I hadn’t noticed until last night that Bulbine frutescens was blooming again among the fallen seedheads of grasses and dyckia.
Amazing how the outlines of plants can clarify a mood I’ve been in.
I was just writing to my brother that I’ve been feeling a little “thinned out” lately.
Just an end-of-summer mood. A time to stay tuned to the grace notes in the garden.
In the angle of the eaves where the house intersects with the bath house, the space cried out for a light. A hanging light or three. I’ve had these three glass shades for many, many years, but every time I got rev’d up about using them, someone would invariably insult them. Usually, I was icily informed that they look like my mother’s lights from the ’70s. Last week there was that still, beastly hot Labor Day holiday, where the best use of our time and diminished, slightly hungover energy seemed to be sitting in one place all afternoon fooling around with the wiring and all the various bits I gathered to get these lamps hung in that angle under the eaves. Electricity is fascinating. Keep the black wires with the black and the white wires with the white, splice, tape, and you’re good to go. I think in this context they look nothing like my mom’s old ’70s lamps, a decade I have no interest in channeling design-wise. But apart from the kind my kids bluntly dish out, I always welcome all friendly criticism. There’s lots of similar glass shades for sale on eBay under “swag lamp.”
I’m fairly certain now that the identity of the one and only dahlia I’m growing this summer is ‘Chat Noir.’
September’s heat has really kicked it into gear. Some additional support was added a couple days ago.
Otherwise, as far as blooms, it’s mainly gaura, Salvia chiapensis and Persicaria amplexicaulis still carrying the garden through fall.
This persicaria is such a fantastic plant. I would love to get ahold of some of the Belgium hybrids Chris Ghyselen has created.
Some have dark-colored bottlebrushes so large that it’s advised they be grown only as cut flowers, since the rain ruins them.
Not a problem in this summer rainless garden.
More salvias soon to step up. Salvia madrensis.
Along with the steadying presence of grasses, bananas and castor bean.
The ‘Chat Noir’ dahlia leafed out in March, so it’s been a long wait to see more than a single flower open at a time.
And when the bloom really started, of course I wasn’t prepared and had to shove in some ad-hoc support.
Much as I grumble about the long wait and wayward, tipsy growth habit, I think I’m smitten.
Emily Green, in the September 9, 2011, edition of The Los Angeles Times, discusses many of the hidden costs related to keepings lawns, including the health risks to those often hired to maintain them in Southern California, in her piece entitled “The health of our gardens, and the people who tend them,” found here.
In discussing the health risks faced by landscape workers, the “mow-and-blow” crews:
“Studies conducted on farm laborers working with the same suite of pesticides used in lawn care suggest that home garden teams might also be more likely than the general population to develop the pesticide-related issues of non-Hodgkin’s lymphoma and having children with birth defects…The status quo is clearly unacceptable. Yet here we trip into the biggest pitfall facing a transition from turf to more environmentally beneficial complexes of trees, herbs, shrubs, succulents, meadow grasses (not turf) and flowers.
“As obvious as it sounds, to make the change, Southern California’s homeowners would have to care as much about the land around their homes as the house itself. This would mean learning how to garden themselves, or paying skilled gardeners, not mow and blow teams.”
And to her credit, Ms. Green doesn’t underestimate the difficulties homeowners face in transitioning from relatively easy-care lawns to more complicated, diverse landscapes:
“It seems clear that homeowners and residential mow and blow crews can’t effect necessary change alone. We need the entire grounds maintenance industry, along with landscape design and public expectations of what constitutes a nice yard, to change. We need civic leaders who understand that a healthy Los Angeles cannot afford lawn as a default landscape.”
Personally, I love the surge of plants pressing in all around, the sense of being immersed in a landscape, and would never keep a lawn, but I fully appreciate the difficulty losing the lawn presents for many homeowners. Practically speaking, it’s not an easy thing to accomplish, especially if you’re not that interested in plants and gardens to begin with.
Of course, there are entrenched interests quite happy with the status quo. Catherine McLaughlin, with the garden design firm of Rodgriguez & Satterthwaite, took this photo on a local Los Angeles freeway last week. I’ve seen this truck around town too.
Emily Green blogs at Chance of Rain.
In a piece in yesterday’s New York Times, Steven Kurutz introduces readers to the “marketplace for design and antiques” known as 1stdibs.
And the next thing I knew, about three hours were somehow sucked out of my day.
“Set of five collapsible metal tables with black lacquered X bases and two part sage and red lacquered tops. Much like the post modern architecturally inspired furniture designs by the Memphis Group. A collective of architects and designers established by Ettore Sottsass in Milano, Italy in the early 1980s.
Price
$1,750
Collapsible tables found on this page, about 80 pages in under the category “Curated Searches, 20th Century Specialists.” In my defense I can only offer that I was hoping to ID a Mid-Century chair I bought at a thrift shop in San Francisco in the late ’70s. As the NYT article points out, the lofty prices make browsing the site an exercise in admiration of craftsmanship and design rather than one of actual shopping.
The link to garden furniture can be found here. Proceed at your peril. Grab a light snack and something to drink.
(Consider yourself warned.)
Working with a small garden can be a bit of a puzzle. This powder blue Agave potatorum, or ‘butterfly’ agave, was planted a couple years ago deep in the recesses of the gravel garden, much too out of the way and concealed for such a handsome agave, but no other space was available at the time. An ill-fitting piece of the puzzle.
Might as well admit that the puzzle has at its root a ceaseless acquisition of beautiful plants. (I could have just passed up that agave, couldn’t I? But I’d never seen a butterfly agave that peculiar shade of blue, and haven’t since.) A lot of recent friction seems to be coming from the shrubs I can’t stop bringing home. Appreciated and admired in December, by mid-summer shrubs just seem in the way. This summer, much of which has been spent methodically deshrubbing the garden, I’ve had to face up to the unavoidable conclusion that shrubs are not in the cards for the foreseeable future. Perhaps their moment will come again when, for whatever reason, I won’t enjoy the level of intensive gardening I do now. As much as I love the amazing range of Australian, South African, and New Zealand shrubs available today, they fill up space so quickly, when I’d rather play around on a much smaller, more impermanent scale. Even so, enticing shrubs like this Azara microphylla ‘Variegata’ from Chile, with vanilla-scented blooms, still break down my defenses. Perhaps it will be happy in a pot for a few years.
In this instance, a beautiful leucadendron was removed and sedums and agaves planted in its place. With the leucadendron gone, I much prefer how the bay of smaller, low-growing plants fits into the garden contrasted with the 4×5 foot leucadendron. An old, overgrown Lespedeza ‘Gibraltar’ near the leucadendron was also removed, though I note a few shoots of the lespedeza are returning. The rhythm and sweep of bays is something I love in landscapes but a feature I often forfeit due to the persistent vice of overplanting. The butterfly agave was moved yesterday to the spot vacated by the leucadendron, which is filling up fast with mangaves, sedum, carex, the New Zealand Purple Sheep’s Bur Acaena inermis ‘Purpurea,’ and other small agaves. The restio in back was completely hidden by the leucadendron, and the lespedeza thrashed around behind the big agave on the right, ‘Mr. Ripples.’ The planting has perhaps unintentionally taken on the character of an agave garden now. (Gee, ya think?)
Acaena inermis ‘Purpurea,’ image found here, was extremely happy up in Mendocino County, where it was purchased at Digging Dog Nursery, but is struggling in Los Angeles’ recent temperatures in the high 90s.
What finally set that half-concealed Agave potatorum in motion was the need for its spot mid border to try out Callirhoe digitata, a very tall winecup that needs the dry, lean quarters of the front gravel garden instead of the lush, compost-rich digs of the back garden. While the grand gesture of sweeps of grasses and perennials is impossible to pull off in a small garden in a near-winterless zone 10, still the seasonal vibrancy that a few well-chosen, fairly drought tolerant perennials brings has always caught my imagination. The puzzle resolved itself with the agave finally getting the prominent position it deserved, and with the callirhoe tucked into a spot where they have a chance of thriving.
This summer has been a continual process of paring down. Earlier this morning a ‘Silver Anniversary’ buddleia exited the back garden roots first, a shrub I love but lack of room was making it awkward rather than graceful. Cuttings were taken in case unforeseen space suddenly opens up (as in, say, a small meteorite hits the back garden this winter). Also removed this morning was a large Clematis recta ‘Lime Close’ that never colored deeply or even bloomed much for that matter, and its spot given for a trial of Trifolium rubens. Pieces of the puzzle continually slide in and out of place. Rarely, but occasionally, there’s that satisfying “click” when the pieces somehow manage to fall into shape.
Post-Internet I’ve noticed plant desire has turned into a thinner and weaker strain now that it’s so easily satisfied. The really big desire, the kind that used to build up unrequited for years and years, is as analog as a manual typewriter. So now when a plant proves to be unobtainable, it’s kind of thrilling to yearn like years past. Oh, to pine again! A novelty emotion, so to speak.
I first saw the particular desirable plant in question on Loree’s blog, Danger Garden, Yucca aloifolia ‘Purpurea,’ and made a mental note to make this yucca mine the next time I ran into it, which seemed inevitable. So goes plant desire in the age of the Internet. Ebay, plant swap, mail order, seeds and bulbs from all over the world — relax, somehow you and the coveted plant will be united. And I’m not complaining, mind you, just noting the difference while it’s still within memory.
Photo found here.
Except The Dry Garden wasn’t currently carrying any stock of this particular yucca either. Rather disconsolately, I wandered around the nursery but perked up almost immediately, as promiscuous plant collectors are wont to do when surrounded by an extraordinary selection of plants. It was this day, in wild pursuit of that elusive yucca, that I found a plant I’d given up on ever seeing, let alone acquiring. Mathiasella bupleuroides. A dream plant, like angelica crossed with a euphorbia. The owner, Richard Ward, told me that as far as he knew, his was the only nursery in the country currently with stock of this plant since it was so touchy to propagate.
Photo from The Dry Garden.
The trail of the yucca once again grew cold until this August, when I visited Digging Dog Nursery in Mendocino, California. In preparation for the trip, I checked their catalogue before the visit to become familiarized with their current offerings. Yucca aloifolia ‘Purpurea’ was not listed in their catalogue, yet there it sat before me, in a flat of 4-inch pots at the nursery. I was told that they were propagating the entire flat for the upcoming San Francisco Flower & Garden show in 2012 and that it was not generally for sale to the public, but I could take one home anyway. A little more sun will hopefully bring out the purpurea in him.
Image found here.
And so it goes. But a little yearning never hurt anyone.
Asteeelia, you’re breaking my heart…
But only because you’re so constantly, shimmeringly gorgeous. Ever-gorgeous is what you are. Allow me to sing your praises.
This large pot of Astelia chathamica ‘Silver Spear’ has sat in the center of the back border on a large paver the entire summer. (Surrounded by kniphofias in the border that didn’t bloom much.) That’s gotta be a record for a garden where containers are moved probably weekly, whether to chase evolving light patterns or just change things up to indulge the gardener’s short attention span. But this astelia has never faltered or become shabby, and there was never any question of replacing it with something else. What could follow such perfection? It seems to improve the more crowded it grows in the pot and is far easier to keep in a container than, say, a phormium. Too deep in the border to hand water, I’ve been shooting a jet from the hose at it all summer, and that’s about all the attention it’s had. Dappled sun. Yesterday I grabbed that space under the pot and paver to plant some foxglove, Digitalis ferruginea, for next year, so finally hauled the pot and paver out. It’s past time to give this beauty its due as the Occasional Daily Photo this Labor Day Weekend. (Jubilation!) Astelia makes holding the center look easy. San Marcos has it hardy to 20-25 F.
Ah, the synergy of pots and garden. Apart from the infinite aesthetic considerations, from a practical standpoint, pots can render any garden effectively zoneless or, as in my very small garden, they can stretch available planting space. In a process I repeat over and over, a prized, rare agave is finally taken down from its prominent position on a table and moved to ground level, whether planted or kept in the container, to suffer the slings and arrows of garden life — wayward paws, my own clumsy two feet, mollusk attack. Sometimes I keep agaves potted because of the formidable arrows they can sling at ankles and dog noses. Due to his fearsome spines, I couldn’t make up my mind with Agave ‘Jaws’ but compromised by moving him to the gravel garden still confined to a container for quick removal. The passive-aggressive approach, simultaneously planted and kept in a container. That was years ago, and the roots have escaped the drainage hole and are firmly anchored in the garden. The cats love scratching their cheeks against his leaves.
It’s not that an agave loses its attraction, but more a matter of keeping table space clear for future potted attractions.
Now it’s Agave desmettiana ‘Joe Hoak’s’ turn to leave the safety of high places. I doubt I’ll ever let him out of a container, though.
The tropical, soft-leaved desmettiana agaves always get a little scruffy and snail-bitten mid-winter, with even their symmetry seeming somehow diminished. By late summer, they’ve shaken off any residual winter doldrums and have arched into their finest urn-shaped form, and I can’t resist letting him join in the garden festivities. But if I catch a snail within 5 feet of Joe, back up on the table he goes, which is why he’ll stay in a pot. Plant Delights currently lists this agave, and theirs show the pale color of blanched endive. I’m not sure if there are different forms of this selection in circulation, or if it’s just a matter of different photographers. (Or possibly from keeping the agave indoors half the year?)
Similarly, Agave ‘Cornelius’ was recently planted in the front gravel garden, where he’ll gain size much faster than in a container.
Almost all the plants in the gravel garden did potted duty on tables or in large pots for a period of time. The furcraea, the Agave ‘Jaws,’ the dasylirion in the distance, even the ‘Kiwi’ aeoniums multiplied to this size and were enjoyed in a large container before being planted out. Whatever temperature a garden experiences mid-winter, these sculptural plants were born for plinth and pedestal, be it in the humblest or most extravagant container. Containers keep them protected, admired — and, where necessary, always ready for transit as temperatures dip. Semper paratus.
Aloes too. Aloe peglerae still in a pot.
Many of my aloes are kept in pots because the garden can’t accommodate their eventual size. In the garden, Aloe marlothii lounges on helicotrichon, blue oats grass.
Unlike the stiff leaves of Helicotrichon elegans, Sesleria ‘Greenlee’ seems more pliable for succulent plantings.
This Echeveria ‘Opal Moon’ wasn’t even potted up but had a coffee can sleeve slipped over the nursery gallon.
Echeveria gigantea wouldn’t keep these unblemished leaves for long planted out in the garden.
Kalanchoe synsepala recently made the move to the garden. A “walking” or stem-rooting kalanchoe, I needed to get this out of the pot to see it in action.
As the nip in the night air increases, it signals the great container migration is about to begin again in gardens all over the world.
So much of the dynamism of a garden is owed to pots and containers. Semper paratus!
Eccremocarpus scaber, Chilean Glory Flower. Allegedly a rambunctious annual vine, possibly perennial in my zone 10.
Usually characterized as a vine to cover sheds and vast expanses of unsightly fence. In other words, bulletproof.
Image from Jungle Seeds
“Blooms early and all summer long.” “Easily grown climber.” “Fast-growing.”
Except in my garden. Imagine this grapevine festooned with the Chilean Glory Flower in bloom.
That delicate tracery of leaves about 5 feet up the grapevine is my nonflowering eccremocarpus.
September 1st and still no blooms, and this a two-year-old plant that lived over from last year. I’ve heard of “blind” bulbs that never flower but a blind vine?
I know Matti and Megan of Far Out Flora have had raging success with it in one of the foggiest districts of San Francisco, which tells me that, contrary to its heat-loving, full-sun reputation, it possibly prefers coolish conditions and diffuse, muted sunlight. My garden about a mile from the ocean is probably the closest approximation to those conditions in Southern California. I really thought this summer would be the one to bloom the Chilean Glory Flower.
Bulletproof…I wish it was.
