Swaths Of Purple Siberian Iris Within The Middle Meadow Garden Butterflies and Birds

Looking back over the month of June, iris sepals unfurl and fall creating waves of hues from lavender to deep purple . . . filling the Middle Meadow garden with hundreds of blooms lasting nearly three full weeks as new buds continue to open.

Eastern Tiger Swallowtails Papilio glaucus or Canadian Tiger Swallowtail Papilio canadensis add to the spectacle in complementary colors. On most days I count over twenty of these bright colored butterflies floating about the gardens and when they dip deep into the iris their wings become like sepals and petals.  

A wide angle lens makes everything seem smaller and farther away. 

Up close again a female Ruby-throated Hummingbird enjoys reaching in between the folds too.

Bluebird nestlings cry out above the iris from within their nest box. 

The parents are waiting for me to move on before taking their harvests to their young.

Silver-spotted Skipper feeding on Garden Heliotrope while a Spicebush Swallowtail dives into an iris.

I am guessing Eastern Tiger Swallowtail but whatever the name these creatures fill the gardens and fields in numbers during the month of June delighting in wildflowers, as well as, an array of blossoms from native and non native cultivated perennials and shrubberies. Swallowtails and other butterflies are eye candy for birds and it pains me to see their tattered wings as the days unfold. Such is life for those critters lower on the food chain.

Imagine these images with bright butterflies flitting about as birds splash and fly to and fro.

There seems to be a constant flurry of activity about the iris during the first three weeks in June.

A Spicebush Swallowtail Papilio troilus visits our gardens and this is my first sighting of this species here at Flower Hill Farm. I am not aware of the host plant Spicebush Lindera benzoin, growing on our land but perhaps a neighbor is cultivating it. I will be sure to add this native plant to our gardens soon.

Chartreuse leaves of native Thermopsis villosa offer a lovely contrast to the purple iris. 

A row of peonies falls down towards the display of iris. 

The weather was such that spring flowers all seem to come into bloom at once.

Purple from the folds of iris create a lovely backdrop for this Red-spotted Admiral as it sips the dreaded goutweed. 

Standing within the iris looking over towards a weeping cut-leaf Japanese Maple and beyond to the north garden where Rosa rugosa makes a show. More of the North Garden in mauves and pinks coming soon. "So long June!"

Orange Unfurling Oriental Poppies and Baltimore Oriole

An ongoing cycle of life . . . contracting and expanding . . . continues to unfold in the gardens, fields and forest here at Flower Hill Farm. 

Flower buds swell . . . casting off their protective outer calyxes, just as nestlings grow . . . filling fledgling forms and seeing an exciting and dangerous world beyond the carefully woven nests of their parents.

Precious and fleeting life . . . not so unlike these tiny droplets . . . clinging to what they are attached to.

Outer casings give . . .  along finely, engraved cracks . . . yielding to a swollen force of will. A poppy plants burgeoning blossom no longer can exist within the confines of contraction . . . expanding from within . . . out towards light and fulfillment of life.

Paper-like petals neatly folded opening to first shafts of sunlight. 

Warm sunrays will iron wrinkled flower leaves smooth. 

Luscious reddish-yellows glow . . .  a corolla afire opens to reveal contractions deeper within. 

Spider-like landing pads lure needed pollinators. 

Spreading wings . . .  free to fly into compliments of green. 

The only other orange in the gardens right now are the beloved Baltimore Orioles. A protective father perches just over his nestlings.

Partnership in parenting is helpful to the female and nestlings alike. The male stands guard while the female forages for food. 

One little caterpillar, who will never expand into mosaic wings, is about to become part Baltimore Oriole. 

I believe the former nestlings have become fledglings . . . here the mother is searching for her young. 

Papa looks on as his progeny expand into their own. 

Now the remarkably woven nest is empty . . . the male Baltimore Oriole has more time for preening.  

I can see the nest, from where I sit writing, and do miss the comings and goings of the parents, as well as the chirping sounds of the young. I still see the father . . . somehow, he seems lost as he flies about the branches and calls out for his mate, when he is not preening that is. Yesterday I watched and photographed him fluffing his feathers for over fifteen minutes. I do hope he is not bothered by lice.  

The lovely tonal trills the male sings out are not as numerous now. I have not seen or heard the calls of the female this morning and do hope all is well with her and the little fledglings. 

Flowers bloom and fade and I do regret the absence of their fragrance and ephemeral beauty. I find I feel a larger loss with the flight of fledglings, while, of course, I am elated that new life comes into being and flourishes within the gardens and land I steward. 

This year I am given the rare joy of seeing a bluebird fledgling grow day by day. While her mother sits on new eggs within the nest box I cleaned, the fledgling waits patiently nearby. I can see her foraging on her own too. It is amazing how quickly birds become self-sufficient. The father bluebird spends time with his immature offspring and is attentive to his mate . . . bringing her bits of food to sustain her during the gestation of their new brood. They are a devoted family.

I think I just saw a flash of female Baltimore Oriole. I shall go out and explore and give you an update soon. The father's presence near the nest gives me reason to think the female and fledglings are nearby. 

Wishing a Happy Father's Day to all Papas . . . especially to L & J. 

Herbaceous Peonies Throughout the Gardens

Herbaceous peonies are lusciously and clumsily spilling over in various parts of the gardens. 

First . . .  a long row of peonies . . . the remnants of an old bed . . . running down towards the 'Middle Meadow Garden' . . .  seem to hold a buttery glow within their plentiful and wholesome whorls. 

Below along the 'Terrace Path' leading up to the 'Upper Garden' . . . 

a lovely single peony survives beneath French lilacs . . . smiling . . . in hopes that as I pass by . . .  I might pull the bedstraw and bishop's weed threatening her show. Of course, I always do.

Stepping into the 'Upper Garden' . . . mostly growing wildly . . . 

two toned . . .  red speckles and soft pink folds of petals reach out above the green sea of bishop's weed. 

Nearby within the 'Upper Garden' . . . wet and full . . . the same cultivar peony as those in the long row above . . .  looking a bit disheveled, after the rain . . . within the dappled light. 

Venturing back down the stairs into the 'Lower Garden' . . . 

a mauve, white and blue palette of singles and salvias awaits.  

Bright sunlight creates such a different mood from that of the earlier early morning photos above.

Blossoms fully alive and alert to all earthly sensations 

Walking over towards the 'North Garden' . . . 

Full bodied blooms barely stand beneath a Rosa Rugosa. These were planted only about ten years ago . . . the name of the cultivar is on the tip of my tongue. The beautybush in the distance adds to the drama.

Then . . .  just over to the left . . . behind the 'Writer's Studio' near a late blooming lilac . . . 

A single vibrant mauve peony reflects the light. 

Lastly . . . similar in color to the delicate blooms above . . .  around the corner at the edge of the 'North Garden' . . . 

mouthwatering moments mingle . . . 

with unfurling . . . nearly falling over . . . 

textures and fragrances merge . . . another Rosa Rugosa looks down upon . . . 

joyous light filled peonies. 

Ah, but now the rain is doing its thing and I will have to go out tomorrow and cut off the larger peony heads and await the buds again. 

No matter . . . herbaceous peonies are so grand and I have so much room . . . even if I can only enjoy the full blown blooms for a day or two, before buckets of rainfall makes them heady and heavy . . . resembling a type of mop. 

They truly are rather conspicuous beauties and give very little to the pollinators . . . I rarely see any bees in these, as I have often seen filling their pollen baskets inside the Tree Peonies. 

I confess to loving more delicate flowers first, but there is room enough within me too . . .  to enjoy them all . . . especially in a more rambling and wildly cultivated setting. 

Dear Readers, I apologize for not knowing the names of any of these bounteous blooms. Ten and even  twenty-five years have passed and I cannot find my records right now.