Austin’s drought continues. Today’s high is expected to reach 103 degrees. My excursions into the garden these days bring me up against two unpleasantries: watering cans (and hoses) and mosquitoes.

Reality bites!

Precious water from the second rain barrel. The other rain barrel is running dry after a month and a half with no precipitation.
Most summers, I don’t have to water more than every 10 to 14 days. But this rainless summer is taking its toll, and I find myself watering every 7 to 10 days just to keep plants from dying. I’m not focused on keeping them in bloom, just keeping them from burning to a crisp.
And yet some of the native and adapted plants in my garden thrive with only a little or no extra water in the summer, blooming as if it were springtime. So here is the other, more pleasant reality of my garden in late summer, which I occasionally notice when I lift my eyes from my mosquito-plagued ankles. Photos from my back-garden stroll this morning:

Turk’s cap’s spiraling blossoms inject bright color into my shade bed and look like swirled confectioner’s frosting.

White Turk’s cap—less common than the red variety, but I’ve seen it at several nurseries around town.

A jumble of Turk’s cap blooms. They don’t mind the heat one bit.

The sapling flameleaf sumac (Rhus lanceolata) is flowering for the first time. I didn’t even know that it wouldflower noticeably, so this was a pleasant surprise.

Another spray on the sumac, more fully open.

At the sumac’s feet grow several other hardy plants: (from left to right) cool-blue, spineless prickly pear cactus; spiky-leaved agarita; yellow zexmenia; and feathery bamboo muhly. Rarely does the hose get pulled out to this back bed, so the fact that they’re blooming right now says a lot.

Nearby, the inland sea oats’ seedheads have turned toasty brown, promising the end of summer. They grow thickly at the feet of a yaupon holly.

The yellow bells (Tecoma stans) bloom better every year. These two plants stand about six-and-a-half feet tall.

Turk’s caps and a lone purple coneflower hug the cedar elm’s trunk. Purple heart is visible in the background.

Here is another surprise: the Blue Elf aloe is blooming. Normally it flowers in February or March, but it has pushed up one scraggly bloom stalk right now. Strange.

A few electric-blue flowers linger on the salvia guaranitica.

A fungus among us. This large fungus is growing on the desiccating stump of an old Arizona ash we removed about 6 years ago. Not very pretty, but I suppose it has a function, so I let it be.

Prettier fungi. You can only see the tops of these ceramic toadstools in this photo, but they add color at the zinnias’ feet. My grandmother-in-law gave them to me one Christmas. When I opened the box and pulled out a mushroom cap, I looked over at her in bemusement and asked, “What is it?” She chirped, “Tinkling toadstools!” It was several minutes before I could catch my breath from laughing to thank her. The concept and the name cracked me up, but they really do tinkle when their caps brush against each other. (Here’s a better look at the toadstools, which can be found on several vendors’ websites.)
I realize from reading other gardeners’ blogs that late summer is tough on gardens in many parts of the country, not just here. Wherever you garden, I hope you too can locate that alternative, more pleasant reality—a few flowering plants or grasses to take your mind off the wilted, tired ones.