In Southern California, the cool-season annuals have arrived at local nurseries, the violas, stocks, snapdragons, sweet williams, nemesias, Iceland poppies, and lots more I’m forgetting at the moment. Some (or none) appeal to different garden temperaments. I’ve indulged in biennial Iceland poppies now and then and maybe some ranunculus a little closer to spring but often skip over this wintertime opportunity due to the flat-earth, “bedding out” vibe of annuals available locally in season. However….with 2020 seeming to constantly require massive amounts of distraction, I did proactively start some calendula and linaria from seed late summer, two cool-season annuals whose color intensity I love to set against all the surrounding leaves of silver, gold, and blue-grey . My seed-grown plants are still tiny and flowerless. The nursery professionals produced these plants that I potted up last week.
with Linaria ‘Enchantment’
The pros’ timing for getting 4-inch pots of flowers to market is always impeccable. Livelihoods depend on it. I know they employ all kinds of growth stimulators/inhibitors and fertilizers and grow lights and climate control that I don’t. My little plants started from seed late summer may flower in March, or I might neglect to water them during this cursed rainless weather, in which case all the effort will be for naught. For now, thanks to the pros, Calendula ‘Touch of Red,’ a strain I’ve long wanted to grow, is blooming in three large clay bowls, maybe eight plants total. Amazingly cheap thrills even if only for a month.
Calendula are great cut flowers and useful companion plants in vegetable gardens, attracting beneficial insects, and the petals are edible so you can get crazy imaginative with salads, ice cubes for party drinks…
In cool summer climates, calendulas planted in spring will stay with you right through to autumn, or so I’ve read. And that other classic winter annual for zone 10, sweet peas, can also be coaxed to bloom through summer in higher latitudes and cooler summer climates.
dark leaves are Alternanthea ‘Purple Knight’
Whether these “pot marigolds” last through my winter is uncertain, and three months of bloom is a big ask of any annual in my experience in zone 10. Here near the coast calendulas can be prone to mildew. But for now I’m enjoying this new acquaintance with ‘Touch of Red’ — its richness and complexity of color.
If these strong colors strike you as too outre for December, let me remind you that here in Southern California bird of paradise and lantana are currently in full bloom. Outre is happening all over town.
With the ‘Enchantment’ linarias, they are like an ornately jeweled middle finger to the last month of this very fractious year.
I edit, thin, and prune the steady accumulation of curbside and flea market finds constantly, but there’s a few stalwarts that consistently defy the purges. This Los Angeles street lamp shade has been kicking around the garden for years and was recently brought into use again for the outdoor Thanksgiving dinner, lit from within by a camping lantern, the glass rim sitting directly on the gravel. One early morning not long after that dinner I lay awake in bed and had one of those drowsy, half-awake epiphanies, making the connection that an iron base, also in my collection of oddities, found years apart from the glass shade but also formerly part of an old Los Angeles streetlight, should fit like a glove as a proper pedestal. I bought the iron base at the local flea market from a gentleman who helped source Chris Burden’s Urban Light installation at LACMA and proceeded to use it decoratively to encircle potted agaves. It all had the magical feeling of inevitability that morning as I rushed outdoors at first light to tip out the potted agave and slip the glass shade into the iron boot, Cinderella style, but in truth the shade and base aren’t a true fit. The shade is more or less stable on the base but not sitting in the groove, so it is technically prone to toppling. But wouldn’t that have been fun if it worked out? Ultimately I’d love to make a mold of the base and cast it in concrete for a series of pots.
Fooling around with flea market stuff is a breeze compared to the drama and stress of moving established plants. I finally decided to move the young Yucca rostrata in the front garden that is subjected to less than full sun during the short days of winter to the now sunnier back garden. With the soil falling away from the roots, the transplanting attempt effectively devolved into a bare-root operation which may not be optimal for success. The yucca was planted high and water temporarily withheld while it settles and acclimates (and hopefully doesn’t rot) but even so may not survive the move.
But doesn’t it look grand here? In the front garden it had to contend with crowding from Agave ‘Jaws,’ which is as voracious for garden space as its namesake was for moonlight skinny-dippers. Fingers crossed and best of luck, little yucca! I’m fairly certain that this yucca is ‘Sapphire Skies’ unlike the straight species just a few feet away.
I’ve never grown Aloe marlothii, a bucket-list plant for sure. And with all the new planting space that opened up recently, I became consumed with the idea of growing it against the east fence. Happily, it was found locally at Green Touch Nursery, an excellent source for succulents and cactus. In the end, though, the yucca won the spot and the aloe was given the hottest spot in the garden near the back porch, in all-day sun and reflected heat from the house and pavement, to keep those spines the deepest red.
Another standby, what looks like a foundry basket, a gift from artist Reuben Munoz, has been used in the past as a bench, with cushions, as well as put to use like here, as a table. A potted Agave americana var. striata elevated on a makeshift pedestal had its terminal spines corked for safety. Always plenty of corks around for just such an occasion!
I’m hoping stronger light will intensify what strikes me as fairly anemic coloration and striping. I like the vague, swirled markings of the striata agaves, which remind me of paint being mixed
Agave geminiflora ‘Leaping Lizards’ with newly acquired Calibanus ‘Lotusland’ on the right from Green Touch Nursery (cross between calibanus and beaucarnia)
An assortment of concrete cores and odds and ends is indispensable for container displays — and easy to break down when the displays become tiresome or in the way.
Agave ‘Snowglow’ with Agave americana var. medio-picta ‘Aurea’ on the right
My only other americana is the incredibly slow growing, nonoffsetting Agave americana var. medio-picta ‘Aurea’ — at least I think that’s what this is! The variegated shrub behind the agave is another garden standby grown off and on — Corokia virgata ‘Sunsplash.’ Very lightweight and graceful in its shrubby architecture, takes to pruning, and is always a bright spot for the dry garden.
I picked up the corokia and this Rhodocoma capensis at Roger’s Gardens, possibly the only person shopping for plants now that the nursery is geared toward winter holidays, when santa visits, gifts, and ornament shopping become most shoppers’ priorities. I’m just not there yet this year. I’ve never grown this restio or seen it available locally so had to give it a try. It will eventually have to be moved from this snug little spot because it’s one of the bigger restios.
Now I’d like some nice drizzly rain to gently water in the yucca — unfortunately, coping with lack of rain in December is an old standby too. Getting out cards, cookies, and gifts are next on the list (but, honestly, I’d rather be digging…)
Such a cheery thought, right? Desire to Inspire recently profiled Melbourne landscape design firm King’s Landscaping in a post on KL’s Point Lonsdale “Tree House” which prompted a deeper dive into KL’s website. The Tree House in question is nestled under the canopy of native “Moonah” trees (Melaleuca lanceolata). If like me your Australian geography is a bit dim, Point Lonsdale is in southern Australia near Melbourne, at the mouth of Port Phillip Bay. Rainiest month on average is November at 1.65 inches, with average annual rainfall approximately 25 inches. A charming claim to fame is the 100-year-old Norfolk Island Pine (Araucaria heterophylla) known as ‘The Christmas Tree” that is lit up on the first Saturday in December, which “can be seen for miles out to sea.”
The lack of green and predominance of buff-gold in this project might seem stark, but coming from the similar climate of SoCal I’d feel right at home here.
possibly a native grass tree/xanthorrhoea on the right
The central courtyard at Spray Farm reminds me of our local historical ranchos.
And with the Modern Native Garden, I love the “scruffiness” of the plants against the sleek chairs.
Summer in December sounds like the right idea to me (as long as we still get Christmas cookies too).
I’m always a miser when cutting flowers from my small garden and prefer to enjoy the much longer performance flowers give when they remain in the garden instead of severed for a vase. But this Thanksgiving seems special, doesn’t it? I’m betting it’s not just my family that feels profound gratitude for having made it to November 2020. So I foraged for a small vase of flowers for tomorrow because garden flowers seem especially suitable for outside dining. Grevillea ‘Moonlight,’ Celosia ‘Cramer’s Amazon,’ silver contributions from Acacia podalyrifolia and Glaucium flavum, which also brings its horned seedheads, tropical chartreuse leaves are Xanthosoma ‘Lime Zinger,’ begonia leaves, and a couple tulbaghia blooms.
For the post-feast torpor, I’d recommend snuggling into the wonderful documentary “Birders: The Central Park Effect.” Released in 2012, somehow I missed this lovely paean to birds and the people who see them as astonishing, magical creatures. Which of course they are, and if you feel the same, this is your tribe. My already acute envy of Central Park was even more inflamed by this four-season look at Olmstead’s urban masterpiece and how much joy it gives the people of New York.
Have a wonderful feast, whether alone nibbling a PBJ sandwich or with your carefully selected “bubble,” because gratitude is truly what’s on the menu this year. Much love, AGO.
Mina lobata is late too. The Spanish Flag vine was sown at least by June — okay, I just checked the seed packet and it was sown 6/25/20. So what’s up with waiting to bloom until November? The questions never go away, do they? Why are you behaving like this? Why couldn’t you think about blooming in September so we could have a few autumnal months together? You don’t look particularly happy about choosing to bloom in November, so who wins? Questions, questions. And yet, on the other hand, I’m thrilled that there will always be mysteries to keep me in the game…and blooms in November.
A golden petal of the horned poppy caught by a leaf of Aloe capitata var. quartziticola, showing a bud, backed by the frizz of the double form of Euphorbia hypericifolia
glaucium, the guilty petal dropper
The tall Lady’s Slippers are some of my favorite succulents. I brought home a silver pedilanthus from Worldwide Exotics last Saturday, the one day of the week this nursery in Lakeview Terrace is open.
My biggest clump of Lady’s Slipper (Pedilanthus bracteatus) did a face plant due to high winds last weekend. Completely fell over and splayed onto the bricks. But what a rubbery, resilient beast. Marty and I wrestled it upright again, minding the sap (euphorbia family!), propping it up with a wrought iron bird bath stand that is never used for bird baths but is excellent for staking plants. We nervously hovered, expecting it to stubbornly pitch forward again, as most plants do once they’ve lost the habit of verticality. But it has remained upright, although some of its branches now lean into the walkway and graze my hair as I pass by. I should cut the offenders off at the base and probably will after it’s done blooming.
Without checking records, I think this is the first time Fatsia ‘Spider’s Web’ has bloomed
The fatshedera has a bloom too. A lot of the bromeliads from the base of the cypresses ended up in the northern exposure at the base of the triangle palm. And there’s more rocks of that Catalina ironstone we failed to notice when building the spur, used here to keep the hose off the plants.
Celosia ‘Cramer’s Amazon,’ the weaker of the two planted late summer
Pelargonium echinatum breaking dormancy and stirring to life, my resurrection plant
Veering slightly away from bloom day reports to other news…
Sonchus palmensis is emerging from the summer doldrums and throwing out a fresh mane of leaves. I ordered a ridiculous amount of lily bulbs last August, and the base of summer-dormant sonchus seemed like a great spot for several of them (a half dozen ‘Eurydice’ and ‘Bell Tower’)
The rock spur has seen a bit more planting, mostly echeverias collected from elsewhere in the garden
Euphorbia cotinifolia with potted silver pedilanthus
Recently Marty and I were discussing eastern screening options again, and he said Why don’t you bring in a smoke tree…? I don’t think I let him finish the sentence before objecting I was done with smoke trees forever. The species aren’t happy at all in zone 10, whereas the hybrid vigor of ‘Grace’ was terrifying. No, no, he protested, that one we used to grow by the office. Oh, Euphorbia cotinifolia, the Caribbean Copper Tree!? Interesting suggestion. But it’s very short-lived and brittle, I reminded him. Remember how its trunk snapped in high winds? As I elucidated its shortcomings, I realized these were actually strengths that argued in its favor. Nobody would inherit a problematic house-eater, and we’d get a temporary screen of 12-15 feet. Sold!
The jacks are to remind me not to step on the newly planted echeverias
I cleaned out the mess of squid agave, Agave bracteosa, remnants of the succulent garden next to the driveway that was thriving before I planted a Pearl Acacia smack in the middle. Predictably, the debris and shade from the tree proceeded to smother out the succulents, yet the squid agave never gave up, the tips of its flailing arms increasingly less and less visible under the onslaught of tree debris. A drowning squid agave. After removal and cleaned of debris, I had to admire the undulating carcasses but wondered if there was a way to grow a squid agave that really showcased its peculiar, writhing ways, because in the ground that form is lost. I bet it’s a cliff-dweller. (Yes! San Marcos Growers: “Comes from the Coahuilan Desert where it grows on limestone cliffs between 3,000 and 5,500 feet.”) There’s usually a spare clay pipe around here somewhere for just such an experiment, and so it was found and planted. Although not as optimal as cliff dwelling, a little height was gained for dramatic spillage. And now it can writhe and twist and furiously pup to its heart’s content in the pipe, because plants exploding out of a pipe is always a good look, imho.
Hope your week is calm and holiday plans coming together, in whatever size, shape or form.
(Bloom Day is hosted by May Dreams Gardens on the 15th of every month.)
Dark times, dark photo. The last two cypresses had already been limbed up slightly on Saturday Oct 31 and all the surrounding plants moved out, whether in pots. stock tank, or in the ground, other than a few stragglers. The metal siding of our neighbor’s shed shows through the partially removed fence. The third cypress had been removed a couple weeks before because it was browning out. Marty and our neighbor felt the remaining two 25-footers were a potential threat to property as well.
And so the lemon cypresses (Cupressus macrocarpa ‘Citriodora’ or Golden Monterey Cypress) came down last Sunday, November 1st. I couldn’t bear to watch the removal of the last two and hid out in the office. They were excellent privacy screens but ultimately too much of a good thing for this small garden and closely neighboring properties. Before they were deemed a nuisance, I treasured their scent and how they gleamed and majestically swayed in the wind, and how the birds found refuge in their boughs and a lookout from their topmost branches.
We’ve had two eucalyptus trees come down and even the entire east fence at one point during a windstorm. Marty rebuilt that previous wooden fence with metal posts set in concrete, seen above, over a single course of cinderbock; the metal posts and cinderblock were retained and used to build the new metal fence. So long termites.
The east fence construction had been halted for a week while we waited for the dreaded appointment on Sunday, then the fence was completed Monday, November 2nd.
Metal meets wood, the past confronts the future, neighbors adjust to life temporarily with less privacy via the gap in the east fence for the last week of October as we waited for tree removal. We could wave to the neighbors, who helped us with the fence project. Tools and material were passed through the opening. It was a week of dreaded appointments, both tree removal and trips to the dentist, and of course the appointment with democracy!
The only damage from the tree removal was to the Yucca rostrata. One of the first cypress branches cut came down on it (revenge?), which Marty immediately jumped in to remove. Thankfully, damage was just a few bent leaves.. This small pad of bricks, left over from the network of paths and patios I laid down decades ago, was removed so I could level the ground. A slope has gradually built up in this area over time, and the rib of rocks was laid just about at that far edge of the bricks.
After the fence was finished Monday afternoon, I removed the small square of bricks, leaving the three-inch bed of sand on which the bricks were dry laid. As the light faded, I played around with raking and grading the area, which has slowly been transformed over years into something of a berm that slopes toward the house, built up from having the compost pile in the southeast corner and then all the shredded hedge clippings left to sheet compost in this far corner as well. Not to mention the accumulated tree litter, both from when the trees shed their leaves and the residue of their remains when they were gone. Two eucalyptus trees we inherited with the house, planted to screen this southeast corner, each blew down at various times. The smoke tree ‘Grace’ grew as large as a magnolia, exuberantly flinging her branches across the three neighboring back gardens, and was ultimately removed around the time I started the blog (2010ish). You could say this southeast corner has been vexatious as far as screening out the three properties that meet up with ours here. The properties are small and the screening strategies always prove problematic in one way or another, for one neighbor or another.
Sounds like a sad story so far, right? Not exactly. Along with the neighbors’ rooflines and satellite dishes, sun and sky have also poured in again. All that recovered sky is especially a revelation when filled with brilliant stars, as it was 5 a.m. this morning.
With the rocks laid late Monday, Election Tuesday I planted. With a few exceptions, most of the plants came from the garden or pots. A potted Agave ‘Arizona Star’ left container life to grow as big as it wants in the garden. Agave bracteosa ‘Monterrey Frost’ and several of its pups were also moved from pot to garden. Small grasses and sedges collected from the garden include self-sown Carex testacea and ruby grass, Melinus nerviglummis. A few of the smaller potted aloes were tucked in with lots of other stuff like rock gardenish limoniums and other smallish odds and ends.
Monday night, Nov. 2nd, with the fence up, the area raked, and twilight approaching, I decided to address the berm somewhat with a spine of rocks. Not a path exactly, though it can be walked on, and not a rock garden exactly, though it has been planted. A spur? We’re calling it a cobb (after the famous one we visited in Lyme Regis, England) or a jetty, because it’s been built from rocks quarried on Catalina Island to build the Los Angeles Harbor breakwater. Piles of the rocks were always staged at the LA Pilot Station in case repairs were needed to the breakwater, and when he worked there Marty couldn’t resist bringing a few home from time to time. We call it Catalina ironstone, but I have no idea as far as its true geologic composition (what the heck is schist?). Like an Easter egg hunt, we prowled the front and back garden in the dimming light to collect the rocks, and I laid them until twilight faded and it was too dark to see. I expected to hate the rock experiment Tuesday morning, but didn’t. All day Tuesday, Election Day, I planted and found homes for all the displaced plants, many of which were bromeliads that had been massed near the base of the cypresses and in a stock tank.
Silvery shrubs against the fence are Gomphostigma virgatum and to its right a Matillija poppy. I’ve wanted a spot for a romneya since forever. Unseen in he back corner is the African Spear Lily, Doryanthes palmeri, and I’m trialing a Snowflake Aralia here (Trevesia palmata) hoping it can handle the sun. (The trevesia can reach 15-20 feet but has few side branches.) The fernleaf acacia’s trunk is out of frame to the right
Astelia and Bilbergia ‘Violetta’ were moved under Grevillea ‘Moonlight’ — with lots of potted plants still to be sorted
The enormous astelia in the stock tank was moved under Grevillea ‘Moonlight’ near the office, in the spot recently vacated by Salvia mexicana. A variegated fatshedera was also moved out of the stock tank and planted at the base of the grevillea, along with a blue bear’s paw fern that surprised me by flourishing and sending out enormous fronds.
Grevillea ‘Poorinda Blondie’ should easily grow to 10 feet, at least if it’s anything like ‘Moonlight,’ and help out with screening. Cypress stumps were left in situ.
Tuesday night we watched season 4 of the sci-fi epic The Expanse. After the last four years, I was saving myself the needless trauma of a political horse race. You can’t choose the time you’re born in — some get the Enlightenment, some get the Visigoths storming the gates. At least we will always have heroes like RBG, who died as we all will, not knowing how the fight ends, to show us how to make the most of our time and wring as much truth and justice out of it while we’re here, whatever the outcome.
East fence with gate to the front yard at far end, past the Chinese Fringe Tree. Leaf of Trevesia palmata in foreground.
The east gate is a bi-fold that fully opens flush against the house and fence — the cypresses were carried through here
bottom planting is Aloe ‘Dwarf White,’ Orthophytum magalhaes[i, dudleyas, ending with Mangave ‘Purple People Eater’
On Wednesday, November 4th, I brought in and spread 10 bags of crushed granite (3/8″) for mulch. More sci-fi viewing at night and remainder of the weeknights.
Looking west across the garden to the office/garage, Alcantarea odorata on the right, slightly beat up Yucca rostrata on the left
Looking east
I love the openness and being able to walk up to the plants and inspect the “cobb.” I really mean to leave it open and lightly planted. Really.
Today, November 7, it’s raining in Los Angeles. How perfect is that? And the election has finally been called today, November 7. What a week!
Full name: Celosia argentea var. spicata ‘Cramer’s Amazon’ — “spicata” refers to the slim, tapering flowers to differentiate from fatter blooms in the variety “plumosa”
There’s been a couple of standout plants new to my garden this year, and this vibrant celosia is emphatically one of them. From Annie’s Annuals & Perennials, it was planted from 4-inch pots in August and grew steadily, like it meant business. Finding anything brave enough to settle in and thrive through August and September is a miracle. And it may be that the late summer heat and now cooler temperatures in October are precisely what this celosia desires. I know I will be trying to replicate these conditions and timing next year, with either the hoped-for self-sown seedlings or by bringing in new plants. Please let this not be a one-off performance!
Planted in full sun, it wilted slightly when temps reached high 90s but always recovered by the evening. I’ve been attentive to its water needs, which are heavier than the succulents surrounding it but not excessive. I may have pinched it back once or twice.
Blue fence in the distance is now visible with one of the lemon cypresses removed. There may be a lot more fence visible very soon…
This tropical annual satisfies a craving for the similar effects of tall spires and brushes of bloom obtained by such perennials as veronicastrum, sanguisorba — not an easy craving to satisfy in droughty zone 10.
I especially love that intense crimson with the creamy pale chartreuse columns of Euphorbia ammak ‘Variegata.’ And with the Kalanchoe bracteata ‘Silver Teaspoons’ and silvery sideritis. And with the flame orange Cosmos sulphureus when it was still in bloom. It pulsates next to the tricolored leaves of Leucadendron ‘Jester’ too, which read from a distance as soft yellow. Other than a pure red, I can’t think of a color this celosia would find offensive.
My hummingbird friends approve too, which takes the heat off my decision to remove the enormous Salvia mexicana that was rushed out of bloom by the serial heat waves. Typical with the big salvias here, its base quickly thickened with enormous woody branches and it will need to be started again with fresh cuttings. If it hadn’t grown so woody, I would have trimmed off the dead flowers to ready it for another cycle of bloom.
The Salvia mexicana was in the midde between the grevillea and bocconia, as tall as the grevillea but beamier. It blooms strong in spring/early summer and again in fall, but the late heat waves knocked it out of bloom early.
And to lessen the sting of removing the big salvia, I did bring in a couple Salvia ‘Waverly’ too.
So the hummingbirds get the salvias, and I get a Mangave ‘Silver Fox.’ Seems fair to me.
There may be other gaps coming too — big ones. Both my neighbor and Marty are concerned about the size and stability of the lemon cypresses at the east border, already approaching their supposed mature size of 30 feet. One cypress that developed brown patches has already been removed, and the remaining two, though healthy, may be on the chopping block as well. The increasing heat we’re seeing may be too much for this variant of the Monterey Cypress, even here at the coast in Southern Calif. One option was to top and hedge the remaining two, not an appealing idea to me. I’ll always prefer them shaped like the flowers of this celosia. The front garden’s Pearl Acacia has been generous with seedlings, and I may replace the cypresses with Acacia podalyrifolia grown as a large shrub. And it will grow relatively fast to 8-10 feet and take on the privacy duties the cypresses performed so well. I’m also leaning toward Eucalyptus macrocarpa, a silvery mallee gum, also 8-10 feet, if I can find one.
The only constant in a garden is change, always a useful reminder! Have a great weekend.
This is my favorite mural in my hometown of Long Beach, Calif. To me, it’s a bird perched on an agave bloom (obviously!), painted in a very graphic style reminiscent of a woodcut. I often suspect many people of being plant blind, oblivious to the plant world around them, but I’ve got plenty of blindnesses of my own — for instance, to murals. This mural appeared, I have no idea why or when, and whenever I see it, I feel soothed. End of story of the extent of my appreciation. Except a few weeks ago, as I walked by I photographed the artist’s signature: “Gail Werner.” And then forgot about doing so for another couple weeks. A few days ago I found the image on my phone and looked into the artist and discovered that the mural was painted in 2016 in a city-wide mural painting project that was part of a larger global effort known as Pow! Wow!:
“My work reflects the landscape and cultural imagery related to my Native American background. I am part Cupeño, Luiseño, and Kumeyaay (three tribes located in San Diego County). Native American stories and songs, especially the Cupeño creation stories and traditional “bird songs,” play an important role in how I see the natural world. These stories and songs, in which plants and animals are the characters, tell about how the world came to be and how the people came to be where they are. The “bird songs” tell about the journey of the people, which is said to parallel the migration of the birds. The songs tell about what the birds/people see on their journey: the mountains, deserts, night sky, and other landmarks. For me, they reflect a dreamlike, evolving world, a world I hope to create in my paintings.
‘I often incorporate abstract pictograph (Native American rock art) designs found throughout the region: dot patterns, chevrons, diamond patterns, spirals, and helixes. Designs from Southern California Indian basketry and clay vessels used for food and water storage often make their way into my work. Southern California Indians are known for their beautiful, intricately woven baskets, which often use flower, snake, and geometric shapes. My great-grandmother, Salvadora Valenzuela, was a noted basket maker.
‘I work in oil on wood panel, sometimes incorporating pencil and Prismacolor. I also work with the painterly printmaking process called monotype, as well as the pigmented wax process, encaustic. I usually begin by laying down thin layers of color, and the work evolves from there. Images emerge, some more loosely painted or outlined and some more fully rendered. Landscape, color, light and imagery, abstract designs, stories and songs—all of these elements merge together for me to evoke a sense of journey and place.”
I haven’t found confirmation that the image is that of a bird perched specifically on an agave bloom, but I love it nonetheless. On her website you can find this image and more in this style under Monotype Prints. A video of the mural in progress in 2016, accompanied by “Tango Milonga Sensual” and “Electronic Tango for Two” by Ariel Sanchez, can be found here.
Kalanchoe ‘Pink Butterflies’ climbs up out of the garden and nestles against pots
More notes on micro-moves in my small back garden, mostly having to do with a succulent-forward mindset for fall/winter here in zone 10. If you scroll down to the previous post, where I mention having to move an aloe because Agave kerchovei was encroaching, here’s what actually transpired:
Mangave ‘Mission to Mars’ in its new home, flanked by beschorneria and aloe. The pink bottlebrushes are the “Joey” Ptilotus from Australia — just curious how this short-lived perennial will play with succulents this fall/winter and possibly into spring
I moved the agave instead, giving a formerly potted Mangave ‘Mission to Mars’ its sunny spot in the garden.
In summer a Salvia greggii hybrid sprawled here, smothering erodiums. All were cleaned out and cuttings taken of an adored Erodium ‘Whitwell Superb.’ An Aloe spicata in this area was discovered to have the aloe mite and was removed. I’ve nursed aloes through mite infestations before but opted out with this one. It’s a long, slow, disfiguring process, at least the way I do it without miticides but by cutting out the infected leaves and isolating until new clean growth emerges.
The agave was moved to the base of the slipper plants, where the mangave, fabulous in its beehive pot, was holding court. I was very loath to move this agave for a couple reasons, not least of which was taking a chance with marring its slowly acquired beauty. But overriding even aesthetics, another crucial consideration was that of all my agaves, kerchovei has the meanest defenses. I get poked and scratched by plants all day long, but it is only with this agave that I’ve learned to drop what I’m doing, bathe the site with hydrogen peroxide and then hold it under running water for a minute or so, apply neosporin (the pain formulation), bandaid, and only then resume whatever I was doing. Otherwise, a welt quickly appears and with it a very unique, insistent pain that is impossible to ignore. If I act fast, there will be no welt or pain, but the site will still be sensitive and sore for a day or so.
Agave in green pot is ‘Blue Embers,’ yellow pot to the right ‘Royal Spine.’ The few herbaceous plants recently moved to this area are Lychnis coronaria ‘Gardener’s World’ and a Helichrysum bracteatum, one of three recently planted. The buzz is the strawflowers from Australia will bloom through fall and possibly a SoCal winter if planted early enough in autumn.
All the low pots around the agave’s periphery were placed to keep those terminal spines well away from us as we walk by to do the laundry, sit under the pergola, etc. I did think about saying goodbye to the agave entirely (gulp!), but the move went without incident so it gets a reprieve for now. These soft-leaved mangaves that also make big architectural rosettes are going to be giving agaves a run for their money in the warmer zones, especially in small gardens where agave spine strikes can be a recurring problem.
A quick trip to the local nursery was needed for more potting soil for all this container activity and obviously another Ozothamnus coralloides too
And that nice big beehive pot that was home to the purple mangave? It came to the rescue of Mangave ‘Kaleidoscope’ that was being shaded by Salvia mexicana.
out of the ground and newly potted Mangave ‘Kaeidoscope’ was slipped in behind the cluster of three “beachball” Pittosporum tenuifolium
This mangave is supposed to live up to its name with eye-wateringly gawdy, red-streaked and flecked coloration in full sun, whereas mine is merely subdued variegation. I don’t mind losing all the color but that increasing shade will ultimately become a health problem for any succulent. I’ve also relocated Aloes scobinifolia, classenii, and gerstneri. Aloe classenii is known for its deep red leaf coloration in sun, and gerstneri’s blooms come encased in brown bracts that eventually drop to reveal the vibrant color beneath, a performance I’ve yet to see and am hopeful might happen next year in its new, sunnier location.
The salvia and Grevillea ‘Moonlight’ are the main shade instigators, along with Passiflora ‘Flying V’ clambering over them too. Late winter/early spring I plan to cut the salvia and passiflora back hard.
Agave ‘Snowglow’ is another refugee from increasing shade as the grevillea has gained garage-roof height. The agave was moved out over a year ago and has been slowly recovering, but it doesn’t have the perfect spherical geometry of one grown consistently in good light.
the birdbath waiting for its next mission — plants or water? The Naked Feltleaf, Kalanchoe beharensis var. subnuda, is just behind, and to the right of the birdbath is the ‘Goldstar’ ponytail palm. Agave weberi ‘Arizona Star’ will stay in its square pot for now as it’s a big one in the ground.
The birdbath’s temporary staging of silver dyckia has been removed and the dyckia will need a home to grow roots — pot or garden? Undecided. I thought I was done with rapidly increasing clumps of very scratchy terrestrial bromeliads so I’m still mulling this over. I would think the little Aloe ‘Rooikappie’ would be a favorite in colder gardens for overwintering indoors. Reblooms, smallish, lots of offsets if the mother plant gets too large.
Another variegated Euphorbia ammak was added to the mix of potted succulents. This one was dug up from a narrow strip along the east fence that will be renovated this year.
Pelargonium ‘Vancouver Centennial’ with Senecio tropaeolifolius. Solanum pyracanthum is in the pot of Senecio confusus, the Mexican Flame Vine, which will have to be cut down when the house gets tented for termites in a month or so.
Mexican Flame Vine having a great time against the garage wall. A few tendrils even snuck inside the garage, Jumanji-style.
Aloe ‘David Verity’
Need a little more distraction and plant talk? I don’t know about you, but I’ve got a broken tooth, the VP debates are tonight, and Marty is out of town — I’ll hang out here a little bit longer if that’s okay. I was looking up the provenance of bicolored Aloe ‘David Verity,’ first seen at the Huntington’s new entrance garden and bought at one of their plant sales, and San Marcos Growers’ entry says it originates with “Boyd Walker, who grew out some of Dave Verity’s hybrids at his Pacific Palisades garden.” Now, I’ve read that entry many times, but this time I was intrigued enough by Mr. Walker and his Pacific Palisades garden, about 30 miles north of me near Santa Monica, to do some investigating. Was the garden still there? Unknown. Mr. Walker died in 2001, and his UCLA memoriam doesn’t even mention the aloe work of this Battle of the Bulge survivor, famed ichthyologist, grunion expert, and authority on Zuni fetishes. A single life is a wondrous thing. I did find an article Robert Smaus wrote for the Los Angeles Times in 1990, back in the newspaper’s horticultural heyday, that gives a glimpse of his garden in words with some specific advice on caring for echeverias:
dried blooms of echeveria underplanting the Shaving Brush tree
“To ensure that all energy goes to producing the leaves, Walker pinches back the echeverias’ flowers, and every year he cuts rosettes from the stems, lets them dry out in the air for a few days, then re-roots them in empty pots. Once roots appear, he transplants them into soil. He picks a pot that is as big in diameter as the rosette; when the leaves overhang the sides by 2 inches, he moves it into a larger pot. His soil mix is simplicity itself: 1 part garden soil, 1 part sand, 1 part perlite and 1 part compost from his own pile. He fertilizes the plants several times a year. Old stems, by the way, are saved. Little plantlets sprout along the lengths of the old stems, and these are eventually severed off and rooted.” — “A Winter Palette : Succulents Provide Brilliant Color During the Coldest Months, Usually the Dreariest Time in the Garden” by Robert Smaus, Los Angeles Times, 1/14/90
A Salvia mexicana hybrid heavy with late season bloom bulges into its neighbors and shades out kangaroo paws and who knows what else. But the antics of all the hummingbirds, bees and butterflies are more than compensatory and cheap entertainment for us.
Somehow, what the low angled light of October does to grasses always catches me by surprise. I caught this peripheral shimmer on the way to the office yesterday morning, turned to find the source and gasped. Of course it’s one of the reasons I love these big grasses, but it’s been hot and weird lately and expecting revelatory moments from the garden in the morning is not top of mind as I head to the office to check the news. But with the sun sweeping low, these fountains of light are once again enthralling.
This is the first year I’ve had Muhlenbergia lindheimeri flowering in the garden, and I’m completely infatuated with its slim spikes of bloom beginning in September. To its left is Miscanthus ‘Silver Sceptre’ which begins bloom in early summer. The early morning dew acts as a pomade on the miscanthus and slicks down the frizzy, months’ old blooms, but as the day progresses they fuzz out again. Kind of a charming performance, and more attractive on a plant than my big mop of hair that hasn’t had a haircut since lockdown.
the view from the back wall of the garden behind the grasses looking at the house. I moved the shrimp plant back here recently though it’s still in a pot as I decide whether it makes the cut to be included in the garden
A Velvet Groundsel, Roldana petasites, is unseen in this photo but was recently planted here behind the phormium.
From the back wall of the garden looking east, past the Aloe ferox hybrid, at the dessicated state of the tetrapanax, a state of dishevelment it’s always in by end of summer. In colder zones the rice paper plants are gloriously lush by summer’s end right up to the first frost. In autumn in my zone 10, the tetrapanax will shake off the summer doldrums and throw antler-like blooms in November/December. Melianthus is another “foliage” plant that’s almost leafless by September and just showing new growth in October. Ditto for the sonchus tribe. Bocconia never loses its cool and looks good all summer but does drop more leaves on hot days. Melianthus ‘Purple Haze’ strikes me as even less capable than the species of gracefully tolerating summer’s stress test.
With the laundry shed doors wide open — nice! — another look at the trunks of the tetrapanax and its wizened leaves. I doubt I’ll ever see a Yucca rostrata form a trunk in my lifetime — they are sooo slooow in low rainfall climates, but this stage is gorgeous enough.* Alcantarea imperialis to its left. Heuchera maxima to the right of the brom was added earlier this year, a ‘Tara’ hedychium was moved back here with castor beans, and there’s generally been a lot more planting in this corner under the acacia now that a hose easily reaches. Yesterday Ageratum corymbosum was planted, part of an order from Annie’s Annuals, and Lobelia tupa is getting another tryout here too. There’s strong morning sun here with bright cool sun the rest of the day in summer. Lobelia tupa fried in full sun in previous attempts.*
A big surprise has been the fortitude of umbellifer Peucedanum verticillare, the celery-like leaves mid photo above. Not known as a zone 10 plant, its health and lust for life at the end of summer bodes well for possible bloom next spring. Also here is the summer-dormant giant fennel, Ferula communis, which showed uncharacteristic leafy growth in August. I’m not sure what to make of this performance but have decided to give it a little more water to reward the effort. At this point it’s all guesswork. (Dan Pearson wrote an account of it in bloom this year in his English garden for those unfamiliar with this giant umbellifer from Greece.)
The self-sown castor beans under the acacia have been really good this summer. I finally “got religion” about pinching and cutting off the flower buds that always form before the plants get a chance to make some leafy structure, and they are obviously much better for it. Tall, well branched, big leaves.
looking under the pergola, Yucca ‘Bright Star,’ Aloe ‘Rooikappie’ in bloom, castor beans near the back wall
big paddle leaves belong to Nicotiana mutabilis which bloomed in spring then took summer off. I completely distrust ad copy alleging “blooms all summer.” Not in zone 10. Serrrated leaves belong to Sonchus palmensis. After blooming it lost most of its leaves and was moved from its container under the pergola and planted here near the back wall, where hopefully it will develop a tall trunk, lots of leaves, and bloom again next year.
The seed report, summer 2020. The many varieties of cosmos sown in late June did not readily take to life in pots. I must not be throwing on enough seaweed fertilizer because there are plenty of anecdotal accounts online of cosmos loving containers. I won’t be trying that again, but it was fun to mother hen the seedlings during lockdown. Zinnias were not easy in pots either. And I think I’m done with Rudbeckia triloba now that I’ve found Cosmos sulphureus, much longer blooming and more tolerant of drier conditions among the succulents.
Celosia ‘Cramer’s Amazon’ planted from 4-inch pots in August is flourishing in one of the hottest parts of the garden. The same celosia planted in dappled sun is a pitiful thing, so handling the hot months of September and October here is definitely in this celosia’s wheelhouse. Wednesday this past week snuck up to 105. Forecast was high 90’s, but by 10 a.m. the heat was increasing with a speed I can only liken to a heat storm, if there is such a phenomenon. The sarracenia/pitcher plants were toasted before I could move them to shade, and by 10 a.m. it was apparent that the succulents in pots against the house that have been staged there all summer would not survive the day if left in place. (The pitcher plants will recover but the blooms were fried.)
In the hottest part of the garden Agave kerchovei is aggressively spreading out into its neighbors, including a treasured Aloe capitata var. quartzicola on the left that will need to be moved.
bloom on Peruvian Apple Cactus this morning
The LA Times has a list of native plant sales going forward this fall here — where you might be able to find Muhlenbergia lindheimeri if you’re interested or that flannel bush you’ve been dying to grow. If we ever get the wooden fence torn down and the new one up, I’m going to be needing a flannel bush myself. They grow as espaliers, right? The side gate has finally been finished, and no termite will ever feast on it again because it’s metal. So there. More on that soon.
I know it’s been a rough week, but don’t let the bastards get you down! Stay safe and for the best revenge, have a great weekend.
(Edited 10/19/20: Lobelia tupa 2020 shriveled up in the recent heat wave, and in dappled sun! I think that’s a definitive trial. The last of three to survive, a Verbascum bombyciferum also crumpled and melted from the heat. One of the lemon cypresses was removed over the weekend, and the first cut came crashing down on aforementioned, very slow-growing Yucca rostrata. Marty jumped in and removed the branch within seconds, and no further debris came down on the garden. There was some crimping of the yucca’s leaves but it seems to be shaking off the assault. The light sweeping in from the east with the third cypress gone is revelatory. Pondering a post on planting for privacy in a very small garden, at the property lines, and how we all make a hash out of it. My neighbor is afraid of my cypresses, I’m afraid of their pepper tree, etc., but so far we’re all dealing with it amiably.)
