudem’s face greeted him as soon as he stepped out.

“Your Worship!” he said eagerly, bowing to him.

Tristan blinked, as much from his surprise as from the bright sunlight that strained his eyes. He still hadn’t got used to the fact that he was now supposed to have a personal guard wherever he went. Cullen had informed him of that as soon as he had stepped foot in Skyhold the previous day, and had promptly introduced him to the people that would be spending all of their time following him about and standing outside of whichever room he was supposed to be in.

Nhudem, of course, was one of them – it had not been lost on the Commander that Tristan had saved his life at Haven and thus, would be all the more eager to protect him. The others were agents of his that had shown impressive potential, and had been hand-picked by him, as he had proudly told him.

Tristan had grumbled his acceptance, more so because he knew it was no use arguing against Cullen on that. Besides, it seemed Leliana and Josephine had already agreed, and the paperwork on the guard’s new positions had already been filed.

Nhudem now stood at attention before him, awaiting his orders. Maighdin, the other guard, scrambled up from where she had been sitting on the hard stone floor. She was a grim looking woman, with a thin mouth and eyes the colour of steel. She was tall and robust, and strong as an ox. Her dark red hair was cropped short, and the battle scars on her face and arms were testament to her experience. She didn’t smile much, unlike Nhudem, but Cullen had said she had been one of his most trusted and skilled soldiers.

Trusted and skilled soldiers, and now they had spent the better part of the night sitting on the floor, guarding him from what, exactly? Tristan could not know.

“Nhudem,” Tristan said, feeling his mood instantly turning sour, “I thought I dismissed you last night.”

Nhudem gulped nervously. “You did, my lord.”

Tristan waited for a moment longer, then when the man didn’t speak, he turned to Maighdin. “Well?”

The woman stood at attention, her gaze firmly above his head. “Commander Cullen has ordered us to never leave you out of our sight, Your Worship.”

Tristan let out a sharp huff. Of course he had. It had been naïve of him to think that he could have even a moment to himself, without people following him about. Not to mention that everybody and their brothers would have noticed the Inquisitor’s guards standing watch outside of Dorian’s room. If there was any doubt as to how he chose to spend his nights these days, it was long gone now.

Oh, fuck it. They probably all already knew.

Without a word, Tristan marched ahead, leaving his guards to scramble behind him. A stop by his quarters to get his stout  black woollen cloak and his fur lined gloves, and off to the stables they went. The keep was largely silent at that time of day -  not even the washerwomen or the scullery maids were up this early. Varric had stressed that whatever meeting he was leading him to was one that needed to be kept secret. Yet, with Nhudem’s and Maighdin’s heavy bootsteps ringing across the large, empty hallways, it felt like he was leading a procession of some sort, a loud enough one to alert everyone within a mile of his presence. So much to keeping anything secret in that cursed place.

Tristan gritted his teeth and walked on. Damn him for ever agreeing to this! Damn his fool head!

He was silently seething by the time they reached the stables. Varric was already there, his short roan gelding saddled and bridled. His brows furrowed slightly when he saw the guards trailing behind him, but his frown instantly disappeared when he opened his mouth.

“Blondie!” he greeted him cheerfully. “You’re on time. The early bird catches the worm, eh?”

Tristan’s response was an annoyed grunt as he walked past him and into the stables. A stable boy ran after him, but Tristan sharply waved him away. He didn’t need anyone’s help in choosing his own bloody horse.

The Inquisition’s stables were filled with horses these days, and more were arriving every week. The wooden building with the low thatched roof by the inner keep was for his and his Inner Circle’s mounts only, and even they were slowly getting full. There was no shortage of nobles and wealthy merchants from all over Thedas that would send him expensive gifts for a chance to get in his good graces. Tristan didn’t have much use for jewellery and rare gemstones from Nevarra, or expertly carved golden plates and vases from Antiva, or intricate mechanical apparatuses in the shapes of various animals that moved on their own without magic, straight from the dwarven smiths in Orzammar. They were wonderful to look at, but Tristan soon got bored of them.

But horses – those Tristan would never get bored of.

He walked down the long row of stalls, the horses watching him curiously, until he stopped before the palomino Free Marches mare that a noble from Starkhaven had gifted him. A tall and strong animal, but with a delicate frame and a surprisingly gentle nature. Free Marcher coursers were known to be headstrong – he should know, the Trevelyan mansion stables had always been filled with them – and he himself veered towards lively, spirited mounts, but he had instantly been drawn to her. Tilly used to have one just like her, a gelding with a glossy, buttery mane which she used to call Almond. Tristan had sneered at the name back then, but now he found it quite apt.

Almond tossed her head back when she saw him, and Tristan reached out to stroke her neck. Perhaps Almond wasn’t as formidable a name for the mount of the Inquisition’s leader, but Tristan thought it suited her just fine. Her large, dark brown eyes were watching him calmly, and the milky white spot on her forehead did remind him of an almond somewhat.

The animal neighed softly when he patted her nose, and Tristan smiled. He always did have a soft spot for horses.

Saddling and bridling her was a task that he did with mechanical movements, not even thinking about it. He gently led her out of the stall and into the courtyard, where the others were. Varric’s no doubt very witty jokes had the stern Maighdin smiling, and Nhudem was laughing outright, but they both straightened up when they saw him.

“Will we be going far, my lord?” Nhudem asked, eyeing the horse. “Shall we get mounts, too?”

“No,” Tristan replied dryly. “You’ll be staying here.”

Nhudem blinked at him. “L-lord?”

Tristan rolled his eyes as he placed his foot on the stirrup and hauled himself up. “Varric and I will be going alone.”

“But, Your Worship,” Nhudem began again, his eyes wide just as Maighdin’s were narrowed, “Commander Cullen has said-“

“Do you take your orders from the Commander, or from me?” Tristan snapped at him. Maker, but he really lacked patience that day.

The poor man paled and scrambled for words. Maighdin cleared her throat and raised her gaze to his. “From both of you, Your Worship.”

“Good,” Tristan said, somewhat more mildly. “So, I order you to stay here. I won’t be long.”

“As you wish, Your Worship,” she said, her tone a touch more sour than Tristan would have expected.

He snapped Almond’s reins and let her guide him to the gates without looking back. In all honestly, he couldn’t wait to be away from Skyhold, if only for a moment.

“The Inquisitor’s work never stops, does it?” Varric said teasingly once they were out of earshot. “Ordering so many people about must be tiring.”

Tristan let his lips curve in a tiny, reserved smile. “You don’t know the half of it.”

Varric’s horse fell in beside his as they rode across the bridge. The strong mountain wind hit them square in the face as soon as they were away from the protective magical bubble that surrounded the hold. It was odd, really, how magic could do something like this. Skyhold sat at the top of a mountain, the ice and frozen lakes that lay below it glistening in the sun that did nothing to warm the frigid air, yet inside it flowers blossomed all year round. Very odd, indeed.

An icy gust made his cloak whip about him, and Tristan pulled his hood over his head. It was a chilly morning, and the bright sunlight reflecting on the snow half-blinded him. He squinted as they reached the far side of the bridge, and their horses’ hooves touched fresh snow. He gazed around him, at the life that lay beyond Skyhold and its formidable walls. When they had first arrived there, there had only been a few carriages and tents set up for those that couldn’t stay inside the keep for lack of space. Now, there were rows upon rows of tents and hovels and hastily built shacks that covered the entire mountainside, as far as the eye could see. Smoke from campfires and hearths drifted towards the clear, white sky, and the hustle and bustle of the camp was only partly drowned out by the wind howling through the forest.

A few heads turned towards them as they rode, and Tristan retreated further into his cloak.

“More and more people are arriving every day from all over Thedas,” Varric remarked absently. “Soon, not even the mountain will be enough to hold them all.”

Tristan grunted his assent. It was true that the stream of refugees was never ending, and Skyhold’s main keep had barely been enough to hold all of them when they had arrived, when they were only a few hundreds. Now, the Inquisition’s forces counted in the thousands, and were ever growing. It still struck him as strange that people would leave their homes to travel all the way to a frigid mountain, but such was the way of the world those days.

“As long as there is war and instability, and as long as the countryside is plagued by rifts and demons, the swarms of refugees won’t stop,” Tristan said, thinking aloud. His stomach tightened when a throng of children emerged from between the hovels and gazed curiously at them, their clothes far too big for them and terribly worn. He spurred his horse on, careful not to let his face show. “Thedas is in chaos.”

“You’ve got that right, Blondie,” Varric said. “But there’s no need to be so gloomy. The Inquisition is a safe haven. A beacon of hope, if you want to be poetic about it. That, at least, should count for something.”

Tristan shifted uncomfortably on his saddle. Varric’s words did nothing to appease him. Since his open support of mages across Thedas, a lot of people had abandoned their places and left. Yet, upon returning to Skyhold, Tristan had been surprised to find that the gaps in their ranks had been more than filled by mages. The Templar Order was still a shambles, and the Seekers were hiding behind their fortress’s walls, for all anyone knew. The Chantry didn’t have enough manpower to control the mages in many Circles, so many escaped and travelled all the way to Skyhold, where word had spread that it was somewhat safer.

The Inquisition’s accommodations at that moment were far less than humble, but the complaints that Tristan had expected hadn’t come. It seemed that many mages preferred the Inquisition’s hovels and the icy mountaintop to the relative comfort of their Circle.

“It’s good that the mages are leaving the Circles and coming here. We need as many people as we can get, and the less mages the Chantry has under its control the better,” Tristan said, gazing down the mountain. “Still, we have heard nothing from the Chantry. And that worries me.”

Varric turned to him, his frown obscured by the shadow of his hood. “How so?”

Tristan’s lips tightened in a line. Thinking about the Chantry always made his blood boil and his head ache. “Surely, they can’t be happy with their mages leaving like this to join us,” he said sourly. “We are a threat, bigger than what they have seen in ages. They might not have the men or weapons now to oppose us, but as long as there are people praying to Andraste and filling their coffers, they will always have power. It’s a matter of when they will decide to use it against us.”

Varric nodded thoughtfully. “Words can be just as dangerous as weapons. Sometimes even more so. And you have done more than enough to rile them, that’s for sure. But whatever damage they could have done they’ve already done it. People believe in the Inquisition, and the Chantry cannot shake that.”

Tristan seriously doubted that. The Chantrics were sly bastards, and their venomous preachings spread quicker than wildfire sometimes. They were still a headless order, Divine Justinia’s death having dealt a serious blow to their infrastructure and causing it to almost crumble. But the bite of a wounded and cornered animal was often worse than that of a confident one. Not to mention the possibility of them choosing a new Divine, and one that would come after them with a vengeance. That was, unless he somehow managed to influence that choice, and then…

Tristan rubbed at his tired eyes, already feeling the tightness about his temples taking hold. It was moments like these that he felt completely out of his depth.

They rode through the camp at a steady trot. Varric was shifting on his saddle, his gaze straight ahead of him. Wherever it as he was taking him, he didn’t seem overly eager to get there. The pensive frown seemed slightly out of place on his face, that usually wore a cheerful expression no matter what they were facing. It made Tristan uneasy, but he kept his mouth shut. He trusted Varric. As much as anyone can be trusted these days, anyway.

The thought shot a sharp pang of bitterness through him. He clenched his jaw and rode on, determined not to let the feeling linger.

Soon, they had left the hovels and tents behind them, and were following the narrow, winding road through the dense forest. A tall ash tree came into view as the mountain road twisted and curved, its thick trunk split in two as it reached towards the sky. Varric pulled on his horse’s reins, and it stopped before the trunk.

“This way,” he said, guiding his mount off the road and up the slope beyond the ash tree, but not before a quick glance behind his shoulder.

Tristan followed him, his curiosity increasing. There was no path that he could see, and he simply trailed after Varric, carefully steering Almond around any raised roots and large stones that he could see. Riding a horse through a forest was risky, and the snow and ice made the ground treacherous. He was relieved when they finally stopped before a small wooden building, that looked like an abandoned hunter’s cabin.

Varric dismounted and tied his horse’s reins to a nearby branch, and Tristan followed suit reluctantly, not quite able to hide his suspicious frown.

“You’ll soon find out what this is all about,” Varric told him, noticing his expression.

The old, decrepit door creaked as it swung on its hinges. It was dark inside the cabin, save for the light slithering in through a small window at the back.

“This… is Hawke,” Varric said, standing to the side.

The man that turned around to glance at them was tall and broad of shoulder, the top of his head almost reaching the top of the low roofed building. The greatsword that was strapped to his back looked heavy and well made, the image of a hawk engraved on its long hilt. Half of his dark hair was tied with a leather cord, while the rest fell in messy waves about his shoulders. His dark brown eyes, when he fixed them on Tristan, were cold and examining, but the smirk on his lips looked almost amused.

Tristan had heard a lot about Hawke. What the rumours had carefully left out was that he was quite handsome, if in a somewhat gruff sort of way.

“Inquisitor,” Hawke said, covering the space between them in a large stride. “Aedan Hawke. Pleased to meet you.” He extended his hand out to Tristan, who shook it reluctantly.

Varric shifted uncomfortably on his feet. “I figured Hawke would have some friendly advice for you.”

Tristan frowned at him. “Advice? What sort of advice?”

Hawke’s smirk widened in a teasing smile, directed at his friend. “You haven’t told him, have you?”

“Let’s… just say I was waiting for the right moment.”

“The right moment to tell me what?” Tristan demanded. He was getting ever more impatient with Varric’s secrecy. “Speak plainly, Varric. I don’t have time for this.”

Hawke gave Tristan a quick look over, as if he were appraising him. Tristan resisted the urge to scowl at him, crossing his arms before him.

“Varric thought I would be able to help you in your fight against Corypheus,” he said. “Considering we’ve already fought the bastard.”

Tristan’s breath caught in his throat. “You what?”

“It’s true,” Varric said. “We did fight him.”

“You knew about Corypheus?” Tristan asked incredulously, fighting to keep his voice level. The look he shot Varric almost had the dwarf taking a step back, but he stood his ground. “You knew about all this and you said nothing?”

“Listen, I know how this looks, Blondie,” Varric said apologetically, rubbing the back of his neck. “But I wasn’t trying to hide anything. I only learned about Corypheus the same time you did. At Haven. And after that… Well, I wanted Hawke to be there too when I told you. It took time for him to come from… wherever it is he was.”

“Oh, you can tell him, Varric. No need to be so secretive. I stayed in Antiva for a few months while I waited for the storm to blow over.” Hawke had a confident, easy smile, and the lines around his eyes showed that he did smile often, but his gaze remained careful and calculating when it was on Tristan. “No shame in enjoying myself with some good wine and even better company, is there?”

“Where you were staying is of no concern to me,” Tristan retorted through tight lips, cutting him short. “You claim you fought Corypheus?”

“We did,” Hawke said, straightening up and regarding him with a serious expression. “The Grey Wardens were holding him in Kirkwall, but he somehow managed to use their connection to the darkspawn to influence their minds and make them do his bidding. We killed him that day.”

“Killed him?” Tristan echoed, not quite able to hide his disbelief. This meeting was getting more and more surreal by the second, and his patience was rapidly thinning. He scowled at both of them. “You must think me an imbecile, to come to me with tales like these.”

An annoyed frown crossed Hawke’s face, but he swiftly checked himself. “These are no tales, Inquisitor. Varric was there with me. He was dead as stone when we were done with him. But he somehow managed to resurrect himself. Maybe it was his tie to the Blight that brought him back, or old Tevinter magic.” He gave him a wide, affable smile. “You take your pick.”

Tristan bridled at his mocking tone. He crossed his arms before his chest and gave him a hard look. “Alright. Let’s say I believe you. What use is that information to me now? You clearly have no clue who or what he is, and how he does what he does.”

If he was insulted, Hawke showed no sign of it. When he spoke, he did so slowly, as if stating the obvious. “I’ve heard the Wardens have disappeared. Since we already know that Corypheus can control them, it could be that they are under his influence again.”

Of course. The Grey Wardens. Tristan cursed himself for not thinking of it sooner.

He rubbed his chin, pretending to be sceptical about Hawke’s news, but in reality, he felt like screaming. How much power did Corypheus wield? He had been killed by Varric and Hawke, yet he had somehow managed to defy death itself. He also controlled the Red Templars, the Venatori, and now, possibly the Wardens as well. How could Tristan ever hope to defeat him?

The mild headache he had had when he first entered that cabin was slowly turning into a migraine. He was clearly not cut out for this.

There was a glint of amusement in Hawke’s eyes, no doubt from having made him look like a fool. With a sharp breath to collect his thoughts, Tristan shot him a haughty glance over his nose. “We cannot know that for certain. The Grey Wardens have always been known to have their own agenda. It could be that they’re after some quest of their own.”

“I see your time in Ferelden has rubbed off on you, has it?” Hawke said with a wide smile. “Fereldans have always been wary of the Wardens. How many years has it been since they banished the Order for trying to dethrone that king of theirs? A century? Two centuries?”

“An Age and a half,” Varric replied. “They certainly know how to hold a grudge.”

“This has nothing to do with me spending time in Ferelden,” Tristan said, grinding his teeth. Hawke and his mocking tone were grating at his nerves. “Surely, you cannot expect me to go after the Grey Wardens just because you believe they are controlled by Corypheus.”

“Of course not, Inquisitor. That would be madness. Who do you take me for?”

Tristan resisted the urge to narrow his eyes and scowl at him, and instead stared at him expressionlessly until Hawke’s feigned look of shock and disbelief melted away. “Alright, alright,” he said with a placating gesture. “You clearly have things to do, and I’m taking up your time. I’ve got a friend in the Wardens. His name is Stroud. Last time we spoke, he was worried about corruption in the ranks. If anyone knows anything about Corypheus’ connection to the Wardens, it’s him.��

“Where is that friend of yours?”

“He told me he’d be hiding in an old smuggler’s cave in Crestwood. I could take you there, if you wish.”

Tristan considered Hawke’s proposition carefully. He didn’t know if he could trust the man, or that Warden friend of his. Varric had vouched for him, but Tristan hardly knew if he could fully trust even him anymore. He had thought of him as a friend, but he had chosen to keep this hidden from him for so long. Who knew what else he was hiding?

The thought stung, deeply and sharply, but he stubbornly brushed it away. This was no time to ponder on the value of true friendship in a world that was tearing at the seams. And in any case, any investigation Leliana had started in order to find more information about the Wardens’ moves had led to a dead end. Trust or no trust, there was not much room for choice now.

Tristan held Hawke’s gaze firmly before he spoke. “Alright. Let’s go to Crestwood as soon as possible. I want to hear what that man has to say.”

Hawke nodded, brows knit in a serious frown. “Good. Varric will let me know when you’ll be setting off.”

Tristan turned to leave, when Hawke’s arm on his elbow stopped him. “Corypheus is my responsibility, Inquisitor. I thought it’d killed him before. This time, I’ll make sure of it.”

He looked at Hawke then, really looked at him. There was no mocking glint in his eyes, no amusement hidden in the curve of his lip. Hawke returned his gaze levelly, determination plain in his features. Tristan doubted a lot about him, but at that moment he was certain he meant what he had said.

Memories of Corypheus flashed in his mind, of his horrible face so close to his, of the sickening glow of the red lyrium in his blood shot eyes. He remembered the screams, the fire, the fresh snow turning crimson as Haven fell under the force of his armies. He remembered Flissa’s lifeless body, buried under a mountain of burning logs, and his blood ran hot and thick in his veins.

“No,” he said, pulling his arm free from Hawke’s grasp. “Corypheus is my responsibility. I’m the bloody saviour this world is stuck with. I’m the one he’s after, and the only one that can ever hope to stand against him. When the time comes for me to kill him, you’ll be nowhere near.”

And with that, he turned away. Neither Hawke nor Varric said a word as he walked out of the cabin and into the bitter cold.

[petermoonblog-blog]

Feed with "fall" or "winterizing" formula

LAWN MAINTENANCE: Feed with "fall" or "winterizing" formula. Last chance to tackle weeds like bermuda and nutsedge, which go dormant in winter. Not sure how much to water this month? Download the free UC publication "Lawn Watering Guide for California". This excellent guide solves the mystery of when to water and how much to apply. Fall is also a great time to aerate. According to Sunset.com (web access for AOL users and Sunset subscribers only), if you can't easily push a screwdriver into your turf up to its handle, it's time to aerate. If overseeding is necessary, be sure to use grass seed that matches your lawn. LAWN CARE INFO: Want to know what type of lawn you have and how to maintain it? Want to put in a new lawn or renovate an old one? Need lawn pest info? The new UC Guide to Healthy Lawns is an excellent resource.

SHADE TREES: Lightly trim trees where necessary. Avoid heavy pruning of deciduous trees until winter dormancy.

BACKYARD ORCHARD TREES, SHRUBS & VINES: The following links to the University of California Backyard Orchard care sheets will keep you on track and on your way to a tasty harvest: Almond, Apple , Apricot, Avocado, Berries (blackberry, blueberry, raspberry, and strawberry) , Cherry, Chestnut, Citrus (grapefruit, lemon, mandarin, and orange) , Fig, Filbert (Hazelnut), Grape (table), Kiwifruit, Loquat, Nectarine, Olive, Peach, Pear, Pecan, Persimmon, Pistachio, Plum & Prune, Pomegranate, Quince, Walnut. Many nurseries are taking bare-root orders now.

IRRIGATION: Continue watering until rains begin. You may notice the need for watering isn't quite as dire as it was in previous months.

ANNUALS: Have you replaced your summer color with cool-season annuals? Do it now and you'll beat the rain, establish some healthy root systems and have color that lasts through spring.

PERENNIALS: Cut back late-summer bloomers lightly after blooms fade. If the following spring- and summer-flowering perennials have become crowded, dig and divide them, using a knife or pruning saw to cut the clump into halves or quarters: agapanthus, clivia, gazania, fortnight lily, Aster x frikartii, astilbe, Bergenia cordifolia, columbine, coreopsis, crocosmia, daylily, delphinium, Gaillardia x grandiflora, Geranium 'Johnson's Blue', Geum chiloense, heuchera, hosta, Lobelia cardinalis, Lychgates coronary, Cardamon dairymaid, peony, Scabiosa Columbia, Shasta daisy, Siberian iris, snow-in-summer, summer phlox, and yarrow (wait until summer to divide bearded iris and oriental poppy). Avoid heavy pruning until late winter or early spring, when new growth is just beginning to emerge.

ROSES: Keep well-watered and skip the fertilizer if you fertilized before the fall flush of growth and blooms.

WEEDS: Last chance to attack winter-dormant weeds like Bermuda grass and nut sedge. See the IPM website for more info. UC Weed Gallery for proper identification and the UC IPM Pest Notes for how to manage them.

PESTS: Ants are heading back indoors and snails are becoming more active.

[breaking-shadows]

Breaking Shadows

Chapter 3

On Saturday morning, I found myself in a foul mood. Will had avoided me for the entire day. Kat said it was because he was pissed about the rumours but how could I explain myself or lie if he wouldn’t speak to me?

    It didn’t help that I wouldn’t have another chance until Monday as my Gran-imposed grounding had now begun.

    No going out.

    No phone.

    When I found Gran, she was up, dressed and in the kitchen surrounded by chaos.

    Light from the breaking morning struggled to penetrate the dirt-streaked window panes of the cottage. It did however, highlight the patch where I had written ‘clean me’ earlier in the week. The small amount of golden haze witnessed the destruction that had occurred across every worktop. Containers full of different coloured liquids looked like they were arranged for a jumble sale and glass bottles reflected their colours onto any surface they could reach like broken shards of stained glass.

    “What are you doing?”

    Gran jumped a foot in the air. “Riley! You’re up!” She shuffled across to hide whatever she had on the stove. Her round cheeks were pink and bright with her light grey hair twisted and pinned on the top of her head. “What are you doing up so early?” She waved a spatula in my direction. “You better not have plans, my girl. Because of Thursday night’s performance, you’re not going anywhere.”

    I rolled my eyes. As if I needed any more reminders about the demons only I seemed to remember or the fact I was grounded.

    “Obviously not. I don’t have a death wish. I couldn’t sleep anymore. So, what are you doing?” I raised an eyebrow, surveying the kitchen.

    “Soup.”

    “Soup?”

    “Chicken soup. Homemade, as you can see,” Gran’s eyes flitted across the assembled items.

    I hesitated a guess at what she was thinking. Not one thing in the kitchen resembled anything that would make chicken soup, even to someone as cooking illiterate as me.

    “For the Tudor girl. She’s sick.”

    “And they couldn’t just get that from the shop?”

    “Shame on you Riley Archer! We help each other in this community, you know that.”

    “Do you need a hand then? You look tired.”

    “No!” Gran snapped then closed her eyes. “No, I would like you to collect the chicken eggs and any of the fruit and vegetables that are ready.” She pointed to the wicker basket hanging from a crude nail in one beam. “There’s some peas ready but if you could check everything else that would be a great help.”

    I sighed, reaching up to retrieve the basket. “I’ll leave you to your chicken soup.”

    Heading to the front door, I pulled on my wellington boots. Gran was hiding something, and the weight of the thought settled in my stomach like an anvil. Why would she hide something from me? That question bothered me most of all.

    I stepped out of the door with caution. Since the events of the other night, I was constantly on edge, as though being on my own made be vulnerable. As though that would make the creatures come.

  The village is protected. They can’t come here.

    The words of my rescuer echoed in my mind just as his fading image had over the last two days. I should have stayed and demanded more from him, made him give me answers.

    But he had just saved my life.

    How could I have asked for more?

    Idly, I wondered what was so special about Valestone. What stopped the demons from crossing into our village?

    Blacker than Whitby Jet, a solitary feather caught my eye interrupting my thoughts. Its colour made ever more vivid by the washed-out, broken flagstone it laid upon. I thought about the bird it may have come from, raven or crow maybe. The sheer size of the feather suggested the bird must have been huge too and I’d not seen any birds of that size sailing around. Gran hated crows because she believed they signalled change and she liked things the way they were.

    Without another thought, I plucked the feather from its resting place and pushed it through one of the holes in the wicker basket. One more time, I checked the lane was clear before following the broken path that edged the cottage to the back garden. Whilst the grass had grown long, and thorny rose bushes ran wild all the way down one side of the garden, the greenhouse and produce planters were perfectly kept. Gran tended to them religiously, especially her collection of herbs that filled every window box and plant pot she could find. She had everything from the usual basil, clove and thyme to strange exotic plants I didn’t know the name of. Her collection was vast and used often.

    I checked the chicken coop first. Gran’s four plump hens, Fee, Fi, Fo and Fum were lazy layers and only produced eggs every now and again. Two eggs today, better than nothing. I placed them at the bottom of the basket. Dozens of fat, red tomatoes were ripe and ready for plucking, I piled them into the basket thinking if everything else failed, we could live on homemade tomato soup.

    Brought on a gentle breeze, the scent of rain on a hot summer night hit me. Shivers barrelled down my spine and I whipped my head to look behind me, fully expecting to see someone standing there. But there was no-one. Just the bloom of an English cottage garden in July.

    After checking the other vegetables and picking the ones that were ready, the basket was soon bursting with a variety of home grown foods. Gran would be pleased.

    When I returned to the kitchen, there wasn’t a single item out of place. “Have you had a team of cleaners in here while I was outside?” I couldn’t see any of the various containers that had swamped the worktops and where the sun’s rays had reflected off the curved glass bottles, they now highlighted the gleaming granite surface of Gran’s kitchen.

    Gran gave a teetering laugh. “It wasn’t that bad, just a few bottles and utensils. This and that,” she avoided my eye and placed a container in a paper bag. “Soup’s ready.”

    Strange really that Gran’s chicken soup was an off-pink colour. “Are you taking that now?”

    “We’re taking it now.”

    “What? I don’t want to go to the Tudor’s. Why do I have to go?”

    Gran sighed. “Because I don’t want you out of my sight.”

    I placed the full basket on the dining table. “Ah but I’m grounded so I’m not allowed to leave the house and just a little advice, you should be consistent in your approach to punishment.”

    “Don’t get smart. You’re coming with me. End of conversation.”

    My shoulders slumped. “It looks like you’re going to make this grounding as fun as possible,” I moaned.

    Gran grinned. “Yes I am.”

  ***

Daisy Tudor could not have been more than five-years-old and yet she was paler than the petals of the flower that bore her name, a mass of dampened wild curls spreading out from her head across the pillow. Gran and Marion Tudor, Daisy’s mother, spoke in hushed tones. I hovered in the doorway to the girl’s room. A tree that could have been out of any fantasy story had been hand painted on one wall with branches that stretched onto the adjoining wall and across the ceiling. Vinyl fairies danced around the whole room in pastel pinks, blues and yellows. I’d have done anything for a room like this when I was younger, I’d probably still have it now.  

    “Has she spoken at all?” Gran sunk down and sat at the edge of Daisy’s bed. Placing the soup down on the side, the older woman took the young child’s hand in hers. Gran placed the tips of her forefingers on the inside of Daisy’s wrist and held them there for a few seconds then moved her hand to her forehead.

    “Not a word,” Marion’s voice wobbled. “She hasn’t opened her eyes for days. Not since-” she glanced to me with alarmed almond-shaped eyes. Mrs Tudor looked like a creature from the fairy realm herself, with her long, lithe limbs and short, wispy locks. Her ears even had a smooth arched point at the top.

    Gran licked her dry lips. “Why don’t you wait downstairs, Riley? I won’t be long here.”

    “But-”

    “Downstairs, please.” Gran gave me one of her ‘don’t-you-dare-think-about-arguing-with-me’ looks and like always, they did the trick.

    I pulled a face but did as she asked. As I always did.

    The Tudor’s home closely resembled our cottage. Small, compact. No more than what they needed but no less either. I flopped myself down on the pastel coloured flowery sofa. Floor to ceiling bookshelves covered the living room walls. Books had been jammed any which way they would fit. Upside down, not in size order.

    I looked away, crossing my arms, trying to focus on anything else but the disorganised chaos of the bookcase kept calling to me. Mrs Tudor wouldn’t mind if I sorted out a shelf or two. I busied myself pulling out the books which had been horizontally piled on top of the others. No sense, no order. How could anyone treat books like this?

    A shadow crossed the window drawing my attention, followed by a flapping sound like the wings of a huge bird in flight. It didn’t cross my mind until I’d flung open the front door and launched myself out of it that the demons could have returned. I stood in the middle of the path searching for someone, something, anything.

    Three feathers floated down from the sky. They matched the one I’d found before my own front door that morning. Dark with a glossy shine. With a few quick glances up and down, I gathered them up, turning them over in my hand so I could examine them.

    “Riley?” Gran’s full frame blocked the Tudor’s doorway. “I’m all done here, we can go now.”

    My fingers curled around the feathers. “How is Daisy?”

    Gran closed the door behind her. “She’ll be fine now. Come on, we’ll have a nice walk home. What do you have there?” Her eyes narrowed at the feathers in my hand.

    “Feathers I found on the path.”

    Gran paled. “Dark feathers.”

    “Yes.”

  “Just make sure you wash your hands. You’ve no idea where they’ve come from.”

    The sun beat down on us mercilessly, only made bearable by a sprightly breeze that had picked up.

    “Why were you outside? I told you to wait downstairs.”

    “You did, but I thought I saw something, I wasn’t sure what and I went to check it out.”

    “How many times do I have to warn you to be careful? You are reckless recently, running off at any whim.”

    “Reckless? Gran, I went to one festival. That’s it. Daisy looked like…”

    “What?” Each sentence seemed to end with Gran wheezing. Her colour hadn’t improved either.

    “She looked like - y’know, that she hasn’t got long left.”

    “Little Daisy will be fine within a week or two. There’s no need to worry.” Her lips tightened to let me know there would be no more talking about Daisy Tudor.

    “Say what you want but even I know that chicken soup can’t fix what is wrong with that girl.”

    Gran smirked. “You’ll be amazed at the stuff chicken soup can cure. I’m astonished it’s not on the NHS list of recommended treatments.” Her voice trailed off and her cheeks puffed out as an onslaught of violent coughs racked her body. Doubling over, Gran struggled to catch her breath.

    I stilled. “Gran?” I took tentative steps forward putting my hand out to steady her.

    Her own arm shot out freezing me in my tracks. “I’m fine,” she panted. “Just a little unfit. Would you mind if we sat down for a while?”

    “Of course not, here let me help,” I offered her my arm while alarm bells rang in my head. The village was tiny. Gran had never had a problem walking anywhere in Valestone. It just wasn’t big enough to cause breathlessness.

    I slowed my pace, stepping back in line with Gran and helped her over to the bench dedicated to Mr and Mrs Moss.

    “Take as long as you need.”

    Across the way, I spied Fawn Underhill hurrying down the lane. The strap of her shoulder bag much too long it hung past her knees. She had her arms wrapped around herself.

    “Are you going to be OK if I speak to Fawn?”

    “It’s not like I’m going anywhere for a while.”

    I raced after Fawn calling her name. As I neared, she turned to me, eyes narrowing.

    “Hi,” I panted. God, I needed to get more exercise.

    She pursed her full lips. “Where is the organ grinder to grant you permission to speak to me?”

    “Fair enough. I deserved that. I wanted to make sure you’re OK and to let you know I really am sorry for barging into you.”

    With slender fingers, Fawn raked her brown hair behind her ear. Kat was wrong, Fawn’s hair was lovely. Thick, luscious curls fell like a waterfall down her back. Gold eyeshadow, her signature colour, adorned her eyelids contrasting beautifully with the smooth brown of her skin.

    “I’m fine. Knocking me down didn’t hurt half as much as seeing you too scared to say anything. You’re better than that, Riley. You know that, don’t you?”

    “I’m sorry,” I repeated, fully ashamed of how right Fawn was. “I won’t let her say anything to you again. Not like that. It was wrong.”

    Fawn seemed to consider me for a moment. “I was going to catch you at school on Monday, to speak to you. I would like us to be friends, Riley. We used to be close. That was before-”

    Before Kat and Will.

    “I’d like that,” I smiled, offering a hand out to her. “Friends.”

  ***

Back at the cottage, I took full advantage of Gran’s rest by sneaking my phone out of the lock box in the larder. The corners of my mouth twitched when I realised she’d hidden the box behind the Bran Flakes because Gran knew I wouldn’t touch the stuff.

  I eased open the front door and sat on the doorstep to ring Will. The coldness of the concrete penetrated the layer of my jeans. He seemed to take an age to answer.

  “Hey, babe,” he yawned. “Are you wanting to come over?”

    “I’m still grounded,” I moaned down the phone. “I just wanted to speak to you. It feels like I haven’t seen you since the festival.”

    “Sorry to hear that, babe,” he said with a distinct air of indifference.

    I cringed at the lazy endearment. Babe. It was what Simon called Kat and because she loved it, Will thought we could adopt it and use it ourselves. I didn’t have the heart to tell him I hated it. Every time he used it, I had to stop myself screaming that my name wasn’t and never will be ‘babe’.

    He yawned again, sounding more bored than tired.

    “I looked out for you at school yesterday too, but I didn’t see you. It’s almost like you were avoiding me.”

    “I was.”

    “Oh.” That punch in the gut hurt.

    “I know. Loads of rumours were flying around school about you and this guy on a motorcycle so I thought it was best to distance myself from the gossip but now that’s all cleared up, when do you think I’ll be able to see you? We have a lot of catching up to do if you get my meaning.”

    I envisaged him winking on the other side of the phone, and yes, I knew what he meant, and it made me shift uncomfortably on the doorstep. His words fuelled a strange feeling in me which I contained by biting my lip. “I don’t know. I’m trying my best to do everything Gran says hoping I might get let off early due to good behaviour.”

    “Ok babe, I’ll be waiting.”

    He rang off and my head fell into my hands. I’d fancied Will Bennett for years. He still had the same mop of blond hair but his pink, rounded cheeks had angled out and he’d lost all his baby fat leaving him slender. I couldn’t believe it when he asked me out, though I think Kat had a lot to do with it and she can be very persuasive. We’d never been like Kat and Simon, who were all over each other at every opportunity, but I thought we were OK until the festival. But now things were different.

    Everything was different.

Chapter 1          Chapter 2          Chapter 4

[auralixx]

Seasons Tag 🌼☀️🍂❄️

I was tagged by @a-kind-berry & @frost-rainbowcy to do this! Thanks for the tag ♥

Rules: Answer the 12 questions (There’s 12 months in a year.. so why not? ) and tag 5 other simblrs!

1. What is your favorite season?

I’d say it’s a tie between Winter and Spring. I love the cold, but I also love sunny weather and seeing the trees and flowers bloom~

2. Do you prefer warmer or colder weather?

Definitely colder weather (though that wasn’t always the case). 

3. What do you do on a rainy day?

Usually I stay home and play games, listen to music, or take a nap.

4. How is a typical winter where you live? Cold or not?

Honestly, it’s all over the place and kinda changes every year. I’ve lived in NYC for the last decade and usually it doesn’t get super cold until mid-December/ early-January. This year, for example, we didn’t have much snow fall in January--that is until we got to March where we had a big snow storm. We also got snow in April, which is unusual but it happened. I’ve also experienced really warm days in December. So yeah... all over the place.

5. Have you ever experienced snow?

Haha oops, I kinda answered it above already, but tl;dr: yup!

6. True or false? “I LOVE RAIN!”

True!!! Especially if it comes with a thunderstorm :)

7. What is your go to food in the summer?

That’s a good question...I guess maybe ice-cream? But to be completely honest, I eat ice cream all year round (even in the dead of winter hahah)

8. What is your favorite ice cream flavour?

It changes all the time, but I guess my all time favorite would be Ben & Jerry’s Cherry Garcia! I love that it has pieces of cherry and chocolate chunks. 

9. Coffee, tea or cocoa? EVERYTHING?

Coffee and tea all the way! 

I like to drink my tea hot with no sugar, and for coffee my go to is iced with unsweetened almond milk, but if it’s hot then I’ll have it black with no sugar.

10. Describe your favorite seasonal clothing item!

That definitely would be my beanies! I start wearing them as soon as the weather gets cold in the city.

11. What is your favorite Holiday?

Umm, maybeee Thanksgiving? I know it’s a problematic holiday (at least in the US) and I don’t particularly enjoy having to get involved in religious prayer (i’m the closeted atheist in the fam), but it’s usually the only time when I get to see family I hadn’t seen in a while, so that makes up for it. Also, my grandma makes a killer ripe plantain casserole/ pastelon de platano maduro (link to recipe if interested!)

12. If you we’re a season, which one would you be?

Yikes...this is a hard one. 

I got Spring based on the Sims 4 Seasons quiz, but personally I’d say Summer (I know ironic, right?). I can have a bit of a temper sometimes and also I really really love thunderstorms and lightning and you mostly get to see them during summer time, haha ⛈️⛈️⛈️

I’m tagging: @geezsims, @lilleputtu​, @monets-pixels​, @prism-pop, & @tainoodles (if you want to!)

[livingcorner]

August in your Garden – Bulleen Art Garden

Well, the last weeks of winter are finally here, with the scent of Wattle signalling the promise of spring just around the corner. The first Magnolias are in flower and the gold and purple of Acacias and Hardenbergias create a dramatic floral display. The cold, frosty mornings are a prelude to the burst of new growth that heralds the coming new season of life. We have already had our fair share of frosty mornings and more are likely, so continue on with those frost damage prevention measures for a few more weeks yet.

You're reading: August in your Garden – Bulleen Art Garden

It is still an excellent time to plant bare root deciduous trees. We have weeping specimen trees as well as shade trees and other ornamentals, as well as fruit trees, berries and vines. We also have a rose for all situations: standard roses as well as climbers, bush roses and ground-cover forms. If you need some help selecting a tree or rose, come in and ask for some advice.

Produce Gardening in August

Click here for a full list of herbs, fruit and vegies that can be planted in Melbourne this month.

August is an excellent month to plant your seed potatoes, asparagus, strawberries and rhubarb. Use only seed potatoes to avoid introducing diseases into the soil. Asparagus will last for years and years so choose an area where it won’t need to be disturbed. Rhubarb is another perennial which will do well left undisturbed so prepare the soil well before planting with loads of manure and compost.

In the vegetable garden it’s time to plant seed or seedlings of asian greens, beetroot, broccoli, cabbage, carrots, cauliflower, celery, kale, leek, lettuce, onions, parsley, parsnip, peas, radish, rocket, silverbeet and spinach. Peas eaten fresh from the pod are delicious and children love them. It’s the start of the season to plant globe artichokes, strawberries, turnips, chicory, sunflowers and your last chance to plant jerusalem artichokes and spinach by seed.

Companion Planting

Let nature control pest out breaks in your kitchen garden by planting some beneficial insect attracting flowers in the garden. Go for mixes of alyssum, foxglove, echinacea, bergamont, poppies and calendula. Also, plant some coriander and dill to allow to go to seed. Companion plants camouflage your edible plants from insects, enhance growth in some cases, and as a bonus some are edible, such as borage, pansies, viola, calendula and nasturtium. Click here for our companion planting factsheet.

Put down some rich compost or well aged manure around the drip lines of your fruit trees.

Prepare other beds for your summer vegetables by incorporating organic matter such as well-rotted compost , blood and bone and animal manures. Green manure crops should be dug in now before their stems become too woody.

Read more: Potash And Plants – Learn About Potash In Soil And Potash Fertilizer

For those of you with glasshouses / hothouses or similar you can try your luck at getting an early start with sowing seeds of tomatoes, chillies and eggplants. The seeds can also be germinated on a sunny windowsill indoors. You can also plant seedlings of basil and early, more cold tolerant tomatoes in your greenhouse. Early tomato seedling varieties include Apollo, Rouge de Marmande, KY1 and Roma.

Spring Into Seeds, Bulbs & Seedlings

We now have our spring-summer seed range in stock, with tomatoes, cucumbers, zucchinis and lots of other delectable summer delicacies! We also now stock a large range of organic, non-hybridised herb and vegetable seeds. The seed of these can be collected to produce another generation of true-to-type produce. In the shop also we now have summer flowering bulbs, such as Oriental Lilies and Peony Roses. Ideally try to get these in by the end of August for a good summer display.

Now is the time to plant both summer and autumn flowering bulbs and tubers, such as Cannas, Dahlias, Liliums, Lily of the Valley, Hippeastrum, Tuberose, Nerines, Gladioli and Alstromeria. Prepare the soil by mixing in plenty of manure and don’t forget to put the stakes in now for the tall Dahlias and other tall flowering plants.

It’s also time to plant summer flowering seedlings such as Snapdragons, Hollyhocks, Verbena and Lupins. Marigolds and Petunias can be planted now, but you will need to provide protection from late season frosts.

Pruning & Re-potting

If you didn’t prune your Apricots in autumn (preferred time of year) you can prune them once they start flowering, which normally occurs towards the end of August (pruning in winter allows entry of bacterial gumosis).

Winter flowering native shrubs that have finished flowering should be tip pruned to keep them compact and to encourage bushy growth. Native shrubs may be fertilised with blood and bone at half the recommended rate, or use a native fertiliser mix.

Many jonquils and daffodils will have finished their flowering. Cut off the spent flower heads but leave the foliage to die back naturally. They need to do this in order to store nutrients in the bulb.

Continue to liquid feed winter / spring flowering annuals every two weeks with a complete liquid fertiliser. Late this month is the time to prune Hibiscus and Gardenias and then fertilise them and other flowering evergreen shrubs with an all purpose organic fertiliser and mulch well.

Repot overcrowded cacti and succulents. Use a cacti and succulent mix and pot them up into a larger pot. Any broken bits can be planted up and you may even get new plants out of them.

Repot your ferns and other indoor plants and remove any dead or damaged growth.

Remove spent blooms on your Azaleas and Camellias. New growth buds occur at the back of each flower. When they have completely finished flowering give them a dose of Azalea and Camellia fertiliser.

If you have not already pruned your roses, now is the time to do so. Remember to clean and sharpen secateurs and prune with the aims of cutting out dead wood, improving air circulation, creating strong structure, and especially promoting flowering. Fertilise with an organic Rose Food later this month to promote new spring growth. Spraying Lime Sulphur or Copper Sulphate on the bare stems at this time can help prevent fungal disease. Also remember to spray Peaches and Nectarines for Leaf Curl disease (more info below) just as the buds begin to swell.

Pests, Diseases & other annoyances

Fruit Tree Issues

Read more: Potash And Plants – Learn About Potash In Soil And Potash Fertilizer

To help control overwintering pests and diseases, it’s your last chance to clear up any fallen debris from underneath the trees and in the branch junctions of the trees. Make sure any healthy prunings go to the green waste recycling or are chopped up in a hot compost. Also scout for and remove any overwintering pests at the base of trees, in the cracks of bark, in rough bark and within the branch junctions.

Grapes can be sprayed with lime sulphur just before bud burst to help control fungal problems and the ‘Grape Blister Mite’

For your deciduous trees, if you’ve had problems occurring, like scale, bacterial and fungal diseases, you may want to do a winter spray with Bordeaux, copper or lime sulphur.

Peach Leaf Curl

Growers of fruit trees, such as peaches, nectarines, almonds and occasionally apricots, have all been confronted at one time or another with the new leaves on their trees becoming thickened with blisters and curling up. The blisters start off red in colour, then turn white with a bloom of fungal spores.

Peach Leaf Curl is a fungal disease that infects Peaches, Nectarines, Almonds and other Prunus species. The symptoms are noticed in spring and summer, when the leaves appear with raised lumpy light green and red patches and are curled up. This problem weakens the tree if it occurs year after year, and will result in a reduced fruit yield. Once you see the symptoms, it is too late to spray. The trees should be sprayed from mid-to-late winter from bud swell until the leaves emerge. Spray with Copper oxychloride during this period, and again after rain, as the rain will wash off the spray. This is a preventative spray, so the swelling buds need to be covered with the copper spray. The nursery puts up signs when we spray our Peaches, Nectarines and Almonds to remind you when to spray your own trees at home.

If you would prefer not to use the fungicides year after year, be very vigilant and pick off affected leaves as soon as they appear. (Dispose of them with your garbage and not in your compost). However, this will weaken the tree so encourage new growth by feeding with some fast-acting organic fertiliser, such as Blood & Bone. If your tree was very badly affected one season, you may need to consider using a fungicide the next.

Click here for more information on Peach Leaf Curl.

Citrus

It is a good time to plant citrus. There are many dwarf varieties now available as well as a range of regular varieties. Remember to protect citrus from Citrus Gall Wasp by cutting out any affected wood and hanging sticky traps in the trees.

Kids in the Garden

Set up a sunny windowsill inside as a mini-greenhouse. Small containers, such as empty yoghurt tubs or strawberry punnets (with holes punched through) can be used with seed-raising mix to start growing tomatoes, pumpkins, cucumbers and other tender summer vegies. Make sure the soil is kept moist and your seedlings will be well and truly ready for planting outside when the soil warms up.

Images Cauliflower image © Oasis Horticulture… used with permission. Succulents image © Bulleen Art & Garden

Source: https://livingcorner.com.au Category: Garden

source https://livingcorner.com.au/august-in-your-garden-bulleen-art-garden/

[davekendrick]

3 Spring Shrubs Serving Up Yellow, Red and Almond Joy

As spring roars in behind its exuberant parade of dogwood, redbud, magnolia and cherry trees I sit ready to praise a trio of shrubs that bring me almost as much joy without all the press: the vivid quince, the golden kerria and the oh-so-lovely pink almond, the latter often derided in highbrow horticultural circles.

The knock on all of them – somewhat justified – is they may be interesting about 10 days a year but what about the other 355 days? Well, I know a lot of people I would put in the same category.

I have no idea where I got my first quince – or why? They were purchased in that phase of gardening life during which I wanted one of everything. They all come under

Chaenomeles speciosa

, which is Latin for “

comes in an absurd variety of colors to about ten feet tall.”

All of mine ended up along our long driveway, the ubiquitous “Welcome Home” plant that defines my gardening aesthetic. The first one up is a vivid orange; the cultivar name tag lost to history. Truth be told, I’ve lost most of my plant name tags. I almost don’t care anymore. I’m sure it’s a quince. The rest is all the quince’s secret.

The one quince I know I have for sure is ‘Dragon’s Blood.’ It’s not just red, it’s screaming in-your-face-red. Horror movie double-bloom red. In full cry, as it is right now, it is the most stunning flower on our eight acres.

Yet it doesn’t dominate the landscape. It’s a bit hidden away under a clump of huge pink and white dogwood trees, themselves somewhat worthless because after years of pruning to allow needed access underneath, their blooms are about 15 to 20 feet above the driveway.

Quince do well in full to part sun, can take some drought, and seem very willing to just disappear into the landscape once their 10 days are up. I wish I could say the same about those people I was talking about earlier.

My kerria shrubs, or

Kerria japonica

and Japanese Rose for its Asian heritage, grow on the far side of our yard in front of our huge arborvitae hedge. Kerria, especially the double-flowering ‘Pleniflora’ and large-flowered ‘Golden Guinea,’ always belong on the far side of the yard.

Then you can walk outside in early to mid-April, look way across the yard and see that those bright yellow blooms you always forget will appear in early to mid-April. It’s the perfect far-away plant.

What is that,

” the mind asks?

Oh, yeah. It’s the kerria.

Actually, kerria also come with whitish flowers and variegated leaves – but what’s the point in being a basically yellow-flowering shrub if you can’t use your given 10 days to show off?

Here’s perhaps the very best thing about the kerria: It will bloom in the shade where the flowers will stick around a little longer, maybe even 11 days and 42 minutes. How many shrubs do you have that will bloom in a fair amount of shade? Then, as with the quince, it can sort of disappear under there until next spring.

It will get a little leggy in the sun so just whack it way back after those yellow flowers are all gone. I whacked ours back last year and will not mess with it this year. I need to be surprised again next spring.

Which brings me to our dwarf flowering almond , which I believe is a

Prunus grandulosa

. If not

,

it should be. The sad truth is if this almond were a puppy it would be the last one to go from the kennel, at least when not in flower.

For 355 days a year you could not give away this plant. It is ugly, scraggly, totally ignored and forgotten, even criticized as a Dollar Store shrub, which may be doing a disservice to Dollar Stores.

Yet please pause a moment from this text and look at the photo of this discount store shrub. Have you ever seen anything more lovely, more exquisite, more charming? Cinderella should have had it so good.

So there she is, a Cinderella planted along my gravel driveway, albeit way too close to an orange quince. But I know what’s coming. I begin looking for signs of those pink blooms in late March or early April.

Yes, there is a hint of pink bloom. Then there are a half-dozen; then a dozen. Then a Fairy Godmother shows up and Cinderella is all dressed in pink. It’s her 10 days at the ball.

Prince Charming hasn’t shown up with a glass slipper yet but – as with everything in horticulture – you gotta believe.

This is is a syndicated post. Read the original at www.gardenrant.com

viahttps://creativegardens123.com/3-spring-shrubs-serving-up-yellow-red-and-almond-joy/

[vacationsoup]

New Post has been published on https://vacationsoup.com/epcot-international-flower-garden-festival/

The International Flower & Garden Festival at EPCOT

The International Flower & Garden Festival is a treat for your eyes. This event is held every year in the early spring. We love to tour the festival to look at the amazing flower colors and imaginative topiary displays. But there is so much more! Things from rock concerts to a butterfly exhibit and everything between.

The International Flower & Garden Festival will run from March 6th until June 3rd, 2019.

Garden Exhibits

EPCOT transforms into a large garden for the festival. There are about 70,000 bedding plants arranged like giant paintings. In the photo above, taken at the 2018 festival you can see a flower, butterfly and the sun. Crews go in every night to replace dead or faded flowers so that it always looks fresh and beautiful every day.

Topiary Displays

Located throughout the park are exquisite topiary displays in Disney characters. See Mickey, Minnie, Pluto, and Goofy at the entrance in a small garden in front of the Spaceship Earth ride. There were lines of people waiting for an empty spot in front of them for the family to get a few selfie pics. New this year is Bo Peep and Her Sheep, and a Playful Garden. Another one that the children loved was an entire car from the show Cars.

Themed Gardens

A variety of gardens are displayed throughout the park that will excite your senses. Stroll among bonsai trees, container gardens, tea gardens, and even a Shakespeare Garden. Learn about pollination, bees, tropical rain forests, and spices.

The Goodness Garden Butterfly House Presented by GoGo squeeZ

Also, in the photo above is the butterfly exhibit that was set up last year. If you get a chance to visit the butterfly exhibit it is well worth it and you might even get one to land on you. Inside you will see hundreds of butterflies from many different parts of the world. There is a chrysalis hatching area where you can watch the caterpillars emerge as the beautiful winged butterflies.

Along with all these plants are many other events, kiosks, and entertainment.

The Garden Rock Concert Series

One of the events that we like is The Garden Rock Concert Series. For 2019 the concerts are expanding to seven days a week, making for 270 concerts altogether. Times are nightly at 5:30 PM, 6:45 PM and 8 PM. This year the line up of acts are:

March 9 through 10 Glass Tiger – NEW

March 11 through 12 Jon Anderson of Yes – NEW!

March 13 through 14 Tony Orlando

March 17 through 20 Simple Plan

March 21 through 22 Ambrosia – NEW!

March 23 through 24 Magic Giant – NEW!

March 25 through 27 Air Supply – NEW

March 28 through 29 Berlin, featuring Terri Nunn

March 30 through 31 The Smithereens – NEW

April 1 through 2- Rick Springfield

April 3 through 4 Christopher Cross – NEW

April 5 through 7 The Spinners

April 8 through 9 Dennis DeYoung, original member of the group Styx

April 10 through 11 John Michael Montgomery – NEW!

April 12 through 13 Sister Sledge – NEW

April 14 through 16 Night Ranger

April 17 through 19 Sister Hazel – NEW

April 20 through 21 Steven Curtis Chapman – NEW!

April 22 through 23 TobyMac – NEW!

April 24 through 26 Lonestar

April 27 through 30 The Orchestra, starring former members of ELO

May 1 through 4 Herman’s Hermits, starring Peter Noone

MAy 5 through 7 Don Felder, formerly of The Eagles

May 8 through 9 A Flock of Seagulls – NEW!

May 10 through 11 Marshall Tucker Band – NEW

May 14 through 15 Richard Marx – NEW

May 16 through 19 Starship, starring Mickey Thomas

May 20 through 21 Colin Hay of Men at Work – NEW!

May 22 through 23 War – NEW!

May 24 through 27 The Guess Who

May 28 through 29 Jon Secada

May 30 through June 1 Blood, Sweat and Tears

Many of the songs they play are recognized by most all age groups. It is not uncommon to have everyone singing along. Be sure to look into the Garden Rock Dining Package. Dine at one of the close restaurants that then guarantee you a seat in the pavilion during the concerts.

Festival Exclusive "Outdoor Kitchens"

The world showcase also comes alive with over a dozen Outdoor Kitchens that serve a variety of cuisine and drinks. Be sure to find your favorite. Each kiosk has a variety of many options. Here is a sampling:

Arbor at The Gardeners Terrace – NEW! Smoked Salmon Stack with Avocados, Tomatoes, Sour Cream, Caviar and Focaccia

Flavor Full Kitchen Hosted by AdventHealth – NEW! Roasted Beets, Cashew Cheese and Micro Herbs with Lemon-oil Dressing

Bauernmarkt: Farmer’s Market-Potato Pancakes with House-made Apple Sauce

The Citrus Blossom – NEW! Crispy Citrus Chicken with Orange Aïoli and Baby Greens

Fleur de Lys-Macaron au Chocolat en Sucette: Large Chocolate Macaron Lollipop

Florida Fresh-Key Lime Tart with Toasted Meringue

Hanami-Frushi: Fresh Pineapple, Strawberry and Melon rolled with Coconut Rice garnished with Whipped Cream, Berry Sauce Drizzle, and Toasted Coconut

Jardin de Fiestas-Tres Leches: Milk-soaked Sponge Cake topped with Cajeta Whipped Cream and Almond Powder

La Isla Fresca-Tropical Freeze with Cruzan Mango Rum

Lotus House-House-made Crab and Cheese WontonsVegetable Spring Rolls

Northern Bloom-Beef Tenderloin Tips, Mushroom Bordelaise Sauce, Whipped Potatoes with Garden Vegetables

Pineapple Promenade- Pineapple Soft-serve

Taste of Marrakesh-Harissa Chicken Kebab with Dried Fruit Couscous Salad

THE SMOKEHOUSE: Barbecue and Brews-Pulled Pig Slider with Coleslaw

The Honey Bee-stro Hosted by National Honey Board™-Honey-peach Cobbler Freeze

Trowel & Trellis Hosted by IMPOSSIBLE™ Foods – NEW!-Grilled Street Corn on the Cob with Savory Garlic Spread

Spike’s Pollen-Nation Exploration

Another event running again this year is Spike’s Pollen-Nation Exploration. This is a scavenger hunt and will during The International Flower and Garden Festival. Spike is a cute looking honey bee and there are a dozen of them scattered among the gardens. You have to look for Spike in the gardens. To begin you have to buy a map of the sites where you can find him. Once you have filled in the map with the stickers for each Spike, you have to turn in the map and get a prize.

Egg-stravaganza Scavenger Hunt

A second scavenger hunt will run from March 16th until April 1st. In the Egg-stravaganza scavenger hunt, search for eggs with Disney characters on them.

Maps for both of these hunts can be purchased at several sites, including:

Pin Central

Port of Entry Traders

World Traveler

Souvenirs

Of course, it will be hard to not spend more on the many theme related items like T-shirts, mugs and trading pins.

No matter why you are going to The International Flower & Garden Festival it will be a great time. There is something for every member of the family.

[sashayed]

Good afternoon, elegant natural beauties. Do u guys want to read a short, incoherent stream-of-consciousness review of Every Single Perfume I’ve Sampled since May 2016? of course you do! I put a star next to the ones that are good on me.  i originally wrote “next to the ones i recommend” but of course every perfume smells completely different on every person so Who Knows. i don’t wanna get blog sued for recommending you a fragrance that smells like a butt on you.

★ annick goutal ce soir ou jamais - rose! big, overblown, spicy rose. musky. amber. really good! a little too floral for me personally but it’s very like a flapper wearing a rose in her hair & i would recommend for somebody else

annick goutal grand amour - unremarkable, thin floral. also gone almost immediately?? what even was this. annick. get it together.

★ annick goutal nuit etoilee - ohhhh, yes. soothing, but not boring. something like -- blue-gray forests and -- mint tea? it's cool and delicate and sort of cozy. mint leaves and resin. herbal, graceful, understated: warm tea and a pine fire on a cold night. it’s too elegant to be homey. it’s like if your ex-wife of 20 years invited you over to dinner and everything in the house was lovely and the dogs were asleep and even the trees outside tapped their branches on the glass just as you remembered it, but over dinner you realized from the coolness of her glance and the graciousness of her manner toward you, you knew absolutely that she had moved on, and however kindly she treated you you would only ever be a guest in this house -- your ex-wife might wear this.

★ l'artisan mon numero 6 - sort of woodsy and masculine in a good way! sandalwood, hibiscus. a gamine in a bower.

annick goutal petite cherie edt - can something be both powdery and juicy? pear and soap? it's nice -- very girly and sort of demurely playful -- but even with a surprising musky note down in there, it doesn't make much of a statement. 

★ atelier cedrat envirat - a greener, woodsier Orange Sanguine. in spite of the name, the cedar is much more of a basenote, a strong vibration; more noteable are the citrus tones, especially as it dries. more lemon-lime than orange. delicious and fresh and invigorating. i can wear OS at any season, but this feels very summer-specific.

balenciaga b. - fresh at first but then….weird old bread?? what? what is happening. it’s still not bad but there’s something so floury/powdery about it. in spite of that bakery/kitchen association it’s not spicy – it’s green & dry. Fine, but not a keeper.

cb i hate perfume burning leaves edt - not so impressive on me anymore. it used to feel cozy and i'd get a hint of rich woods but now that sweetness is more like....bbq sauce. like, i just smell like i wandered into your house with grill smoke in my unwashed hair. this is fine and great when it happens organically, but a lil too meaty for my taste in perfume. not great projection either.

cb i hate perfume i am a dandelion - sharp & earthy greens – what florals there are are more crushed than blooming. i’d want to layer this with something but by itself it’s too much mica/dirt on me.

cb i hate perfume wild hunt - WET EARTH. foliage and moss. ozone. that low alcoholic thing that’s very cb-typical. round dirt. fades very fast.

clean rain - cheap but good. nothing remarkable though and it fades VERY quickly to regular bar soap. you could get the same effect for a fraction of the price with that $8 cucumber melon body splash from bath & body works.

★ comme des garcons blue santal - oh HELLO good MORNING! clean, tomboyish, scented wood and juniper. a ski lodge smell -- outdoorsy, but more moneyed than natural. the perfume equivalent of super-expensive ”reclaimed wood” scandinavian furniture.

d'orsay intoxication - bluh. the two words that come to mind are “honey” and “widowhood,” tbh, which makes this sound better than it is. it's just a sort of indeterminate, dated chypre floral, with an old-lady's-bathroom musk. which is better than old-man's-bathroom musk, obviously, but i'm not into this.

★ demeter honeysuckle edt - as pure and natural on me as annick goutal’s way more expensive chevrefeuille. projection & lasting aren’t as good but SUCH a fresh, sweet, uncloying honeysuckle.

derek lam 10 crosby drunk on youth edp - your cute friend’s hair after a shower. fancy girl shampoo. then it blossoms out and gets deeper & sweeter--pure honeysuckle, but still soapy, hence the shampoo. lovely, but too $$$ for basically a nice bathroom-steam smell.

dkny be desired edp - starts w/ sweet grapefruit & violet – then that shampoo-y smell – then the shampoo gets synthetic. it’s not BAD exactly, just mad artificial with a sharper and sharper plastic line through it. although ooo, as it dies down it gets REALLY nice. not worth that early stuff but very sweet and sporty.

dolce & gabbana intense - strong & sweet. intoxicating but also marshmallowy? tuberose. kind of like a lollipop. yes. booze lollipop. i dig it but it’s too sweet to be a standby for me. although the boozy vanilla about 15 mins in is SUPER delicious.

elizabeth & james nirvana black - i’ve heard this suggested as a dupe for Black Orchid but nirvana is WAY sweeter on me. more licorice, less tobacco and the vanilla comes across much less organically. some scents kind of fold your own smell into themselves and enhance it? that’s the goal for me & this w/ my particular chemistry is like the opposite. very “mask”-y.

★ giorgio armani si edp - YUM. lychee with some sharper fizz behind. black pepper? then incense/spiced wood? super sophisticated & sexy. reviews say “vanilla” – i’m not getting that at all.

gucci flora glorious mandarin edt - a burst of tangerine, then low slightly spicy flowers. good, but not great.

★ guerlain idylle - oo. oooooo. delicious. this is described as a “floral” but i’m getting something richer – something of that amber vanilla musk that i used to get with Black Orchid. i guess i smell the rose under that. as it dries it gets sweeter but not in a bad way – fruit-sweet, like a wet raspberry.

★ imaginary authors cobra and the canary - tobacco, smoke, leather. very distinctive and really kind of nice. i think you could pair this with something femmey for a really interesting layered smell but WHO HAS THE TIME!!

★ issey miyake a scent - spring. sharp cut green flower stems. wet but guarded. crisp. lemon tree & hyacinth in the very back. like it a lot. as it wears down it becomes deeper and more floral – a wet garden. (had this on same arm w/ d&g intense & they’re like the opposite of each other. a palate refresher!)

★ juliette has a gun mmm - sooooo good! like….creamy white flowers and orange rind and cinnamon? as usual with white flowers it’s a little sweeter than the woman i picture myself to be, but true to its name it is DELICIOUS.

laura mercier nuits enchantees - VANILLA EXTRACT! so delicious but unfortunately then this weird powdery almost nutty?? note appears. almond? or wait: marzipan. ough, that must be the patchouli. yeah, no thanks.

le labo vanille 44 - so good at first! rich warm vanilla-extract vanilla. spicy. wintry. something a little like rubber or plastic – or playdoh?? – deep under it, which is the only drawback -- except that then as it dries it fades to just that rubber plastic thing. :/ this was a disappointing relationship.

miller harris la pluie - weirdly old & incongruous on me – like one of those perfume sampler packs i played dress up with as a kid. not bad, but seems to have nothing to do with my skin.

oscar de la renta something blue - PURPLE MARKER SMELL? remember those smelly markers and the purple one was really good? this is like a fancier version of that. then it goes to more complex flowers.

★ pinrose treehouse royal - this is SO FAMILIAR, why?? what is it? vitabath??? green, delicious, ginger underneath. cassis and vetiver. very clean. i’ve never tried pinrose before and i really like it!

★ pinrose campfire rebel - oh wow. oh WOW. green smoke. everything i stopped getting from burning leaves – none of that charcoal meatiness. just clean autumn air and good whiskey. i gotta get more pinrose!

★ prada luna rossa - POWERFUL dude musk. spicy herbal, amber-y. Very very masc. Feels like Jean Dujardin inviting you behind the boat house for a cigarette.

ralph lauren polo black a wealthy, slightly effete dude sauntering out of the locker room. tropical fruit and sandalwood. very clubby, but also VERY delicious – at first. unfortunately it fades FAST to Eau de Douche. like, not the vaginal hygeine product, just a douchey guy in a club. ugh.

ralph lauren romance - very femme perfume-y – the opposite of luna rossa. Flowers first – rose & lily? Feels like the dullest body splash you could get from Victoria’s Secret. Inoffensive, boring flowers.

stella mccartney sheer - fruity! a less strong l'imperatrice. juicy. sweet and soapy.

★★★ tom ford noir pour femme - ohhhh shiiiiiit yes. ohhhhh you’ve done it again thomas. musk and vanilla. warm smoke. cardamom. this perfume is a cardamum blessing. i feel so sophisticated yet sexy yet also somehow cozy and warm?? a femme fatale in an oversized sweater. oh god, it just gets better and warmer and sexier every minute. WHEN WILL I BE RICH?? @daeontherun bought me a tube of this for XMAS because she’s a SAINT and we all put it on and spent the rest of the evening deeply inhaling our own wrists. can’t recommend highly enough.

[wendyimmiller]

Porch Postulating on 45 Years in One Garden

High on a Hill in Utica, Indiana

We welcome back one-time Garden Rant partner Bob Hill, who has stayed in one beautiful place for a long time.

A few very random thoughts while sitting in a screened-in back porch in Utica Indiana in early April of 2020 while mulling over 45 years of home gardening, the memories, connections and friendships born of all that – if not the meaning of life.

Phlox subulata beyond the garden gate.

This may be the much needed and finest spring in all those years, a rain-blessed chronological PowerPoint of purple hellebores, fragrant witchhazel, pink flowering almond, magnificent magnolias, the shy, blushing ‘Pauline Lily’ redbud, screaming yellow Kerria, butter-yellow Weigela, deep red crabapples and simple white daffodils with yellow centers. The latter well predates our four decades in this place in a 160-year-old farmhouse. I can’t look at them without thinking and wondering about those who planted them.

Kerria japonica

Carl Sandburg – a Midwestern Dude who first left school at age 13 to drive a milk wagon in Galesburg Illinois – came up with a pretty nice poem about the misty undefined side of life:

The fog comes

on little cat feet

It sits looking

over harbor and city

on silent haunches

and then moves on

I get the same feeling sitting on the back porch watching green spring slowly creeping in on trees and shrubs from ground up. You can see it, almost feel it. On the warm days you can experience the changes from morning to night. There’s no one good word for that. “Hue” doesn’t get it. “Subtle” is overused. In spring the green comes on little …what?

I gave GOOGLE a shot at it and its explanation involved “diffuse-porous wood anatomy” and the “relation of foliar phenology to xylem embolism.”

Let’s move on.

Can there ever be enough Virginia bluebells?

If had to pick one flower that brings home spring to me it is the Virginia bluebell. We have one huge patch across the drive now being assaulted by bright yellow wood poppies creating a bicameral carpet of color in our fern garden, itself crossed by an old wooden bridge.

I love everything about the bluebells, their happy morphing into pink, the joy of speaking their Latin name…Mertensia virginica.  I am so smitten by them that last year I ordered 100 more and have added clumps in every fertile, shaded nook and cranny on our place. Maybe future owners will wonder about who planted them.

Magnolia ‘Daybreak’

Our back porch offers a visual parade of magnolia trees staging a shameless beauty contest. The problem is those Butterflies, Elizabeth and Marilyn cultivars planted about 25 years ago are now so tall I can only see their flowers through the tops of other trees. This is because I pruned up those magnolias way too high to allow passage under them while planting other ornamental trees now also grown too tall.

That’s because when you first begin gardening with two acres of wide-open pasture and an insane desire to plant one of every bush, shrub and tree known to God it’s just hard to see where all that might lead. Most of those plants were six foot or less. Besides those wonderful yellow Butterfly magnolia blooms do look good pinned way up there against a blue April sky. And nobody gets a 45-year do-over.

  A single purple iris is blooming just outside our back-porch door, one of a now overgrown clump that badly needs dividing. So show me an iris patch that doesn’t need dividing. The iris was a gift from my wife’s Aunt Helen, who gave us a pickup load of flowers when we moved onto our mostly barren eight acres 45 years ago.

Aunt Helen, who grew up on a southern Indiana farm, was old school practical, caring, a fine seamstress and no-nonsense tidy. She could also grow roses in a milk bucket. She just had the knack, her yard covered with mostly common but very healthy plants she handed out to others with pride.

Everyone’s favorite Aunt Helen story was of the time she was having what were thought to be serious health problems. An ambulance was called, but Aunt Helen wouldn’t get in it until after she finished doing the breakfast dishes. Every gardener needs a patch of Aunt Helen iris of some sort.

Speaking of memories, a splash of yellow, pink and red tulips, is now opening not far from the porch and Aunt Helen’s iris. The tulips were purchased at the famed Keukenhof Tulip Gardens in the Netherlands on a visit there a few years ago. Something like seven million tulips were on display in fields, rows and vivid living art beyond words. Those seven million tulips are replanted every year. The show was shut down this year due to the coronavirus pandemic. Seven. Million. Tulips. Fields of Silence. No spectators. No awe-struck patrons. Sad.

‘Double Take Scarlet’ quince

For damn near egotistical, in-your-face red color, the Double Take Scarlet quince hanging out with the green boxwoods owns our neighborhood. As is often the case, with we who overplant, this cultivar got lost in semi-shade between some aged deciduous hollies and a clematis taking ownership of a big 1860s trellis.

The quince made some visual noise last year. This year it went absolutely hey-look-at-me bonkers; the red growing ever deeper as the sun disappears over the barn. I can sit on the porch and watch it disappear, then damn near hear it hollering for attention in the gathering darkness.

Close to it – although not exactly a soul mate – is the redbud ‘Pauline Lily.’ Truth be told, if Pauline defined all redbuds people would stick to dogwoods. First found in the mountains of West Virginia, and named for the wife of its discoverer, Colin Lily, its flowers are pale pink to white. I like the feature. That neighborhood needs to calm down a little.

Off to my right is perennial porch-watching favorite, the three-flowered maple or Acer triflorum if you must. I like it because it’s got a nice shape, exfoliating bark, great fall color and it’s never in a hurry to do any of it.

I’m getting that same feeling myself.

Former Louisville Courier-Journal columnist Bob Hill wrote more than 4,000 columns and feature stories, about ten books and several angry letters to bill collectors in his 33 years at the paper. He and his wife, Janet, are former guides and caretakers of Hidden Hill Nursery and Garden in Utica, IN., a home-made, eight-acre arboretum, art mecca and source of enormous fun, whimsy, rare plants and peace for all who showed up. Bob’s academic honors include being the tallest kid in his class 12 years in a row. 

Porch Postulating on 45 Years in One Garden originally appeared on GardenRant on April 8, 2020.

The post Porch Postulating on 45 Years in One Garden appeared first on GardenRant.

from Gardening https://www.gardenrant.com/2020/04/porch-postulating-on-45-years-in-one-garden.html via http://www.rssmix.com/

[turfandlawncare]

3 Spring Shrubs Serving Up Yellow, Red and Almond Joy

As spring roars in behind its exuberant parade of dogwood, redbud, magnolia and cherry trees I sit ready to praise a trio of shrubs that bring me almost as much joy without all the press: the vivid quince, the golden kerria and the oh-so-lovely pink almond, the latter often derided in highbrow horticultural circles.

The knock on all of them – somewhat justified – is they may be interesting about 10 days a year but what about the other 355 days? Well, I know a lot of people I would put in the same category.

‘Dragon’s Blood’ quince

I have no idea where I got my first quince – or why? They were purchased in that phase of gardening life during which I wanted one of everything. They all come under Chaenomeles speciosa, which is Latin for “comes in an absurd variety of colors to about ten feet tall.”

All of mine ended up along our long driveway, the ubiquitous “Welcome Home” plant that defines my gardening aesthetic. The first one up is a vivid orange; the cultivar name tag lost to history. Truth be told, I’ve lost most of my plant name tags. I almost don’t care anymore. I’m sure it’s a quince. The rest is all the quince’s secret.

The one quince I know I have for sure is ‘Dragon’s Blood.’ It’s not just red, it’s screaming in-your-face-red. Horror movie double-bloom red. In full cry, as it is right now, it is the most stunning flower on our eight acres.

Yet it doesn’t dominate the landscape. It’s a bit hidden away under a clump of huge pink and white dogwood trees, themselves somewhat worthless because after years of pruning to allow needed access underneath, their blooms are about 15 to 20 feet above the driveway.

Quince do well in full to part sun, can take some drought, and seem very willing to just disappear into the landscape once their 10 days are up. I wish I could say the same about those people I was talking about earlier.

My kerria shrubs, or Kerria japonica and Japanese Rose for its Asian heritage, grow on the far side of our yard in front of our huge arborvitae hedge. Kerria, especially the double-flowering ‘Pleniflora’ and large-flowered ‘Golden Guinea,’ always belong on the far side of the yard.

Then you can walk outside in early to mid-April, look way across the yard and see that those bright yellow blooms you always forget will appear in early to mid-April. It’s the perfect far-away plant.

What is that,” the mind asks?

Oh, yeah. It’s the kerria.

Actually, kerria also come with whitish flowers and variegated leaves – but what’s the point in being a basically yellow-flowering shrub if you can’t use your given 10 days to show off?

Here’s perhaps the very best thing about the kerria: It will bloom in the shade where the flowers will stick around a little longer, maybe even 11 days and 42 minutes. How many shrubs do you have that will bloom in a fair amount of shade? Then, as with the quince, it can sort of disappear under there until next spring.

It will get a little leggy in the sun so just whack it way back after those yellow flowers are all gone. I whacked ours back last year and will not mess with it this year. I need to be surprised again next spring.

Which brings me to our dwarf flowering almond, which I believe is a Prunus grandulosa. If not, it should be. The sad truth is if this almond were a puppy it would be the last one to go from the kennel, at least when not in flower.

For 355 days a year you could not give away this plant. It is ugly, scraggly, totally ignored and forgotten, even criticized as a Dollar Store shrub, which may be doing a disservice to Dollar Stores.

Yet please pause a moment from this text and look at the photo of this discount store shrub. Have you ever seen anything more lovely, more exquisite, more charming? Cinderella should have had it so good.

So there she is, a Cinderella planted along my gravel driveway, albeit way too close to an orange quince. But I know what’s coming. I begin looking for signs of those pink blooms in late March or early April.

Yes, there is a hint of pink bloom. Then there are a half-dozen; then a dozen. Then a Fairy Godmother shows up and Cinderella is all dressed in pink. It’s her 10 days at the ball.

Prince Charming hasn’t shown up with a glass slipper yet but – as with everything in horticulture – you gotta believe.

3 Spring Shrubs Serving Up Yellow, Red and Almond Joy originally appeared on GardenRant on April 22, 2019.

from GardenRant http://bit.ly/2vf26Ca

[foresthillsirisgardens-blog]

     Bluebird Haven Iris Garden is a Victorian show garden in the foothills of the Sierra Nevada Mountains of California. An acre of landscaped iris, daffodils, wildflowers, and a variety of shrubs and trees are surrounded by acres of row-cultivated iris. During the bloom season over 100,000 iris will be displaying their vibrant colors. Our garden features a Victorian gazebo, park benches, paths for viewing and selecting your favorite irises, and picnic tables for a leisurely lunch. We have a wide selection of outstanding iris varieties for you to choose from, featuring both antique and moderns.

Bluebird Haven Iris Garden may be reached at

(530) 620-5017

or e-mail mhess1863@innercite.com. Mary Hess said she would welcome anyone, service clubs or individuals, wishing to volunteer to help in her garden.

Printable Order Form-Page 1 (HTML Version)

Printable Order Form-Page 2 (HTML Version)

Catalog Key

Class      TB    Tall Bearded (greater than 28" tall)        MTB    Miniature Tall Bearded (small bloom, TB height)        BB    Border Bearded (15"-28" tall)        IB    Intermediate Bearded (15"-28" tall)        SDB    Standard Dwarf Bearded (less than 15" tall)        MDB    Miniature Dwarf Bearded (less than 8" tall)        AB    Arilbred, Oncobred, etc.   Bloom Time      E    Early        M    Medium        L    Late        Re    Rebloomer (blooms spring and fall or winter)   Color Type      Self    Iris of a single color        Bitone    Standards and Falls different shades of the same color        Bicolor    Standards and Falls of different colors        Blend    Two or more colors blended together        Plicata    Stitched, spotted or stippled color on different colored background        Halo    Falls have a distinct solid rim of  a color different from center   Description      S    Standards; the upper blossom petals        F    Falls; the lower blossom petals        B    Beard; the clustered hairs on the falls  

Mail Order Information

SOMETHING NEW! I now have over 4000 different cultivars in the garden. I did two huge rare iris garden rescues in the last two years. I have been asked to list my entire inventory, whether they are ready to sell or not for tracking purposes.  I have about 500 new to me entries going in and I am dropping those I've lost. In doing so, those that I have 5 or fewer of will be listed but no price (NFS- not for sale). Those will not be for sale in 2018. This year's catalog will be very fluid. Garden rescues are always challenging. Names will come and go as the bloom season progresses and I establish what I really have. I am also adding "RARE" to those found in two or fewer commercial gardens in the U.S. They need saving from extinction.With that, we are happy to announce our 2018 catalog!  This listing replaces all previous catalogs and price lists.  We offer a carefully selected variety of irises for your garden, including a rainbow of different colors, a variety of styles, different heights and bloom times.  Please use the order form above for your order and send in as soon as possible to ensure availability of all your selections.  Depending on the size of your order, you will receive one or more BONUS selections of our choice (but we love hints) with your order.  Minimum order is $10.00.

Terms

All prices are net. CA residents please add 7.25% sales tax.   Shipping fees are as follows:  There is a minimum $8 shipping and handling fee. Mississippi area please add $2, East Coast add $4.  Please include $8 for 1-9 iris, $9 for 10-14 iris, $10 for 15-19 iris, $12 for 20-24 iris.  Add $.50 for each iris after that.   Payment in full must accompany each order.  Your canceled check is notification of receipt and acceptance of your order.  Make checks payable to BLUEBIRD HAVEN IRIS GARDEN.  Sorry we do not take credit or debit cards or PayPal.

Shipping

We can ship anywhere in the U.S.  Since shipping is by USPS, please show a complete delivery address.  The main shipping season is July and August.  We do not ship outside the US.  Order Cutoff Date:  No orders will be accepted after August 15.

Substitutions

Supplies of plants are limited to available stock.  If we are out of stock on a particular iris, we will substitute a similar colored variety (of equal or greater value) only with your permission.  If you have specific irises you wish us to substitute with, please indicate them on your order.  PLEASE ORDER EARLY!  We try to list iris that we feel can meet all of the year's demand, but sometimes we do fall short.  PLEASE list several alternate varieties for substitutions OR give me a hint as to what goal you have in mind for your garden so that I can better serve your needs if you choose to accept substitutes.  We also often use your alternate list for our bonus iris.

Guaranteed Plant Quality

Our irises are guaranteed true to variety name.  Open your shipment as soon as it arrives.  If you cannot plant the rhizomes within a few days, store them upright in a cool, well ventilated place until planting.  If you are dissatisfied, we will replace or refund your order if you notify us of a problem within 14 days, and return the iris. We'll pay return shipping.  We cannot be responsible for weather or growing conditions in your garden.  Planting instructions are included with each order.

2375    

AACHEN

   Mahoney, J. 1982/83    TB    32    M    Self    RARE Laced and ruffled light red purple, yellow hafts veined greyed orange; B: yellow orange with 3/4" horns    NFS        3938    AACHEN ELF    Kennedy, G. 1984/84    MTB    20    M    Bicolor    RARE S:yellow, F:lavender, edged yellow, B:yellow    5.00        2210    

ACCENT

   Buss, W. 1952/53    TB    46    M    Bicolor    S:medium light yellow, F:rose-red, lines at haft on pale yellow ground, B:orange    5.00        1660    

ACCLAMATION

   Corlew, G. 1978/80    TB    35    M    Self    RARE Medium yellow with lighter center on falls, B:darker yellow    7.00        2465    

ACE OF CLUBS

   Hager, B. 1983/84    SDB    10    M    Self    RARE Yellow self, black signal; B:yellow    5.00        1298    ACROBAT    Williamson, B. 1977/80    TB    35    ML    Bitone    RARE S:medium violet, blended plum brown from midribs, 1/4" plum brown edge, F:silver lilac, 1/4" plum brown edge, B:lemon, tipped white    7.00        3831    ACROPOLIS    Berry, S. 1929/29    TB    48    EM    Bitone    S:mid blue-purple, F:dark blue-purple, B:yellow, tip blue-white    SO         618    

ACTRESS

   Keppel, K. 1975/76    TB    35    EM,Re    Self    Wisteria violet, Indian orange in throat, B:white base, bright orange tips    6.00        4080    AD ASTRA    Babson, S. 1964/67    TB    38    M    Halo    RARE S:medium yellow, F:white, edged yellow, B:white, tipped yellow    NFS        1009    ADAM    Craig, T. 1962/62    TB    38    EL    Self    RARE S:vineyard red, F:same but brighter    NFS        1309    

ADVENTURE BAY

   Plough, G. 1978/79    TB    36    EM    Bicolor    S:majolica yellow with pink infusion in center, F:dauphin violet with muted brown hafts, 1/4" blended border, B:nasturtium orange    7.00        2600    

AFFAIRE

   Blyth, B. 1992/93    TB    36    EM    Bicolor    S:blue-grey, F:greenish mustard, yellow around B, tan wash    8.00         997    AFTER DARK    Schreiners 1963/63    TB    44    EM    Self    RARE Dark violet-blue-black, B:deep red    6.00        3775    AFTERGLOW    Sturtevant, G. 1917/17    TB    36    M    Self    RARE Grayish lavender shading to rich yellow thru center, B:bronzy orange    NFS         855    

AFTERNOON DELIGHT

   Ernst, R. 1983/85    TB    36    M    Bicolor    S:lightly laced lt golden tan with lav infusion, F:lav with 1/8" golden tan border, gold shoulders, white infusion near yellow B; ruffled    8.00        3956    AGATINE    Schreiner, R. 1959/59    TB    34    M    Bitone    RARE S:copper brown-red, F:mahogany red    NFS        2601    

AGE OF INNOCENCE

   Kerr, F. by Stockton Iris 1994/94    TB    38    M    Halo    RARE PS:pure white, F:white, edged with sky blue rim, B:yellow, flaring    7.00        2003    

ALABAMA BOUND

   Foster, F. 1979/79    TB    36    E-M    Self    Big ruffled white self, lines deep in throat, B:orange; fluted    6.00        2448    

ALADDIN'S WISH

   Murawska, A. 1943/45    TB    32    E-L    Self    Blue plicata with brushed cream (gold) radiating through flower like sunrays; strong fragrance, unusual    5.00        3781    ALBERT VICTOR    Barr & Sons 1885/85    TB    40    M    Self    RARE Lavender violet self, blue lav. spear, B:bluish white, orange tips    NFS        1651    

ALBICANS

   Lange, J. collected 1860    SPC    20    E    Self    RARE Very old antique, white, somewhat fragrant; listed by some as PRINCESS OF WALES    7.00        4355    ALCALDE    Babson, S. 1968/68    TB    40    M    Self    Deep indigo violet self, B:blue    NFS        2985    ALCAZAR    Vilmorin 1910/10    TB    36    ML    Bicolor    S:mauve, F:dark purple, bronze and yellow center with veins,B:orange    6.00        2826    ALLEPO PLAIN    Sass, J. 1941/41    TB    30    L    Plicata    S:reddish brown on white, yellow at midrib, F:white, reddish brown speckled rim, yellow at haft with veins, B:yellow-orange    NRS         22    

ALI BABA

   Lyon, D. 1951/52    TB    38    M    Bitone    RARE Very pleasing color combination on this older variety. S:light red-brown, F:dark red-brown; B:gold w/ maroon flecks; fragrant    6.00        2284    ALICE HARDING    Cayeux, F. 1933/33    TB    36    M    Self    Soft medium yellow, semi-flaring, B:bright orange; strong fragrance    NFS        4193    ALL AFLAME    Plough, G. 1968/69    TB    37    EML    Bitone    RARE S:tangerine-orange, F:cadmium-orange, B:marigold-orange    NFS         894    

ALL THAT JAZZ

   Denney, D. 1981/82    TB    36    M    Bicolor    S:light yellow, F:dark wine, lines at haft, B:yellow    7.00         315    

ALLAGLOW

   Tompkins, C. 1958/58    TB    37    ML    Self    Sunburst gold, blended butterscotch and copper-yellow; colossal bloom    5.00         297    

ALLAH

   Doriot, H. 1956/57    IB    15    VE    Bitone     RARE S:light lavender blue, ribbed green, F:parrot green-brown, edged blue, B:orange tipped white; slight ruffle    3.00        2353    

ALLEGIANCE

   Cook, P. 1957/58    TB    38    M    Bitone    S:violet-ultramarine, F:roslyn blue, B:med blue, tipped yellow; Dykes Medal 1964    6.00        4221    ALLINE ROGERS    Kleinsorge, R. 1949/49    TB    34    M    Blend    Blend of pink to rose and gold at haft, B:orange    NFS        2936    

ALLURA

   Brown, O. 1968/70    TB    34    M    Self    RARE Lavender blue self, edges of F deeper, lighter in center, B:white brushed lemon    NFS        3935    AL-LU-WE    Sass, H. 1932/32    TB    40    M    Bicolor    RARE S:yellow, pink wash, F:red, tan rim, lighter midline, yellow haft with maroon veins, B:orange    SO        1682    

ALMOND BLOSSOM

   Craig, T. 1953/53    TB    40    M    Self    RARE Clear peach-blossom-pink, baby pink at haft, B:ibis pink; Good pink color for an older variety, lines at haft, GBF    SO         962    ALMOST GLADYS    Ensminger, A. 1978/82    TB    34    ML    Bicolor    RARE S:white with pink flush at base, F:coral pink with 1/4 inch white edging, B:red    7.00         494    

ALPINE CASTLE

   Blyth, B. 1979/79    TB    36    E-M    Self    S:white with faint blue infusion at edges, F:white, deepening from blue to violet at edges, B:tangerine    7.00        3838    ALPINE GLOW    Kleinsorge, R. 1944/45    TB    40    L    Self    RARE Rose tones with lilac influence, brown shading at haft, B:gold orange    NFS        2602    

ALPINE JOURNEY

   Blyth, B. 1983/84    TB    38    E-EM    Bicolor    S:snow white, F:golden yellow, B:golden yellow    8.00        2565    ALTA CALIFORNIA    Mohr-Mitchell 1931/31    TB    48    M    Bicolorf    RARE S:mustard yellow, F:olive, buff flecked, dotted, and veined, B:yellow-orange    5.00         463    

AM I BLUE

   Denney, D. 1977/77    BB    20    E    Self    RARE S:pale blue with intense navy blue infusion through midribs and styles, F:pale blue, B:deep navy blue    NFS         909    

AMADEUS

   Tompkins, C. 1989/89    TB    37    ML    Self    RARE A ruffled and flaring silver toned, orchid lilac blended with pale chicory blue, B:lemon white, tipped orange pink    7.00        2354    

AMAS

   Foster, M. 1885/85    TB    24    E    Bitone     Dark blue violet bitone, white at haft    5.00        1306    

AMAZON PRINCESS

   Nichols, H. 1971/73    SDB    14    E    Self    

Lemon yellow, B:orange with vivid red-brown halo on F

       4.00        3359    AMBASSADEUR    Vilmorin 1920/20    TB    40    M-L    Bicolor    S:smoky lavender, F:velvety purple- maroon, haft white, veined maroon, B:orange; yellow center, dark wire rim    6.00         946    

AMBER BEAUTY

   Schreiners 1982/82    TB    37    ML    Self    RARE Ruffled full golden yellow with amber cast,  S: slightly lighter, F: darker lines at haft,  B:rich gold    7.00         490    

AMBROSIA DELIGHT

   Niswonger, D. 1982/84    TB    36    M    Bicolor    S:white, F:orange, B:orange; slightly ruffled    7.00        3355    AMENTI    Sass, H. 1935/36    TB    36    L    Bicolor    S:grayish-yellow vinaceous, F:light violet mauve, buff edge, haft to end of B yellow with gray veins, B:yellow    6.00        4312    AMERICAN CLASSIC    Schreiners 1996/96    TB    36    E-L    Plicata    S:white, 1"violet blue edge, F:white, 1/2"violet blue plicata edging, B:light blue, tipped yellow; heavily ruffled    NFS         231    

AMERICAN HERITAGE

   Williamson, B. 1975/78    TB    33    E-M    Plicata    RARE Plicata: deep blue-violet on white, 1" purple wash on bottom half of F, B:lemon yellow, tipped lt blue    NFS         512    

AMERICAN SWEETHEART

   Sexton, N. 1983/8    TB    36    M    Bicolor    S:golden brown, F:rich black with gold haft markings, B:golden brown (orange)    7.00        1462    

AMETHYST FLAME

   Schreiner, R. 1957/58    TB    38    ML    Self    RARE Amethyst-orchid with pink sheen, warm amber wash on hafts; Dykes Medal 1963    6.00         252    AMETHYST SUNSET    Welch, W. 1972/73    MTB    12    E    Bicolor    S:light yellow, F:light lavender    5.00         56    

AMIGO

   Williamson, E. 1933/34    TB    34    M    Bitone    S:light lavender blue, F:rich deep velvety pansy purple, lines at haft, thin light blue-white rim, B:orange    6.00         160    

AMIGO'S GUITAR

   Plough,G. 1963/64    TB    36    EM    Bicolor    S:butterscotch with violet midrib, F:blue-violet, B:yellow; white area at haft w/ veins.    5.00         38    

AMITOLA

   Sass, H. 1935/36    TB    32    L    Blend    RARE S:blend of light lavender and buff w/ yellow undertones, F:light violet and lavender blending to buff yellow edge, B:yellow    NFS        1284    

AMOROUS EMBRACE

   Nelson, J. 1988/87    TB    34    M    Self    RARE Ruffled and laced baby-ribbon pink, B:tangerine    NFS        2874    

ANEMBO

   Bootes, G. 1958/59    TB    40    EML        RARE Light yellow self, lighter area in F; (name means peaceful)    5.00        3329    ANGEL BRIGHT    Rees, C. 1965/66    TB    36    M    Self    RARE White self with brilliant gold on haft, B:orange    NFS         876    

ANGEL CHOIR

   Schliefert, A. 1970/70    TB    32    M    Self    RARE Fluted pure white, B:pale yellow    5.00        1613    ANGEL SYMPHONY    Meek,D. 1979/79    TB    34    EM    Self    RARE White, heavy texture veining with hint of green, B:orange, tipped white    6.00         689    

ANGEL UNAWARES

   Terrell, C. 1970/70    TB    38    EM    Self    RARE Ruffled snow white, B:white, slightly yellow at haft    6.00        2603    

ANGELS IN FLIGHT

   Messick, V. 1995/95    TB    37    M    Self    White self with blue infusion up S and in middle of F, B:cream; ruffled    8.00        4067    ANGELS IN THE ARCHITECTURE    Silvers, T. 2017/17    SPX            Plicata    

S:white ground, blue-purple wide edge, F:white, blue-purple 1/2" rim, distinct purple veins at haft, B:orange, thin bluish end    

   NFS        4232    ANGIE    Smith, C. 1957/59    TB    36    M    Self    Imperial purple self    5.00        1119    

ANNA BELLE BABSON

   Hager, B. 1984/85    TB    36    M    Self    Intense deep pink; B:narrow tangerine    8.00        3536    ANNA ELVIRA NASH    Callis, E. 1939/41    TB    34    L    Self    RARE Light wine to pink toned self, darker on hafts and rims, B:white    5.00        2818    ANNE LESLIE    Sturtevant, G. 1917/17    TB    27    M    Bicolor    S:white, F:red -violet, white haft with heavy red-violet veining, yellow styles, B:yellow, tips brown    5.00        2124    

ANNE NEWHARD

   Weisner, J. 1948/40    TB    38    VL    Bitone     RARE S:med blue-grape F:rich velvety purple-black B:white/maroon/yellow    NFS        2115    ANNE-MARIE CAYEUX    Cayeux, F. 1928/28    TB    36    E    Blend    RARE Soft rosy-heliotrope with greyish amber, B:orange; great vigor, pinkish violet in effect    NFS         429    

ANON

   Gibson, J. 1974/75    TB    40    M    Plicata    S:carrot red, F:amber-yellow on rim, flushed brown-lemon on yellow-white ground, garnet-brown hafts, B:tangerine; ruffled and fluted    SO        2604    

ANSWERED PRAYERS

   Keppel, K. 1994/95    TB    36    EM    Bitone    S:sea shell pink F:white w/ shell pink rim, B:deep orange, lighter tip    NFS         15    

ANTHEM

   Schreiner, R. 1956/58    TB    40    M    Self    RARE Fuchsia-purple shot rose with bronze border, B:white base, yellow tips; wide flaring falls    6.00        2994    ANTIGONE    Cayeux, F. 1939/39    TB        M    Self    RARE Golden yellow self, B:bushy yellow-orange    NFS         87    ANTIQUE IVORY    Schreiners 1972/72    TB    36    ML    Halo    RARE Creamy white with light yellow border on S and F, B:yellow    6.00        3325    APACHE    Farr, B. 1926/26    IB        M    Bitone    S;copper vinous purple, lighter at base, F:dark crimson brown, heavy veining at haft on white, B:yellow    NFS        1275    

APACHE ROSE

   Meek, D. 1982/82    TB    36    EM    Plicata    S:cream-brown with gold wash, F:cream-brown, peppered brownish plum, gold halo, B:burnt orange; ruffled    6.00        1841    

APPLE VALLEY

   DeForest,F. 1958/58    TB    38    M    Self    RARE White, tinted pink, hafts deeper pink, B:pinkish tangerine; laced edges    NFS        2020    

APPLEBLOSSOM PINK

   Boushay, J. 1973/74    IB    18    E-M    Self    S:orient pink, F:white in center, darker pink at edges and hafts, B:white; short, very pretty    6.00        2858    

APPLEJACK

   Schreiner 1968/68    TB    37    L    Blend    Blend of russet brown to honey-peach, white w/ lines at haft, white line 1" below B, B:light orange; vigorous    6.00         636    

APPRECIATION

   Hager, B. 1983/83    TB    40    M    Bicolor    S:buff tan, gilt edge, F:orchid lavender, red-brown hafts, B:yellow    NFS         715    

APRICOT BLAZE

   Gibson, J. 1970/71    TB    37    M    Bitone    RARE S:apricot-buff, F:cream overlain by copper-amber, B:bright orange    NFS        4177    APRICOT GLORY    Muhlesteirn, T. 1948/48    TB    36    EM    Self    RARE Apricot self, hafts flushed deeper, B:apricot    SO         676    

APRICOT SUPREME

   Tompkins, C. 1951/51    TB    40    ML    Self    RARE Apricot-toned shell-pink, B:geranium red    5.00         964    

APRIL HOPE

   Gibson, J. 1979/80    TB    36    M    Bicolor    S:buff yellow-orange, F:violet with deeper violet veins, 1/4 inch brown rim, light brown hafts, B:yellow-orange; ruffled and serrated    6.00        4315    APROPOS    Babson, S. 1963/64    TB    38    M    Bitone    RARE S:pastel lavender, F:deeper lavender and still darker midvein, B:blue; ruffled    NFS        2979    ARABI TREASURE    Burnett, M. 1962/63    IB    18    E    Self    RARE Deep violet self, darker around beard, B:wide fuzzy blue    5.00         971    

ARABIAN TAPESTRY

   Niswonger, D. 1983/83    TB    34    M    Self    Ruffled reddish brown with violet blaze in center of F, B:gold    7.00        1710    

ARCADIA BUTTERCUP

   Milliken, C. 1947/47    TB    30    E,Re    Self    RARE Sparkling deep golden yellow    NFS        3570    ARCHEVEQUE    Vilmorin 1911/11    TB    24    M    Bitone    RARE S:deep purple violet, F:velvety raisin purple, B:orange, maroon tips;    6.00         383    

ARCTIC BLUSH

   Austin, L. 1958/58    TB    40    M    Self    RARE Pale pink, B:tangerine; large bloom    5.00        3545    ARCTIC WINE    Brown, A. 1963/64    IB    21    EM    Self    RARE Deep wine-red self, darker haft, B:bronze    5.00        4358    ARDIMAC    Sundt, E. 1959/59    AB/TB    26    EM    Bitone    RARE S:violet purple, F:maroon, black signal, hafts and styles veined, B:black    NFS        2449    

ARGENT

   Forbes. J. 1882/82    TB        M    Self    RARE Med grape, white at haft to below B with dark grape lines 3/4 way down F, B:white base yellow tips    6.00         165    

ARGUS PHEASANT

   DeForest, F. 1947/48    TB    38    EM    Self    Rich golden honey brown, bright coppery sheen, B:old gold; large bloom, somewhat flaring, Dykes Medal 1952; still a popular brown    7 .00        2312    ARIANE    Cayeux, F. 1935/35    TB    40    M    Plicata    RARE White ground with medium purple veining. Falls look like color was wiped and smeared in center, B:yellow    5.00        1026    ARKANSAS GIRL    Sexton, N. 1982/82    TB    36    M    Self    RARE Lightly laced green-gold, B:green-gold    NFS        2065    

ARKANSAS SKIES

   Rowlan, H. 1981/82    TB    35    M    Self    RARE Pale violet blue self, B:yellow, variable short blue-tipped horn    7.00        1121    

ARPEGE

   Schreiners 1966/66    TB    36    E    Bicolor    RARE S:mottled very light lavender-blue, F:dark blue-purple-violet, white at haft w/ lines, B:orange with blue tip; fades, GBF    6.00        4044    ARRIVEDERCI    Keppel, K. 2013/14    TB    37    ML    Bicolor    S:pale peach, soft lavender midrib, F:warm lavender blend, slight blue center, B:orange, lavender white end; heavily rufflled    NFS        3299    ARROYO    Schreiners 1973/74    TB    36    M    Self    RARE Dark brown self, feather tip of blue below brown-red-copper beard    NFS        2357    

ART SHOW

   Keppel, K. 1989/90    TB    34    M    Bicolor    RARE S:maise yellow blended peach beige except edge, F:cordovan red with 1/4" maise edge, upper 1/3 maise, striped cordovan, B:red orange; fragrant    9.00        2295    

ASHA MICHELLE

   Blyth, B. 1981/82    TB    38    M-ML    Bicolor    RARE S:lemon, F:creamy white, lightly stitched rose brown, lines of violet on F w/ midrib line part way down, B:yellow    6.00        3707    ASPENGLOW    Loomis, by E. Long 1956/56    TB    36    M-L    Self    RARE Rich full well formed saffron yellow; slightly ruffled, strong well branched stalks.    NFS        3395    ASTRO FLASH    Schreiners 1976/76    TB    37    M    Blend    Rich blend of golden brown with henna accent, heart-shaped area of blue on F, B:yellow to gold    NFS        1051    

ASTRO FLIGHT

   Rowlan, H. 1983/84    TB    33    ML    Self    RARE Lightly laced and ruffled wisteria blue self, darker lines at haft, B:yellow with 3/4" blue horn    7.00        3810    AT DAWNING    Kirkland, J. 1933/35    TB    36    M    Bicolor    RARE S:pale pink-mother of pearl, gold base, F:rose-pink, white haft gold lined, B:golden orange; better in shade    NFS        1056    

ATLANTIC RIPPLES

   Powell, L. 1974/74    TB    35    E-VL    Self    RARE Ruffled blue orchid, lighter at haft, B:blue    NFS        3779    ATROVIOLACEA    Todaro,A. 1856/56    MDB    6    EE    Bitone    RARE S:red-violet, F:deeper red-violet, B:thin white    6.00        2268    

ATTENTION PLEASE

   Mohr, H. 1973/74    TB    34    M    Plicata    RARE S:lilac purple with a few flecks of white, F:specturm violet on white ground washed with cream, B:orange-brown    7.00        3854    AUBURN    Kleinsorge, R. 1945/45    TB    39    E    Self    RARE S:coppery henna brown, F:sa,me with wide blue patch below B, B:orange    NFS        4077    AULD LANG SYNE    Spahn, F. 1981/82    TB    35    EM    Bitone    S:creamy pink, F:peach pink, B:bright tangerine; ruffled    8.00        2309    AUREA or I. VARIEGATA    variety id 1938    TB        E    Self    RARE Has varigated leaves of yellow and green. Waiting for bloom.    NFS        2855    

AURIFERO

   Mohr-Mitchell 1923/27    TB    40    M    Bitone     RARE S:soft lavender, F:flaring lavender flushed rose, white at haft with rich gold veining, B:golden yellow    5.00        3916    AUSTRALIS    Todaro, A. 1861/61    TB        M        RARE S:pallid blue-violet, veining red-brown, F:pale violet, gray inner haft, B:white, tipped yellow at base, projecting; nice fragrance    8.00         5    

AUTUMN APRICOT

   Thimsen, A. 1987/88    TB    30    M,Re    Bitone    RARE S:light orange, F:light orange, cream area below B,  B:red; ruffled    8.00        1186    

AUTUMN BLUSH

   Black, P. 1983/84    TB    33    EM    Bicolor    RARE S:mauve-pink with paler edge, F:cream with greenish cast, amber-rose hafts, pale pink suffused halo, B:deep sienna; ruffled and laced, frag    NFS        3138    AUTUMN CIRCUS    Hager, B. 1990/90    TB    34    E, Re    Plicata    S:white, lightly peppered blue-violet to solid edge, F:white, bold lines radiating from B, blue-violet plicata edge, B:white, blue tip    8.00         254    

AUTUMN DELIGHT

   Austin, L. 1952/52    TB    28    M,Re    Bitone    RARE S:amethyst pink, F:deep rosy mulberry, yellow haft with lines to end of B, B:yellow orange    5.00         809    

AUTUMN ECHO

   Gibson, J. 1973/75    TB    36    E,Re    Plicata    S:yellow speckled garnet-brown, rim flushed yellow, F:canary yellow, speckled garnet-brown, garnet-brown rim, small white signal, B:orange    7.00        2807    

AUTUMN KING

   Sass, H. 1924/24    TB        M,Re    Bitone    RARE S:light bluish purple. F:darker w/ lighter rim, B:white base, yellow tips    6.00         732    

AUTUMN LEAVES

   Keppel, K. 1972/74    TB    34    M    Bicolor    S:brownish yellow, F:maroon with brown edges, B:orange-yellow; ruffled    7.00        2848    

AUTUMN QUEEN

   Sass, H. 1926/26    SDB    12    E,Re    Self    RARE White;  rebloomer    6.00        1684    

AUTUMN ROSEMIST

   Austin, L. 1960/61    TB    34    M,Re    Bitone    S:misty buff pink, F:soft crimson pink, 1/4" darker rim, yellow at haft w/ lines, B:bright orange-yellow    5.00        1685    

AUTUMN ROSYCHEEKS

   Austin, L. 1963/63    TB    32    EE,Re    Bitone    RARE Light fuchsia-pink, mulberry cheeks on falls, lines at haft, B:red-orange; Wanted by many antique collectors.    5.00        1604    

AUTUMN SUNSET

   Lapham, E. G. 1939/39    TB    32    M,Re    Bitone    S:pale buff yellow w/ pale reddish violet wash, F:darker reddish violet w/ buff yellow blended rim, copper red at haft, B:yellow    5.00        3463    AUTUMN TWILIGHT    Brown, G.P. 1971/71    TB    33    M, Re    Bicolor    S:brownish yellow, F:lavender with brown edging, hafts ecru with lavender veins    6.00        1686    

AUTUMN VELVET

   Brown, G. P. 1962/62    TB    33    EM,Re    Bitone    RARE S:deep carmine, F:darker carmine with a velvety sheen, B:gold-bronze; short bloom stalks    6.00         742    

AVALON BAY

   Hamner, B. 1973/74    TB    36    M,Re    Self    RARE Ruffled bluebird blue, B:yellow, tipped blue    NFS        1192    

AVENGING ANGEL

   Williamson, B. 1980/84    TB    38    ML    Self    Ruffled burgundy red, B:burgundy    7.00        2606    

AWAKENING

   Meek, D. 1994/94    TB    35    ML    Self    S:deep pink with slight lavender infusion, F:pink to ivory from B to above lower rim, tan hint at haft, B:henna, lav-blue; sweet fragrance    NFS        2802    

AZTEC BURST

   Blyth, B. 1993/94    TB    38    VE    Bicolor    S:white, F:apricot to light orange, B:apricot tangerine    NFS         50    AZTEC COPPER    Kleinsorge, R. 1939/39    TB    38    M        RARE Lovely blend of smokey violets and coppper; slight fragrance    8.00         519    AZTEC STAR    Niswonger, D. 1981/81    SDB    12    M    Bicolor    RARE S:pale yellow, F:red, edged pale yellow, deeper yellow in throat, B:pale yellow    4.00        1243    AZURE LUSTER    Weiler,  J. 1981/82    TB    36    M-L    Self    RARE Ruffled clean light azure-blue, lighter area around B, maroon lines deep in throat, B:yellow; semiflaring, pronounced fragrance    7.00        2399    

AZURE WHIR

   Durrance, J. 1992/92    TB    35    E    Self    Ruffled light blue-grey self, B:light yellow tipped blue    NFS 

http://www.bluebirdhavenirisgarden.com/siteV2/catalog.html

[samanthasroberts]

Sticky fingers: The rise of the bee thieves | Brett Murphy

The Long Read: Bees have become a billion-dollar business. But who would try to steal them?

The bees crawled up the thiefs arms while he dragged their hive over a patch of grass and through a slit in the wire fence he had clipped minutes earlier. In the pitch dark, his face, which was not covered with a protective veil, hovered inches from the low hum of some 30,000 bees.

The thief squatted low and heaved the 30kg hive, about the size of a large office printer, up and on to the bed of his white GMC truck. He had been planning his crime for days. He knew bees how to work them, how to move them, and most importantly, how to turn them into cash.

He ducked back through the fence to drag out a second box, Johnson Apiaries branded over the white paint. Then he went back for another. And another.

The Diablo Grande foothills edge the western side of Californias vast Central Valley. During the day you can see rolling pastures and an endless quilt of farmland. But at night, it is so dark that you are lucky to see your hand in front of your face. The thief thought there was almost no chance that a motorist would pass by, let alone one who would notice him.

Jerry Phillips, a night manager for the areas water provider, spends his nights zooming between pump stations in the foothills. He knows every farmer and cowboy on the hills eight-mile stretch, including a local beekeeper named Orin Johnson. Johnson, who had been hit by bee thieves before, liked to alert potential witnesses. If you see anybody in there in the middle of the night, he had told Phillips, it aint me.

Sure enough, Phillips saw someone on his way down the parkway that night. He quickly phoned the nearby golf resort, which has its own roving security detail on the hill.

After the thief loaded the ninth hive, he sat behind the wheel, with the drivers-side door open. The truck was far from full, and there were almost 100 more boxes behind the fence for him to choose from. That meant a lot of money. The exact value of a hive is not standard it depends what you do with them but nine hives can bring in about $5,000 in just one year. And they are worth considerably more in the hands of a capable beekeeper who can maintain them season after season.

Suddenly, a wall of white light hit the thief from behind. He froze.

A security guard stood next to his patrol cars spotlight, keeping his distance. The guard, whose name was Dre Castano, inched forward, wary of being ambushed. He thought there was no way just one guy had got all of those big boxes into the truck on his own.

The thief climbed out of the car and turned into the light. He stood there alone, his eyes glazed over and sullen. Maybe a drunk driver, Castano thought. He asked for the mans ID.

Pedro Villafan, 5ft 2in tall, and 46 years old. He lived 20 minutes south, in Newman, another little town at the base of the foothills. He looked flushed, half-asleep. But he kept calm and answered Castanos questions. Yes, those were bees. No, they were not his. No, he did not work for Orin Johnson. Yes, he was stealing them.

Castano, surprised by Villafans immediate confession, put him in ziptie handcuffs and walked him to the backseat of his patrol car. Less than 45 minutes later, at about 3.40am, Johnson pulled up to the scene, now lit red and blue. A sheriffs deputy had just arrived, as well. He asked Johnson to identify the bees and sign an affidavit committing to press charges.

The suspect wants to talk to you, the deputy said to Johnson, motioning to his cruiser. Do you want to talk to him?

Johnson walked over and poked his head through the window.

I made a huge mistake, Villafan started.

Of course you did, Johnson interrupted, trying his best to remain composed.

I shouldnt have done this, the thief said. All my bees died.

These are strange times for the American beekeeper. In California, the centre of the industry, members of this tight-knit community find themselves enjoying an economic boom while trying to cope with environmental turmoil. And now theyre dealing with a new kind of criminal: the bee rustler. Every year, at the height of pollination season in the spring, dozens of nighttime thieves nobody knows exactly how many break into bee yards all over California to steal hives.

Farmers depend on bees, but they do not keep their own it is too costly, too time-consuming and too painful. So, they lease their pollinators from the commercial beekeeping industry, a fast-growing, national trade that underpins American agriculture.

About a third of the countrys beekeeping operations, known as apiaries, are in California, more than the next four states combined. It is a $1.8bn trade nationwide, driven by roughly 1,500 apiaries, which own 95% of the countrys bees. (About 60,000 hobbyists keep the other 5%.)

It was only recently that beekeeping became big business. For most of the 20th century, American beekeepers were primarily honey manufacturers. In order to manufacture good honey, they sought out open space where their bees could forage. Johnsons father knocked on farmers doors all over Stanislaus County for decades, often with his son in tow, looking for land away from humans and other bees. His proposition: my bees pollinate your crops, your crops feed my bees. They squared the deal with a handshake and a case of honey.

So it went for decades. But little by little, high-value crops such as pistachios, walnuts and mandarin oranges began to take up larger swaths of land all over Central Valley. The beekeepers realised that there was money to be made in pollination growers needed bees and were willing to pay rental fees, as if investing in airborne fertiliser. Once crops bloom, bees scatter skyward in a mushroom-cloud formation before darting for nectar in the open buds; grocery shopping, as one beekeeper described it. As they fly around, each bee grabs pollen from one tree and sheds it at another, exponentially boosting the number of leaves, flowers and nuts.

Brent Woodworth tends to his bees. Photograph: Brett Murphy

From the 1980s on, commercial keepers supplemented their honey business by renting out their bees at $25 per hive for a single, month-long bloom. A large-scale beekeeping operation would have thousands of hives (in addition to producing honey in the autumn), bringing in money from crop pollination: cherries, watermelons and everything in between. Small outfits such as Johnson Apiaries did not have to worry much about uncertain honey sales any more. There was more than enough opportunity to make up their revenue in the spring.

Commercial beekeeping was honest, sustainable and relatively free of competition, but not exactly a business others raced to join.

Then, in the early 2000s, two things shook up the industry. First, the world discovered almonds. Thanks to global demand, particularly from Asia, the nut has taken over Central Valley, nearly doubling its hectarage to 370,000 since 2005. California produces more than 80% of the worlds almond supply today. The boom brought with it an unprecedented demand for pollination. With bees, an almond tree produces 70% more nuts than without. Bees, one almond grower told me, are as important as water.

Second, the bees started to die. During the 2006 winter, beekeepers reported losing anything from 30% to 90% of their hives to disease, an unprecedented amount compared with previous decades, in which losses hovered around 10 or 15%. (The average death toll has since levelled to just under 30% each year.) Even Johnson, a second-generation keeper with honey in the blood, finds boxes and boxes of dead colonies every winter,and has to scrape out the crusted nectar and tiny corpses.

What became known as colony collapse disorder a lethal combination of disease, drought, land loss and pesticide use brought the industry to its knees, forcing hundreds of keepers, unable to maintain their hives through the cold winter, out of business.

But those who weathered the storm have benefited from simple economics: the national supply of bees fell, while demand for pollination has since quadrupled alongside almond growth. This year, almond farmers paid $180 to rent a single hive. And every half-hectare requires two hives.

The surge in bee rental prices in the valleyover the last decade has brought with it an unsettling rise in thefts. In 2015, poachers stole more than 1,700 hives and those are just the thefts that were reported. Last year was the first time anyone had actually counted, but beekeepers and law enforcement both say that the crime is becoming increasingly common. For small beekeepers such as Johnson, a few dozen hives going missing just before spring can bring ruin. Worst of all, everyone knows that the heists are inside jobs.

New keepers enter the industry hoping to cash in on the pollination boom and it is they who often end up becoming the chief suspects in bee robberies. They sign contracts in the autumn, lose their hives to disease in the winter, then steal to make back the difference in the spring. People are trying to meet their obligations at our expense, one recent victim told his local paper, after thieves made off with $100,000 worth of hives. Theres no doubt in my mind it was another beekeeper.

The seasoned, generational, conference-attending beekeepers trust one another. They drink beer and eat donuts together. They loan each other hives and equipment. They even share trade secrets, such as recipes for artificial pollen supplements. They were here long before the almond boom, and their sons beekeeping is a predominantly male industry will carry on their apiaries long after.But the Central Valleys beekeeping fraternity believes that a growing number of opportunists are now entering the business.

They get desperate, said Dion Ashurst, who is the president of the state beekeepers association. And they go out and do stupid stuff. A fourth-generation beekeeper and repeat victim, Ashurst called them fly-by-night criminals who may understand the ins and outs of beekeeping, but are not of the community. Another keeper and recent victim called them the industrys misfits and neer-do-wells.

Now thousands of hives are vanishing, taken with alarming precision and coordination at the very time their owners need them most.Every winter, more and more legitimate keepers, struggling to keep their bees alive, have woken to find their yards emptied and their livelihoods in sudden and serious jeopardy.

That Villafan was even caught is remarkable. Thieves in the Central Valley rarely end up in handcuffs, let alone face prosecution. Witnesses do not drive by often. At 42,000 square miles, the area is vast and isolated, yet still connected by freeway arteries helpful to thieves looking to make a fast getaway. With the right equipment, know-how, and a buyer already lined up, stealing hives is easy. A truck full of bees boosted at midnight in Stanislaus can be unloaded in a Kern County orchard, 200 miles away, by the morning.

The state beekeepers association offers a reward for anyone who helps catch a thief. The security guard who accosted Villafan in January 2015 got $1,000, although the sum can be as high as $10,000. The association likes to address the issue in its monthly board meetings. Minutes from one session last year read: An attempted hive theft in San Luis Obispo, but the thief dropped the hive and got stung a lot, leaving the hive where he dropped it. Law enforcement is after this thief!

Detective Rowdy Jay Freeman a backyard beekeeper himself drives out to meetings, conferences, bars and bee yards to meet the keepers. Hunting down bee thieves is a frustrating job, given the dearth of evidence. Where dozens or even hundreds of humming boxes sit one day, there are nothing but tyre tracks in mud the next, said Freeman. There are no witnesses out there in the country. In three years investigating rural crime, Freeman had not caught a single bee thief.

But that changed this year when he got a tip two counties south. Jacob Spath, a young beekeeper short on his contracts after a tough winter, had backed a flatbed truck into a bee yard and made off with 60 hives. Two days later, Spath was negotiating prices with a broker, when a friend of the victim spotted the boxes, recognised the name, and called the police. Freeman arrested him that week.

Now the district attorney is looking to make an example of Spath by charging him with grand animal theft, a felony that carries a much higher possible sentence than ordinary grand theft. Spath pleaded guilty in April and could serve three years in prison possibly more, depending on the judges valuation of the bees. The specific penal code only mentions large animals, including horses, goats, cows, mules, sheep, hogs and boars. This will be the first time in the history of California that someone is charged with grand animal theft for stealing bees.

In 2015, rustlers stole more than 1,700 hives and those are just the thefts that were reported. Photograph: Brett Murphy

Most thieves share Spaths modus operandi: steal a truckload of hives, drive them a few counties away, chisel the label off (or gut the frames completely and burn the box), then rent them out to almond farmers or brokers. Bee brokers typically help connect large, out-of-state keepers with farmers in the Valley. They tend tobuy wholesale, and ask few questions about the bees origins.

Half the industry is built on handshakes with the farmers, one beekeeper told me, millions of dollars every day without a single paper signed. Beekeepers try to look out for themselves and each other. A select few hire private security guardsor install expensive GPS chips in every hive. Others hide cameras in their yards or make nightly rounds in their trucks. Most simply brand every single piece of equipment with their name, number and a unique registration code in the hope that a friend may recognise their name if boxes go missing.

But none of that does much good after they have been taken and gutted. And the law only goes so far.Beekeepers are often forced to do their own sleuthing.Last year, Joe Romance, of Kern County, went to move 128 hives out of one of his bee yards,only to find them missing. There was talk around town about a beekeeper holding meetings in a coffee shop, selling half-price hives to almond growers. Romance, posing as a farmer, went to the mans house and found something like an automobile chop shop inside a warehouse. Three men were cracking open hundreds of boxes, removing the frames inside and assembling new hives.

Another beekeeper, Brent Woodworth, rented a small Cessna aircraft and flew it three hours in search of his $30,000-worth of stolen hives, his eyes trained on the tiny square specks below, looking for his specific bright yellow lids. It takes a thiefs constitution, Woodworth told me last winter while we ate lunch in his truck and gazed out on his bee yard, which was home to about 3,700 roaring hives. Some ballsy people, Ill tell you. He grabbed a bee off the radio and gave it a flick. Stealing from somebody is just about as bad as it gets. I think its just the worst thing you can do to a man.

Orin Johnson is 68, with an impressive belly and a mess of white hair. In 1969, he came home from Vietnam with two Purple Hearts, a bum eye and a blown eardrum. He went to night school on the GI Bill, participated in the free love, Woodstock era, married that pretty girl Patti from his apartment building, and went back to work at the telephone company Pacific Bell for almost two decades as a dial-up technician before taking over his fathers hives.

He thrived for years after returning to the bee life, maintaining the old accounts and finding plenty of his own. With some 500 hives and no employees, his operation is relatively small, but profitable. He stuck it out through a national tracheal mite epidemic in the 1980s; through a flood of Chinese honey that crippled domestic sales in the 1990s; and, so far, through the bee plague of the 2000s. Its a tough road to hoe, he told me once, no doubt about it.

More than a year after he caught the thief stealing his bees in Diablo Grande at 4am, Johnson and I left the wood furnace in his warehouse where tools line the walls, sawdust fills the air, and a keg of beer waits in a fridge draped in mardis gras beads and old photographs and headed into the foothills for a routine spot check. When we got there, sunlight smacked the clearing where his hives stood in the grass, each airborne bee a dark freckle on the sky. We put on veils and walked through the boxes.

Johnson in the workshop where he makes and mends his hives. Photograph: Brett Murphy

Johnson gave each hive a gentle lift with his bare hands. His hands are baseball mitts, swollen and dirt-stained, skin cracked at the knuckles and nails. (On a busy day, he can get stung 50 or 60 times.) With each lift, he measured the weight of the honey inside: too light and the colony is weak and underpopulated, too heavy and the hive is overcrowded and the bees may end up abandoning it entirely. Johnson marked the light hives with a dry cowpat so he would know which to feed with sugar syrup later. Every now and then, he paused for a moment and leaned his good ear towards a hive, squinting through the veil. A strong hive hums deep like an engine. The weak ones are faint, almost a hiss. Others, completely silent. The dead hives got two cowpats.

Every beekeeper in the country stares down at boxes and boxes of dead hives each year. Since 2006, the industry has scrambled to repopulate bees quickly enough to match the devastating yearly mortality rates temporary solutions for a long-term problem. Johnson guesses that he usually loses about 30% of his hives right around the industry average. Keepers spread out the survivors, splitting hives by artificially introducing new queen bees, as well as medicine and protein supplements. Its pretty much like feeding them McDonalds, Johnson said.

Beekeepers tend to shrug at media reports about the mysteries of colony collapse. They know the causes of declining bee health, as industry insiders refer to it, and what has created todays hostile environment for their colonies. Its more difficult to keep bees alive and healthy today than its ever been, said Gene Brandi, president of the American Honeybee Federation. One major problem is overgrazing. The pollination boom has invited droves out-of-state beekeepers that compete for the dwindling forage land.

Bees need good nutrition to stay healthy and to fend off disease, which is often introduced by humans. Farmers constantly experiment with new pesticide sprays that can choke baby bees before they hatch. The hive is more of an organism, the individual bee more like a cell, said Katie Lee, a researcher at the Bee Informed Partnership. And every new airborne chemical can threaten those cells.

But the majority of scientists and keepers agree that the most pernicious threat to bees is the varroa destructor mite. It arrived in Florida in 1987 and spread fast. (Honeybees, an invasive species themselves, arrived in the late 17th century.) In a TED Talk from 2014, beekeeper John Miller called varroa a dirty needle that transmits deadly diseases like a mosquito. In the video, he flips a slide to show baby bees covered in ticks. Its really hard to kill a bug on a bug, Miller says, pausing for effect. But if we dont, were going to lose our bees.

On 7 January, 2015, four days after they met in Diablo Grande, Johnson and Villafan were together again in Stanislaus County court. Annette Rees, a rising star in the district attorneys office who handles the countys most violent cases, happened to be in the courtroom as the magistrate read out the charges. A 487, the penal code for grand theft. Beehives. Rees raised an eyebrow.

She approached Johnson in the hallway after the hearing. He told her that this was fourth time his livelihood had been stolen out from under him. They caught the first guy in 2003. He had gutted Johnsons colonies, moved the bees to his own boxes, and then tossed Johnsons shattered hives into a riverbed and he got off with only a misdemeanor. Rees did not want that to happen this time, so she asked to represent the beekeeper. Plus, she told me, it was a nice departure from the rapes and murders.

The preliminary examination was held on 27 March. Villafans public defender tried to have the charges reduced to a misdemeanour. He argued that his clients remorse about the crime and his record of good behaviour should warrant some leniency. I believe he was crying and stressed out about it, the lawyer told the judge, citing Villafans flushed face under the security guards spotlight. And him not sleeping a few days, you know, shows me he was extremely nervous and was unsure that he wanted to do something like this.

Rees was not buying it. This is an agricultural valley, she told the judge. Almonds are a huge part of our agricultural history and industry, and bees are critical for pollination of the almond trees. These were pollinating bees.

The beekeepers are already fighting the colony collapse disease, she continued. And to have someone simply go in the middle of the night, cut a fence, and make off with someones bee colonies is a very serious offence. We take it very seriously, especially, here in Stanislaus County.

On a working day, a beekeeper can be stung up to 60 times. Photograph: Brett Murphy

The judge maintained the felony charge of grand theft (stealing anything worth more than $950). On 12 May, Villafan signed a plea deal with the court: 120 days in prison,with restitution to Johnson, and community service afterwards.

After weeks of trying to reach him, Villafan called me on the phone one night, and agreed to meet in person. A few days later, I met with him at a Starbucks in the city of Turlock, California.

Villafan was waiting at the end of a long table, his hands around a cup. He smiled to greet me, but frowned when I took out my notebook. He asked why I cared about his story, his side of things. Its all in the police report, he said.

I was interested in what had happened in the minutes and days leading up to that night in Diablo Grande, I told him about anything I could not read in the public record. Ill tell you one thing, he finally said, and thats it. I scooched forward in my chair.

I was doing an investigation about why the colonies are dying. He said his public defender never let him make the case in court, but scientific research was the motive. I was short of bees because I was trying to buy bees, but nobody wanted to sell at that time. And the ones that I did have ran out.

He told me he had lost his factory job and decided to start a career in pollination. But first he wanted to determine if colonies were, as the news said, dying out at an alarming rate. I finished my research, Villafan continued. All the stuff that they say about bees dying and the stuff like that, thats not true. Theyre not dying because of whatever. If no one knows why theyre dying, then theyre lying. Thats like the mafia. You know beekeepers, maybe they want to keep the prices high.

On a warm afternoon in late July 2015, a few months after Villafan had been sentenced, Johnson made the rounds through a couple of bee yards in Diablo Grande, where he had come across one too many dead hives. He called up a friend and fellow beekeeper, Bob Renested, who breeds queen bees and sells them for about $20 each. Queen breeders are more common further north, but Johnson needed roughly a dozen that day. With enough care and the right maintenance, a beekeeper can take a single queen and build a full, 30,000-member hive over the course of a season. The keeper slowly introduces frames of unhatched baby bees and adults, who will mate with the queen to produce the colony.

Renested told Johnson to come on by, and that there was beer in the fridge. About 30 minutes later, they sat in the shade beneath Renesteds carport. Johnson had a beer can in his hand and a wooden crate by his feet, about the size of a lunch box, where 12 bees wiggled inside individual shelves. A crate of queens looks like a model building, each bee inside a flat of its own, no larger than a thumb.

Renested told Johnson that he was selling just two more queens today, and then he was done breeding for the season. A man had pre-ordered just two bees.

Then Renesteds phone rang. He told the buyer to come around back and headed off to his warehouse to grab the queens, leaving Johnson by himself.

A short man with square features walked around the corner. Johnson stood up and out of the shade to greet him. He cocked his head to the side and squinted hard at the buyer, who quickly darted his eyes to the dirt. Silence for a moment.

Whats your name? Johnson asked, incredulous. He doesnt always trust his bad eye, after all.

Pedro.

Pedro what? Still not convinced.

Pedro Villafan.

Johnsons voice climbed a couple octaves and he let out a burst of breath. You know me, dont you Pedro?

Villafan nodded. Johnson waited another awkward beat for him to answer the obvious question.

Well? Johnson finally yelled. Why arent you in jail?

Villafan had agreed to serve his time that August. (In the end, he was released on parole after 48 days. Its literally a slap on the wrist, Annette Rees said later. All that time and effort, its kind of disheartening.)

Renested returned from the warehouse and handed Villafan two tiny shelves, a single long, dark bee in each; no yellow stripes on them. Villafan paid the man while Johnson looked on. There stood the thief who, for Johnson, represented so much trouble and heartache and not just for himself, but for every beekeeper who has come across an empty patch of grass where his hives once buzzed.

Yet Johnson was not angry, or even worried.He just saw another outsider trying to break into the industry, maybe not a neer-do-well, but by no means part of the card-carrying club.

I hope those are for your bees, Johnson said.

Yes, came the reply. They are. With that, Villafan turned and walked away, disappearing into the valley.

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Source: http://allofbeer.com/2017/10/06/sticky-fingers-the-rise-of-the-bee-thieves-brett-murphy/

from All of Beer https://allofbeer.wordpress.com/2017/10/06/sticky-fingers-the-rise-of-the-bee-thieves-brett-murphy/