Localized Riots

Small riots have broken out in my yard.  Lucky for me they don’t cause any damage and the only time I have to call in the SWAT team is when the mosquitoes get bad.  Instead, my localized disturbances are a delight to behold and I sometimes find myself clapping and giggling with the discovery.  I’m talking about color riots.

I have an average size lot and house for my neighborhood, about .18 of an acre.  It gives me a nice area to garden in both front and back, without over whelming me with work.  No sweeping lawns or vistas here since my landscaping drifts consist of three plants at the most.  The yard is best appreciated in small bites and vignettes, which is why I love my little color riots so much.

Gardening provides many such moments where, out of the corner of your eye, you catch some tiny wonderment.  Yesterday I was out weeding and two Anole lizards were Tarzan-leaping through the foliage.  I could almost hear the roar of lions and screams of apes as they traveled from leaf to leaf,  making soft “splat” sounds as they landed.  It was then that I noticed this combination of flowers.  I love how the white rose peeks through with the laughing Gaillardia and the wispy pink phlox.

When I refilled my watering can from the rain barrel these characters demanded notice.  In the breeze the orange California poppies dance around the red mountain stage like Moulin Rouge can-can girls.  Careful boys, you’ll loose your hearts with these!

In the backyard, my ‘Crimson Glory’ rose winds through mealy blue sage for another fluff of color and distracts me from turning the compost.

Underneath the grapevine, Nasturtiums turn their faces to the sun and brighten a planter.  

My yard-art chickens and pig cavort through the pink Missouri primroses that are taking over the walkway.  

As I return my digging fork to the garage I walk by a shady spot with wild petunias and purple oxalis having nothing to do with the quiet greenery.  Look at me NOW they call.

And finally, the true riot of color, my wildflower area.  I have offloaded several bags of seeds in this bed and this year with the rains it has really paid off.  These red poppies captivate me every time and completely dominate your eyes.  Never mind that the other flowers are amazing.  

I’d like to brag that all of this was planned but the truth is that in true riot fashion, most of it is by accident.  As a gardener you have a vision of what COULD be, but the true delight is the discovery of what actually happens.  This is why I torture my visitors with yard tours where I point out these little moments and try to share the wonder.  Lucky for me I have patient friends and neighbors whom every now and then see what all the fuss is about.  No riot gear required.

Gardening With Gardeners

Gardening is not a team exercise. The solitude, for me anyway, is all part of the grace of having my hands in the dirt.  It is a way to relax and recharge while obtaining a sense of accomplishment and pride.  However, sharing my love of growing things with other like-minded people takes it to a whole new level.

This is nothing new.  People form communities around shared interests all the time – whether a dance club, antique cars, quilting, or furniture building.  My first foray into garden groups was when I lived in Portland, Oregon.  Portland has several intense garden clubs and societies that intimidated me immensely.  At the time there was a definite economic stratification that I couldn’t fit into and I was very much into edible landscaping and that didn’t seem to fit anywhere either. 

My secret weakness was still English cottage-style inspired by Gertrude Jekyll and I greedily absorbed every issue of Fine Gardening and Horticulture magazines.  In the late 1980s, Horticulture had a very robust garden symposium schedule and came to Portland or Seattle several times.  When I saw that they were bringing the “Cottage Garden” road show to Portland, I immediately signed up.  Several guest speakers were curators of large public gardens and one gentleman was an expert on grasses.

I was blown away.  The attendees were not the stuffy garden club members I expected.  These people were serious plant scholars.  Many were professionals in the landscape and nursery trade, but many more were educators, writers, and plant breeders.  Latin names of plants rolled off of tongues and well-thumbed volumes of Hortus were dutifully toted.  The speakers were absolutely amazing and I learned more that day then entire hort classes at Oregon State.  The grass expert was touting the use of grass as specimen plantings in the landscape and his insistence of replacing turf grass with low growing native sedges inspires me to this day.   It was really this experience that got me to thinking about becoming a Master Gardener.

But years had to pass before I acted, and it wasn’t until I moved here to Austin that I really pursued gardening groups in earnest.  Part of it was because I have never lived outside of the Pacific Northwest before, and I wanted to reach expert level really fast in my new home to try to avoid costly mistakes.  So I signed up for Master Gardener certification and accepted an invitation to join a garden blogger group.

Again I was, and continue to be, blown away.  Both of these groups contain a very diverse group of gardeners.  Most of them belong to several other plant societies or garden industry trade groups.  Everyone is passionate about what they do and are eager to talk about it.  Both provide the opportunity to visit each other’s gardens and to see how all those nursery plants are functioning in the home landscape.  Some have garden helpers, but all have their hands in the dirt.  I have more fun and learn more than I ever have about plant culture, site selection, irrigation, and pest management.  A few weeks ago I hosted a group of friends and it was such a treat to talk politics (organic or not), garden design, drought survival tactics, gripe about the weather, more politics (water restrictions, gray water regulations) and what was going to be planted in our gardens this fall.

Gardening in Central Texas is a huge challenge.  The onslaught of pests, the extremes in weather, the soil, and now the drought make it impossible for one person to stand up against it alone.  It has made me a better gardener – simply because I plan better, but more importantly, it has taught me to appreciate and seek out a community.   I am having more fun than I ever did in the plant paradise of the Pacific Northwest.  And while I’m still not a “latin only” speaker, I’m better informed and more open to new ideas.  Thank you everyone! 

Who Should Be Saved?

Recently there was a house fire in my neighborhood and it completely gutted the structure.  Thankfully no one was injured, but I can’t even imagine the pain the family is going through over the loss.  At times like this I reflect on what I would do in a similar situation.  If my house was filled with smoke and I had to get out, what would I save?

I’m facing something similar in my garden right now.  We now have had over 70 days where the temperature was 100 or more degrees.  Worse, in my yard, we have had only 5 inches of rain since January 1.  To say that it is an inferno out there is truly an understatement.  We are also on water restrictions and can only run sprinkler systems (including drip and soaker) once a week.  You are allowed to hand water with a hose as much as you want – for now.

I know some long time gardeners here in Austin who have had enough.  They are saying that they are going to let nature take her course and stop watering.  If the plant dies, good riddance you weather wimp.   I sympathize.  My husband, Ed, has been a savior and waters by hand in the morning.  We use the condenser water from the air conditioner and supplement with the hose.  But even my modest yard is too big to hand water.  I have to choose what to save.

Some of the choices have been easy because the plant has simply died.  My hibiscus was an early casualty, as well as nearly 80% of the perennials I planted this spring.  My vegetable garden has limped along, but now the heat stressed plants are being attacked by scale and white flies.  One by one I have pulled up tomatoes, okra, and eggplant and added them to the compost.  It makes me very sad to shut off the water to each raised bed as the casualties mount.  I don’t dare plant any seeds right now to replace them because they won’t germinate in this heat.

But now I have some harder choices.  I have native shrubs that are struggling.  My citrus trees are yellowing and curling in the heat.  Should I try to save them?  Or should I just walk away and let them burn?  They are just plants after all.  Someday the rains will return and I can replace them.  The smoke fills my nostrils and the light dims. I start to stagger and lean against my garden fork.  Who can I save?

Crazy In The Heat

Last week I flew back to Southern Oregon to visit with my family. Oregon is having the exact opposite weather that we are suffering through in Central Texas; it has been a record year for rainfall and cool temperatures. In the Rogue Valley, the peaches are at least three weeks behind, which means I didn’t get to eat myself silly on my favorite fruit during my visit.

It was great to be there. They finally had some summer and the temperatures were in the high 90s. My Mom had the AC cranked and everyone was complaining. Not me. Sure, it was warm in the afternoon, but the air was not laden with moisture and in just a few hours it would cool back down to the 60’s. Mornings were glorious. It gets light much earlier in the north, so I could get up early and go outside to garden. I did some tree pruning and compost building and it was sensational. My energy just soared through the roof and I could not breathe enough of that air. My family fussed over me being outside in the heat, but as I told them; hey, it’s like March in Central Texas.

And then I came home.

Right off the plane the blast of hot air reminded me that my little jaunt was over. Hurricane Don turned out to be a whiny little brat that didn’t provide any rain or heat relief, so I returned to the same sad state of affairs that I left. My heat stressed okra is covered in white flies and the squash is barely hanging on. Plants that I thought were looking okay when I left are spent and forlorn. Of course I am sure my eyes are still jaded by the lushness of the Oregon landscape.

This morning I slept in late, and by the time I got out into the garden it was already hot. And then something unexpected happened. I got mad. I was mad at the heat, mad at the sun, mad at my poor excuse of a vegetable garden. How dare you! There is no reason for being so hot! Knock it off this minute!

Crazy. Ranting at the weather is not very productive. I go back into the house and sit under the ceiling fan. The cat gives me a knowing glance and then heads off to the bedroom. Anna has the right idea. Just go with the flow and find a nice cushy cool spot to wait it out. I grab my Territorial Seed catalog and prepare a seed order.

Sanity at last.

Heat Seeking Green Missiles

Hello Texas summer.

Triple digits and high humidity, so much so that even the weeds are wilting. I scurry outside on weekends in the early morning to try to get something done before I am chased back into the house. I sit on the couch and look forlornly at the brilliant sunshine illuminating my wilting, gasping plants. Ed or I water everyday from the five-gallon recapture bucket attached to the air conditioner condenser, but the plants still suffer.

Well, not all of them.

Summer is the time that the heat seekers thrive.  I see my Anole lizard family and other wandering geckos more often. My citrus trees are putting out new growth like crazy, and my Bird of Paradise might even bloom for me this year.  I bought two Mandevillas and they are blooming and climbing up their trellis, the hibiscus is really putting on leaves and should be flowering soon.

The real stars are in my vegetable garden.  Peppers, tomatoes, eggplant, squash (wilting but still blooming and setting fruit), and black-eyed peas are all very prolific right now. And then there are the missiles.

The seeds I planted said “Okra”. The plants that grew resemble okra, right down to those lovely flowers. But what is that lurking down there in the dark? Tucked into the silo of leaves are huge, dangerous, heat-seeking missiles. Oh sure, they start out as four inch spears that are excellent on the grill, but five minutes later they become monsters that launch spines. Of course, what better revenge than to eat them – but they are so tough and fibrous they refuse to yield to heat.

I’m calling the Pentagon. Someone needs to warn them. Who knows, maybe I’ll become a defense contractor. Look out world, the green missiles are gonna git ya!

In the mean time, I am searching the Internet for more solutions. I wonder if I could weave a bath mat from their fibers? Or construct a fence? Any other suggestions?

Overly Optimistic in Zone 8

I pulled the plastic off my citrus trees and raised beds today. Devastation.

The salad greens are gone, the pineapples are mush, and even the kohlrabi is flat. But what sent me sobbing into the garage were my poor citrus trees.

I love those trees. To be able to pick a lemon, lime, orange or kumquat from a tree I have grown is the pinnacle of gardening. Never mind that it is a completely iffy proposition in Zone 8 Austin Texas. But somehow my love of citrus has crossed the line.

As I folded up the plastic covers and unwound the lights from the branches, my heart just broke. What I discovered is that I didn’t cry from disappointment, my tears came because I felt like I let my friends down. My trees barely weathered through last winter and I vowed that this year would be different. They would be safe from the cold because I HAD IT FIGURED OUT. But I didn’t. Our cold weather was unusual this year because it didn’t warm up during the day. Sadly, they were doing great until last week, but two days of not getting above freezing did them in.

What could I have done differently? Should I have added more lights? Doubled the plastic? Placed jugs of water around them? Or just move to Florida?

I live in Zone 8; the same climate as Portland, Oregon. What I am trying to do here in Austin would make the Oregon-resident Sheryl scoff. After all, I am the same gardener who stopped raising roses because they couldn’t fend for themselves. And now I’m stringing lights, creating plastic domes, and sobbing in the garage over some trees?

The rest of the yard is just fine. My native plants are already in bud-break stage and it’s only been a few days since the last hard freeze. The sedge even sat up today and waved in the sunshine. Green shoots are already appearing in the heart of the clumps of bamboo and gulf muhly grass. I tidied up the rest of the front by pruning back the salvias, copper canyon daisies and turk’s cap hibiscus. I cut back the mutabilis roses to ensure that they don’t take over the house. I planted potatoes in the vegetable garden and got my new Venus grape and some asparagus into the new planter Ed helped me build.

But my trees, my trees. What I really should do is cut them down and add them to the compost. They aren’t native, they are always iron deficient, they need a lot of water, they're heavy feeders, and I am doomed to be disappointed. I know better. This is zone 8. Be satisfied with the apples, pears, peaches and plums that I planted. Eat grapes and blackberries. Forget the citrus.

Not a chance.

Animal Slave

Animals have enslaved me.

Over the past couple of years there have been some interesting programs on PBS and articles in Psychology today by Nigel Barber, Ph.D. about humans domesticating animals. Dr. Barber writes that dogs and humans domesticated each other, producing a symbiotic relationship that benefited both species.

Symbiotic. Right. Tell that to my cat and the birds that bully me in my yard.

I am quite the attraction in my neighborhood for bird opportunists. I have several projects that require a lot of digging, and as I am moving soil around, I uncover a lot of grubs. Big white juicy grubs.

At first I just squished them, but there were so many that I started packing a cottage cheese container to toss them into. My thinking was that I would drown them and then just add them to the compost.

However, there was a Robin that started hanging out. Pretty soon I was just tossing the grubs to her. She started following me around like a chicken and ended up building her nest in my front tree.

Last summer a Cardinal and a Blue Jay regularly patrolled my vegetables and ate up the cabbage worms that kept attacking my cole crops. In an attempt to save my cabbage, I installed a row cover. As I was clipping it into place the Blue Jay flew over and started scolding me for covering up the groceries. The language he used! Turns out I should of listened because I lost the crop despite my best efforts.

This weekend I began digging out an area for a flagstone patio. As soon as the first spade full of soil hit the wheelbarrow, a Mockingbird flew in to investigate. Yes, you guessed it, pretty soon I’m tossing grubs to him. When I stopped to take a break he flew onto the clothesline and started yelling at me to get back to work.

So much for mankind being the dominant species. It’s kind of humbling, really, to think that I am so easily domesticated by my feathered friends. I try to find some dignity in that at least I don’t spend hundreds of dollars on birdseed like other folks I know. There has to be limits to how far we humans should go in accommodating the beast of field and air.

Now if you’ll excuse me, I must sign off. The cat wants to be scratched.

House Beautiful - At Least For Company

What is it about having people over that suddenly transforms me into a cleaning, decorating, landscaping, and cooking machine? I mean, come on, I spend time on the couch under the fan, but it's not like I'm a total slob. My garden is in pretty good shape. I have food in the house. The dust bunnies aren't bigger than the cat.

And yet I am in frenzy.

Of course the cause of all this is my hosting a Master Gardener event next spring where perfect strangers will be looking at my yard. That doesn't really frighten me, but it's all those Master Gardeners that intimidate me into a puddle. These people know their stuff and I have to be ready! Of course they are perfectly nice people and are always kind to me. I have nothing to worry about.

Still.

I've been in sort of a paralysis, a kind of summer doldrums, trying to get my ideas solidified so I can finish up the back yard. I haven't laid all the bark down and I need to configure some sort of pavers in the paths. All of those examples I have clipped out of Fine Gardening and Horticulture seem just too elegant (and expensive) for what I need.

Lucky for me, I've gotten a nudge. I was able to come home a little early on Friday and spent some time with my neighbor. Cindy is very artistic and has such an eye for things. She has pavers, plants, and all sorts of objects in her garden that are arranged so artfully. I dragged her across the street (don't worry, she left with cucumbers and cantaloupe) to throw some ideas at her. We had a good discussion and I gained a little direction. Then on Saturday I spent the morning with another group of gardeners. We talked about landscaping and various gardens that had recently been visited and I became so inspired by the conversations that a couple hours later I was looking at rock.

I think I know how I'm going to finish everything now. Today I worked on the last ditch in the backyard and moved the compost bin. I've budgeted out what I need for bark and patio pavers. I've got Ed working on an arbor. Everything is in motion.

So in a frenzy I go, trying to get everything in its place. I don't know why I do this; I guess it's out of fear of rejection or something. I'd spend time on the couch trying to analyze it, but I've got a garden to get ready!

Gardening in Central Texas - Lessons Learned

This month is my one-year anniversary of gardening in Central Texas. It hardly seems possible that a year has passed since I first put my hands in the sticky muck that passes for soil in my back yard. My first two plantings were some sad looking tomatoes and peppers from Lowe's. I just jammed in them in a strip of raised bed left by the previous owners, and hoped for the best. The best didn't really happen, because I was about to be KO'd by the hottest summer in Austin history. But even so, there have been many lessons learned since then, and hopefully my fall gardening season will kick off a little more successfully.

1. It is freakin' hot here. The hottest summer non-withstanding, the heat here is so much more intense than Oregon. Those 100-degree days in August are nothing compared to the every day onslaught here in Austin. It doesn't cool down at night so a stressed plant stays that way. The bonus though, is that these warm nights really aid the growth cycle and ripens fruit a lot faster.

2. You cannot water enough. I didn't understand why everyone was so upset when water restrictions said you could only irrigate once a week. I'm used to that being just fine and watering any more frequently promotes shallow root growth. Not here. Some of my vegetables and fruit get watered every day during the hot spell. During fruit set I will hand water AND drip irrigate. Believe me, I am not overwatering. I use my trowel or garden fork to dig in the soil to find the moisture zone and spend many days never finding it. I am so thankful that I installed my rainwater collection system.

3. Pestilence rules. If there is an obnoxious bug on the planet, it is sure to be thriving here in Central Texas. I have never seen such a plague of pests. Cabbage loopers, stink and pill pugs, leaf-footed bugs, caterpillars, little black beetles that mowed down my mustard, and a host of others that I discover every day. As I build my back yard habitat I hope to attract just as many beneficial insects, but right now it's just me out there doing battle. I have had to rethink my entire approach to what to plant. Up until now I mixed my vegetative and flowering plants together in the same bed. Not any more. In order to harvest food for the table, I have to keep the vegetative plants under row covers. I lost my kale and cabbage because I didn't get the covers on soon enough. That won't happen again. I am also shopping online for a bug vacuum. I have my eye on one that has a zapper inside. Payback's a bitch baby.

4. The growing seasons are actually shorter. The heat and the cold really shorten the available days for healthy plant growth. This is a problem for something like tomatoes that take forever to ripen. And worse, bloom set stops when the temperature reaches 95 degrees. The only way to combat this is to start seeds very early. I now have plastic to go over my hoops and will be raising seedlings as early as November. I need those plants vigorous and ready to bloom in March. However, notice I wrote "seasons". We have two awesome seasons to grow in, making this my most productive food patch ever.

5. It will freeze here. That hot summer really lulled me into thinking I live in the tropics. Not so. We had several freezes and I lost two of my precious citrus trees and had frozen pipes in the bathroom because I was careless. Not next time. I will actually put up Christmas lights in November - on the plants, not the house, and will let the faucets drip on cold nights. I also have plastic covers ready to go. Bring it on!

It has been such a blast learning to garden in a new climate. And even though I have had some spectacular failures, my successes are far greater. Home grown citrus, lemon grass, and cantaloupe bigger than my head, sweet corn in June - I really couldn't ask for more. Now if you'll excuse me, it's time for me to check my inventory and get ready for fall planting. Yee haw!

Let there be dragons and other monsters

There are monsters in my yard.

Every day in the garden is a complete adventure because I am constantly discovering creatures I have never seen, or have never seen such a variety of, before. Dragonflies are an example. The breadth of dragon and damselflies is simply amazing. I have never encountered such colors: carmine, bottle green, lipstick red, orange, Sapphire blue, white, and variations in between. I am constantly running to the house for the camera and the computer to try to figure out what I am seeing. Check out this website that has over 100 listed just for Travis County! Yesterday I saw a new one that just knocked me over. My digital camera just won't focus on these guys, so click here to see a picture of this male Plathemis lydia. I have the females too but they don't have that stunning white abdomen.

There are also a plethora of caterpillars that are munching various plants to the ground. The only one I knew by sight was the swallowtails. Imagine my horror when I saw these monsters chowing down my citrus trees! They are HUGE. I'd never seen such a thing. Turns out they are swallowtails too. They are a type of black swallowtail that specializes in citrus trees. I have them everywhere and it is very, very, hard to allow them to stay. My poor trees are still just recovering from the freeze and don't have a lot of leaves to spare. One of my limes died back to the graft, so I allowed the rootstock to go ahead and grow. My thinking was that I could use it as a swallowtail cafeteria and move the other caterpillars off my good trees. Well, that was a good idea that lasted for about a week. The new growth couldn't keep up with all the "relocated" creatures. Now I am picking them off and rotating them around to whatever is growing most robustly at the moment. Thank goodness the cardinals, blue jays, and anole lizards are helping me keep the population in check so I don't have to resort to caterpillar-cide.

There are also all kinds of interesting bees and wasps that hang about. They are very brightly colored also and vary in size. I found a dead wasp in the garden that makes the largest hornet I've ever seen look like a ladybug. Between them and the giant cockroaches, I can see a nightmare cooking some hot restless night. Right now I also have a swarm of leaf-footed bugs in my black-eyed peas. Every time I go to pick them I get thwacked in the face with a rapidly flying-away bug. They are about a half inch long and have a long needle snout for boring into things. Lovely creatures. Here's a link if you want to marvel at them yourself. They are also known as "stink bugs" so they aren't one I want to handle for a photo.

When the air warms up in spring, the air becomes resplendent with the sound of cicadas. Their chittering can be quite a cacophony during the day and I am always amazed at how they call to each other from tree to tree. Since they are high overhead, you usually don't see them unless a bird has dropped one. I was lucky to catch this newly hatched one underneath the front yard rain barrel. It is called a Superb Green Cicada and I don't think it could be more aptly named. It really is a pretty thing for such a big bug. Their white grubs are commonly found in lawns. I'm always finding them as I dig ditches or turn over soil. I usually just throw them out in the road so they can become street food for the jays and mocking birds that are always supervising me.

I think my fascination with all of this is mainly because they are so new to me. I've always been interested in things in nature and discovering all these new creatures sends me back to Mrs. Holdridges third grade classroom. It was there that we used to do science projects and hatch out Monarchs in jars. I find that same sense of joy and wonder bubbles out of me as I drag poor Ed out of the house to look at some new thing I've found.

Why just yesterday I was out weeding and came across a tiny reddish-brown toad. We also had hawks nest in the neighbor's tree and their two chicks have fledged. Ed and I watched them chase two tomato-thieving squirrels, and then later one landed on my patio trellis. I tell you, all this wildlife sure saves on zoo admissions!

Bushwhacking Texas Style

To be honest, I didn't even look at the package. All I saw was "sunflower collection" and I immediately grabbed the item off the shelf at the Wildflower Farm. I love sunflowers. I have always had several in the yard and delight in finding new colors and schemes to try. They are just gorgeous on the plant and in the vase. Plus they are easy to grow and are relatively pest free.

Then I moved to Texas.

First of all, there is some sort of caterpillar that has just mowed through most of them. I think the likely suspect is a pretty little Bordered Patch (Chlosyne lacinia) buterfly that's been hanging out. I have learned not to immediately drown caterpillars in soapy water until I have identified the adult, and in this case, they were only eating the sunflowers. Plus, these plants are HUGE. I planted them on the berm between my fruit trees, and they have reached a height of at least ten feet. The side branches are over an inch thick and the trunk is at least three inches at the base. A little defoliation was in order just to let some light in for the apple trees.

But then the caterpillars got their fill and the dang plants recovered. Pretty soon, my trees completely disappeared. Today I decided I'd better tackle the job or lose the trees. It took me over an hour to trim up two sunflowers and to chop up the branches into the compost bin. Whose ever heard of having to trim up a sunflower to save a tree? I mean really?

Next time I think I'll read the package.