The good, the bad and the ugly of living in a Mediterranean climate

The Good
While much of the United States (even parts of California only a couple hours drive away) are knee deep is frigid, snowy drifts, the unique Mediterranean climate of the San Francisco Bay Area has been beautifully (and unseasonably) lovely and warm this January. Ours is not like the most famous California climate found in Los Angeles--home of Hollywood and Disneyland. That climate is a good 7 hour drive away to our south. So we aren't used to balmy January weather quite like we've been having. For example, two days ago it was 77F/25C outside in the afternoon without a cloud in the bright blue sky. That's weird--even for those of us who have lived here all our lives.

I've always counted myself very lucky to live in one of the few "Mediterranean climates" in the world. Here's a world map showing the rarity of these conditions that I am fortunate enough to consider my own.

Believe me... I do not for one minute take this privilege for granted. When we have a beautiful January as we have been having, I soak it up with the full and grateful heart of one who has lived in extreme winter conditions in the past. I know I am blessed when I am able to go out into my garden and expect to see the first jonquils blooming some time in January. I am honored whenever I spot the first almond tree in bloom in late January. I feel a thrill every time I discover the first camellia blooms in January or February because I see them as the miracle they truly are.

The Bad
Living in these unique circumstances makes it challenging to be a home produce gardener. I can't follow the same gardening practices seen in general gardening magazines and websites (the only magazine I can turn to is Sunset magazine because it's written for the western United States). It has taken me quite a while to shift my thinking away from the traditional way of approaching growing food.

For one thing, I have to plan for summers without rain. I know that I shouldn't expect rain from around May until October at the height of growing summer veggies and fruits. Although I have the luxury of having a year-round garden, I know that there are certain things that will not grow in my summer garden such as lettuce, onions, garlic, broccoli, cauliflower, peas and kale. I have to plant them to grow during the winter. Freshly picked salad greens are not something I can enjoy during the summer.

The other challenge is that when we are having a gorgeous rainless January as we are currently having I can't grow any of those above mentioned veggies during the winter either. Normally, the winter rains provide the necessary moist and cool conditions those veggies need. But I haven't been able to get my nitrogen-producing "cover  crop" of clover and alfalfa to sprout around the base of my citrus trees, let alone successfully maintain a bed of moisture-loving lettuce.

The Ugly
These warm and rainless January days happen every few years. It's a part of life here. And it's never fun in the midst of it because the local weather forecasters love to latch on to the possibility of a drought. Every night we are told how many inches of rainfall we are below normal. During a year when we have plentiful rain, we're given the stats from the angle of how far above normal we are and how it could all possibly change on a dime.

I am quick to remind myself that this has very little to do with "global climate change". A few months ago, I was transcribing a handwritten letter from mid-January 1948 (66 years ago). The letter was written by a husband newly located to this area from Minnesota. He was writing to his young wife who was still back home while he scouted out prospects for employment here. He wrote his letter while sitting on a Bay Area hillside. He said:

"The weather is so nice--not too hot & lots of sunshine. They are all worried here because of the lack of rain. It hasn't rained once after the day we arrived--no clouds just sunshine & warm."

Apparently, even 66 years ago the locals were having the same discussions during a rainless January that we are now. And I don't think "global climate change" was a factor in the discussion back then. To the newly transplanted Minnesotan the weather was marvelous. But to the locals... not so much.

Like I said, this happens every few years. It's just a part of life here. The constant possibility that our reservoirs and groundwater (as well as the snow pack in the Sierras a few hours drive north and east of us) won't get replenished enough during the winter to last through our rainless summer is a specter that Bay Area residents have looming in their minds each and every year as we head out of summer into October and November. And when we see week after week of no rain in the weather forecast during December and January, we start to get very concerned. We know that there needs to be enough water for each of our own gardens as well as the 80,500 farms and ranches up and down California that provides more than half of our nation's fruit, nuts and vegetables (click here to read the breakdown by crop). Here in the Bay Area, we also know that the northern part of our state will have to provide the water for all the arid regions of the southern part of state. We take water very seriously around here.

What do we do when faced with dismal weather forecasts and thirsty soil in January? The only thing we can do...

PRAY... 

hard... 

with childlike faith...

with conviction...

for a miracle. 

(We in California would be most appreciative for prayers from anywhere right now.)

Bits and pieces of the beginnings of 2014

Little blessings
In early December, I got sick with the flu. I got better in time for Christmas and then caught a cold on Christmas Eve/Christmas Day and have been recuperating from that ever since. Imagine the delight I felt when I peeked out the north facing windows to see the camellias were blooming before New Year's Day! It's as if they know I need to see their brilliantly colored faces just a tad earlier than February. It really isn't the camellias that know. It's their Creator that knows. And I am grateful that He cares enough to send sweet little blessings like this when I need them.

The studio build-out moves forward... without me
Hubby had a lot of vacation time accrued and decided to take a significant chunk of it before, during and after the holidays. As well as doing the Christmas shopping this year, he diligently crossed things off the to-do list of home repairs and improvements.

He removed the last vestiges of the pantry units that ran along the interior of our garage that is to become my studio. That is the wall (above) where my computer workspace will be.

The garage door will be replaced by a large set of three windows to let in loads of east-facing light perfect for photographing and creating.

The only things left in the garage are what you see above. The freezer (at the left) needs to be moved inside where it will reside permanently from now on in a pantry we're going to create by framing in half of the area we call "The Tiki Room". So the moving of the freezer is the next big thing that has to happen (probably some time this week) before we can begin the last bits of clean up around the existing garage framing (removing old stucco, sheet rock and nails). Then it'll be time to install floor joists.

The pantry bases Hubby built years ago came out in sturdy intact boxes that will be perfect to use as planter boxes in the area of the back garden that has yet to have hardscape installed. The boxes aren't made of pressure-treated lumber (just plain old pine) so they'll be somewhat sacrificial and will degrade over the next couple of growing seasons. That's okay since they're on their second life anyway.

This Winter's garden
We always have overnight frost in the winter but don't normally experience extended periods of time when the overnight temps dip so far below freezing over and over that everything gets "zapped" really bad.

Well, in early December that's exactly what happened.

Hubby monitors the weather very closely so when the forecasts showed a freeze warning with temps dipping down into to the mid 20F range (-6C) it was time to take some serious precautions. Despite being sick, I went out and strung some white Christmas lights (the old non-LED kind) around in each of the citrus trees to help them stay warm and prevent serious frost damage to the branches. My efforts saved the foliage but not my orange crop. The freezing temps caused the interior juices to expand and burst the bottoms of many of the oranges--freeze-drying the insides as they hung on the tree. It's too bad too... I had a really nice crop this year.

For the first time I can remember, I didn't have any roses blooming on Christmas Day to photograph and share here on the blog. Every rose that was blooming was shriveled to a brown blob. The bower vine on one side of the front pergola really took a hit and I'm wondering how much of it survived. The red Japanese honeysuckle on the other side did better but still has some crispy leaves. I'll have to wait and see if I lost either of my two remaining bougainvillea. I'm not used to the roses looking so bleak in January. Even the Cecile Brunner (below right) said, "Enough is enough!" and has dropped all it's normally evergreen-year-round foliage.

And then there's the amazing loquat (above left). I am always amazed at the tenacity and heartiness of such a tropical looking tree. Even its blossoms are weathering the cold well. If a frost kills a bunch of blossoms, the tree just send out more in their place.

Again, I'm grateful for the small blessing of seeing life thriving when everything else in the garden looks so bedraggled and sad. The loquat, the camellia, and the palm trees are all beautifully green reminders to me that everything will be green again in another month or two--that by the end of February I'll be able to set out the new planter boxes, fill them will soil, and begin sowing seeds in March.

Happy wanderers of the flora and fauna varieties

Hardenbergia violacea "Happy Wanderer"

Last month I was certain that I wouldn't see a single bloom on my one surviving hardenbergia vine this year. A succession of frosty January nights had come just as the buds were setting all over the vine and zapped them all to shriveled little purple dots.

"Oh well," I thought.

But like the loquat tree, the hardenbergia had a backup plan I wasn't privy to and now it is blooming profusely with tiny little orchid-like blooms that look like they walked straight out of Disney's Alice in Wonderland.

The vine is commonly known as "Happy Wanderer". I've found that it isn't the only "happy wanderer" gracing the garden right now...

Bombycilla cedrorum "Cedar waxwing"

I've been thrilled to see large flocks of cedar waxwings in the garden this winter. Every day when I go out to get some sun therapy to ward off my SAD, I am delighted to watch the cedar waxwings come down in small groups from high in the neighbor's fruitless mulberry tree to timidly drink at the bird fountain we installed in the back garden last summer. The cedar waxwings' heads bob up and down as they hurriedly get a drink. Like teenage girls who all have to go to the restroom in a flock, these winter visitors aren't as familiar with the garden as the other permanent residents and so they feel more comfortable venturing down in smallish groups.

Soon the cedar waxwings will fly home to their mountain climes, but for now I'm thoroughly enjoying their vacationing here. Until this year, I haven't had the pleasure of seeing whole groups of them winter here.

Honeybee on hardenbergia

The weather has warmed enough for the bees to happily wander into the garden in search of nectar. The small lavender and pineapple sage plants have been in bloom throughout the winter and provided the only food source for the bees hearty enough to venture from their hive (wherever it may be) on the warmer sunnier days. Now the hardenbergia and camellias are giving the bees some variety. And soon the orange tree and bay laurel tree will have more blooms for them to peruse and sip from.

I used to be a "happy wanderer" always looking for adventure on the horizon. But as I've put down roots here along with the plants and trees I've brought to the garden, I'm finding that I prefer to be the hostess for other "happy wanderers"--both flora and fauna.

The first signs of spring are appearing in the garden

Around the base of the olive tree, the jonquils have sent up their spring-green spears and tiny teacup-blooms. Just a few are opening. More will probably open if we get the rain that is forecast for tomorrow. We've had a nice rainy season thus far so the jonquils have a beautiful green backdrop of winter grasses and oxalis that showcase the blooms wonderfully.

The loquat tree is sending out its second set of blooms this winter. The first set of blooms were too early in January and ended up shriveled and frostbitten. I was afraid that meant no loquats this year, but apparently the loquat has a back-up plan in place--making my concern was unnecessary.

Every year nature teaches me a little bit more about resiliency and just "going with the flow". The loquat was the first to teach me this year.

Nestled among the brown stems of dormant water iris, garlic and canna lilies, a brilliant (and somewhat tattered) gazania is blooming near the edge of the pond. Every year I watch it do this in the depths of January... every year. I don't know why. It just does. Consistent, resilient, strong and determined this 10+ year old gazania plant has taught and continues to teach me many lessons if I am quiet enough to hear them.

Only another week or two and I know I'll be spotting the first almond tree in bloom on one of our surrounding hills. Then I'll know that spring has truly arrived. In the meantime, I find little harbingers of spring nestled in corners of our little garden... and each one makes me smile.

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..."

Spotting two new birds I've never seen in person... a great way to end 2012, in my opinion

When December rolls around, I begin to fill the bird feeders. I don't have to until then. The birds are busy feeding on bugs and seeds from the rest of the garden. But about December is when the bugs go into hiding and the seeds from the plants get sparse. So the sunflower seeds go into seed feeders and suet goes into the suet feeders.

It is about this time of year that I often see birds I'm not used to seeing here. Because our winters are milder than only just a few hundred miles north, we get visitors that we don't see the rest of the year.

Today, I got the treat of getting to see and photograph two new types of birds that I haven't seen in person before. It was a real treat to see these rare visitors.

Yesterday, when I was sitting on the deck getting sun and giving the garden kitty lots of affection and attention, I spotted a bird and couldn't figure out what it was. I didn't have my camera with me so I had to go off of memory when hunting through my Birds of Northern California book. I couldn't find anything that looked like what I had seen. I felt like one of those people that claims to have seen Bigfoot but didn't have their camera with them. It was maddening.

Today I went out to get my bit of sun for the day (and give attention to the garden kitty) and remembered that I should have my camera with me. So I went back inside, mounted the telephoto lens on my camera body, and headed back out. It wasn't any time at all before I was rewarded with a sighting of a white-breasted nuthatch climbing around on things in a gravity-defying way. I was so excited! On the packaging of the suet I buy, there's a picture of a nuthatch. But I've never seen a nuthatch in my garden... until today!

Then as if on cue, the same kind of mystery bird I saw yesterday flew down and landed not far from the nuthatch on the fence. They were both negotiating who would be eating next from the cylindrical suet feeder with the "peanut butter and jelly" flavored suet (the exact suet with the nuthatch on the packaging). I was so excited! I would finally have photographic evidence of this mystery bird. Hallelujah! I wasn't in the "Bigfoot camp" anymore!

After I uploaded the shots to my computer, I started hunting through my Birds of Northern California book again. It was maddening. Again, I couldn't find one like it. It's often hard to identify birds from my book because the pictures are artist renderings and not photos. Then I spotted one that might be a possibility. I googled the name "yellow-rumped warbler". Hazah! That was it! The photos on the internet look very different than the one artist rendering in the book. I'm surprised I figured it out. 

I read about the yellow-rumped warbler and my book says, "Although [they] do not breed in northern California, they are commonly seen along the Pacific coast in the migration and during winter." Okay! That explains my sighting perfectly.

What a great way to finish out the year, I say.

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.

Enjoying the harvest of the first winter lettuce

I don't normally post on Sunday, but today Hubby harvested the first of the winter lettuce for our late lunch, and I had to share a photo. He's making a salad and grilled cheese sandwich for me as I type this.

Yeah, my husband is pretty awesome.

Winter pears, winter gardens and Alcinous

Digitally painted photograph "Winter pears"

I spent a significant slice of time in my childhood (over 4 years) in a very cold clime in the Rocky Mountains of Colorado where the first snows of the year begin in September and the last snow of the year is usually the first or second week of June. My mom used to tell people that we had three seasons--Winter, July and August.

When I was 10 years old, we moved back to the San Francisco Bay Area where I was born. It was February, and we exited blizzard conditions in Colorado and entered what I thought was Eden on earth with sunny balmy days and frost-free nights. Daffodils were in bloom, almond trees were laden with pale pink blossoms, and the thrill of spring was in the air.

When I was a 15, we spent another 18 months living in Colorado. Again, I dealt with the cold and the snow. When we moved back to the Bay Area again, I was so grateful.

So many years have passed, but I have never forgotten the contrast between the two worlds I grew up in--Colorado and California's Bay Area.

I have never forgotten how much snow I lived in and through back then. How cold it was. How the world didn't bloom for so many months of the year.

It is why I have an extreme aversion to snow now as an adult. When others are dreaming of a white Christmas I am perfectly happy with my foggy San Francisco Christmas. When I see weather reports of blizzards and snowstorms in other parts of the United States, I shudder. When ski bums and snow bunnies are heading to the slopes in the Sierra Nevadas (only 3-4 hours north of us), I happily stay put in my snowless environs.

Homer spoke of the sublime mythical orchard, Alcinous:

"Therein grow trees, tall and luxuriant, pears and pomegranates and apple-trees with their bright fruit, and sweet figs, and luxuriant olives. Of these the fruit perishes not nor fails in winter or in summer, but lasts throughout the year."

Odyssey vii

Although I do not have a pear tree, I look out at my garden that is partially leafless with deciduous trees and partly lush and green with citrus, rosebushes and palm trees, and I often feel as if I am living in the mythical Alcinous.

The pomegranate is dormant right now, but the lemon tree is full of bright sunny fruit. The plum tree is waiting until spring, but the rosemary and lavender are blooming with periwinkle blue blossoms. The silvery leaves of the olive tree sway in the rain against a backdrop of pink winter roses from the rosebush that I loved back to life and has no name.

My childhood keeps me from ever taking this all for granted.

And in a corner of the garden under the dormant hydrangea, the yellow trumpets of daffodils are heralding the transition from January to February that is coming soon when the almonds will bloom and the pear trees will look like they're covered with snow.... but it won't be the snow that makes it shudder. It will be the delicate white petals of spring.

Click here to send the artwork above as a free e-card

Mourning dove in winter

High on a branch

In the mulberry tree

The mourning dove sits

Waiting for spring.

The hummingbird calls from the winter wisteria

I hear him before I see him.

His tiny chirp

Easily missed by unaware ears.

He sits atop a leaf-bare vine

Singing to the mid-day sun.

A rare winter strawberry

Imagine my surprise when I found this lone strawberry growing in my winter garden. In the winter, I always enjoy watching much of the foliage of the strawberries turn to a beautiful shade of cherry red. But I've never had a plant produce fruit at the same time as the leaves are turning for winter. It provided a rare opportunity to get a shot of the red fruit and the red leaves together--photographic serendipity indeed.

A photo-walk through the garden looking at the New Year's roses at Rosehaven Cottage

There are many things I love about living in a mild-winter climate. I think one of my favorites is the chance of having New Year's roses blooming while the trees and plants in other parts of the garden have gone to sleep until spring. The overnight frosts nip at my bougainvillea and calla lilies making them wither and turn brown. But the roses seem impervious even to below-freezing temps.

The roses got a late summer haircut this year and spent the autumn sending out new green growth that resulted in a particularly spectacular late December bloom. When the skies are grey and overcast, the roses are just the splash of color needed to brighten my day. I hope these photos brighten your winter day too.

If you keep scrolling down you'll see the special surprise that I encountered at the end of my photo-walk through the rose garden.

While I was out photographing the roses, a cheeky male Anna's hummingbird decided that my presence was not going to deter him from taking his "regularly scheduled" afternoon bath in the chilly water of the fountain. He was very leisurely and also got a few drinks. If you look closely you can see his little tongue sticking out. I didn't have to use my zoom lens to photograph this little guy. He was only about 4 feet away when I shot this photo. Like I said... cheeky.

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.

Life at Rosehaven Cottage: Tucked in the corners of the January gardens

The gray of January hangs in the damp chilly air over the gardens here at Rosehaven Cottage. There is no winter snow... just rain, fog, and an occasional early-morning frosting of shimmery crystals on the rooftop. The beauty of the winter garden often lies low and in protected corners where the frost cannot find it.

At the base of our young olive tree the sunny yellow heads of jonquils brighten the drab landscape, sending hints of their fragrance wafting on the chilly air.

Under the protective boughs of the oleander, the shy little violets bloom fragrant and sweet in the blue-purple color I associate with January.

On the shady side of the house, the camellias put on the annual show I wait the rest of the year to see. Their spectacular display of lipstick reds and rouge pinks are garden Valentines.

Winter strawberry leaves

This shot is SOOC (straight out of the camera) except for the crop

One of the things I love about strawberry plants is when the leaves turn red because of the frosty nights. This year, mine are bi-colored with red AND green leaves together!

My strawberry plants grow in pots by the edge of the pond where the recirculating water pours back into the pond over small piles of rocks. I've tried the strawberry plants in various locations in the garden and this is the only one they really like. I guess they like the somewhat moist air that rises from the pond in that full-sun location.

I think our new deck is providing more shelter for the plants than in years past because the frost hasn't crisped the strawberry leaves. An extra bonus, I'd say.

Loquat blooming

Nine years ago we were spending our first winter here at Rosehaven Cottage. To our delight, the neighbor had a very mature loquat tree growing on the south side of our house right along the fence line. I'd never seen a loquat tree in person before moving here. Although its thick waxy leaves look wonderfully tropical, it's a hardy tree that can withstand temps below freezing.

For the first couple of years, we loved the shade the tree provided in the heat of summer and the evergreen foliage and blooms it provided in the starkness of winter. The squirrels loved it too, scampering up and down the top of the fence to get to the delicious fruit whenever it was ripe in late spring.

Then the house next door sold to a new owner. And one Sunday we looked out our window to find that the tree was gone. We were moved to tears. And it wrenched our hearts watching the very confused squirrels come running down the top of the fence and then stop where the tree used to be and look up as if to say, "What happened here?"

Needless to say, the following summer was hotter on the south side of our house. And the fence looked starker. I wasn't happy (tree lover that I am).

But all was not lost, thanks to our little squirrel friends. During those days they had munched on ripe loquats, they had also buried the pits in the ground below on our side of the fence. And it wasn't long before I saw little loquat seedlings coming up amidst the ivy that grows there. As they got bigger, I dug a couple up to put in pots (one now lives in my mother-in-law's garden). A few stayed in the ground and as they matured, I trimmed them and thinned them so that only the best formed trees stayed.

Year after year, the loquat seedlings have gotten bigger and their large tropical dark-green leaves have multiplied. But no blossoms. Year after year and no blossoms. If there aren't any blossoms, there won't be any fruit. I thought maybe the loquats grown from seed were sterile. Well, at least I could enjoy the foliage, right?

But this winter, around Christmas, I noticed clusters were forming on the tree! Would we really have blossoms? A couple of weeks later, and we do indeed have blossoms! I've seen a few bees buzzing around them. I'm hoping we have enough bees to pollinate them (last summer we had hardly any bees in the garden and the ones I do find are dead on the ground). If enough pollinators do their job, the squirrels will have their loquats again.

Winter Garden Update

Some of you may remember when I posted about putting in a new raised bed just outside our front door for our winter garden (it was back in October). Well, today I realized that I hadn't posted any updates about it and thought it was high time I did.

I have been pleasantly surprised at how well all the seeds have done. I'm usually not very good at growing stuff from seed, but this time I did something right. Tah-dah!

I do the "cut-and-come-again" method of harvesting lettuce so this 4'x8' raised planter has been providing us with WONDERFUL salad greens for about a month. And it's still going strong! It's great to have Hubby say, "I'm making chinese chicken salad. Can you go harvest some lettuce?" And I walk right out the front door with the salad spinner bowl in hand, pick the greens I want, and bring them back inside to be prepped by Hubby.

Don't let all this greenery fool you into thinking that it's warm here, because it isn't. There's a daytime chill in the air and our overnight temps often dip below freezing. Lettuce and other winter greens love this kind of weather. They produce buttery tasting leaves that simply melt in your mouth.

Intermingled among the rows of lettuce are other winter veggies such as broccoli, scallions, parsley, and snap peas. I also planted a row of bread seed poppies that are doing very well and getting big enough that they will hopefully bloom soon. Once they've gone to seed, we'll harvest the poppy seeds for garnishing bread and other things.

I think the most exciting thing about this whole endeavor (other than the fact that the seeds grew), is that I've been able to grow everything without the use of any pesticides, herbicides, or snail/slug bait. The only deterrent I've used is some metal fencing material I had. It has kept the neighborhood kitties and other critters out of the soil.

I really don't know exactly how many varieties of lettuce are growing right now. There must be at least 7-8 different ones. There were some seed packets that were mixes of winter greens, so it's hard to say. Regardless, all of them are yummy in their wholesome freshness. I wish I could share some with each of you!