Beautiful Furcraea, but planted a wee bit deep in that fabulous pot, maybe?
May your day contain serenity.
Tuesday, January 31, 2012
Scenes From Nearby
A palm shaded courtyard
Beautiful Furcraea, but planted a wee bit deep in that fabulous pot, maybe?
May your day contain serenity.
Beautiful Furcraea, but planted a wee bit deep in that fabulous pot, maybe?
May your day contain serenity.
Sunday, January 29, 2012
Mulch Better!
The pile is smaller
Being a typical gardener, I went out many hours after dark in my pajamas to take a picture of a pile of composted wood shreddings. I hate flash photography, but only because my flash pictures usually look terrible (example above). Before hastening back indoors, I tried a flash shot of the bare Cercis branches. Interesting, sort of. It looks more January-like than our January has looked so far.
I'm up late because everything hurts. My back hurts, shoulders, knees, neck, toes, wrists. Ow, ow, owwwww. The hot bath helped, but not enough. But the garden looks better and better. I mulched like mad all weekend, gusty arid winds or not, stopping only to note that Aloe 'Fire Ranch' and Aloe greatheadii have the start of blooms.
I Didn't notice this bloom emerging on Friday. Love love love the red teeth on Aloe 'Fire Ranch':
Aloe greatheadii. This year's bloom looks more substantial. Last year's flopped over, and I had to stake it so no one would step on it.
Does it hurt to bloom, O Aloe? Or feel euphoric?
Do the bees crawling through your anthers
tickle?
Does soil have flavor--bitter, salty, sweet?
Does water sate?
Does the sun burn you as it does me or
do you shiver when it is night?
I should love to ask you, Aloe.
I should love to hear your voice, undoubtedly coloratura.
On Saturday night we watched "Bill Cunningham New York", which is a documentary about a man who has spent decades taking snapshots of people wearing interesting clothes in New York City. He rides a bicycle everywhere (in New York City! at age 80!), doesn't care about food, money, or clothes (his own clothes, that is) and lives in a tiny space filled with filing cabinets filled with a detailed history of the fashion of the last thirty or so years. "He who seeks beauty will find it," was something he said. I thought long and hard about what he said regarding getting out there, being out there on the street looking and looking at what people wear: “I let the street speak to me. There are no shortcuts…. It isn’t what I think, it’s what I see.” You don't decide short skirts are a trend and then go out and take pictures only of short skirts. You go out with no ideas at all, with a silent mind, and look.
That's just as true of a garden as it is of fashion in New York City. You look and look and look for hours and days, weeks, years, shutting your mind off, until the garden speaks. Then you have to make sure you are listening.
Being a typical gardener, I went out many hours after dark in my pajamas to take a picture of a pile of composted wood shreddings. I hate flash photography, but only because my flash pictures usually look terrible (example above). Before hastening back indoors, I tried a flash shot of the bare Cercis branches. Interesting, sort of. It looks more January-like than our January has looked so far.
I'm up late because everything hurts. My back hurts, shoulders, knees, neck, toes, wrists. Ow, ow, owwwww. The hot bath helped, but not enough. But the garden looks better and better. I mulched like mad all weekend, gusty arid winds or not, stopping only to note that Aloe 'Fire Ranch' and Aloe greatheadii have the start of blooms.
I Didn't notice this bloom emerging on Friday. Love love love the red teeth on Aloe 'Fire Ranch':
Aloe greatheadii. This year's bloom looks more substantial. Last year's flopped over, and I had to stake it so no one would step on it.
Does it hurt to bloom, O Aloe? Or feel euphoric?
Do the bees crawling through your anthers
tickle?
Does soil have flavor--bitter, salty, sweet?
Does water sate?
Does the sun burn you as it does me or
do you shiver when it is night?
I should love to ask you, Aloe.
I should love to hear your voice, undoubtedly coloratura.
On Saturday night we watched "Bill Cunningham New York", which is a documentary about a man who has spent decades taking snapshots of people wearing interesting clothes in New York City. He rides a bicycle everywhere (in New York City! at age 80!), doesn't care about food, money, or clothes (his own clothes, that is) and lives in a tiny space filled with filing cabinets filled with a detailed history of the fashion of the last thirty or so years. "He who seeks beauty will find it," was something he said. I thought long and hard about what he said regarding getting out there, being out there on the street looking and looking at what people wear: “I let the street speak to me. There are no shortcuts…. It isn’t what I think, it’s what I see.” You don't decide short skirts are a trend and then go out and take pictures only of short skirts. You go out with no ideas at all, with a silent mind, and look.
That's just as true of a garden as it is of fashion in New York City. You look and look and look for hours and days, weeks, years, shutting your mind off, until the garden speaks. Then you have to make sure you are listening.
Friday, January 27, 2012
Too Mulch! (Wind)
Wind making the Yucca vibrate:
Not only did I still have a big pile of mulch to spread, but the wind started to roar, whoosh, and howl. Eyes full of mulch dust. Lovely. I did what I could. The priority for the day was getting the pile pushed to one side so Beloved could get his car into the garage. Beloved wants his car parked in the garage, not on the street. He was willing to tolerate it on the street for two nights, but yesterday, time was up. I did get that accomplished.
Just before sunset the wind abated a bit, and I wandered the garden. There was a cluster of tiny birds with black and white striped heads peeping in the neighbor's hedge. Another bird in the Avocado tree was shrieking. Ah. A cat was stalking the shrieking bird--a very beautiful cat, golden and golden-eyed, marbled and swirled with dark stripes. A designer cat. I guessed the bird was possibly nesting. Stop and chase off cat. Bird shrieks ceased.
Aloe 'Fire Ranch' catching the last of the day's sun. I like the contrast of the thick meaty leaves with the delicacy of the Calothamnus behind it.
Well how about this: an Epiphyllum leaf that actually looks good. Epiphyllums are a lot like Orchids: out of bloom, they are not much to look at. I think that's why I don't have many of them.
Aloe ferox is finished blooming and the bloom stalks are now bare, but still sculptural
Aloe marlothii is just about to start opening, and is looking ever more spectacular.
At that point the bird in the Avocado tree started shrieking again. The cat was back. I chased it off again. The shrieking stopped.
Now the ldayight was really fading. 'Blue Glow' stopped glowing.
'Joe Hoak' looked more yellow and less white. Both were of course unfazed by the wind, which was starting to pick up again.
Before escaping back inside, I paused again at the Moroccan Daisy, Pyrethropsis hosmariense, which I've been taking picture after picture of lately. Why is it so beautiful? The silver foliage? The icy white and brilliant chrome yellow of the flowers?
Something else...its...the buds! The black-edged, silver buds!
I forgot all about the mulch pile at that point. And the howling wind.
Not only did I still have a big pile of mulch to spread, but the wind started to roar, whoosh, and howl. Eyes full of mulch dust. Lovely. I did what I could. The priority for the day was getting the pile pushed to one side so Beloved could get his car into the garage. Beloved wants his car parked in the garage, not on the street. He was willing to tolerate it on the street for two nights, but yesterday, time was up. I did get that accomplished.
Just before sunset the wind abated a bit, and I wandered the garden. There was a cluster of tiny birds with black and white striped heads peeping in the neighbor's hedge. Another bird in the Avocado tree was shrieking. Ah. A cat was stalking the shrieking bird--a very beautiful cat, golden and golden-eyed, marbled and swirled with dark stripes. A designer cat. I guessed the bird was possibly nesting. Stop and chase off cat. Bird shrieks ceased.
Aloe 'Fire Ranch' catching the last of the day's sun. I like the contrast of the thick meaty leaves with the delicacy of the Calothamnus behind it.
Well how about this: an Epiphyllum leaf that actually looks good. Epiphyllums are a lot like Orchids: out of bloom, they are not much to look at. I think that's why I don't have many of them.
Aloe ferox is finished blooming and the bloom stalks are now bare, but still sculptural
Aloe marlothii is just about to start opening, and is looking ever more spectacular.
At that point the bird in the Avocado tree started shrieking again. The cat was back. I chased it off again. The shrieking stopped.
Now the ldayight was really fading. 'Blue Glow' stopped glowing.
'Joe Hoak' looked more yellow and less white. Both were of course unfazed by the wind, which was starting to pick up again.
Before escaping back inside, I paused again at the Moroccan Daisy, Pyrethropsis hosmariense, which I've been taking picture after picture of lately. Why is it so beautiful? The silver foliage? The icy white and brilliant chrome yellow of the flowers?
Something else...its...the buds! The black-edged, silver buds!
I forgot all about the mulch pile at that point. And the howling wind.
And Mulch, Mulch, More!
Does the pile look any smaller?
It wouldn't take so long to mulch the garden if I did not stop and do other things along the way. I pulled out this somewhat large rose, 'Climbing Shot Silk'. I might have a spot for it in the back, then again, I might not. I don't know yet. The shovel gives you an idea of how big it was. I had cut it back by about two thirds in preparation for the move (or remove).
Then I dug out the little Clematis that had gotten overwhelmed behind the rose.
And gave up on the limbed-up Camellia sasanqua that didn't survive a transplant. It was fine for several weeks after the move, but then we got two 90F (32 C) days in a row which killed it off. It might have come back, maybe...but I decided it was hopeless.
Now I had an empty spot...
...for the new 'Cara Cara' Orange tree. It is on true dwarf rootstock and should stay under 10 feet (3 meters) tall.
I planted the orange tree, then I put the Clematis in a better spot where it would get more sun, and finally I could go back to mulching. The only beauty shot of the day was this beautiful new basal break on 'Black Bacarra'. Well, if you are a rose grower, it's a beauty shot. A normal person probably wouldn't even notice, or just wonder why it wasn't green.
Does the pile look any smaller?
Didn't think so.
It wouldn't take so long to mulch the garden if I did not stop and do other things along the way. I pulled out this somewhat large rose, 'Climbing Shot Silk'. I might have a spot for it in the back, then again, I might not. I don't know yet. The shovel gives you an idea of how big it was. I had cut it back by about two thirds in preparation for the move (or remove).
Then I dug out the little Clematis that had gotten overwhelmed behind the rose.
And gave up on the limbed-up Camellia sasanqua that didn't survive a transplant. It was fine for several weeks after the move, but then we got two 90F (32 C) days in a row which killed it off. It might have come back, maybe...but I decided it was hopeless.
Now I had an empty spot...
...for the new 'Cara Cara' Orange tree. It is on true dwarf rootstock and should stay under 10 feet (3 meters) tall.
I planted the orange tree, then I put the Clematis in a better spot where it would get more sun, and finally I could go back to mulching. The only beauty shot of the day was this beautiful new basal break on 'Black Bacarra'. Well, if you are a rose grower, it's a beauty shot. A normal person probably wouldn't even notice, or just wonder why it wasn't green.
Does the pile look any smaller?
Didn't think so.
Thursday, January 26, 2012
A Freshly Mulched Garden...
Self portrait with mulch:
A freshly mulched garden is like a man wearing a beautifully tailored suit. No matter how handsome the man is, he looks even better wearing a beautiful suit.
I didn't mulch the garden last spring, and so the garden didn't look as good as it could have, plus it developed considerable number of weeds. Last winter and spring (and summer, and some of fall) dear Hoover needed a lot of care and attention and I didn't get around to the mulch, because Hoover was more important.
Not man not wearing suit. Wearing funny hat that makes head appear misshapen.
I always dread mulching, because lugging and distributing 10 cubic yards of mulch one five-gallon bucket at a time is a lot of work, and yet I'm always thrilled and delighted when I'm done, not because I'm done, but because the garden looks fantastic and for the following year there are no weeds at all. Each plant looks beautiful in its frame of fluffy brown. The moral of the story is that guys should wear a suit every once in a while. You may wonder how I reached that conclusion, but the truth is I'm so completely exhausted from spreading mulch all day, I don't even know.
A freshly mulched garden is like a man wearing a beautifully tailored suit. No matter how handsome the man is, he looks even better wearing a beautiful suit.
I didn't mulch the garden last spring, and so the garden didn't look as good as it could have, plus it developed considerable number of weeds. Last winter and spring (and summer, and some of fall) dear Hoover needed a lot of care and attention and I didn't get around to the mulch, because Hoover was more important.
Not man not wearing suit. Wearing funny hat that makes head appear misshapen.
I always dread mulching, because lugging and distributing 10 cubic yards of mulch one five-gallon bucket at a time is a lot of work, and yet I'm always thrilled and delighted when I'm done, not because I'm done, but because the garden looks fantastic and for the following year there are no weeds at all. Each plant looks beautiful in its frame of fluffy brown. The moral of the story is that guys should wear a suit every once in a while. You may wonder how I reached that conclusion, but the truth is I'm so completely exhausted from spreading mulch all day, I don't even know.
Tuesday, January 24, 2012
Sweet Sparkling Rain
Yes it seems so dreary. The birds cannot fly.
All is dull and bleak.
But look carefully. As rain falls, it dances.
When morning comes, all is jeweled.
The sun shines through every drop.
All is renewed, cleansed.
Reborn.
Breathing, enlivened.
Made new.
Oh, the sweetness of sparkling rain!
Sunday, January 22, 2012
A Truly Magnificent Dracena Draco
This neighborhood Dracena draco rivals any that I've seen in a public botanical garden. How it managed to get so large and stay so perfectly beautiful in someone's front yard is something of a miracle. Perhaps the people who originally planted it, or a descendent, still owns the home...or the original owners managed to sell the property to someone who appreciated the spectacular beauty of this specimen.
It has been trimmed slightly to keep it high enough above the sidewalk, but it was done carefully, not butchered. This tree started branching young, so it is proportionally rather short in comparison to its breadth. However, this was fortunate--it does not tower over the single-story home on the lot. In addition, the low branching makes it less top heavy, and therefore less likely to topple. Though the Dracena is large, it still works beautifully in the space. It dominates, but does not overwhelm. Okay, it is overwhelming, but not in size--in the beauty of it!
A mature Dracena draco casts dense shade.
Looking up into the canopy is entrancing. There is no other tree quite like it.
It is supremely ironic that the Dracena was given the perfect space, but that this garden also contains a couple of Dasylirion longissimas that are planted to close to the fence and too close to each other. There are also a pair of Chondropetalums also rather crammed into the space.
What does it matter? That Dracena!
Gasp! Sigh! Swoon! Oooooh!!
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