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.)

The perplexities of explaining gardening in our Meditterranean climate

Plumbago

September around here means at least another full month of summer temps (we hit 95F/35C yesterday) so the garden is still blooming away and putting on a lovely show. Even though I don't normally share so many photos in one post, I couldn't settle on featuring just one of the many types of flowers that are showing off in the garden. So think of this as a "photo bouquet" of sorts.

"Our Lady of Guadalupe" rose

Trying to explain living in a Mediterranean climate to someone who hasn't ever lived in one for a full year is kind of difficult. Have you ever read Under the Tuscan Sun by Frances Mayes? All the plants she describes in this memoir are plants that thrive here. The seasons are much the same too (although our winters are a bit milder). The best way I've been able to describe it is that our spring starts about 2 months earlier than you'd expect and autumn comes about 2 months later than in other gardens in the northern hemisphere. Our climate isn't tropical, but it isn't the typical "four season" climate either. See... I said it was difficult to explain.

"Janice Kellogg" rose

The light is changing so we know that autumn is officially only a few weeks away. However, we know that our garden won't look autumnal until late October or even November. Many trees won't display their fall leaves until then unless we get some chilly nights.

Alstroemeria

The good thing about living in this climate is that we have an extra long growing season for veggies. It's so long, in fact, that many veggie gardeners put in a crop in March or April to be harvested in mid-summer. Then another crop is put in around July for an October or pre-Thanksgiving harvest. With indeterminate crops like some tomato varieties, in past years I've been harvesting tomatoes all the way up to the morning of Thanksgiving the third week in November. It's pretty cool.

Four O'Clock

Lest you think this is all too good to be true, there are downsides to this climate. Trust me... there are.

One downside is we can't expect any rain throughout the summer. The rain stops sometime in May and doesn't typically come back until October or November. It means that our rolling hills are a pale golden color all summer and green during the winter and spring. It's the exact opposite of someplace in the midwest of North America.

Another downside is that we can't grow certain vegetables in the summer garden because the temps are too intensely hot. Veggies like lettuce, cabbage, cauliflower, broccoli, peas, spinach, kale and some onions don't do well. So those crops get planted sometime in the autumn or winter and are grown as winter crops. When everyone else is enjoying fresh lettuce for summer salads we are dreaming of our winter salads. Yeah... it's kind of weird.

Strawberry blossom

After over a decade of learning the rhythms of this climate, I think I'm finally used to what to expect and what not to expect. It still doesn't prevent me from feeling a yearning ache inside when garden bloggers in other climates are posting gorgeous autumn leaves. Autumn is a favorite season for both Hubby and me. It's hard to have to wait a whole 2 months for our climate to catch up. Especially when all we want to do is surround ourselves with the rich tones of the autumnal palette, snuggle up in warmer clothes and enjoy evenings with kitties curled up on our laps.

Gerbera daisy

One really good upside to living in this climate is that once October rolls around, it will still be temperate enough to start working on large garden projects. Hubby and I are looking forward to working on a long-planned pergola in the unfinished portion of the back garden.

In the meantime, I'm still hunkered down inside with the A/C on daydreaming of autumn.

Reminiscing as I walk through the garden between rainstorms

Morro blood orange blossom

Our little Bay Area micro-climate just got soaked with 2.65 inches of rain yesterday. For those not living here that may not seem like a lot, but for us in the Bay Area it's a big deal since it always seems like we're on the verge of a drought. Hubby's rain gauge was quite full this morning and I was pleased.

Strawberries in bloom

The rain started early yesterday morning and continued into the evening as Hubby and I huddled under a large golf umbrella to get to the car on our way out to dinner. As he deposited me in the passenger seat and ran around to his side of the car, I remembered that on the same date 14 years ago it was pouring rain. I wore white and the same golf umbrella was used to shield me from the rain as I walked next to my groom to have our first photos taken as a married couple among the spring blooms in the gardens of the Oakland California Temple where we had just been married. The rain stopped for a brief 40 minutes or so, giving us enough time to take photos and then it started pouring rain again.

Narcissus

I guess depending on the culture, rain on one's wedding day can be a good thing or a bad thing. We've found our marriage to be a very rewarding and happy union so in our case the rain wasn't a bad thing. As it says in an Irish wedding blessing "Happy is the bride that rain falls upon." That was definitely true in our case.

Lilacs

As I walked in our gardens today, I found little vignettes that reminded me of the gardens we found when we honeymooned in Victoria, British Columbia. Our lilacs along the southern fence have blooms that are like little cups filled with rain water. Very few things can rival the smell of rainwater-filled lilacs except maybe hyacinths after a rain shower (which we discovered at Butchart Gardens on our honeymoon).

Bay laurel blossoms

(this is where bay leaves come from)

Interestingly, while it continued to rain here in the Bay Area for the 10 days we were gone on our honeymoon, it was beautifully sunny in Victoria. I think it's usually the opposite with Victoria getting the rain while we stay dry. Funny, isn't it?

Native Pacific coast iris

When the weather forecasters here in the Bay Area begin to marvel at why we're getting so much rain in March, I remember that it really isn't that odd after all. As the late March rainstorms wash over us I remember that it seems to happen every other year or so (like the year we were married). But somehow people forget.

Ornamental kale in bloom

I can see how people forget though. The older I get the more one year seems to meld into another. Was it really 14 years ago that we started our lives together? It often seems like it was just yesterday.

Autumn in the Rosehaven Cottage gardens: Canna lilies and bougainvillea blooming

This morning I woke up from a dream that I was in my beloved Hawai'i. It was probably the morning sun shining through the window onto me as I slept ensconced by sun-loving cats. I found it unusual though. I usually don't yearn to escape to a tropical paradise until some time after Christmas and before Valentine's Day--in other words that cold month known as January. Since spending that entire month lounging in a chaise on the shores of Turtle Bay is completely unfeasible financially and logistically, a few years ago I set a goal to grow sub-tropical plants and shrubs in my own garden to create the feeling of being there.

After hunting around, I found quite a few sub-tropicals that can stand winter temperatures down to 20F (-7C) which is usually the coldest it gets here in winter. I've got some sub-tropicals that prefer to remain a few degrees above freezing like a tender hibiscus and a plumeria, so I put those in pots where I can pamper them through frosty nights. The bougainvillea doesn't like frost either, but it has to tough it out in the ground (sometimes I wonder if it will come back in the spring). The rest of my homage to Hawai'i (birds of paradise, canna lilies, palms, New Zealand flax and Japanese water iris) tough it out quite well in various spots throughout the garden when our overnight temps dip down into the frosty range.

Overnight frost is still a few weeks away in our micro-climate, so even though it's November I'm enjoying the beauty of gorgeous tropical looking canna lilies in my back garden. I put in quite a few new varieties last spring so the colors are all new to me. I'm really enjoying the pretty sherbet-toned surprises.

Despite hints and scowls from Hubby, I haven't had the heart to cut back the long invasion thorny tendrils of bougainvillea that creep toward the cars parked in the driveway. Our coolish summer got it off to a late start, and I want to savor their pink and orange tissue paper blooms before they're zapped by Jack Frost's breath in a few weeks.

Soon the leaves of the canna will succumb to the colder nights too. But I know that their hardy rhizomes are underground waiting for February and March to come so they can send up shoots again and dazzle me with their glory for the next 9 months. If they can tough out January, then I can too.

Never heard of a "micro climate"?
Click here to read about ours

Having a blue spring day... and why

With blue skies and some blue flowers blooming around Rosehaven Cottage, yesterday and today are "blue" in the good sense of the word. I've been out weeding around the rosebushes where the bulbs are sprouting and blooming at their feet. The heady fragrance of the first hyacinths are intoxicating. And, for me, the blue color is even more intoxicating...

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I didn't do any color correction to the above image... that's the brilliant blue that my eyes see. Isn't it amazing? I have pink, "red", and white hyacinths too, but none of them take my breath away like the blue ones.

Also to my delight, the plum tree is blooming!

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The blooming of the plum tree heralds my favorite part of spring. I live and garden in the San Francisco Bay Area in California. Ornamental pear and almond blossoms arrive first in late January or early February. The rest (like the plum) start coming around now. The neighbor's nectarine and peach are in bloom right now too.

Our micro-climate is much like the south of France or Tuscany--a Mediterranean climate with just about all our rainfall in the winter months, leaving us with hot and dry summers. So right now, our hills are green (they'll be golden in summer), and spring has begun.

I know I reference "micro-climates" a lot when I'm trying to describe our climate. I've decided to finally show you how complex this whole thing really is for gardeners in our neck of the woods. Sunset magazine (also the publisher of Sunset Western Garden Book) has divided the entire U.S. into zones (click here to see them online).

The state of California is long, taking up a large portion of the United States' western coastline along the Pacific Ocean. It has bands of hills and mountain ranges running north to south that start at the western coast and move eastward interrupted only by a large flat plain called the Central Valley (a former ancient inland sea with wonderful loamy soil where much of the U.S. crop production occurs).

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All of this interesting topography means that just because someone says they live in California doesn't mean that they'll be basking in mild sunny temps all winter long (that's more often the case in coastal Southern California). Case in point, California has high elevations that get large amounts of snow-pack in the winter which provide the rest of the state with water throughout the summer--and also provide a lovely winter playground for skiers, snowboarders, and other winter sports enthusiasts.

Almost in the middle of the California coastline is an inlet that the Golden Gate bridge spans which leads to a large inland bay--San Francisco Bay. This bay stretches north to south spanning an aerial distance of over 50 miles. The towns and cities surrounding this bay make up the greater San Francisco Bay Area that covers an almost circular area over 50 miles wide.

The Bay Area is informally divided into regions called the "Peninsula", the "North Bay", the "South Bay", and the "East Bay", so when we watch the weather forecast on the news we listen for our "region's" forecast because the weather can be dramatically different from one part of the Bay Area to another.

Sunset took things a step further and divided the San Francisco Bay Area into zones. Although helpful, the zones still aren't representative of the hundreds of micro-climates that exist within each zone. But knowing one's zone is at least a good start when one begins gardening here.

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Although the zone map says that we're supposed to be zone 17, we really aren't. Our adjacent zones are 14 and 15 but those aren't quite accurate either. So we have to take the definitions of all three zones and kind of morph them together through experience. Sunset's definitions are as follows with what is true for our climate highlighted in green and what is false for our micro-climate highlighted in red:

ZONE 17. Oceanside Northern and Central California and Southernmost Oregon
Growing season: late Feb. to early Dec. Coolness and fog are hallmarks; summer highs seldom top 75 degrees F/24 degrees C, while winter lows run from 36 degrees to 23 degrees F/2 degrees to -5 degrees C. Heat-loving plants disappoint or dwindle here.

ZONE 14. Inland Northern and Central California with Some Ocean Influence
Growing season: early Mar. to mid-Nov., with rain coming in the remaining months. Periodic intrusions of marine air temper summer heat and winter cold (lows run from 26 degrees to 16 degrees F/-3 degrees to -9 degrees C). Mediterranean-climate plants are at home here.

ZONE 15. Northern and Central California's Chilly-winter Coast-influenced Areas
Growing season: Mar. to Dec. Rain comes from fall through winter. Typical winter lows range from 28 degrees to 21 degrees F/-2 degrees to -6 degrees C. Maritime air influences the zone much of the time, giving it cooler, moister summers than Zone 14.

See how hard it is to get your head around it???

That's why I gauge things more by what I see going on in nature. When I see the first almond trees in bloom, that's a sign that spring is on its way and our plum tree will be in bloom soon. When I hear the twitters and tweets of birds (particularly the high-pitched Rufous hummingbird), I know that birds are migrating through from the south to the north. And when the hyacinths peek their heads out of the soil, I know it's time to trim up the rosebushes for the coming season.

Our first crocus blooming in among the green foliage of the California poppies