October's bougainvillea

The bougainvillea blooms away along the white picket fence in the front garden 

in vibrant bright oranges and hot pinks. 

It's as if it doesn't know that October has arrived.

I continually remind myself that seasons are different here. 

Frost won't come until December. 

The sun-loving bougainvillea 

will continue to stretch its branches and blooms skyward 

until the first frosty night arrives months of now.

Between now and then

I will imagine I'm living in a tropical paradise

that never sees winter.

Bloom-a-day 7: Jupiter's Beard (aka Valerian)

I'd never seen it before moving here. I first saw it in a neglected planter box growing at the base of a street tree in the middle of the sidewalk in an industrial part of a neighboring town. Delightful and airy, it seemed so out of place in that forlorn and forgotten sea of parched ground, dust, concrete and asphalt that made even the street trees look sickly. It didn't seem to notice.

Sometime the following year, it showed up in our garden. It chose the line of poor clay soil along the base of our picket fence.

"Well, hello!" I said once I spotted the first volunteers, "I recognize you. I'd be happy to have you live here."

And so it did.

I first learned its common name, "Jupiter's Beard". Most of the blooms are a deep dark pink, but there is one patch right under the mailbox that is the purest white.

I've since come to learn that this plant is also known as "Valerian" (the proper name is Centranthus ruber but who likes that name when you can call something "Jupiter's Beard"?).

The hummingbirds and bees don't care what name it has. They love the nectar from the big clusters of tiny blooms. During the day, the fence-line is a veritable buffet for the critters.

In late November when the night air begins to have a chill, the stems will be missing most of their leaves. A few stray blooms will still be reaching for the sun that has slipped low in the autumnal sky. That is when the "Jupiter's Beard" gets a close "shave" as I trim each stem to the ground.

The perennial roots rest comfortably all winter until spring's warmth wakes them. And then they line the base of the picket fence once again.

The miracle of a red gerbera

I bought it on a lark, reading the plant tag that said "annual" thinking it was a frivolous purchase but couldn't resist the deep scarlet brilliance no matter how temporary it would be.

That was years ago... so many years ago I've forgotten how long it's been.

In the same terra cotta pot, it comes back every year. After the chill of winter has left, the stems begin to emerge and then the brazen scarlet petals of each bloom unfold in unabashed majesty. Unashamed yet unassuming, the gerbera is an every day flower with the simplicity of a kindergartener's drawing (the quintessential garden bloom) yet with a flare that says, "I am no wallflower".

Years of living with its feet in the same pot, the gerbera ate away much of the original soil. Last fall, I lifted it gently and added more soil hoping not to disturb the magical spell that kept it coming back years past its original "annual" label suggested it should. As the fall days grew cooler, the leaves dried, withered and died. It looked as if I had in fact broken the spell.

But just to prove me wrong (like many things in my garden) when the days grew warmer, the gerbera started showing signs of life. The emerging stems came first before any leaves. By late March, the first ruby petals were unfurling.

The spell was not broken.

Did you know there is no such thing as a "green thumb"?

A couple of days ago, while hunting for information about something else I stumbled upon an online article that has had me thinking ever since. The particular quote that I continue to contemplate says:

"Think about it, nobody digs and sows, plants and weeds, or sprays bugs in a forest. Still, all those chores are taken care of somehow. The forest grows and feeds its inhabitants, doesn't it? 

"If any task in your garden is an unpleasant chore then there is definitely a better way to do it or to eliminate it. Learn from nature. Nature has already developed a solution to every problem that you could possibly encounter in your garden." (from What is permaculture?)

The sentence I underlined hit a chord with me and has resonated long after I finished reading.





This resonation has caused me to reflect on one of the first unpleasant chores I eliminated when we moved here over 12 years ago--keeping a lawn. Although mowing the lawn was never a distasteful chore that I did growing up (I learned to enjoy it), the thought of pampering the lawn and coaxing it to be lush and green during our hot, dry summers was not a pleasant prospect.

An interesting chain of events followed that pivotal decision to eliminate any thought of a lawn. And the events came from seemingly unrelated sources:

• Just prior to moving here, I had read (and re-read) Under the Tuscan Sun by Frances Mayes and fallen under the spell of her descriptions of all the herbs and plants she and her husband put into their gardens as they restored the Tuscan villa the gardens surrounded.
• In trying to educate myself on growing herbs and edibles (particularly the ones Frances Mayes wrote about), I discovered the age-old practice of companion planting.
• My mom stumbled upon the website for the National Wildlife Federation where they gave instructions of creating a backyard wildlife habitat.
• I discovered drip irrigation systems at our local hardware store and realized I could hook up all the tubing myself to a timer at the tap so everything got watered at once and regularly. I only had to handwater if I wanted to as a relaxation activity.
• Hubby really wanted me to grow fresh tomatoes for him. I really wanted to grow roses and citrus for me.
• I discovered a collection of gorgeous rocks left by the previous owners under a pile of decomposing leaves and rediscovered how beautiful hardscape can be in the garden. Paths of pea gravel and flagstone looked "Tuscan" to me and, in my estimation, were far prettier than any old lawn.

I took things slowly as far as the design of the garden was concerned. I needed to get to know the seasons in my new climate. I needed to familiarize myself with how the light hit different parts of our lot and how water drained (or didn't). One can only do that by taking things slowly as the seasons roll in and out for at least a year or two. I somehow knew that.

I discovered that one of the most important garden chores I would engage in was sitting parked in a patio chair for long stints of time and simply observing. No earbuds with music from an iPod... no book to read... no one there to chat with... just me sitting alone with the garden. And the garden "told" me an awful lot about itself that I never would have "heard" otherwise.






What ended up happening was that I stumbled upon the very truth that I just read a couple of days ago. I had no idea I had lit upon a key aspect of permaculture. In fact, I'd never read about permaculture until I read the article I quote above.

But somehow my own garden taught me something that nature is always willing to teach anyone who will listen. "If any task in your garden is an unpleasant chore then there is definitely a better way to do it or to eliminate it."

I now enjoy a somewhat symbiotic relationship with my garden. It provides me with so much--particularly serenity. And it doesn't demand much of me in return because I've allowed nature to create a balance. I feel that I was guided through the process of discovering this truth by a much wiser power than my own intellect, so that I could enjoy what the article finally says:

"If you think ahead and design your permaculture garden right, it won't take much effort, it will mostly look after itself, and it will also be incredibly productive and beautiful and attractive to wildlife."

I wish I could somehow infuse that vision into others that they could see what lies ahead if they step back and let nature do it's thing. Oh how I wish I could. And that the result doesn't have to look like a tumble-down mess. It can have wonderful structure and still have nature taking care of most of the chores. Your garden can be inspired and designed after ones in Tuscany or cottage gardens in England or the great plains of the North American continent. The possibilities for inspiration are endless.

In the past 12 years, I've learned one more very important truth... there is no such thing as a "green thumb". Those individuals who appear to have a "green thumb" are actually seeking out and absorbing gardening information through every source possible and particularly through observation. That's the only difference between a "green thumb" and a "brown thumb".

True confessions of a gardener: The "real" reason why I shop at my local garden center

Tucked in the hills along the edge of our town's outer limits is my favorite local garden center, Navelet's. I've loved shopping at Navelet's ever since we moved here because of the highly knowledgeable staff, healthy and diverse plant selection and the overall atmosphere--the way it makes me feel to walk around and browse the aisles. Hummingbirds, butterflies and pollinators dart around the blooms. Birds chirp overhead. The air smells of moist fresh soil.

But there's one more reason... and I have to admit it's probably the "real" reason...

For the past year or so, I go there to see if I'll have a chance to interact with Frankie. Frankie isn't an employee. Frankie is a cat. A sweet youngish tabby cat. Frankie doesn't belong to the nursery. He lives just over the garden wall in some condos that have their small patio gardens backed up against the nursery. And according to the nursery staff, Frankie has decided the whole of the garden center is his "backyard". He has full access to the entire center--inside and out. He waltzes in and out of one of several of the big sets of double doors that always remain open during business hours.

Ever since the first time I met Frankie, when I walk into the nursery I know that within the first five minutes he'll come and find me even if I'm still inside looking at the seeds or bulbs on the shelves. Tail held high as prominent as a flagpole, Frankie will come sauntering down the aisle to greet me. I always stop to rub his jowls and scratch his back. Then he will nonchalantly follow me around as I shop, taking brief detours to amuse himself or visit other shoppers. But he always comes back and follows me around until I'm ready to checkout. Then he quietly slips away to do something else on his kitty cat to-do list.

On the spring day I took these photos, Frankie took an extended detour from following me to check out the water plant section. He ended up mesmerized while watching tadpoles in the water. Shortly before I shot these photos, he lapped up some water along with some frog eggs which he seemed to find rather appetizing (must be like caviar for cats).


A horticulturist on the nursery staff told me that Frankie has quite a few fans. She also told me that she has a soft spot for him too and regularly posts photos of him online. He's become the garden center's mascot. I think it's adorable.

I had a chance to visit with Frankie just last week when my mom and I went there to look at lantana for my container garden (I posted about it here). My mom had her tiny little senior chihuahua, Chica, with her, and we finally discovered someone Frankie doesn't like... dogs. Chica is so tiny and quiet she walked up behind Frankie and was sniffing him without Frankie being aware she was there. Then he turned and was startled to find himself face to face with this miniature canine. I guess even though she's smaller than he and doesn't really look like a dog, she still smelled like a dog. He immediately hissed and let her know she was not welcome on his turf. Chica was scooped up and carried until we were ready to go. Frankie immediately returned to his jovial hospitable demeanor and continued to follow us around as I picked out plants.

I knew I was smitten with Frankie when I found myself trying to come up with reasons for "needing" to go to the nursery. I can't help it. He's just so cute. And he's a kitty! I can't help but be smitten.

I was not compensated in goods, services or funds for writing this post. 

The only "payment" I received were rubs and purrs from Frankie.

From a problem spot in the garden to a brilliantly colored canna lily collection

My favorite color of all my canna lilies, "Apricot Dream"

When I first started gardening here at Rosehaven Cottage, I was faced with a conundrum. Due to weird drainage issues in the back garden, I decided to work with the problem instead of against it and dug a pond. These drainage issues and the pond created a unique situation... an area with clay soil, boggy conditions and full sun. I went on a hunt for what would grow in these conditions, but found that not many bog plants love full sun... at least the kind of full sun we get around here in the height summer--intense blistering sun and rarely any summer rain.

That's when I discovered canna lilies. I knew of them as some really common varieties are grown a lot around the Bay Area in mass plantings. Most of those varieties are planted for their variegated or burgundy-tinged foliage. The variegated ones usually produce a bright orange flower. The burgundy-tinged foliage produce a brilliant scarlet flower. As I often do, I went on a hunt to see if there were other varieties besides what was always in stock at the big box and home improvement stores.

I first searched at our local nursery center and found the common varieties I was used to seeing. I bought some of the burgundy-tinged cannas with their brilliant scarlet red blooms to put in the area right by the pond and give it a go.

The cannas LOVED it! They liked have soggy feet and sun-scorched heads. In fact, they began propagating on their own rather quickly through an underground reproduction system similar to rhizome plants like iris. I was very pleased. I have really good luck with bulbs and rhizomes (not so much with seeds) so this seemed to be a good fit.

But I wanted more variety. And I wanted lush looking bright green foliage that looked like it came straight off a tropical island.

The color of watermelon!

I went to the trusty internet to find out what other colors canna lilies came in and to see if I could procure some. Hunting around I was in a tropical-lover's paradise. I felt like I'd been transported to my beloved Hawaiian island of O'ahu.

It was then that I knew I needed to have a canna lily garden with all my favorite varieties I was finding. I didn't want all the colors... just the ones that made me smile the moment I saw their photograph.

This color also reminds me of ripe juicy melon

This year is the first year that the canna lilies have really filled in the beds I created and they've put on the tropical color show I'd been envisioning when I ordered them over the internet.

Some grow in large pots that sit directly on the ground with a dripper in each connected to the entire drip-mist system that irrigates my drought-tolerent garden. Some are directly in the ground (with a dripper at the base of each) in a raised bed right next to the deck so when I lean over the railing I am met with an explosion of colors that rivals any crayola box. It amazes me because nothing else really wants to grow there. But the cannas do.

Canna lilies are sensitive to frost so they eventually wither up and turn brown some time in December. I leave the dead foliage on as frost protection until around early March. Then I gently cut it all back to find new green spears emerging from the old foliage. By May or June, I have beautiful green tropical foliage and the beginnings of the bloom that lasts all summer if I continue to deadhead them.

I couldn't be happier with the result. And each year the beds will get fuller and more beautiful because of the canna's propensity to self-propagate.

Not bad considering it all started out because I had a problem spot in the garden.

All is right with the world... until it isn't

The above photograph is a perfect metaphor for my life right now. I took this photograph last week because the garden was finally trimmed and coifed and looking like I want it to look. When I sit down not far from the spot pictured above and relax in my chaise lounge, I finally don't feel the compulsion to go over my to-do list because of all the things I see that need doing.

After I took this photograph and was post-processing it on my computer, I took a closer look...

That's poop. Probably grey fox poop (otherwise called "scat"). Or maybe it's raccoon poop. But it's still poop.

Even when I thought I had everything tidied up and "just so", I discovered later that there's poop in the scene.

Why is this a metaphor for my life?

In my last post, I wrote about the wonderful experience Hubby and I had enjoying the summer solstice in our back garden and the miraculous sighting I had of a grey fox. To quote A Christmas Story, "All was right with the world."

Little did I know that 24 hours later I would be laying on a gurney in the ER waiting for the results to come back from a chest x-ray, ultrasound and blood tests to determine why I had pain in my upper right abdomen and chest.

I had already determined that I could thank the heavy cream in the Coldstone Creamery ice cream I had the evening before (just before enjoying the summer solstice). Before heading to the ER on Friday evening (in rush hour traffic), my general practitioner had seen me in his office right before closing for the weekend. He concurred that my suspicion was probably correct about the ice cream (since I usually don't indulge in heavy creams and fats). He thought I might have a clogged bile duct in my gallbladder and strongly (STRONGLY) suggested I go to the ER to have further tests done. What I wanted to do was just go home. I asked if I just couldn't do that. He said no. The possibility of an infection was a risk I shouldn't take, in his opinion.

So I went to the ER. Such a "fun" and "romantic" way to spend a Friday night with your Hubby, don't you think?

By 10:30 pm, I was being sent home (the place where I'd wanted to go in the first place). My heart was fine (I knew that). The ultrasound showed I didn't have any gallstones (that was good). But... BUT... the ultrasound showed that my liver is enlarged.

Great.

So just like the metaphorical photograph above, I thought after my surgery a year and a half ago that I had everything cleaned and tidied up inside me, and I was ready to get on with my life. But then along comes an enlarged liver (my proverbial pile of poop) to besmirch the tranquility of my path forward.

There are many things that can cause an enlarged liver. I have my suspicions what has caused mine, because I've had some definite warning signs.  I still have to consult with my general practitioner after more blood tests to try and determine the true root cause. The past few days have been uncomfortable and achey as all the muscles on the right side of my torso try to recover from the muscles spasms I had for about 36 hours straight. I'm eating foods that are high in antioxidants to give my body the tools to reduce the swelling, and I'm paying close attention to what foods make me feel worse and what foods don't.

Needless to say, I can't garden like I want to, and the Cecile Brunner roses that were ready to go into the ground last week are still in pots waiting. Fortunately, I got a lot of cleanup done over the past month so I can go out and sit in my chaise lounge under the wisteria and just relax instead of compulsively seeing things that need to be added to my to-do list. That's the good thing.


Now if the washing machine hadn't decided to freak out and start making a horrendous racket today, I'd be set. *wink*

Taking time to enjoy the summer solstice brought me an unexpected surprise

Hubby and I had late afternoon doctor's appointments so we found ourselves going out for a dinner at our favorite salad bar restaurant afterward. I realized while we were there that today would be the longest day of the year. We drove home the long way, enjoying some beautiful scenery as well as the quaint business district of our smallish town.

When we finally made our way home, I didn't want to go inside until it got completely dark. I wanted to enjoy every little bit of sunlight left in the sky. So we went into the back garden, and I got the idea to have a fire in our pretty "firepit" (handcrafted by a dear friend from a reclaimed propane tank).

I love to build open fires. It's my thing. I LOVE it! Probably too much.

Hubby gathered small pieces of scrap off the nearby woodpile, and I built the fire on top of a pile of pine needles that had collected in the bottom of the "firepit" over the winter. It wasn't any time at all before we had a lovely fire blazing with its amber light flickering and dancing through the dragonfly silhouettes cut out of the sides of the former tank.

We sat and sat watching the sky grow dimmer as the flames burned lower. This is something I've never done before to enjoy the longest day of the year. It was all a new and fun spur-of-the-moment experience for us both.

As the last light was leaving the sky and the flames had burned down to almost nothing, we thought we should probably make our way inside. But we sat a little longer.

I'm glad I did.

I heard a rustle in the garden plants just 7-8 feet away from where I sat under the wisteria. I squinted into the dark thicket under the cherry tree to see if it was a skunk or an opossum. I could barely make out a furry form climbing onto the rocks that are stacked around a large horse trough I have filled with water and recirculating through a bio-filter for the wildlife to drink from.

I squinted harder and could see the form was much bigger and lighter than a skunk. And its tail was too bushy to be an opossum. Was it a raccoon? I couldn't see stripes on the tail and the body looked too lithe and lean.

Then my heart leapt in my chest with excitement. Could it really be what I thought it was?

All I had was my iPhone for light, so I turned on the screen and pointed it in the direction of the animal. It kept its head down drinking. The light was so weak it wasn't helping much. But I could see the long fluffy tail that looked too long to be a neighborhood cat.

Then the animal's head turned and the light reflected off of its beautiful eyes as it stood and stared trying to figure out what the iPhone was.

Yes. It was what I thought. It was a grey fox!!!!!

It stood there looking at me for quite a few seconds. Hubby couldn't see it from where he was sitting only a couple of feet farther away. I finally said, "Honey, it's a fox!" in a loud whisper.

As soon as I did, the fox turned its head and with a quiet rustle disappeared as if it had never been there.

I cannot begin to express in words how moving it was to see the fox and how grateful I am for the rare opportunity to see it in my own garden. They are rare anywhere in these parts, and rarely spotted by humans because of their stealthy shyness. Hubby spotted a fox two times in less than a week last year. It had been the only time in 12 years either of us have seen one. He wished so badly I would have seen it too. Now I have.

Welcoming in the summer solstice by being spontaneous and enjoying the moment brought me a gift I will never forget.

Click here to read more about the grey foxes that live in our area

The weatherman says the heat is coming... and the dragonflies have finally arrived

With temps expected to get to 100F (38C) over the next few days, I'll be trying to find cool places to duck into. And I probably won't venture out into the garden during the day... well, maybe for just a peek at the pond. If I sit under the pomegranate bush the heat isn't so bad.

And going out in the garden at twilight after a hot day is one of my favorite things to do.

It's "dragonfly weather" right now and as the sun sinks in the sky the dragonflies begin their evening hunt--darting back and forth in an aerial display forming a canopy 8-12 feet over the garden. "Dragonfly weather" is magical.

Hubby and I were out working in the back garden at twilight today and got to witness the first time the dragonflies have been out en masse. Hubby finished installing a trellis on the fence for some climbing roses I'll be putting into the ground, while I dug a hole and transplanted a rose that was in the wrong spot for us to complete the garden plans we've been working on the past couple of weeks. We've been fighting mosquitos when we go out to work in the evening, but this evening the dragonfly squadron helped considerably. It was wonderful.

So if I have to put up with the mid-day heat to get "dragonfly weather", then so be it.

Send me no flowers... bring me garden gloves

Yes, I am invoking the title of one of my favorite Doris Day and Rock Hudson flicks, but for good reason.

I was sitting working in the studio this evening, when Hubby came home. He had stopped at the store on the way home from work (he does the shopping and wanted to pick up a few things--yes, I'm married to Superman).

He stopped in the studio doorway to share some of the things from the bags and pulled forth lovely pink garden gloves.

I've said it before... he knows me so well.

I discovered I have my very own "Charlotte" spider in my garden

Years ago, on a drizzly autumn day in November we encountered a very fancy looking largish spider out in the garden. We'd never seen one before. We took photos of it. And then we spent the next several years wondering what kind of spider it was.

While out in the garden on Monday, I finally encountered another one. With her backend measuring about 1/2 inch in length she was hard to miss as she moved through some weeds that I had just cut down. I didn't have my camera with me, but studied her for quite some time so I could go inside later and use the internet to finally make a positive indentification.

Thanks to www.InsectIdentification.org I finally identified her species. She's a banded garden spider!

Today, I was back out in the garden working in the same general area and spotted another one (or maybe the same one). This time I went in and got my camera. I'm glad I did.

Here's some interesting facts I found out about this elusive spider:

• Banded garden spiders (Argiope trifasciata) start to appear during the Autumn when temperatures start dropping
• They are orb-weavers that produce large conspicuous webs amongst shrubbery and vegetation
• They can weave a web 2 feet in diameter
• Just like Charlotte's web in Charlotte's Web, the banded garden spider's web is very concentric--the quintessential spider's web
• And also like in Charlotte's Web, banded garden "spiderlings" get around by "ballooning"--being carried on breezes that catch the silken threads the spiders produce
• Banded garden spiders are a great predator to have in your garden because their webs catch lots of flying insects that you don't want

My tomato experiment: Yesterday's harvest of our weird and whacky tomatoes

I don't do well growing tomatoes from seed so when it comes time to put some in I go to our local nursery and buy a couple of cell packs of tomato seedlings with 6 plants in each. This year I bought a cell pack of roma tomatoes and a cell pack of cherry tomatoes.

I then conducted my own not-so-scientific experiment.

I planted one each of the plants in clay pots on our deck with morning shade and full afternoon sun in super-fancy-schmancy Miracle-Gro soil that's supposed to produce outstanding veggies. Flanked by separate pots of chives, Italian parsley and basil I expected these plants to do very well with the full sun all afternoon to sunset and the influence of the herbs around them.

I planted a couple more plants down in the ground off the edge of our deck with the same exposure as the pots. I built up a funky little planter around them from scrap concrete blocks (a former mow strip) and put some of the Miracle-Gro soil on top. A week or so later I mulched with some donated rabbit droppings and alfalfa as well as chipped branches from our own yard. I anticipated the green growth might bolt because of the added nitrogen from the mulch but figured it would be a good part of the experiment anyway.

I planted two of the plants in the front garden where mostly roses grow. I have a 4x8 foot planter box in front of our living room window that gets full morning sun from dawn until around 1 or 2 pm then there's shade for the rest of the day from the house. The soil in the planter box is just cheapy top soil from WalMart that we had leftover from another project and had dumped in there and let sit for a season until we planted something in it. I also planted a couple of parsley plants in between the two tomato plants that were at opposite ends of the large planter. I anticipated these plants would do poorly but I wanted them to go into the ground anyway.

Each of the plants, regardless of location, got their own dripper on the drip mist system for watering 15 minutes every morning at a slow drip.

None of my plants were treated with pesticide or herbicide. There isn't any need with companion planting because the good bugs and birds eat the bad bugs, and the proximity to tomato-friendly companion plants takes care of the rest.

Results of my not-so-scientific experiment

The two plants in pots haven't grown larger than about 10 inches high. Their leaves are sickly looking like both plants are on the verge of kicking the bucket. Both produced fruit true to their labeling. The romas (pictured above and below) were the expected size for that variety while the cherry tomatoes were a little on the small side. I was just happy the plants produced anything considering what they've looked like.

The two plants in the ground below the edge of the deck are pretty spindly with tiny leaves but lots of blooms and are about 2 feet high. The fruit is neither a cherry tomato nor a roma. Instead the fruit is shaped like a roma but is smaller than even the smallest grape. Some fruit is smaller than my pinky fingernail with most fruit being the size of my thumbnail.

The two plants in the front planter box were the biggest shocker. The plants are 3 feet high and cover the entire 4x8 foot box. I've had to cut trunks back that were invading the front porch and beginning to block the front door. The size of the trunks are larger in circumference than my pinky finger! The leaves are big and lush as well. I would expect plants with so much energy going to greenery to not produce blooms or fruit. But these plants have been prolific bloomers and were the first ones to produce ripe fruit over a month earlier than the others in back. Like the plants in the ground in back, the fruit is oddly neither roma or cherry but a weird hybrid of the two.

I've spoken to other gardeners in our area that have said they've had some weird behavior with their tomatoes this year because of our wet spring, unseasonable June rain and cooler than normal temps. I feel better knowing I'm not alone. It was just nice to finally go out and get a harvest yesterday that consisted of more than just a handful of tiny tomato baubles. It's such a weird year for growing tomatoes.

New pollinators visited the garden and heralded the official arrival of Summer

I was standing outside in the late evening the day before the official arrival of Summer, and I noticed some activity on a lone volunteer garlic bloom growing at the edge of the pond. I quickly got my camera, installed my new zoom lens and made my way back out to garden to try and take some shots.

The garlic bloom was covered in little golden specks of pollen. Some honeybees were gathering sweetness from the tiny flowers while other honeybees were gathering water a few feet away on the rock of the pond waterfall.

I focused my attention on the garlic blossom again. Then I saw her!

I had never seen this garden visitor before. I didn't know what she was (or that she was a SHE) until I took my shots back in to the computer and did some quick internet hunting.

She is a female Valley Carpenter Bee (Xylocopa varipuncta)!

The honeybees moved aside and continued gathering while their much larger cousin did her share of gathering. I noticed she had a sister that was buzzing around the other flowers in the vicinity. When the first female I saw would buzz away to check out the other flowers, the honeybees would go back to gathering from the spots they had vacated while she was there.

Ms. Valley Carpenter Bee came back around and seemed to be particularly smitten with the nearby Japanese Water Iris. I didn't think the iris were a favorite of pollinators but I was wrong.

Ms. Valley Carpenter Bee loved the welcoming throats of the iris bloom because she could fit her whole round fat body inside without much effort.

I was also surprised to discover later that the Valley Carpenter Bee is usually in Southern California and in the Central Valley of California (the large flat topography running vertically through the center of our state). I don't know why these two girls are so far from "home" close to the waters of the San Francisco Bay, but I'm happy they came for a visit so I could see them for the first time.

And, ironically, this week just happens to be National Pollinator Week. Maybe the girls were doing a special publicity tour?

The ladybugs in my lavender

A beautiful phenomenon has happened in my garden... a phenomenon that's taken quite some time to come to fruition.

Over the last 10 years, I've made a conscious effort to transition away from using garden chemicals (particularly pesticides and fungicides) and tried more organic practices like companion planting.

After a year or two, I incorporated the necessary elements to be certified as a backyard wildlife habitat with the National Wildlife Federation--food sources, water sources, cover and places to raise young. Being a backyard wildlife habitat isn't about turning one's garden into a zoo or safari refuge. It's more about providing a place where smaller critters like birds can live, eat and visit. I had a feeling deep down inside that if I welcomed them, they would benefit my garden--even my fruit and vegetable gardens. We don't have a big yard, but it didn't matter. Even with our lot only 50 feet wide and much of it taken up with the house, as long as I provided the four basic elements I trusted the critters would come.

The first couple of years were hard as the garden took time to regain the natural balance that had been lost from not being cared for before I came here. Then I started to notice a shift. It was subtle at first but it was noticeable. I noticed beneficial insects and birds buzzing and flitting around the garden eating the bugs that would damage my produce (like grasshoppers) or make my life miserable (like mosquitoes). Flycatchers like the Black Phoebe, Anna's hummingbirds, dragonflies, and preying mantis all showed up on their own very early after I got the four elements installed in the garden. Then lizards and Pacific tree frogs followed over time.

But I really wanted ladybugs.

I planted a number of rosebushes in the front garden and everyone knows they are a target for aphids. I stuck to my resolve not to use pesticides on the aphids and simply waited. I planted some fennel (not knowing it grows up to 20 feet tall in our climate) and that attracted a few ladybugs that wandered over to the roses to dine on the aphids. Then tiny little birds called bushtits regularly showed up in small flocks to light on the rosebushes and pick aphids off. Even Bullock's Orioles came down from their usually lofty perches to dine amidst the roses.

The ladybug population was still light, but I had hope the ladybug population would continue to grow on its own without any help from me.

Then it happened.

Two years ago, I noticed that an old cherry tree in the back corner of the garden was covered with rather scary looking bugs. When I looked closer I realized they were ladybug larvae. I left them alone. Most of those larvae eventually transformed into beautiful little ladybugs that spread out throughout the garden. Needless to say, I haven't seen very many aphids after that spring when the cherry tree turned into a "ladybug tree". I realized that the more mulch I put in that corner of the garden where the foliage is a bit denser, the more ladybugs I would find. I had happened upon the perfect combination for a ladybug habitat. Without even knowing it I was mimicking a small forest thicket like the ones where wild ladybugs breed and are harvested for retail sale to nurseries.

This year I noticed the ladybugs in February amidst milkweeds that sprouted when I wasn't well enough to pull them. In March, I added two more potted lavender to my collection and repotted one I already had. The ladybugs didn't take any time at all before moseying over to the new lavender. They even found the pots I had put on the deck up away from the garden beds far from the "ladybug tree".

When I'm out in the garden, if I feel a tickle on my arm I look first before swatting because more often than not it's just a ladybug hitching a ride. I had it happen just yesterday when I was out shooting photos. In fact, it happened right about the time I shot the image above. I don't know if this seems weird, but whenever I find a ladybug, particularly when I find it on me, it makes me happy. It seems like a sign that I've done a good thing by helping nature restore balance in this little spot of earth I am a steward over.

The dance of the skippers and the romance of butterflies

The sun is finally out after seemingly endless days of unseasonal cool rain and grey skies. The critters in the garden aren't wasting any time enjoying the warm rays.

I took a stroll through the mid-afternoon garden with my camera (and new lens) to see what serendipitous moments I could discover. I always stop at the potted lavender that attracts so many pollinators to its blossoms.

I spotted the female Skipper butterfly first (above). Then she began to flutter her wings while remaining on her perch (below).

A frantic flapping male quickly fluttered into the scene (above).

She kept gently fluttering her wings while he flitted all over. He was so fast and fleeting, it was hard to track where he was.

She would flutter to another stalk and the dance would commence. Then she would move again, and it would continue once more. Sometimes she would take flight and the two would dance in mid-air around me, performing a high-speed reel. I stood in one place and turned to see where they would sashay to next... to the mandarin tree... to the lavender... to a nearby stalk of milkweed... and back to the lavender.

So intrigued was I in the frenetic pace of their courtship. Romance seemed quite exhausting from my vantage point.

I have to chuckle. It's much the same with people in love. The frenetic pace of romance, particularly young love, seems so exhausting to those on the outside of the gyrations of courtship... yet many onlookers wish they could join the dance with their own partner nonetheless.

Creating my own secret garden with "curtains and fountains of roses"

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I've posted before about my own little "Secret Garden" of sorts. In that post I said:

"There's a line from one of the film adaptations of 'The Secret Garden' that always come to mind when I'm in the garden--'curtains and fountains of roses' is the line. I think maybe I've been subconsciously using that movie line as a pattern for my plant-as-you-go form of garden design which has resulted in what we have now."

As I photographed the Cecile Brunner rosebush (seen above) that is spilling over with pale pink blossoms, I realized what "curtains and fountains of roses" really are.

The Cecile Brunner is a climbing rose that is a vigorous grower. In only a few short growing seasons, our bush now towers over us at 14-20 feet tall. The long sturdy canes form their own trellis if left to grow woody and the new canes grow fast into long arching limbs of blossoming sweetness. Our bush has created its own sizable garden arch that is the entrance to the back garden.

If that weren't enough serendipity, the sparrows also use the thick green foliage as a protective nesting site for their young swooping in and out with bugs they've gleaned from my garden to keep it pest free without chemicals.

After years of appreciating the aforementioned film, I finally understand what "curtains and fountains of roses" are and why every secret garden should have them. It is more blissful than I ever imagined years ago when I would watch the film and dream of creating my own secret garden someday.

The Pacific Coast Native Iris is back and blooming

Despite my love of iris, I'd never heard of this variety until a few years ago when I ran across it at the nursery. I got one and brought it home to Rosehaven Cottage. It lived in a pot for a couple of years but stopped blooming. So last fall I divided it and transplanted it to a raised planter at the base of the olive tree where other bearded iris live. To my delight its blooming again this year!

The garden is all decked out in green for St. Patty's... guess it won't get pinched!

Mr. Hummingbird: Monarch and king of the plum tree

Photograph taken by Brent A. Iverson
Photograph post-processed by Cindy Garber Iverson

On days when the sun is shining,
We can find him sitting atop the tip of the highest branch
On the leaf-bare plum tree.
He surveys his kingdom from the perfect vantage point
Waiting for a bug to snatch from the air
Or a rival hummingbird to chase away.
It won't be long before his daily routine is expanded
To courting with spectacular aerial maneuvers
To impress his lady of choice.
But for now, he is content to sit on his spindly throne
Letting the sun reflect off his ruby crown
Sending a periodic flash of brilliance our way.

Autumn in the Rosehaven Cottage gardens: White zinnia

Scattered seeds some time in June or July
Hoped for quintessential summer pom poms
No seeds sprouted
Must have been a treat for the birds
Then one blossom comes in November
I don't remember planting white