There is probably only one thing that can entice me away from spending time in my garden paradise

I love being in the garden. There is very little that can persuade me not to find an excuse to be out there. But there is one thing that will almost always lure me out of my serene little Eden--family history research.

I'm an avid family history researcher--a lover of history, old photographs and ephemera, and the possessor of an eye for deciphering cryptic handwriting and old newspaper print. I love piecing together a life story.

I suppose family history research is much like gardening. Every time I plant a seed in the ground it is a miracle to me that it grows into anything--let alone the beautiful flower or vegetable that it does. In family history research, I often start with just a grain of information. Sometimes only a name. It always amazes me when I am able to take that small seed of information and make it grow into the sketch of an individual's life.

There's another similarity between the garden and family history research...

The orange blossoms (featured here in the photos of this post) will need lots of cooperative effort provided by many insects and hummingbirds in order to pollinate them. That's the only way these blossoms will become the juicy oranges that I love to eat in the winter months.

Family history research is impossible without the collaborative effort of many individuals doing everything from preserving old documents to collecting the information into a usable set of searchable data online (and many other tasks in between). It is through those efforts that I am able to gather bits and pieces of information (much like a bee gathering pollen), compile the disparate pieces, and end up with rich and sweet life stories of individuals who have passed on.

And both my garden and my research bless my life in ways I cannot begin to enumerate. They are choice activities that bring me closer to my Maker more than any other I can think of.

I'm practically up to my eyeballs in lemons and loving it

Last week I stood and looked at boughs heavily laden with fruit full of liquid sunshine. This year our eleven year old Eureka lemon decided to produce a crop above and beyond it's "semi dwarf" status. Sacrificing thick green leathery leaves, it has poured all its energy into the fruit. The Eureka is an ever-producing variety that year-round has blossoms, developing fruit, and ripe fruit on it all at the same time. But never have we been blessed with such a bountiful harvest all at once like this year.

I stood looking at a branch ready to break after the added weight of waterdrops from a spring rain shower were almost too much for it to bear. I knew I couldn't put off the harvest any longer.

So despite dealing with severe bouts of spring-allergy-induced vertigo, I got out under the tree with my garden cart, green-waste can, and two sizes of pruning shears. The branch that was precariously close to snapping and jeopardizing the whole tree was cut off before it could do damage to the form of the tree.

I removed the lemons from the cut branch... but there were still so many lemons left on the tree.

I filled my harvest satchel... and there were still so many lemons left on the tree.

I filled a laundry basket... and there were still so many lemons left on the tree.

I filled my garden cart... and there are still so many lemons left on the tree.

Although I had dosed myself with plenty of sinus medication to reduce the swelling and fluid in my inner ears and keep the head-spinning at bay, it was still tricky having to look up over my head to pick each lemon. Silent prayer, wishful thinking and sheer stubborn tenacity kept me from pitching forward and landing in the pond or on the ground. After I had the cart fairly full, I decided I had gathered enough and the rest of the fruit on the tree could wait until another time when someone taller and less equilibrium-challenged could harvest them.

After a couple of days, I tackled the next task of processing the lemons. We chose to juice them all into 8-ounce freezable stacking containers Hubby found at a local restaurant supply store. My count for containers of fresh squeezed juice is now over thirty. They sit in neat columns of golden yellow in our large supplemental freezer and will be thawed as needed for various uses in cooking, baking or drinking. I still have almost a full 5-gallon buckets worth of lemons to go before the juicing is done.

Hubby and I have read together many times in Frances Mayes' books Under the Tuscan Sun and The Tuscan Sun Cookbook about the Italian limonaia (literally translated "lemon house") where this important staple is stored in various forms to be used to feed the family throughout the year when the lemons aren't in season. It's the reason I planted the lemon tree in the first place. I feel like we finally have our dreamed of limonaia (of sorts) in our freezer.

It's wonderful to imagine all the things that the juice will become in the artful hands of Hubby (my personal chef-in-residence). Some will go into savory entrees such as pan sautéed lemon chicken. Some will probably be combined to make homemade lemon-infused extra virgin olive oil. I will most surely want to use some to make my favorite dessert, Cheery Cherry Cheese Pie. And I am a lover of lemonade so most assuredly a lot of the juice will be used to make large pitchers of ice cold lemonade on hot summer days.

Now my mouth is watering.

I think I can safely dub this winter "The Winter of Citrus"

Our crop off our dwarf citrus trees has been incredible! The Kinnow mandarin, Morro blood orange and Lane Late orange have all been little champions. Each of the diminutive trees has performed in a stellar way and given us the juiciest and sweetest bounty. The Lane Late gave me it's first proper fruit with an orange the size of a softball. Hubby and I shared it with each of us eating a juicy and scrumptious half.

There is something about those beautiful orange colored rinds in the depths of winter's chill that is heartwarming and worthy of being photographed... again and again and again. It's like the sun got placed right in my garden when I need it most to counter my SAD (Seasonal Affective Disorder). So far my SAD has been very low-key this year. Maybe I have the citrus to thank in part for that.

Available in fine art prints by clicking on the image above

A couple of days ago on my daily garden stroll, I was pleased to find that the Washington navel orange tree we put in a couple of years ago is covered with pure white buds ready to burst open into sweet and heady-fragranced blossoms. I'm on "orange blossom watch" every day as I anticipate them opening. I think I will try my hand at doing some manual pollination with a Q-tip this year to try and ensure that I get at least 1 or 2 oranges off the tree. It has yet to produce its first fruit as it's been trying to get settled. The weather is rather chilly for most pollinators to be out and about much so I think I'll need to help it along.

The navel orange tree isn't a dwarf and I hope that it will eventually reach it's expected height of 20-30 feet tall. For now it's only a little bigger than the dwarf trees at about 4 feet tall. I think at this height it may have a hard time supporting more than just a few fruits. We'll see.

For now, we still have some mandarins left on the tree--late ripeners that I'll pick and enjoy as soon as they feel just right when I give them a gentle squeeze. And we also have a load of Eureka lemons on the semi-dwarf tree in the center of the garden. Those can stay on the branch and be picked as needed (which Hubby does often for cooking). 

Now I'm craving some lemon chicken.  "Oh Hubby..."

Finding blood oranges, bird feathers and periwinkle in the garden today

With the sun shining brightly today, I went out to refill the bird feeders with black oil sunflower seeds. The birds waited somewhat impatiently perched on the limbs above my head as I filled each one. Back and forth I went from the garden bench where the big sack of seeds sat to the branches of the cherry tree--taking down each feeder, filling it and then putting it back up again.

On the flagstones under my feet I noticed a feather. I usually don't find fallen feathers (the birds like to keep them for themselves) so it caught my eye. And the beauty of the striking markings on the feather caught my eye as well.

Every time I walked by the feather, I was careful not to step on it.

After I was done filling the feeders, I stooped down to pick up the feather and examine it more closely. It looked like it may have come from a scrub jay... or maybe a mockingbird. The silver grey had a slight blue tinge to it.

I carried the feather with me as I took one last lap around the garden with my gathering basket slung over my arm. I picked a few more mandarins that felt soft to the touch and ready to enjoy. I checked the lemons but didn't find any soft enough to pick. I stopped and took a look at the crop of blood oranges growing on the dwarf Morro blood orange tree and found only one soft enough to harvest.

On my way back up the path to the house, I noticed that a single periwinkle blossom was out--its brilliant blue striking against the other greens and greys of the bed it was nestled in against the fence. Many more blossoms will follow so I decided to pick it and bring it in with the rest of the "precious" things I'd gathered in my basket.

Bringing in the treasures I'd found, I felt a bit like a little kid. And I felt even more childlike wonder cutting open the exotic looking blood orange with it raspberry colored juices dripping out. As I opened the fruit and held it in my hand, the afternoon sunlight streaming in the window reflected off every facet of the ruby innards of the fruit. And I knew I had to photograph it.

Tis the season to harvest sweet and juicy mandarins off our tree

The delightful smell of mandarin peel oil has been on my hands all afternoon and evening. There's no way to hide it. I can't possibly sneak around pretending that I didn't eat the first fruit of the season harvested off our little dwarf Kinnow mandarin tree. I'm like a kid with chocolate all over her face after eating a Hershey's bar. There's no way to be sneaky or deny it with this sweet pungent goodness wafting from my hands.

I harvested the first mandarin and ate it right there out in the garden--tossing the peels in the iris bed at the base of the olive tree.

I was making sure the fruit was ready before picking any others. Honestly I was.

After I determined that the mandarins were ripened to perfection, I harvested the two largest ones and brought them inside for Hubby (he loves them).

With one in each outstretched sweetly pungent hand, I immediately said, "Look at what I have for you!"

He was appropriately dazzled by my offering. He didn't notice that I smelled of evidence of my "crime".  The mandarins were set in a place of honor on his cutting board in the kitchen to be enjoyed after dinner.

Later in the day I decided I wanted to photograph the two I'd harvested (they were so beautiful I couldn't help myself). When I was setting up to photograph them, Hubby had to make a quick run to the hardware store. While he was gone I finished my set-up and started shooting the photos. I couldn't complete my shoot unless I had pictures of a peeled mandarin. Without hesitation I peeled one of them and that wonderful aromatic oil squirted all over my fingertips.

Ahhh... heaven.

Of course I had to eat a slice that wasn't being used in the staging. I had to. Okay, it was two slices... or maybe three.

Hubby came home before I was finished and passed by my studio doorway. "It smells like mandarins in here," he exclaimed and peeked in to see what I was doing.

"I'm just taking photos of your beautiful mandarins, Honey," I said, "I had to peel one of them to get the shots."

I failed to tell him I'd eaten some of his precious mandarin--the loving offering I'd ceremoniously brought him just a few hours before.  I feel a bit guilty...

...but it was so good.

Sweet spring mandarin blossoms

I often wonder how a dwarf tree less than 4 feet tall can produce so much sweetness.

Laden with porcelain-white blossoms that fill the air with a sweetness beyond description, this little tree (in cooperation with many honeybees) will take the summer sun's warm rays and make even more sweetness.

When winter's chilly fog descends upon the garden, the orange orbs will almost be ready to harvest. By January when warm sunny days seem far away, summer will drip down our chins in juicy sweetness as we bite into each slice.

Fun facts:

• Did you know that clementines (aka "Cuties") and tangerines are types of mandarins? 
• Our mandarin tree is a Kinnow which is the most widely planted mandarin in Pakistan.
• The mandarin is known for its thin "peelable" skin that even a child can handle.

Sweet surprise: We harvested the first fruit off the Moro blood orange tree

With hope, the Moro blood orange tree was planted
Tended and pruned, it set its roots
Blossoms came
One showed promise of fruit
Months of waiting
To harvest
Then slice
An exotic orb of sweetness

Some yellow "sunshine" for my frigid friends

While most of the U.S., Canada, and the U.K. are having the typical cold weather one expects in January, others are having a particularly cold blast right now. Oddly enough, our little part of the world is experiencing some bizarre but wonderful warm sunny days. Monday's temps broke records throughout the Bay Area. It was 72F (23C) here. I was stunned. As I went about my garden work, my body was loving the warmth like it was April or May but then I would notice that the light was different with longer shadows. Tuesday and Wednesday were not as warm but the temps were still over 60F (16C). Normally out temps are 10-20 degrees cooler. In 2007, we didn't see the sun for the entire month of January--literally.

Because this feels like such a special gift from above, I really wish I could share all this warmth with all of you, my dear friends. If I was a billionaire, I'd fly all of you here so you could soak up the real sun. Since I can't, I decided to share little bits of yellow "sunshine" from around the gardens.

Along with the warm days came the bloom of the first daffodil in our garden. I found it tucked up under the hydrangea in the front garden.

The narcissus at the base of the olive tree in the back garden are still blooming. When I was photographing them, I kept getting wafts of their heady fragrance. It was heavenly.

The Eureka lemon has a wonderful cheerful crop hanging on its branches. The great thing about citrus is that I can leave it on the tree for a long time after its ripe, and it's just fine. Some citrus will stay on the tree for months without going bad. Hubby had me pick a couple on Monday so he could make me some delicious pan-sauteed lemon chicken. It was so yummy.

And there's still many lovely little Kinnow mandarins that are ready to be plucked when we feel like a sweet treat. Similar to Clementines, these are wonderful guilt-free sweets for us both. Did you know that there really is no such thing as a "tangerine"? The proper name for the fruit is "mandarin". I didn't know that until a few months ago.

The Serendipity of the Unexpected

Life is full of the unexpected. It's ironic that one can expect the unexpected. I think there are different ways of dealing with the unexpected. I tend to deal with them in one of two ways. I either view the unexpected as a wonderful stroke of serendipity, and I revel in the magic of it. Or the unexpected broadsides me with such an impact that I am overwhelmed to the point of an extreme emotional response.

When I chose to follow my heart and plant a garden that could be certified as a backyard wildlife habitat, I had no idea all the unexpected things that would occur. I felt pretty green when I embarked on the whole plan, so I expected the unexpected because I didn't know what to expect (there's that irony again).

Let me share just a few of the things that I, in no way, anticipated or expected but have been magically serendipitous:

• I became passionate about growing citrus trees even though I had very little experience doing so. Being situated in a hilly town where each street can have a different microclimate, our home happens to be on a street that is prime for growing citrus and having them thrive through the winter.
• After digging a 1, 200 gallon pond with a shovel and sheer willpower, I quickly found out that I also needed to be a steward over a population of fish, or I was going to have a mosquito farm on my hands. I had no idea that Wal-Mart goldfish would breed year after year and become "indigenous natives" in my garden habitat pond. Wild goldfish... I never would have expected it.
  
• With the original vision of having two sweet little indoor housecats, Hubby and I had no idea that we would end up being the rescuers and stewards over many others that would cross our paths. Some would only need temporary assistance, and some would end up becoming permanent residents. Regardless of the length of our association, we have considered it an honor to assist in each of their life's journeys.
• Being a habitual traveler with a heart full of wanderlust, I had no idea that I could fall in love with my own home and garden so much that the desire to wander would fade to almost nothing. I had no idea that my roots could grow so deep in one place.

The other evening I sat down in our living room with my camera to clean its lens and brush up on some less-used features. I was wiping the optics and raised the camera to look through the viewfinder to check its clearness. What I saw through the viewfinder made me laugh spontaneously. Fortunately, I had the wherewithal to snap the shutter...

This experience encapsulates the beauty and magic of the unexpected for me. This is pure "photographic serendipity" as its best. And this is the experience that got me thinking about this whole idea of the unexpected being a positive thing in life if I let it.

As I read over the many comments left on my post about the mandarins on our tree, I thought about how many of you could probably cultivate citrus where you live, but don't know it. I thought, "What a great unexpected treat would that be for someone to realize that they could grow the very thing that they are pining over, but they just don't know it yet?"

The link to the right is to a book I found that showcases more than 100 citrus varieties that can be grown outside year-round in the U.S. states of California, Arizona, Texas, The Gulf Coast, and Florida. Each of those states is big with lots of micro-climate variations in them, so there are many parts of the world that are similar. Then when you consider that many citrus varieties can be grown inside anywhere in the world... well... the possibilities are endless!

So what unexpected and serendipitous experience are you going to embrace this coming year? Will you plant your first citrus tree like I did a short while ago? Will you decide to turn your condo balcony into a butterfly and hummingbird garden all with potted plants? Will you grow tomatoes from seed for the very first time even if it's in a 5-gallon pot in your kitchen window? Tell me... what unexpected magic will stare you in the face (just like Lucy stared into my camera lens) and make you take a moment to laugh and feel pure joy?

I have to post these...

Okay... I KNOW this will torment those of you in colder climes. I know... I know! But it seems to be an absolute "must" that I post photos of the ripe Kinnow mandarins on our little tree. I HAVE to!

Remember the old line "Please don't hate me because I'm beautiful?" I'm coining a new phrase. Please... don't hate me because I'm in this microclimate. ;-)

Despite the frost and chill that has caused all the leaves to fall off my plumeria and brugmansia, this little puppy just keeps plugging along. It's less than 4 feet tall and is fairly new in this location (less than a year). But look at that crop! And that's after I picked 5 or 6 yesterday! I just love a little tree that can do this--even after I accidentally fell backwards into it last summer during a mishap with the wheelbarrow (don't ask). What a trooper (the tree not me... I'm just a garden klutz).

Rosehaven Cottage's Winter Garden Is In!

The winter garden is in and doing quite nicely after a few days of chilly nights and no late autumn rainfall. We are looking forward to buttercrunch and romaine lettuce (see above photo), celery (see above photo), red Stockton onions, chives, Italian and curly parsley, spinach, two varieties of broccoli, and snow peas that have already started to adorn our salads with their sweet green pods of "yummy". There are little munch marks on the edges of many of the leaves, which is to be expected (don't know if it's birds or critter mouths that have munched on the greens). That's okay. There's enough for everyone in our backyard wildlife habitat. We plan for that eventuality in the garden and everything always works out fine. We always have enough to harvest and the critters also munch on the bad bugs and pests that we don't want around our garden so I don't have to use pesticides on my produce gardens (haven't had to for about 5 years now).

The sunflowers that were in their golden glory back in late summer are now stalwart stalks of goodness for the birds that will winter-over here. Like natural bird feeders, their abundant heads feed the oak titmouses, finches, and other seed loving birds. Their acrobatics get extremely creative on the down-facing sunflower heads. It's quite entertaining to watch them extracting a seed at a time, flitting to a nearby perch, cracking open one seed to get the delectable center from within, and then start the process all over again. Such tenacity has to be admired!

Our dwarf mandarin tree gave us quite a bounty this year, as I was able to fill up my harvest basket with wonderful orange gems of sweetness just a couple of days ago. Now the mandarins are inside in our counter top citrus bowl, and we eat one or two as a little snack in the chilly evenings as we warm ourselves by the fire. After peeling one, the smell of fresh picked citrus on my fingers is just heavenly. It's a heady fragrance that reminds me of Christmas mornings when I always had an orange in the toe of my stocking. The mandarin oil is such a pick-me-up, I almost wish I had a perfume made from it.

Our lemon trees are loaded with lemons that still have a while to go before I can harvest them into my harvest basket. I'm excited for the lemon harvest (I always am). There's so much that Hubby uses the fresh lemons for in the kitchen. He makes wonderful lemon chicken pan sauteed in olive oil. It is so simple and so mouthwatering. I always enjoy being able to provide fresh produce from our garden for him to make his culinary creations. And this year we have a new addition to his gourmet arsenal in the form of seasoned olive oil from Corning, California. We bought an assortment as we passed through a couple of weeks ago coming home from Lassen, and it's been a real treat as Hubby has used the various flavors in his cooking and his homemade vinaigrette on salads. Yum!

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