I got caught in a rainstorm at the Huntington’s desert garden yesterday, which was magical.

Storm warning
I got caught in a rainstorm at the Huntington’s desert garden yesterday, which was magical.

Storm warning
I’ve been working on 2015 plants sales and plant show dates under the heading Dates to Remember, top of the page.
Please feel free to send along info on anything I’ve missed or something worthy that must not go unmentioned.
And in the spirit of anticipating 2015 road trips, I’m reprising a 2013 visit to the Desert Botanical Garden, which is having their spring sale March 20-22, 2015.
It’s pushing the concept of a day trip to its limit when it takes five hours each way, there and back, but the DBG was having their spring plant sale and, dammit, I needed to go. So the math worked out neatly in multiples of five, including five hours spent at the garden, making it a 15-hour day trip. More math: Phoenix’s average rainfall is about 8 inches a year, while Los Angeles nearly doubles that at 15 or 16 inches, though current LA rainfall totals are below average. Phoenix like Los Angeles was in the middle of a warm spell this past week, and temperatures in the garden were over 90. For whatever reason, the plant sale, the weather, the early spring season, it was a mob scene, and lots of appreciatively awestruck comments were overheard like, “Can you believe this place?!”
Believe it.















The Australian/Canadian hybrid blog Desire to Inspire is one of my favorite sources for dependable, daily inspiration.
(Jo and Kim do take Sundays off.) DTI celebrates design front and center, sometimes minimal, sometimes maximal. I can never make up my mind on minimal/maximal either.
Except where plants are concerned; more is definitely more. But I fully understand not everyone shares that plant-centric point of view. And sometimes space just won’t permit.
Earlier in the week Jo posted just such a case study from the portfolio of Australian garden design firm Adam Robinson Design.
A serenely austere, monochromatic treatment for a Sydney balcony, with lots of good ideas to crib for small gardens. That wood block as anchor for a large umbrella, for example.
And the built-in planter/privacy wall planted with bromeliads and succulents. Alternating wooden slats and cutouts balance privacy with claustrophobia.


I’ve never seen a plumeria displayed to greater advantage than in that large conical planter, which makes a virtue of its open, gawky structure.
Just imagine how the balcony walls trap and hold that scent on a warm summer evening. At least it looks like a plumeria to me..

More from Adam Robinson Design’s portfolio can be found here.
Bloom Day — you know the drill.
(And if you don’t and somehow stumbled here unwittingly, just calm down and see May Dreams Gardens for some helpful background by Carol.)

I bought this Banksia ericifolia from a newish nursery in Hollywood several months ago with one bloom already fully open and several promising if smallish buds. I ain’t superstitious, but taking photos of rare, newly acquired plants in bloom just seems an invitation for a jinx on their health and longevity. So I’ve waited a few months before posting photos of these stunning bronze candles that seem made of chenille.

I bumped into the nursery while in search of some craigslist planters and failed to record its name, but it’s fairly close to Sunset Boulevard and Gardner. I should be able to find it again, since those are my old stomping grounds. I used to live basically on top of the intersection of Sunset and Gardner, about a half block away. (The best way to get into Hollywood? Follow Bette Davis’ advice, “Take Fountain!” A little local, show-biz humor…) The banksia is in a large wooden container that is in the semi-rapid process of falling apart, so it will have to be moved at some point. Gulp…beauty in peril!



Old faithful, Pelargonium echinatum. Scalloped and felty grey-green leaves with firework bursts of flowers suspended mid-air. Looks a lot like the cultivar ‘Miss Stapleton’ which is a suspected cross of two species. Summer dormant.

The related Erodium pelargoniflorum, a spring annual here, isn’t reseeding as extravagantly in the drought, which is fine with me.

The unnamed aloe along the driveway is looking more and more like Aloe ‘Moonglow’ — which I recently bought again for the back garden, label intact. There was more peachy color to it in previous years, when it wasn’t smothered under the Acacia podalyrifolia. I limbed up the offending acacia last week and promise to try harder for a less blurry photo next time.

Abutilon venosum, found at Tropico in West Hollywood, crazy in bloom this February

Veltheimia bracteata, a South African summer-dormant bulb. Really the easiest thing to grow, if a bit slow to bulk up and get going.
The emergence of the leaves in fall are a reminder to start watering again.

The flower today, a bit more filled out.
I find some of the summer-dormant stuff easier to deal with in containers, which is where the veltheimia has been growing for over five years. Unless I failed to record an earlier bloom, this would be its first year to flower.

Aloe ‘Always Red.’ Seeing its first bloom, I did a photo search to double-check possible mislabeling. You call that red? Yes, apparently they do. Supposedly a ferociously long-blooming aloe.

Sometimes a succulent’s flowers can be an annoyance (hello, Senecio mandraliscae), but not with Sedum nussbaumerianum, which are nice complement to the overall plant.

Only one plant was allowed to mature this spring from the hundreds of self-sown Nicotiana ‘Ondra’s Brown Mix’

Ah, those fleeting moments when everything is in balance, before one thing outgrows its spot and stifles another. Balance usually lasts about six months in my garden.

Still waiting for the deep red color to form on the leaves of Aloe cameronii. A continued regimen of full sun, dryish soil should do the trick.

A species canna from Tropico in West Hollywood

Buds forming on Leucadendron ‘Safari Goldstrike’

The ‘Little Jean’ kangaroo paws again, with phlomis, cistus, and euphorbias, self-sown poppies filling in. Maybe there’ll be poppies for March.
Valentine’s Day would seem to demand a quote on love, and this one by Rilke sums it up well:
Love consists of this: two solitudes that meet, protect and greet each other.
No, I didn’t grab a book off the shelf and flip to exactly the right page, but noncommittally typed in a search string query, fairly confident that Rilke must have weighed in on the matter. I honestly don’t think I own a single book of poetry, though a dusty copy of Letters to a Young Poet might be around here somewhere. No Val Day plans, but weekend plans tentatively include the Long Beach Veterans flea market on Sunday (every third Sunday), which would be a firm plan if it wasn’t so god-awful hot. (Too sunny here, too snowy there — what a winter!)
The dew will be burning off the bocconia fast this morning, with temps expected near 90 F, then hopefully cooling for Sunday.
And speaking of Mitch, my oldest son, perusing Gardenista today I see that this week they reprised Mitch’s photos of The French Laundry in Napa, California. You can have a look here.
I’ve had my appetite for browsing the fleas whetted by all the chair porn I’ve been consuming lately in between deadlines on the computer.
Russell Woodard Sculptura lounge chairs at 1stdibs.
In an increasingly incomprehensible world, chairs possess an uncanny ability to soothe. Even just photos of chairs.
If a mind is consumed with building the perfect chair, what trouble can it possibly get into? Sites like 1stdibs are a design education in themselves.
And among all the Hans Wegner Papa Bear chairs, Saarinen Tulip chairs, and Jacobsen Egg chairs can be found some interesting choices for the garden, though prices are usually higher than flea market.

I see a lot of original Russell Woodard’s spun fiberglass table and chair sets at my mom’s retirement community.
Really amazing, decades-long durability, but so far I’ve yet to warm up to it.

Thank goodness agaves are still one of the most affordable design bargains around.
I snapped this quick photo of a Pasadena house landscaped almost exclusively with agaves, mainly medio-picta and parryi, earlier in the week.

I love drawing the eye with the big rosettes, too, but they don’t necessarily have to be the same species or even the same genus.
One of my favorite views, with two agaves, one yucca, three big rosettes stepping up in height, yellow, green, blue.

The mystery mangave is throwing not just one bloom spike, but in a first, the pups are spiking too.


The giant ‘Cyclops’ aeonium feels like joining in.


Tiny starry flowers have also erupted in the foaming nebula that is the South African Climbing Onion, Bowiea volubilis.
Dormant in fall, it stirs into life in January, and is now tumbling down 4 feet, tracing and exploring every curlicue of the old iron plant stand.
That’s the unvarnished description, a far cry from the tangled garden monologues these plants and objects unleash, which go something like:
Dustin’s bowiea is going crazy on that plant stand.
And where the heck is Dustin going to travel next? Doesn’t he stay home anymore?
And Jerry, where did he go? I really miss Jerry, but at least I have his plant stand to remember him by.
Was it $30 I gave him for it? What a wickedly fast associative mind he has, one of those ebullient, fizzy champagne people.
Incredibly supple, effervescent, improvisational mind, a lot like that bowiaea finding tendril holds, etc, etc.
Lots of time for more garden monologues this weekend. Enjoy yours!
Anigozanthos is becoming as common as agapanthus in Southern California, but I’m still a fan. Blooms for months, fine on the dry side, handles full sun, dramatically vertical. You’d think there’d be a huge selection available. But it’s pretty much orange, yellow, red, pink. Occasionally that amazing black one turns up in nurseries, which goes by Macropidia fuliginosa, but it’s notoriously touchy.

‘Harmony’ anigozanthos, May 2013
For the longest time I steered clear of red kangaroo paws. Orange and yellow, yes. Red, no. There really is no accounting for taste. Maybe there’s this fear that if we kept no rules at all, a vortex of chaos would swallow us up. All I know is that I’m now suddenly fine with red anigozanthos. (But pink, um, no.) The first red I brought home was, appropriately enough, ‘Big Red,’ whose first bloom in the garden will be this spring. Then I recently brought home some petite red no-names in 4-inch pots that were a good price at the big box store.

And then there was that momentous day I found ‘Little Jean’ (two days ago). I immediately plucked her from a stand of mixed blooming kangaroo paws after one look at her rich interplay of colors.

Compare the complexity of bloom on ‘Little Jean’ (red/green/black/yellow on bright red fuzzy stems) to the no-name red kangaroo paw above.
Now a new band of red anigozanthos is taking shape in the garden, snaking around the base of Yucca ‘Margaritaville.’ Interspersed with the kangaroo paws are some lomandra I’m trying out like ‘Breeze’ and ‘Lime Tuff.’ I’ve pulled out all the blue oat grass Helicotrichon) to give lomandra, this startling green New Zealander, a try.

Lomandra ‘Lime Tuff.’ I know at some point it will have an ugly phase, all grasses do, but wow, what bright clean beauty it’s shown all fall/winter.

The now-departed blue oat grass, looking fine in April 2013 but always ratty in winter. The tree, Euphorbia cotinifolia, is gone too. Wind snapped its trunk. That thug Arundo donax ‘Golden Chain,’ way in the back, has also unwillingly vacated the garden. In fact, except for the yucca, the garden has been completely changed up again. The long-leaved carex on the left, Carex trifida ‘Rekohu Sunrise,’ has been moved to more shade. A really good carex with a big arching presence like hakonechloa, but for drier soil.
(And I really, really wish I could find another source for seed or plant of Argemone munita, the tall thistly looker with romneya-type flowers.)

Anigozanthos ‘Yellow Harmony’
But getting back to kangaroo paws, just letting you nurseries know that some of us love seeing different kinds of them, like ‘Little Jean.’
Last year I mixed up the dates and foolishly missed the Venice Garden & Home Tour.
So tonight, tra la la, I’m diligently checking the date early to mark in bold letters on my brand-new 2015 desktop calendar…which is when I discover that the tour has been canceled.
Indefinitely. “For the foreseeable future.” There goes one of my favorite rites of spring. (Here’s a post of the tour from 2011. 2012 was fun too.)
Venice GHT, you’ll be missed.













Although a couple of Mitch’s photos were from the tour, the majority were taken just walking the streets of Venice.
And it helps to remember that that’s something we can still do any time.
It wouldn’t do to start the new year off skipping the first Bloom Day, which is technically the 15th of every month, but our host Carol (May Dreams Gardens) doesn’t seem to mind slackers.

Helleborus argutifolius, the last plant remaining, sown into the bricks against the back wall. I pulled the others in the garden to make room for new stuff. That’s me, the savage gardener. It reseeds like crazy, so there’s no danger in losing it entirely.

Subtle, jewelry-like flower buds from a climbing kalanchoe that was a gift.

The flowers’ little bells are the exact same slatey-grey color as the buds. I think it’s Kalanchoe beauverdii

Aloe capitata a couple days ago. The bloom was just about finished today

Bocconia frutescens, the Tree Poppy, keeps sending out flowers

Bloom truss from Bocconia frutescens

I just planted these osteospermum last week, a variety called ‘Zion Orange’ (the name was inspired by the colors of Zion National Park)


Phlomis lanata is getting woolly with new growth, at the same time sending out occasional flowers

Lavandula multifida is rarely without flowers

Euphorbia milii appreciated the recent rain. Planted in September 2014

Grevillea ‘Robyn Gordon’ just planted in December

Mangave bloom spike, technically no flowers yet

I’ll close it out with Kalanchoe beauverdii again, threading its way along the pipe rack/junk collector. The hanging pot was a Christmas present, temporarily filled with Pachypodium namaquanum, the “Halfmens.”
Lastly, we had the great pleasure of a visit in December by Andrew and Loree, who blogs at Danger Garden. Loree wrote a wonderfully kind account of her visit here.