Posts Tagged ‘Cone Flowers’

IMG_8854 - Version 3Echinacea.

A Greek word that means hedgehog, these long lasting flowers are more commonly known as coneflowers for the conical shaped seed head of the flowers. Our echinaceas are just starting their long blooming season and can be found in many gardens throughout the area. They are dependable and easy to care for – a good bang-for-your-buck if you are looking for a reliable perennial.


Our Echinacea is doing well here on the Cutoff. I learned last year to temper my eagerness at pulling weeds too early in the season. While I do have quite a growth of weeds, my patience at waiting until I was sure has awarded us fairly a full crop of Echinacea, which are just starting to perform and have been graciously posing for me and my camera.


These pictures, however, are all from the same photo. I started playing around with the image, cropping it in different spots, and thought you might like see them. Just don’t tell anyone that the photo was taken in the drive-through line of the local Mac Donald’s where I stopped for a cold drink the other day.

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As I sat, my car in the queue waiting to pay, I noticed this bee enjoying her own happy meal and just couldn’t resist.

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Snow flakes

Snow flakes

 by Emily Dickinson

Snow flakes.

I counted till they danced so

Their slippers leaped the town,

And then I took a pencil

To note the rebels down.

And then they grew so jolly

I did resign the prig,

And ten of my once stately toes

Are marshalled for a jig!

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August is singing the blues. We can hear it in the cadence of the locusts, crooning daily in their ancient courtship. We hear it in the deep-throated chorus of the bull frogs. Their scratchy, rhythmic calls at night can be heard above the drone of the air-conditioner in a house closed tightly against the heat, still heavy in the night air.

August is singing the blues. It is my least favorite month of the year. The early flurry of summer activities and the rapid growth of the garden has slowed to a crawl. The flowers have reached their peak, their colors are slowly fading. Although some fierce pinching back and trimming will invite second or even third blooms, we all know the best show in town is over.

August is singing the blues. The cone flowers are still in play, with swarms of bees and butterflies drinking their sweet nectar. We watched a swallowtail enjoying a late afternoon feeding frenzy, dangling, precariously, from blossom to blossom on the butterfly bush. The cabbage moths dance deep into the afternoon, dancing in mid-air, swirling and twirling in their counter-clock waltz.

August is singing the blues. The brown-eyed Susans are reaching for the sun and bringing color back into the landscape. I look at them and contemplate setting the table with the Brown-Eyed Susan dishes that were Tom’s mother’s. Nature always serves as a reminder of what lies within, doesn’t it?

Yes, August is singing the blues. It seems that everyone is either far away on vacations or hidden inside where curtains are drawn and glasses of iced tea sweat. I long for days of front porches and a game of tag before the street lights come on.

August is singing the blues. It is a good month for a long, slow read and for daydreams; the kind you had when you were a kid. The ones that took you to the moon and back, on an exotic safari, or maybe just around the block on your bike. The kind of dreams that left you yearning for your best friend to return from summer camp.

August is singing the blues. But, wait!  Nestled deep, in among the spent blossoms of Six Hills Giant Nepeta and top-heavy Endless Summer hydrangea, the mums are stirring. I heard them humming softly as they soaked in the August sun. I do hate to rush the seasons, but, I declare, I heard them, humming. It sounded a bit like the Tempos promising to see me in September.

Maybe August isn’t singing the blues after all. Maybe it’s  just Sir Elton guessing why they call it the blues.

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Dining with Donald

Donald on Dining in and Out.


writing about the environmental issues nobody is writing about.

Poesy plus Polemics

Words of Wonder, Worry and Whimsy

Jill Weatherholt

Writing Stories of Love, Faith and Happy Endings While Enjoying the Journey


Barnstorming: Seeking Sanctuary in the Seasons of a Rural Life

Mike McCurry's Daily Blog

Creative information about Real Estate and Life in the Western Suburbs of Chicago


Chicago's Weekly Wildflower Report, News, Best Nature Hikes & Outdoor Getaways

Interrupting the Silence

An Episcopal Priest's Sermons, Prayers, and Reflections on Life, Becoming Human, and Discovering Our Divinity

The Pioneer Girl Project

Laura Ingalls Wilder's Pioneer Girl

I didn't have my glasses on....

A trip through life with fingers crossed and eternal optimism.

El Space--The Blog of L. Marie

Thoughts about writing and life

Leaf & Twig

Where observation and imagination meet nature in poetry.

Apple Pie and Napalm

music lover, truth teller, homey philosophy

Petals. Paper. Simple Thymes

"Fill your paper with the breathings of your heart." William Wordsworth

My Chicago Botanic Garden

A blog for visitors to the Garden.

Living Designs

Circles of Life: My professional background in Foods and Nutrition (MS, Registered and Licensed Dietitian Nutritionist, RDN, LDN) provides the background for my personal interests in nutrition, foods and cooking; health and wellness; environment and sustainability.

Women Making Strides

Be a Leader in Your Own Life

Middlemay Farm

Katahdin Sheep, Chickens, Ducks, Dogs and Novelist Adrienne Morris live here (with humans).

Book Snob


teacups & buttercups

An old fashioned heart

Andra Watkins

Acclaimed Speaker ~ New York Times Bestselling Author

Louisa May Alcott is My Passion

Begun in 2010, this blog offers analysis and reflection by Susan Bailey on the life, works and legacy of Louisa May Alcott and her family. Susan is an active member and supporter of the Louisa May Alcott Society, the Fruitlands Museum and Louisa May Alcott's Orchard House.


Reducing stress one exhale at a time

Kate Shrewsday

A thousand thousand stories

Blogging from the Bog

musings from and about our cottage in the West of Ireland