By:
On:
With: 0 Comments

Tomorrow I turn 40.  I don’t know that I’m reacting at all.  Maybe part of getting older is that these milestones mean less than they did.  That sounds right.

I’ve been thinking about the concept of legacy lately.  I recently watched a talk by an older woman who had been diagnosed with cancer and knew she would be dying soon.  She didn’t want a legacy; she was so excited to return to the Earth, to be a part of the natural world.  She talked about how beautiful that was.  That really resonated with me and I had never heard anyone talk about it like that before.  I find that I want both.

I’ve been working on my family tree for the past couple of years.  It’s fascinating to discover these people from the past, people whose existence influences my life in ways I will never understand.  They would have passed on lessons to their children, and those children to theirs, and so on.  How far back would I have to go to find the genesis of my belief in fairness, my general work ethic, and my independent spirit?  What would I find that wouldn’t be passed on?  It’s such an interesting space to live in.

I have no children.  Does that mean I will have no legacy?  I admit that it is hard to see a situation three generations from now where there are descendants of my brothers working on their own genealogy and giving much thought to their distant uncle.  But I do that for my own tree.  Some of the most interesting people I find on my own tree are those who did not have children of their own.  That is at least a little bit comforting.  And I hope they find me interesting.

That isn’t at all to write off having children of my own.  I still want that.  I’m not sure at what age it becomes a selfish pursuit, but I don’t think forty is it.  I make many excuses, but adoption is something I should really think about.

I’ll be forty tomorrow, and I’ve been talking about the loss of my youth.  I don’t actually believe that.  I think I’m trying to convince myself somehow that I have to grow up now.  Most days I feel like I’m twenty, but I have days when I feel sixty.

I thought I would be panicky, but I’m not.  I thought I would be coupled, but I’m not.  I thought I would be settled, but I’m not.  I thought I would be a lot of things.  But I am where I am.  And I’m okay with that.

By:
On:
With: 0 Comments

Cercis canadensis

When we had tried
putting ourselves together again
we’d used the wrong parts,
made effigies of ourselves
with the piles of distorted junk,
left behind scraps of a once-full life.
We went through the motions of people
spoke like them, practicing their accents,
but did not understand our own words.
We got the phrases wrong,
the tones, the memories.
Periodically, we’d erupt into full color
flowers growing from every part
and our days seemed alive with joy.
But we would catch ourselves lost in time,
eyes fixed on a long-abandoned walker,
a long-absent bed,
a long-neglected garden,
at the things we find so important now
and the flowers would fall from our bodies.
I gave up on trying to find the parts
of myself I missed most,
stopped looking for who I had been before. I’ve been more comfortable with discomfort,
waiting for others to finally leave the safety
of their beds, the safety of their tears.
And we’ve started to share ourselves again,
imagining Spring, redbuds flushed fuchsia,
grief removed from our shoulders,
sadness washed from our faces
by the showers of April and storms of May.
We will remember how to be happy
and how to be sad and how to be,
and we’ll see the long-forgotten remnants
and we will understand who we are.

Notes

Written 19 April 2019 in Payne County, Oklahoma. Rewritten 5 September 2019 in Payne County, Oklahoma.

Brian Fuchs, “Cercis canadensis” from Okie Dokie (Scissortail Press, 2019)

 

Cercis canadensis

When we had tried
putting ourselves together again
we’d used the wrong parts,
made effigies of ourselves
with the piles of distorted junk,
left behind scraps of a once-full life.
We went through the motions of people
spoke like them, practicing their accents,
but did not understand our own words.
We got the phrases wrong,
the tones, the memories.
Periodically, we’d erupt into full color
flowers growing from every part
and our days seemed alive with joy.
But we would catch ourselves lost in time,
eyes fixed on a long-abandoned walker,
a long-absent bed,
a long-neglected garden,
at the things we find so important now
and the flowers would fall from our bodies.
I gave up on trying to find the parts
of myself I missed most,
stopped looking for who I had been before.
I’ve been more comfortable with discomfort,
waiting for others to finally leave the safety
of their beds, the safety of their tears.
And we’ve started to share ourselves again,
imagining Spring, redbuds flushed fuchsia,
grief removed from our shoulders,
sadness washed from our faces
by the showers of April and storms of May.
We will remember how to be happy
and how to be sad and how to be,
and we’ll see the long-forgotten remnants
and we will understand who we are.

By:
On:
With: 1 Comment

Welcome To My Oklahoma Family

I was looking for something fun to blog about in 2019 and I thought getting into my family’s history might be interesting. I’ve always been interested in the stories that make up our family, and I am particularly interested in the real lives of the folks without a strong an obvious record. I want to know the things I can never know. What sorts of things did my 4th great grandma think about? Was my 6th great uncle happy? What were the sounds and smells of the house of the young families? It’s unfortunate that legal documents form the understanding of the vast majority of our families. I long for journals or diaries, and maybe more of those will be discovered. Until then, I have only the facts and I will try to present as much as I can to try and help understand the various branches of my family.

I’ve been careful to avoid the words ancestry and genealogy until now, but after this explanation, I will use them. I consider myself a family historian and not a genealogist. I find DNA an interesting part of studying one’s own story, but it isn’t the complete story. Who I share genetics with in a lot of cases have less to do with who I am and who my family has been than close friends and communities, or even pets. There are more ways of facing what a family is than simply tracing one’s ancestry. And I’m also not saying that isn’t valid. If you are only interested in that, go for it. Do your thing. I am not trying to prove a pedigree or show how I am related to anyone in particular, so I’m going to look at the whole. I will definitely look at ancestry and trace my family lines, but I just won’t stop there or be defined by what that is.

DNA

I recently got a DNA test from Ancestry.com The broad results are fairly expected. For those who don’t know, DNA tests do not show where someone comes from, but where people with similar DNA can be found today. It might sound like a minor distinction, but it can help understand why results don’t seem 100% what you might expect.

As you can see from my results, I am 69% “England, Wales & Northwestern Europe”, 28% “Ireland & Scotland”, and 3% “Sweden.” The latter two are clear, but “England, Wales & Northwestern Europe” is a large area and does not show distinctions between Germany, Denmark, England, or France. It’s a large area with a lot of countries. I do know generally speaking that my family came to the United States from Germany, Switzerland, Ireland, and England. I am the cliché American profile.

When you look at the migrations map, you will see that there too I am incredibly broadly American, having family that settled everywhere from Pennsylvania to Texas, from Wisconsin to Georgia. I’ve got family who followed Brigham Young to what would become Utah, and family that took up arms on both sides of the Civil War. There are farmers and ministers, grocers and teachers, housewives and merchants. It would be easy to look at my family and find nothing much worth mentioning, but it’s actually the fact that there aren’t a whole lot of notable figures that interests me even more. Who were these everyday folks?

I hope you’ll stick with me. Leave me comments, and if I am talking about a relative we share in common, please add your own stories and photos.

By:
On:
With: 0 Comments

Dempsey, Oklahoma

Squash vines coiled
in and around, spilling &
tumbling over each other,
exploding with fruit,
filled with more water
than this place had seen
since May.
Those vines grew wild
alongside bindweed
in the garden that once
fed a whole family,
the jars lined up in the
dugout cellar —
apricots, potatoes, beans.
We used to play in those
places as they turned to ruins,
our historic homeland.
We’d take watermelon rind,
or cantaloupe halves out
for the overheated cows,
leave the fruit near the salt lick.
Our socks would be filled
with sand burs,
our teeth with dust,
and often my mouth would
still show the traces of chocolate
from a clandestine visit
at my grandma’s parents’ house.
The cows were traded in,
eventually the whole lot
retired to the comfort of town,
to the neighbors
with their cat stories,
and a garden bursting
with cucumbers,
a mowed lawn,
tiger-lilies.
I’d miss Dempsey then,
resigned to sit in hushed rooms,
watching my grandma’s mom
eat cornbread & milk.
She’d tell me stories,
talk about her daddy,
but I always wondered
about the cows
and about the apricot trees.

Written 29 January 2000 in Tulsa, Oklahoma & 23 February 2020 in Payne County, Oklahoma.

Brian Fuchs, “Dempsey, Oklahoma” from Scissor-tailed Flycatcher (Scissortail Press, 2020)

Notes

Original Version:

thirteen

Dust and saltlicks and fuzzy caterpillars. I loved the farm. I often complained about the heat or stickerweed or the heat — such incredible heat. I was secretly relieved and secretly upset when G, with her parents moved into town. Where in town was the garden full of overripe squash and where in town were the cows, anxious for discarded watermelon or cantaloupe rind for dessert. They moved to be close to a hospital — to make certain they would have a place near for death. Poor G, it broke her heart, and us kids would sit around making all kinds of noise and she wanted to cry. Cry now, G, cry. Were off making noises in our own places — we’re grown now. We know you need a little peace — we will be quiet now.

1.29.2000

part of the chapbook Studies In Loneliness

By:
On:
With: 0 Comments

David Eugene, look at me when I’m thinking about you!

I’m a disciple, a child of your narcissism.
an inadequate acolyte of your worst impulses,
treasonous and suspicious, even in my reverence.
Love is wrapped in sarcasm, in mocking and making-fun.
I pray these are truths, and that you are as transparent as you seem.

I only see the Davids for who they are,
blind to who they want me to see, who they wish they were.
I only see you for who you are,
but I feel the person you want me to be
growing cynically inside.
Oh David, do you not recognize the idolatry in my loyalty?
Does my face not give away my desire to be looking at my own face
when I am looking at you?

The tears stay close, pooling in eyelids, fighting their impulse
to race down my cheek toward knowing I am fully myself,
and not who I am trying to be.
I am trying to be bold in the ways you expect,
no longer cowering in the corners where you found me.
I remember the safety of home, and the emptiness.
I felt safe in my denial, but I am liberated by your sacred teachings.

I grovel, prostrate myself before you,
foolishly and joyously feeding your need for attention.
David, you have shown me that you are more important than I am.
You are more than I am. You are existence.
I meant to steal the hearts of those around you,
meant to show them how much I had learned at your feet.
They exist, you exist, and I have revealed myself to be fragments.
You have reassured me, patted my head like a Lhasa apso,
my head cocked to one side as I attentively await praise.

Oh David, I have not been enough!
The fragments have betrayed me and revealed that I am not whole.
I’ve tried holding them together with glues and tape,
but the picture never seems real;
the other congregants have moved on, my failings insurmountable.
They have found me lacking and are uncomfortable in my presence.
Selfishness is a difficult lesson to learn; I am trying.

I’m still dwelling on my heartache, trying to release it,
unchaining my tongue and allowing bravery to escape,
to become the person I see in you, David,
or to at least to become someone whole, beautiful and brazen,
someone rewarded with love, sex, warmth.
I humbly bow, giving thanks for even a chance
to be blessed by your acceptance.

Notes

Brian Fuchs, “David Eugene, look at me when I’m thinking about you” from Okie Dokie (Scissortail Press, 2019)

Written 17 March 2008 in Anchorage, Alaska & 7 September 2018 in Payne County, Oklahoma.

 

Original version posted 17 March 2008

By:
On:
With: 0 Comments

I’ve recently done several things with my books — first, I ordered a few books I’ve been interested in reading (in spite of the dozens of books I have and have not yet read).  Also, I rearranged the books in the house to have rough categories.  I am hoping that makes finding a particular book I want to read easier to find, which is should.  Lastly, I unpacked two boxes of books I had stored away for a while and I intend to unpack all books from boxes over the coming weeks.  I’ve always had a large number of books, but it’s time to purge a few of those.  Purging is always a nice feeling, so I’m not anticipating any problems exactly.  If pushed, I could let go of at least half of the books I currently have out on shelves, so I shouldn’t even be terribly pressed for space.

Here are a few books I’m excited to start reading.  Some of these are new to me & some are books I’ve had for years and I just haven’t gotten around to reading yet.

Memoirs

These are some newer memoirs I’ve been excited to get into.  Even though I rarely keep up with celebrities, I do enjoy a good celebrity memoir.  Jim Grimsley is one of my favorite authors, and I’m very excited that he has released a memoir.  The subject is pretty heavy, but necessarily so.

Fiction

I have such an extremely long list of fiction books I want to read, but these are sort of queued up as the next ones on the list.  I have read books by Graham Rawle and Bob Smith before, but the other authors are all new to me.  I hope for some good things.

Novels by Raymond Queneau

I’ve really enjoyed the Raymond Queneau books I have read in the past, and I have a few others to try.

Poetry

Since I’ve been working on my own poetry, I’ve been into reading poetry more than normal.  I’ve read some pretty interesting stuff so far; these are the next three on my list

By:
On:
With: 0 Comments

My week was pretty much defined by allergies, which is a little frustrating.  The pollen levels were very high, so I was trying to get through with puffy eyes and a scratchy throat all week.  I used to take a ton of allergy medicine to get through a day, and I guess it is a positive thing that I actually take none now.  This was probably the worst allergy week of the year, and honestly it wasn’t as bad as I’ve experienced in the past.  I’ve had allergies for a long time, but they seemed particularly pronounced when I moved to Oklahoma from Alaska.  I was spending my spring and summer months feeling just terrible, and taking a daily regimen of allergy pills, as I said.  The pills would make me very sleepy, as most medications do.  My allergies really changed for the better when I became vegan, which was curious to me at the time.  Apparently, the science looks like it backs that up.  Several studies suggest that those who eat a vegan diet are less likely to report having environmental allergies (as well as chemical, food, drug, and bee-sting).  I’ve heard anecdotally from other vegans that their allergy symptoms were also improved when they switch to a vegan diet.  It’s so interesting to explore the links between food and health.  Don’t get me wrong, I am not saying that a vegan diet cured me of allergies — clearly not.  This has been a bit of a rough week; however, since they aren’t so bad I don’t have to deal with the side effects of allergy meds.

I’m pretty happy with my yard this week.  Unfortunately, due to the unusually wet August we had, I have black spot on many of the trees, and on one of my roses.  The problem is too widespread to completely correct, and I hope that everything is able to put on some stronger growth next year, as there are so many trees losing leaves.  The rose just needs to dry out, which will help.  Right now, about 20% of it is infected, but it’s a very tall climber and it isn’t possible for me to remove all of the infected canes.  I’m just going to treat it and hope for the best.  I’ll treat it next spring as well, and hopefully the problem will correct.  My Fourth of July rose had black spot earlier this year, and will some TLC it is now disease-free.  I think the Golden Shower rose is healthy enough that it will be okay, but it’ll be a bit ugly for the rest of this year.

The upcoming week looks like it’s going to be a wet one again!!  I’m amazed at the number of rainy days we’ve had.  I love those days, but it is so unusual and not great for my plants apparently.  It also really can help with my pollen allergies, but of course then the mold allergies increase with the moisture, so you never really totally win that fight.

I’ve been editing and rewriting, trying to put together collections of poetry for the books I have planned.  I’m really happy with the direction I’m going with them at the moment, and some of my rewrites make me very happy.  I think I am much more honest with myself now than I was in my twenties.  Maybe that is just an obvious statement.  I have such a lot of poetry from that decade of my life that is really great and requires no work to be exactly what I wanted it to be, and then there are others that almost certainly didn’t work at the time.  If I could have seen that then, or if I had been willing to say that to myself at the time, those poems could have been greatly improved and would not need my rewrites so many years later.  It’s been interesting to see my style over periods of time.  I tend to write in two or three different styles, and I can go months or years focused on just one of them.  At the moment, the poems seem to be naturally dividing themselves into four themes, which will be the books.  The fourth category is one that isn’t fully realized, so that one will need more time to fully develop, but the other three I do really understand well.

I need a schedule!  I am so bad about following a set schedule, but when I don’t have one I tend to forget certain tasks, or get into situations where I am spending far too much time on one thing and not enough on another thing.  So, for the millionth time, I am working on making myself a schedule.  I have too many different things to accomplish to just play it by ear at this point, and I need to make sure nobody feels like things are being neglected.  Some things are, but more importantly there are times when it probably feels like I am not focused on tasks around the property that need to be done, when in reality I am aware of them and not making any show of it.  Sometimes people need to see your work to believe you are doing it.  I hope that goes well.  I really want to get these books done and I think this helps with that goal, while ensuring that everything is still running smoothly.

The “update” category blog posts seem to be posting a day later than they should.  I’m trying to resolve this, but I’m not entirely sure what the problem is.  It’s almost certainly something I am doing wrong.  Bleh.

By:
On:
With: 0 Comments

This has been a wonderful week.  Once again, Justin and Conner were impressive workers and we made some excellent progress with the yard.  We did get a little rain this week, but nothing like we had been getting.  This next week looks warm and dry, which is both good and bad.  I also won’t be at all surprised if there is unexpected rain.  Why not!?

I’ve started to assemble things with the goal of creating a book of my poetry.  It’s really crazy that I have never done that, but it’s going to happen this year.  I’m trying to decide if I want to do short books focused on a theme, or if I should just chuck everything in together and have a slightly longer book.  I can see the value in both.

Senator John McCain died.  Whatever one thinks of his politics, I think we can agree that he deserves our respect as a veteran and POW.  I also really do believe he always fought for what he thought was right.  I didn’t always agree with what he thought was right, but what I’ve seen in the past decade has been the rise of Republican obstructionism, senators and congressmen who are no longer striving to move us forward as a country.  Instead, they try to gum up the machine, fight to keep people down, and cheat to retain power.  They are unAmerican.  I’m reminded of McCain’s town hall during which a woman asked about Obama, disparaging him.  McCain, being a fundamentally good person, defended his colleague.  It was about advancing their ideas, not about tearing one another down.  That election would include some less honorable moments, and arguably was the unintentionally handing of the Republican party that John McCain was a member of to the Tea Party obstructionists like his running mate.  He had a long career and was a well-loved patriot; my thoughts and prayers are with his family at this time.

This has been the third week in a row when I lacked focus on the blog, but I’ve got plenty to write about.  I just need to get with it!

By:
On:
With: 0 Comments

You’d have a hard time finding someone who loves rain more than I do.  It relaxes me and even the slightest drizzle will cause me to throw open my windows in the hopes that I will hear the patter of raindrops.  It’s one of the things that makes me act crazy, but something I’m not apologizing for.  I love thunderstorms, light showers, sudden downpours.

I remember when I was a kid it rained on my birthday a couple of times.  By the beginning of August in Oklahoma, things can start to look pretty bleak.  Grasses start turning brown from lack of rain, and gardens become increasingly difficult to keep alive (in my experience anyway).  It’s been months since the storms of April and May, and it really feels unbearably hot and dry.  So, on those occasions when it rained on August 5, I remember being excited to have a break from the heat.

We had a fairly hot June this year, and while I hoped for below average temperatures for the rest of the summer, I didn’t have any hope of that happening.  I have been pleasantly surprised.  It’s been very warm at times, but the blistering heat has really stayed away this year.  At the end of July, it started to rain even.  That was so nice.

And the rain just kept coming.  It’s August 19 now.  The last rain we had was yesterday.  That was the last of almost 20 days of the rain I love.  Some days it would just rain a little in the middle of the day, and other days would see a large storm come through during the night.  Ultimately, I’d take that over no rain any day.  But I’m glad to have a break from it just now.  The plants need time to dry out, get some sun, etc.  We’ve got more rain in the forecast for next week.

This week was brilliant in some ways, but very sad in others.  Opie & Laura announced they are having a baby.  It was nice to have some good news, but I am having trouble with the knowing that Mom would want to have seen these two start their family.  And they are going to be great parents.  Opie had a few issues, and ten years ago I would have been worried about him becoming a father.  He’s really proven himself to be a wonderful person, and has a fantastic future ahead of him.  I’m so proud to have people like him in my family.

Brent turned 40.  I don’t think I will handle it well when I turn 40 next year, but it isn’t because I’m afraid to be in my 40s.  It brings up so many issues.  I don’t know how Brent dealt with it, but he does usually deal with things well.  I wish we would have had a party for him, but I’ve had some trouble keeping up with things like that.

I’m looking forward to a great week.  I’m starting to think it’s okay to do things… that seems vague, but I’ll elaborate in the future.

By:
On:
With: 0 Comments

Gertrude Stein (1874-1946)

A few days ago, while organizing paperwork and whatnot, I came across my writing journals from college.  It’s interesting to revisit oneself after 20 years.  It felt familiar, but not so much that I recognized the author.  I could remember writing the words, but the fact that I had done so struck me as bizarre.  For the most part, I didn’t like the person who had written those poems and fragments and notes.  He seemed silly, immature, and at times overly serious.  I wish I could go back and tell him the things I have learned on my journey.

That said, I haven’t been writing much lately.  I haven’t even journaled this summer for obvious reasons.  But I’m very much feeling the words gathering into lines in my head, and I am eager to write more poetry.  I’d been in a dry spell on poetry, but mostly that was due to the lack of quiet I had been dealing with.  Quiet seems easier to achieve recently.  That should help.

When I was studying literature, it was easy to fall for specific authors who I just connected with.  It wasn’t always clear why those connections happened, but it was this that introduced me to Galway Kinnell, Sylvia Plath, Frank O’Hara, Geoffrey Chaucer, & Tim O’Brien.  I latched on to these, and to others, quickly and they helped guide the type of writer I would be.  I was also discovering contemporary authors at that time in my life and their words would guide me as well — Jim Grimsley, Bob Smith, Gary Reed.  Gertrude Stein was one of the authors I discovered in class, having been aware of her for most of my life.  It’s odd how little one can know about someone who has such a well-known name.

Gertrude Stein wrote in several different styles, but all of it was filled with her characteristic repetition and rhythm.  I was especially interested in added that to my own work, and I gave it a try many times.  It’s something that still comes up.  A nod to Stein is a very common practice for me, and I thank her for being one of my muses.

By:
On:
With: 0 Comments

Happy Birthday To Me!  Today is my 39th birthday, and while it has been a mostly peaceful day, I have found myself avoiding a lot of memories and feelings that are just under the surface.  I just wasn’t in a place to deal.

I spent the first half of the day listening to episodes of the podcast Frangela: The Final Word.  TOO FUNNY!  I love these two, and have for a long time on The Stephanie Miller Show.  I don’t know why it took me so long to get into their podcast.  I’m glad I did though.  After a bit of that, I took a nice nap on the front porch, where I discovered one of the kittens had returned.  I don’t have faith in the survival of the others, but his return offered at least a glimmer of hope.  My nap was followed by going up to spend time with my dad, brother, nephew, and roommate.  Justin made vegan chicken burgers and fries and the rest of us gave Conner a hard time.  I know he was getting frustrated, but it was kinda fun anyway.

The gathering was fairly brief, a little chaotic, but okay.  I do find myself needing to manage my expectations of others in these situations.  I have a tendency to want people to put their own issues away for a few hours, and at least give the appearance that they care to spend time with me.  But they don’t.  I should know better.  I don’t mean to sound accusatory at all; they are just living their lives as normal.  It’s me who is expecting too much.

I’ve had a wonderfully productive week.  I got the shelving assembled and put in that goes along the east wall of my bedroom.  I’m putting things together slowly with it in; I don’t want it to just feel like a pile of stuff, so I’m going through things and purging a little as I go… very little.  I did identify some books on ikebana that I intend to find a new home for… if I don’t change my mind.  Those books are so thin that it will hardly make a difference in the end!  I finally put some books on the shelves in the living room as well; I’ve had three shelves empty for the past year or so, which is silly really since I had books in boxes waiting to be put out.

Justin helped me put in a row of junipers that will hopefully mature into a nice hedge to break up the front yard, and we also put in another chaste tree up at the house.  Things seem to be coming together slowly in the yards.  I need to spend some time cleaning up the flowerbeds at the house;  they are covered in weeds, need mulch, and the plants could be pruned.

Plants showed up!  I’m not sure why they were sent so early, but part of the order that was supposed to arrive in November showed up in the mail.  It isn’t a good time for planting.  I might look at how to hold them until fall; they are bare root plants.  If I can’t easily wait, I’ll need to get those in the ground or at least in planters in the next couple of days.  I’m not sure how well things will do if they are planted in August, but it does look like we will have a rather mild week and that will help.

The orange rose, which had put on very pink blooms before, has changed and the newer blooms are much more orange.  Maybe it needs to mature before the roses will be their true color, and maybe they will be pale.  Either way, I’m really liking the look of these and I’m glad I put them near the porch.  In time they will be tall enough to tie to the side of the porch and they can be enjoyed like the ‘Fourth of July’ or ‘Golden Showers’ roses are.

So this next week’s plans are all about figuring out those plants that arrived early.  I do need to mow and get started on the flowerbeds as well, but I will also spend some time uploading more blog posts.  It’s nice to be ahead of the game.  I usually stay three or four weeks ahead, but I’m only a few days ahead at the moment and need to manage things better to make sure the blog is always active.  On that note, I’m looking for feedback on what is working and what isn’t.  Leave me comments on this post or on any post you want so I know what people are thinking.

Artists Featured This Week

By:
On:

Crepemyrtle (Lagerstroemia)

When I moved to Alaska in 2005 I was struck by those things that were different from my life in Oklahoma.  After getting through that first winter, it became apparent that it wasn’t just the conifer trees that provided a striking contrast to the landscapes of the places I consider home.  The perennials that popped up in the gardens of the area were exotic to me.  They were plants I had known about, but had no experience with.  Columbine, dahlia, lobelia, rhubarb, bleeding hearts, raspberries, wild roses, poppies.  It was a fascinating experience to be surrounded by these new plants, as well as by the old familiar dandelions and lilacs.

I was in Alaska for a number of years and loved those summer months and the beautiful flowers of the area.  What I didn’t expect was how much I would fall in love with the plants of Oklahoma when I returned for vacation.

I was born in Tulsa, Oklahoma on 5 August 1979 and I lived in the state until 2005 when I left for Alaska.  My uncle is a landscape architect, my grandpa was a professor of agronomy and a consultant on soils.  He spent hours daily working on his flowerbeds and vegetable garden on his one acre lot, an oasis of green in the middle of ordinary yards.  Plants were a part of our DNA.  All parts of my family had been farmers, growing broom corn and cotton.  It had never been my world and I barely paid attention to the things growing around me.  I was aware of the various plants in the landscape, but I didn’t know much about those plants.

What I was most struck with on coming back to Oklahoma on a vacation in 2007 was how amazing crepemyrtles are.  They’ve long been a favorite, especially of my grandpa who had them planted heavily around his house and as a backdrop/transition between the trees and flowers in the flowerbeds.  It felt like I was discovering these plants for the first time.

In 2013, I loved back to Oklahoma and these crepemyrtles felt like a focus of my thoughts when I was

at my parents house or at a business.  They are one of the most commonly used plants in Oklahoma, and it’s pretty easy to see why.

Crepemyrtles are native to southeast Asia, with some hybrids being crossed with a taller species from Japan.  They have been a common ornamental plant in America since before the revolution, with both George Washington and Thomas Jefferson’s gardens having at least one specimen plant.  They quickly became a staple in the South, but as they are not generally cold hardy past zone 6 or 7, they were not a part of the gardens of the North and as a result they do not feature in very many of the early seed or nursery catalogs.  When they do start popping up, it is clear that several cultivars have been established from the original pink flowering tree.  You see white, pink, purple, and red listed in those early catalogs.  The purples were what we now refer to as lavender and the red were dark pink.  It took a long time to achieve a true red crepemyrtle.

The cultivars did not change significantly for a long time, with sporadic new plants being introduced a couple each decade until the 1950s.  It was then that hybridization started in more earnest, and the numbers of plants available really exploded.  By the 1970s, new plants were being released at a rate of six to twelve per year, a speed that has only been matched in recent years.  These plants had all started off as trees that grow 20-25 feet, filled from June to September with large panicles of pink flowers.  Now there were bright reds, fuchsias, deep purples, blush pinks, and picotees of white and pink.  Some of them still reached 20 feet or more, while other varieties had been selected to weep only 1-2 feet off the ground.

Crepemyrtles have a couple of drawbacks.  The most obvious is that they don’t put on new leaves until late May or June.  It’s glaring when the rest of the trees have woken up, many of which have gone through their flowering and are now greening out for the summer and the crepemyrtles still are just a cluster of sticks.  It almost feels like nothing will ever happen with them, and then over the course of a few days leaves start popping up from branches that seemed dead for sure.  They grow fast and in less than a month, the plant has put on so much growth that it’s easy to forget that it had waited for so long.  And then it flowers and that wait was worth it, most of them covering themselves in blooms.  Many will stay in bloom until frost, so it’s a showy plant.

They other problem is not so much with crepemyrtles themselves as it is with people who don’t know how to take care of them.  It is very common for crepemyrtles to be cut back heavily by landscapers, often dramatically.  The result is thickly trunked trees with thin branches, often referred to as a witch’s broom effect.  There are two goals these people are trying to accomplish.  One, it keeps the plant small and contained.  Many varieties can grow to 15-25 feet.  Business don’t always want that.  The other thing this does is increase the new growth branches, which is where the flowering occurs on crepemyrtles.  The do not bloom on last years growth.  First, the size of a crepemyrtle can be maintained by planting the correct variety.  Choose the one that fits your space.  Secondly, new growth and blooming can be encouraged by pruning a crepemyrtle by removing old branches that aren’t growing, dead heading panicles, and cutting back weak growth.  Nobody needs to engage in “crapemurders”.

Crepemyrtles may not be native to Oklahoma, or indeed anywhere in zones 7, 8, or 9, but they might as well be.  These flowering trees and shrubs are a part of us now, and I am so glad to have rediscovered them and appreciate them immensely.

Crapemyrtle Database

Please note also that there are different spellings.  The plant is botanically known as Lagerstroemia, but is commonly known as crepemyrtle, crepe myrtle, crapemyrtle, or crape myrtle.  I used the one I prefer above.

Southern Living: Grumpy Gardener’s Crepe Murders 2018

By:
On:
With: 0 Comments

The week started out very hot.  I actually lost a rose bush to the heat; it had been struggling to grow anyway, so I’m not terribly surprised.  I was still not feeling great part of the week, so it felt a little like I was getting back to life in slow motion.  I did manage to get the lawn mowed, which was more exciting than it should have been, and cut down one small tree.  Other than that, my only real efforts in my garden were pruning and deadheading.  Oh, and lamenting the loss of that rose.  I was looking forward to that one, but the heat was even stressing some of the crapemyrtles, and they can handle heat pretty well.  We had a storm come through last night and that pretty much took the worst of the heat with it.  We can enjoy a couple of cooler days now.  I have not seen most of the youngest kittens for a couple of days, which is a worry.  Sometimes they do disappear for a few, but I’m worried that they didn’t make it.  The property is so large and wooded, and the cats all spend time exploring, that I might never really know what happened unless they show back up on the porch.

Dad’s birthday was Friday and we all had dinner made by Conner, which was nice.  We also had a variety of cakes, including one failure by me and Justin.  I don’t know why it just wasn’t working, but my third attempt was good.  It actually stayed at home because it was too hot to take.  At least I know I can make a cake, even if it took me three tries!

Featured Artists this week:

By:
On:
With: 0 Comments

Blackjack Oak

Quercus marilandica ashei

Just outside my bedroom window is a rugged Blackjack Oak.  She isn’t fancy or flashy; neither is she demanding.  She takes care of herself and has a pioneering look about her.

When my parents moved to this property in 2006, most of the native trees were cleared from the areas where they would be living, being replaced with more pleasing fruit trees, crapemyrtles, and one Bradford pear.  Along with a few other trees, they did leave one small oak tree.  That tree offered a shaded spot to sit and enjoy the property, while being a fairly compact plant.  It has not stayed that way.

I moved into this place in 2015.  At that time, the once diminutive oak had become a little more of a presence.  The branches had arched and reached the house, occasionally scraping against the siding.  Ultimately it needed to be trimmed a little, but it’s increased size had created even more of a shaded area, some of its lower branches now no longer putting on leaves.  She had started looking a little bit raggedy.  It made me wonder about how long lived blackjack oaks are, worrying that she had only a limited time left and that I would need to think about  what to do when a replacement or removal was needed.

Blackjack oaks are a type of red oak common from New Jersey to Eastern Kansas and as far south as Georgia and Central Texas.  They are small and hardy trees, happily growing is poor soils and dry areas.  They don’t represent the prettiest of trees, consisting of crooked and twisted branches, many of which stop putting on leaves when those above them block the light.  It gives them a distinctive half-dead appearance that my oak now suffers from, but it does not indicate any sort of problem with the tree itself.  It does have a tendency to droop the leafless branches, making it hard to walk under and requiring annual pruning, but it’s a manageable problem.

These trees are slower growing, but longer lived oaks, especially the western subspecies in Northern Texas, Oklahoma, and Kansas.  These individuals make up a significant percentage of The Cross Timbers, the oak savannah that bisects Oklahoma, separating the heavily wooded East from the arid West.  It’s a forest made up of post oaks, blackjack oaks, and eastern redcedars.  Blackjack oaks can live for more than 200 years, averaging about 80 years.  My fears of needing to replace my tree are unfounded.

No, this isn’t the world’s most beautiful tree.  It’s leaves even feel like they haven’t fully formed, as if they can quite figure out how to evolve into something clear.  The acorns are tiny, barely worth talking about.  The limbs are crooked and bare, at least the lower ones.  They don’t have the lush growth of most of the other trees that surround the house.  However, the tree is home to many birds and those tiny acorns are enjoyed by squirrels and even brazen deer who venture up to the house to graze on them along with the crabapples that grow next to the oak.  And it provides much of my house with shade, having expanded from a shady spot in the center of the yard to a defining feature of the property.

This tree has its issues, but I love her and I’m glad she’s here.