There's the idea of the magic of a white Christmas and then there's the reality

I will readily admit it. When it comes to snow I'm a total wimp. I hate it. No... loathe would be a better word. 

Snow sounds very good in theory. The thought of a white Christmas seems so magical. Maybe if I could have snow on just Christmas Eve and Christmas Day (snow that didn't kill all my sub-tropical plants in the garden), I'd like it. But once Christmas was done, I'd want someone to come and roll it all up and take it away, giving me back the mild climate I've grown to love here in the San Francisco Bay Area.

If I really want to see snow, I only have to drive about 3 hours and I'll be in the winter wonderland of the high Sierra Nevada mountains where snow bunnies and snowboarders flock to ski slopes throughout the colder half of the year. Sometimes, even our own mountain and hills are capped in lovely white so that when I crest the hill on the road that takes me out of our little niche, I see a majestic white peak dominating the panoramic scene before me.

But I don't want snow anywhere near me or my garden.

I tell people that I did my time.

Years of my childhood were spent in the harsh cold that envelopes the Rocky Mountains. At well above a mile high in elevation (almost 8,500 ft to be exact) snow could come as early as September and as late as June. I walked to and from the school bus stop in it for a half mile every school day as a little girl. I spent several Easter Sundays hunkered down inside as a blizzard raged outside keeping our family home from church. I spent many nights with my family huddled around a fireplace burning kerosene lanterns because the power was out from downed power lines due to heavy snow. As a little girl I read Laura Ingalls' book "Little House in the Big Woods" for the first time and could relate very well. Snow was real. It wasn't magical. It was a harsh reality for 9 months out of the year.

Yes... I did my time in the snow. I am not wistful for the proverbial white Christmas. I'll take the foggy Christmases of the Bay Area any day.

Filling our home with winter whites and fresh greens

It's been a few years since I've felt up to decorating for Christmas. Usually, Hubby gets out a few select decorations from the attic that will add some festive feeling to our little home but won't require a lot of clean-up once the holiday season is over.

This year I'm feeling peppy and also inspired by some of the ideas I've found on Pinterest. I discovered that every time I saw a photo of Christmas decorations with live mini trees and fresh greens, I was pinning it to either my December board or my Pale Pretty Christmas board. I was particularly inspired by a photo from A Cottage Nest (click here to see it).

I finally asked Hubby if we could depart from getting out the same-old-same-old from the attic and do something different based on what I'd been liking. He was totally up for it.

In fact, it was on Hubby's suggestion that we spend our Friday night date night (the last day of November) hunting for exactly what we needed, so I could decorate on Saturday. I'm telling you, I'm married to a total sweetie!

We hit several stores on Friday evening (I'm a power shopper that gets in, looks, and gets out rather quickly from a store). We were really happy that we were able to find all the sweet little trees at super low prices as well as five of the seven containers we needed at discount stores (two we already had). We even found a beautiful new mirror at an unbelievably low price and then got an additional 20% off because it was dinged a bit on the corner. Sweet!

On Saturday, we hung the mirror over the mantle first (I measured and Hubby set the anchors). Then we headed out to find the last few little items we needed including greens, a bag of cinnamon-scented pinecones and a set of sparkly silver LED candles (an open flame would be a fire hazard among the trees).

We picked up the fresh greens at a local tree lot that had extra branches from trimming the trees they had sold. Once we got them home, I wired together the larger boughs to create the garland for the hearth and a swag for the front door. I used the smaller sprigs to tuck around and between the tree containers on the mantle.

The cats were loving all the fresh greens. I let them sniff, chew, and lick the boughs before I started constructing anything with them (yes, Dexter licks evergreens--even fake ones). Lucy went nuts for the bag of cinnamon pinecones and rubbed all over it like it was catnip. She didn't give up her claim to the pinecones for quite some time. She finally got bored and wandered off after a while so I was able to place the pinecones last. I left some down low for them to sniff and enjoy.

The cats don't climb up on the mantle, so we can have these Christmas trees without incident. This is a wonderful alternative to having a cat in the Christmas tree multiple times a day from now until New Year's Day. We get the wonderful smell of Christmas in our home without the hassle of having to redecorate the tree every morning after a night of feline fun with the enticing baubles and sparklies they can't leave alone.

Now it really and truly looks and smells like Christmas here in our little home! It's been great starting out December like this.

Trees from largest to smallest:

"Dwarf Alberta Spruce" (Picea glauca 'Conica')

"Ellwood Cypress" (Chamaecyparis lawsoniana 'Ellwoodii')

"European Tree" (also marked Chamaecyparis lawsoniana 'Ellwoodii' 

but looking very different than the taller cypress)

Center "tree" is a rosemary plant cut like a Christmas tree

The phenomenon of autumn and winter roses

"Montezuma"

Each rosebush in the garden is a little different in its tastes and preferences as far as sun and water go. Each one blooms at its preferred time during the year as well. When I first embarked on planting roses, I had no idea that there would be so much diversity in blooming times--nor did I anticipate the majority of the roses would be giving me an "encore bloom" as the outside temperatures cooled toward the end of the year.

Consistently every year, as the dryness and heat of summer slips into the toasty days of September and early October the roses begin to look a bit peaked and tired. My brain is okay with that because it is turning autumn after all.

But then the first autumn rains come and something miraculous happens to the roses... they bloom as if it's May again.

Mystery rose (was mislabeled as "Sterling" when I bought it)

After 12 years of watching this phenomenon happen, I'm beginning to expect it instead of being surprised by it. It still seems like a miracle to me though and never ceases to delight me.

The temperatures continue to get cooler and cooler throughout the month of November (our overnight temps are now dipping into the 40-45F (4-7C) range. But the roses seem to get happier and continue to bloom and will continue to do so until Christmas Day when I've learned I can always count on roses in bloom for the holiday.

"Janice Kellogg"

There are subtle differences between the autumn and Christmas blooms and the earlier blooms of spring and early summer. The autumn buds are smaller and tighter--often darker in color. The buds take longer to open and when they do the petals are often more crepe-like with variegation and patterns that weren't there in the spring.

"Sheer Magic"

I have one rosebush (a mystery rose that was here before we were) that refuses to bloom all summer. It loses all its leaves as if it was winter. Then when autumn rolls around, it begins to get foliage again and by December and January it is putting out its lovely pale pink teacup-sized blossoms for me to enjoy in the midst of a fairly dormant winter garden. It is really delightful to have that special gift every year at a time that is hard for me because the days are short and the sun often hides behind a low marine layer of clouds.

This is what I still have to look forward to as Christmas Day draws nearer...

The winter-blooming pink mystery rose on Christmas Day 2007

We know winter is not far away

When a pointy-nosed energetic kitty

Takes time to stop her playing and cavorting

To hunker down on a warm lap

Under a fuzzy blanket...

We know winter is not far away.

The January thaw

I'm posting something different today... something that requires quite a bit of courage. I'm posting a watercolor landscape painting. I haven't painted a landscape in watercolor for a very long time... probably over a decade (if not more).

After I wrote my last post, I felt this urge to paint. It was the kind of urge that drives from a place deep inside like something needing a way to get out. That urge doesn't come very often. For many years it didn't come at all, and I never thought it would again. But a couple of days ago it did.

I taped up the watercolor paper onto my painting board, pulled out the paints and parked in front of the easel. I just started putting water and paint on the paper without any idea of what it would become or what I was painting. I was thinking I'd probably end up with a texture I could use for my Photoshop work.

I was way off.

In the end, I found myself with a landscape painting of the January thaw that often happened in the Rockies when I was small. For a brief time almost every January, the sun would come out, the temperature would rise and some of the snow would melt. It would be a brief respite before more snow would begin to fall again.

The painting really isn't that good, but I painted a landscape and that's a very good thing!

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.

Snow white and rose red

From a fairy tale by the Brothers Grimm:

"There was once a poor widow who lived in a lonely cottage. In front of the cottage was a garden wherein stood two rose-trees, one of which bore white and the other red roses. She had two children who were like the two rose-trees, and one was called Snow-white, and the other Rose- red. They were as good and happy, as busy and cheerful as ever two children in the world were, only Snow-white was more quiet and gentle than Rose-red. Rose-red liked better to run about in the meadows and fields seeking flowers and catching butterflies; but Snow-white sat at home with her mother, and helped her with her housework, or read to her when there was nothing to do.

"The two children were so fond of one another that they always held each other by the hand when they went out together, and when Snow- white said: ’We will not leave each other,’ Rose-red answered: ’Never so long as we live,’ and their mother would add: ’What one has she must share with the other.’

"They often ran about the forest alone and gathered red berries, and no beasts did them any harm, but came close to them trustfully. The little hare would eat a cabbage-leaf out of their hands, the roe grazed by their side, the stag leapt merrily by them, and the birds sat still upon the boughs, and sang whatever they knew."

This photo is available as custom-printed invitations at Rosehaven Cottage Stationers by clicking above
and is also available to send for FREE as an e-card or e-vite at pingg by clicking below.

Nature's stalwart ones

Our normally mild winter weather has taken on a bit of a chill thanks to the rare polar jet that is sweeping over us. Hubby has educated me that the arctic jet is what often brings us our cooler temps. But to have the polar jet come through is a rare occurrence. Because of this fact, there was snow in the neighboring towns yesterday morning. On the way to work, Hubby was able to see snow on the hills coming right down to the freeway on which he was commuting. That's something we've never seen before.

I spent my day watching the thermometer never get out of the 40's (5-9C) as well as making sure that all my tender subtropical plants (e.g., birds of paradise, hibiscus, and plumeria) were all tucked under cold frames so they could survive the frost forecast for the coming night. I'm careful to choose plants that can handle temps down to 20F (-7C) so I simply need to make sure that they are protected against frost forming on them.

As I puttered about the garden making sure everything would be fine, I interrupted a robin that had lit on the side of the pond to get a drink. I haven't seen a robin in the garden at all this year, even in the spring when robin-spotting would be the norm. Why was I seeing one now? I thought about this lone robin and where he must have flown in from. He probably came from a mountain clime where the weather is much more harsh than here. To him, our winter "chill" must have felt quite comfortable compared to the cold back home.

As I continued my garden chores, I found not one, but two confused lilac blossoms on two different bushes. Last year, I found one as well.

The lilac is a bush that needs stress in order to bloom. Normally, that stress comes in the form of a cold winter in states like New Hampshire where the lilac is the state flower. But here, we don't have severe temps that stress lilacs enough. Warm climate lilac varieties have been bred and these two of mine are of those varieties. Our very dry summers and the stress from lack of moisture can stress the lilac much like a cold winter, causing it to produce buds that will bloom in the spring. That's why sometimes my lilacs get confused once the autumnal rains come and think it's time to send out a measly little blossom or two at the same time that it's losing its leaves for the winter.

Since yesterday, I've thought a lot about the lone robin and the solitary lilac blooms. To some, they may appear out of sync--quirky anomalies with poor timing. Yet, I see them as symbols of steadfastness and stalwart hope.

I see the lilacs as a reminder that my stresses and trials in life are the things that have made me bloom. I haven't reveled in any trial while I'm in the midst of it, but when I look back I can see how each trial has caused me to grow and blossom in a way that I wouldn't have if I'd been spared the trial.

I see the robin as a reminder that circumstances are all relative. My coldest and darkest "winters" in life may be seen as a blessed respite by someone who has experienced even harsher conditions. If they could light in my world for a brief moment, they might see it as a "tropical paradise". I need to remember that when I feel things are dark and cold.

And finally, I see both the lilacs and the robin as wonderful reminders that it is okay for me to be "out of sync" and "quirky". I may not be on the timetable that seems socially acceptable, but that's okay. It's my timetable and my seasons of life. Instead of comparing myself to others, I need to just focus on where I am and make the most out of the season I'm experiencing. I need to take a cue from nature's stalwart ones.

Winter is almost over...

On a walk along our street today, I came across a neighbor's beautiful pyracantha bushes that are more like trees than bushes. As you can see, many of the trees around here are still leafless as they should be in winter. Although I have beautiful spring bulbs blooming in the sheltered areas of my garden, the rest of the area has yet to wake up from winter. In the meantime, the beautiful red berries and the lines of the branches are just as pretty to me.

Juxtapositions of a Bay Area December

Yesterday's dark and dreary weather made it seem as if the sun never came out. The outside temperature never made it past 39F (3.9C) which is very unusual for this climate. But we were getting hit with one of the arctic blasts we get at least once a winter. The snow elevation dropped and there was snow on the higher hills around the San Francisco Bay Area. The rain was icy cold. The sky was dark. And the humid chill cut right to the bone.

So when today dawned bright and beautiful, I was glad I had an excuse to get out of the studio. I had an appointment for a routine mammogram this afternoon (I've rescheduled it twice over the past month). I toted my camera along so I could be on the lookout for pretty shots. I knew people would wonder why I had my rig around my neck as I headed into the Kaiser medical center, but frankly I didn't care.

I took a wrong turn trying to find the imaging center and ended up on the wrong floor down a dead-end hall with a beautiful floor-to-ceiling window at the end. This is the gorgeous view that I found...

Click to see image larger

This is the quintessential shot to show the odd juxtapositions that exist in our wonderful (and weird) Bay Area climate. In the background, you can see the snow-capped tips of Mount Diablo peeking out. And in the foreground, you can see one of our rolling hills that turn green as soon as the winter rains come after spending a summer the color of spun gold.

The plantings around the Kaiser facility here in town are really beautiful. The gardeners have wisely chosen drought-tolerant plants that will subsist through our hot dry summers, while handling the occasional dip in temps during the winter. I was immediately drawn to this gorgeous salvia that is in full bloom today...

And then the gorgeous red of a geranium and the bold yellow of a marguerite both simply dazzling in the sunshine...


Yet, overhead most of the leaves have fallen from the deciduous trees with only just a few hanging on...

And then there was the snow-capped peak of Mount Diablo hovering on the horizon as I drove around running other errands after my appointment--a reminder that despite the beautiful flowers I found here and there, it really is winter.

A Patch of Sunshine Only on the Blog

It's been rainy and cold the past couple of days here at Rosehaven Cottage. So I decided to post some photos of the sunnier days in our winter garden to brighten up the otherwise chilly and damp day.

Above: A tiny and dainty chamomile blossom grows in the raised planters along with the winter lettuce. Growing herbs in with other tender plants helps to provide decoys for insects and other predators so they leave the delicate edibles alone. This chamomile is doing its job quite well.

Above left: A gorgeous broccoli leaf in all its winter glory. Here in the Bay Area broccoli is a winter vegetable since it prefers cooler temperatures and our late spring and summer temps are much too hot for its taste.

Above right: The brilliant yellow of the winter lemons are one of the few spots of color among leafless trees. Even the lemon tree that they are growing on is devoid of most of its leaves.

Above: Aloe will grow like a weed around here if planted in the ground. This transplant once was growing out of control in a large area of the garden when we came to Rosehaven Cottage. Since space is at a premium, I transplanted the aloe into two large terra cotta pots and they have thrived there ever since.

A final note... if you love gardens as much as we do, go check out Blotanical, a directory of more garden blogs than you could imagine! And if your garden blog isn't already there, it should be! Even if you've got a brown thumb, it's worth checking out just to see all the gorgeous gardens.

All photographs featured here can be made available as unframed or framed prints, high-quality posters,
bound journals, tile coasters, keepsake boxes, greeting cards or a variety of other products.

Please email Cindy at rosehaven_cottage@yahoo.com for customization information.

Don't hesitate to ask about a special request. There is no additional cost for customization, and it's free to ask.

We survived "The Monster Storm"

My dear friend, Holly, of many years over at 2 Kids and Tired left a comment on my recent post mentioning "The Monster Storm" that hit the West Coast of North America last week wondering how we were doing. Then Jodi at bloomingwriter left a similar comment and so did Yolanda Elizabet at Bliss.

In response to Holly's comment I wrote her an email back. Then I realized that I should post it here to give everyone an update. Can you say, "Duh!" ??? All the rain must have gotten into my brain.

Anyway... here's the latest...

There's been flooding all over the place here in the San Francisco Bay Area with some horrible damage from the hurricane-force winds (big trucks were tipped over on the Richmond-San Rafael Bridge). Some people are still without power and have been for days. Luckily, we are not in that group. Also fortunately, over the last 7 years we've taken lots of preliminary measures to prevent flooding here at Rosehaven Cottage during major storms such as this was.

Since we live in the low spot of our street with it going uphill in both directions, we and our next door neighbors get everyone's water. That's why years ago, long before we moved here, the county put in a three storm drains right along the property line between both houses--front, middle, and back. I have spent the last seven of winters figuring out how the water flows through our yard during heavy storms and then creating a drainage system of hidden drains, artificial aquifers, and arroyos as well as a pond. Each successive year as I refine and improve the whole system, we have less water flood in our crawl space (sometimes it was up to a foot of water!). With "The Monster Storm" as bad as it was, I am so happy that we had no standing water flooding our crawl space. I must be doing things right!

Originally, the pond was born out of the flooding problem in our garden. The first January we lived here, I watched one area of the garden never drain properly so I got out there with a shovel and started digging. When I finally stopped digging I had a 1,200 gallon pond! In storms like this, the pond acts as a catch basin for flooding with some spillways on the backside to prevent overfilling. The spillways flow into an arroyo of river rock that leads to the back storm drain.

I feel very blessed, because the I've always received promptings when I need to do something to prepare for a storm, along with inspiration for exactly what to do. In 2005, the kept feeling strongly that we needed to remove the patch of concrete right in front of our garage door and fill the area with pea gravel. We did. And a couple of months later, we had a huge New Year's storm that flooded a lot of our town and our neighbor's homes. Our garage would have been flooded ruining all the tools and building supplies we have stored in there. I feel very blessed to have this gift that helps us stay safe.

The weekend of this New Year the weather forecast said we were in for three big storms in a row. I had the same prompting to prepare and how to prepare. I took advantage of the sunny days leading up to the storm and went out to sledgehammer more concrete off the old 20'x20' pad that was part of a defuncted lanai structure that I've been dismantling since August. I used the concrete blocks to shore up the arroyo that runs to the back storm drain. I was glad I put in the extra work a couple of days ago, because it really helped prevent flooding through the redirection of water. And the reenforcement with the concrete blocks was absolutely necessary to prevent flood erosion as the water poured through the steep banked arroyo.

So although we are not "high and dry" as Jodi's well wishes hoped, we are "low and dry". And dry is a good thing.