Harvest

There will be several more tomatoes and a few more onions. Maybe garlic, maybe not. Maybe lettuce, maybe not. This is the extent of the potato harvest, and let me tell you, it was a joy to dig this stuff out of the dirt.

I've found out this summer that deep down in my soil soul, I'm not a gardener. I had hoped I was. I love the idea of free food, and to just walk out to the back yard and grab a salad is all the excitement I need. But the weeding, the watering, and the planning ahead all defeated me this time around.

In case you're not from southern California, it's hot and dry here. For your own safety, and to make your water go as far as possible, you need to avoid the day's heat. Some people get out and pull weeds before going to work. They water the garden when they get home. People are dedicated to their gardens. I admire that, and I love the sharing when people plant more than they can eat.

(Hint to my neighbors: I've been watering the clementine tree. Remember that when you're wondering what to do with that extra tomato!)

Sunday Gardener

My neighbor Dale and I are planting food in my back yard. This is going to be a potato. I don't mind sharing the leaves with a hungry bug as long as it leaves the potatoes for me.

We had three tomatoes growing as of yesterday. Probably more today. They are determined, and in the spot Dale chose for them it's apparently not too hard.

We have garlic, cucumbers, eggplant, and onions. More to be planted on Sunday.

I tossed this purple onion into the compost because it had mold on it. The onion took advantage of the opportunity and sprouted. So I followed the onion's opportunist example and stuck it in the ground. We shall see. Maybe it'll turn out to be food, maybe not.

But as Dale says, "They're plants. They know what to do."

Zen Monday #267

 

How about some actual Zen for Zen Monday? I mean, you know, Zen. What feels Zen-like to you?

Here is the Storrier Stearns Garden.

Zen Monday #247

Welcome to Zen Monday, where you caption the photo, mostly because I don't know what to say.

Volunteer

I transplanted a bush several weeks ago. It died. But up from the compost in the hole sprung a volunteer--a squash maybe, or a pumpkin--that's so pretty and healthy I'm letting it take over the property.

I might as well. I haven't been lucky growing things, and I'm so pleased to have something grow that I don't care what it does or where it goes, as long as it stays alive. I water it every day. It seems to like that. It can have the whole yard if it wants it.

The bees love love love it, which I consider a bonus. We need more things for bees to love.

Bougainvillea Killer

This wildflower grows alongside one of my favorite mountain trails. I'd like to grow things like this in my yard, along quiet (if short) pathways.

The holiday and Karin Bugge's recent Patch article (Why You Should Plant a Native Garden) inspired me to work in the garden yesterday. I want to create a native plant garden but I've decided not to buy any new plants until I figure out how not to kill the ones I've already got. It gets frustrating--these two thumbs I have, which are the color of pale flesh. The closest they ever get to green is garden envy.

But learning involves making mistakes. Or you could call it failing or, in my case, killing. This all takes a lot of time. It's okay, I'm not going anywhere.

About ten days ago I moved a small, weedy bush to the rear of the yard and transplanted a bougainvillea in its place. The weedy bush was a volunteer--it was kind of ugly and spiny--and despite the nice hole I dug for it and the compost I planted with it, it died. Ungrateful little bush.

I didn't care. What I cared about was the bougainvillea. I moved it from a place where it was getting too much water to the spot vacated by the bush, where it would get good sun and the dry soil it likes. I had read on the web about how to transplant a bougainvillea. I knew it might drop all its leaves.

It did. It died.

Today I dug up the weedy bush and put it in the yard waste bin. I smoothed over the hole with a shovel. A volunteer pumpkin or squash or something is growing there. I watered it. I decided it was best not to transplant it.

Then I went to dig up the bougainvillea. I didn't want to. I felt bad about killing that plant. I don't know why; I can get another bougainvillea. But it seemed like another failure, maybe because it didn't volunteer--because I yanked it from its perfectly nice pot and planted it first in too much shade, then moved it to another place with too much water, then moved it to a third place, stressing the poor thing to death.

I make fun of my garden failures, but honestly I want to be done with them. It's a story I tell about myself: "I'm not good with plants." I don't want it to be true anymore. I'm tired of the emptiness, the lack of life, in our back yard.

I leaned down to pull the dead bougainvillea from the ground. Close up, I saw tiny green buds on its branches.

My bougainvillea is not a failure. I am not a bougainvillea killer. I am one step closer to telling a different story about my garden.

**************************************

Susan Campisi found a pair of gorgeous dogs on Saturday. They're at the Pasadena Humane Society, for now. Are they yours? Would you like them to be? Click the link, please, their time may be limited.

Different Route

You might happen to turn your car up Sierra Bonita Avenue looking for a cut-off from Washington Blvd. You might want a different way, a new route. As you're driving along this residential street you might happen to glance to the side and see a front yard--well, a garden--well, a folly, you might call it--a jumble of things growing and things man-made, all twisted together and making a weird sort of sense. You might stop the car and get out to gawk at the tiles made of broken dishes, the bits of hardware embedded in the sidewalk, the wind chime bones hanging from the branches.

This route is definitely different, you think.

You might take a picture, though you might not know what to focus on or where to crop the picture once you see it on your computer screen. You might like the photo anyway, for that very reason.

Unruly Posse

Sunday my friends and I traipsed about Pasadena and Altadena for the annual Theodore Payne Foundation Native Plant Garden Tour. I loved poking around the exquisite, private, drought-tolerant gardens.

It was educational. It was gorgeous. It was inspiring. And it was frustrating, because I can't show you any of it. At every garden we visited, photos were either not allowed or allowed for personal use only. I of course took photos for my personal use, but I'm much to chicken scrupulous to post them.

On the way back to our cars we stopped to peer at one last garden, which wasn't on the tour. Is that a great gate or what? It reminded me how glad I am not to live in a gated community tyrannized by muted colors or a homeowners association. The San Gabriel Valley is full of undiscovered Edens, tour or no tour. I hope the owner didn't mind us peeking in because we'd been nosy all day and we just weren't ready to stop.

*

By the way, thanks to the Restless Chef for alerting me to the fact that my posts and those of other bloggers are being stolen by http://www.justpocketcamera.com. I'm trying to have a good attitude about it. justpocketcamera is one of those blogs where they steal content to try to get you to click on ads. I hold the copyright to my posts, which are published at http://pasadenadailyphoto.blogspot.com before http://www.justpocketcamera.com steals them. That's against the law, but try getting a sheriff and a posse on this here wild, wild internet.

If you'd like to be my posse, c'mon and join up. I'm not sure how to get them to stop, but maybe I'll see if I can come up with more bizarre word combinations than theirs. Your suggestions for messing with them are welcome. In the meantime, it's worth a look just to see their weird translations of the copy.

If I Can't Grow Anything On It, Maybe I Can Hang It On The Wall

I'm trying to kill the lawn in my back yard so I can replace it with drought-tolerant stuff and a vegetable garden.

I looked online for information on how to kill the grass and weeds: chemicals.

I asked at a couple of nurseries: chemicals.

Some people suggested I smother the lawn to death with a tarp, which seems preferable. I don't have a big enough tarp so I bought cheap garbage bags and slit them down the sides. I am now in the process of placing them end to end across the yard. This is an extremely inefficient method.

Baby steps.

The rain is not helping. Grass and weeds like rain.

However, (silver lining), each little bead of water is a self-portrait. I made something!


- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -


Update on Hahamongna: Due to this week's rain, the Walkabout originally scheduled for this coming Saturday is being rescheduled to March 5th. I'll be leading the 9am tour. Sign up and come with me!
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - 

Anonymous Chairs

I was thinking of other photographers when I took this picture.

One photographer is Virginia from Birmingham and Paris. I made a comment on one of Virginia's Paris posts that a certain chair seems to be ubiquitous in Paris, "like those awful plastic ones are here."

The other photographer is -K- of LA. The photo I was thinking of is called Card Table in Beverly Hills.

This photo doesn't resemble -K-'s or Virginia's. We could call it an homage to them.

I took the shot in the garden of a place that was beautiful once. It's not beautiful anymore. It's been degraded by time, bad choices and neglect. Problems don't improve when you ignore them.

It's a Tomato

The Huntington's not the only garden in town. People around here love to plant all sorts of exotic things. Back yards overflow with the beauty of nature. Folks share their secrets and the fruits of their labors. And oh, how they brag.

Well, move over.

Have I Got the Dirt

Pardon my weeds. I'm being soil-ly tested.

When I blogged about Tim Wheeler's free Irrigation Workshop last week (sponsored by Pasadena Water and Power), I mentioned I'd learned how to test my soil type. Some of you asked how it's done. It's called the jar test. Let's play along.

In the first photo, we put two cups of dirt into a common jar.

Well--it's kind of a nice jar, but if yours is common don't worry.

The next thing we do is fill the jar most of the way with water. Then we shake it all up. Shake it real good. Don't be shy, you gotta mix that dirt and water like it's a mud margarita.

Then leave it. Yes. Just leave it alone for a whole 24 hours. I said so, don't mess with it. Let the dirt settle. It's not an actual margarita.

What's supposedly going to happen is your dirt's going to stratify into three layers. That's what they told me, anyway. It's going to layer itself according to particle size. The biggest particles, sand, will form the bottom layer. The middle layer will be silt (medium-sized particles). On top will be your lightest particles, or clay. When you see what percentages you have of each of these soil types, you can compare your soil to a soil triangle and figure out your soil type.

What do you think? How many layers do you see? Is that sand on the bottom or silt? Is that silt on the top? Clay? What kind of soil have I got in my back yard?

Sunday Garden

A neighborhood stroll reveals this pretty patio along a stretch of Palm Terrace where, even on a gray day, almost every yard looks lovely.

I take a few pictures. The birdies tweet. I put the camera away. I stare. Finally, in sadness, I wipe the drool from my chin and slink away.

I've always wanted to have a green thumb, but if wishes were gardens I'd have a gorgeous yard instead of one where I experiment with methods of herbaceous homicide. Everything I've planted over the past three years is dead or in the process of dying. (So in case you were wondering, no, this is not my yard.)

I once had enthusiasm. I used it to tear out healthy plants planted by the previous owner and plant the things I wanted. You know what happened.

So how does one start over? What's my first move (besides hiring a landscaper)? Should I take a class? Read a book? Rip out what's left and apply gravel?

Cui Xia Qiao

Hot, dry days continue in southern California. Our air conditioner chose to stop working two days ago. Apparently we're not the only ones with perfect timing; there's nary an available repair person for miles around for the next few days.

How we suffer. We'll have to experience actual weather.

Or we could go to the Huntington. We could stroll about the (air-conditioned) galleries and breathe in the art. We could meander through the Japanese garden, the Australian garden, the desert garden (maybe not today) or Liu Fang Yuan, the Chinese garden, with its bridges and waters and views upon views upon peaceful views.

Here's the Bridge of Verdant Mist, also known as Cui Xia Qiao, or to these ladies, a good place to catch up on what's important.

The Real Thing

The Huntington. If you live around here you've probably been there—dragged through the galleries on a school trip as a kid or minding your manners in the tea room as an adult. If you're like me you go as often as you can to enjoy the gardens, galleries and exhibits. When blogger Katie of Katiefornia visited last week, our first stop was the Huntington. She and I both love to take photos, so I can promise you more to come.

We have Henry E. Huntington, Arabella Huntington and I suppose even Collis Huntington to thank for it all, as well as those who've come after them to manage the institution. It's only as far as San Marino, the community bordering Pasadena to the south. Yet the Huntington feels to me like a taste of Europe, Asia, the wide world. It's not the real thing, only a reproduction, but a day there feeds my wanderlust, if only briefly.

The Japanese Garden, pictured above, was used in a scene in Memoirs of a Geisha. You have to be as big as a movie studio to use the Huntington for your event. As perfect as it would be they don't hold weddings or private parties there. They'd be doing it all the time, wouldn't they? No, no, no. The Huntington is for the people.

Except the library. If you want to get an up-close look at a First Folio of Shakespeare or perhaps Benjamin Franklin's autograph autobiography, you must be a "qualified scholar." But there's always a library exhibit, so the unqualified scholars among us can occasionally view these treasures through glass. I've seen Galileo's handwriting only inches from my face. Not a reproduction. No, no, no. The real thing.

The Gardener

My friend Ken is quite the gardener. He must be feeding his entire neighborhood with what he grows: nectarines, oranges, grapefruit, peaches, lemons, squash, beans, tomatoes, eggplant, basil, oregano, more basil...

But the hedge. I've never seen a hedge like it on private property. And Ken trims it himself, about three times a year. He's created an efficient contraption with painters' ladders, chains, boards and a frame. His trimming shears are sharp. He's fast.

The hedge plant, in case you're wondering, is Eugenia. It can grow as high as 20 feet. Ken's about 6 feet tall. Yesterday we figured the hedge is more than twice as tall as Ken, maybe 14 feet (14 and a half when it's not trimmed). Los Angeles County has laws about fence height at street-side, but as long as your neighbors like it, (and his do), hedges between neighbors can be high.

I'd talk to my neighbors about sharing a Eugenia hedge, but right now I'm having trouble keeping my grass alive so I'm taking things a step at a time.

Marti's Bees

Although the official day was April 22nd, Pasadena celebrated Earth Day Saturday so everyone could join in. There were arts events, home tours and bike tours. The city blocked streets for an Arts Festival at Memorial Park, with exhibits on recycling, sustainable design, green power and green building.

I checked out one of the Eco-Home Tours. I loved Marti Coleman's shady rear garden ("yard" would be the wrong word, as the Coleman's don't have grass). Every corner invites relaxation or discovery. On a hot day, the Colemans don't need an air conditioner; their garden does the cooling. They've even got a tree house, and there's a hammock up there!

The edible front garden is a gathering spot for bees—thousands of them, without the least interest in stinging people. This might not be remarkable if we hadn't noticed a lack of bees around here lately. Colony Collapse Disorder, a huge potential danger facing our nation's crops, is quite noticeable in California. Scientists around the world are wondering what the deal is.

Perhaps they should study Marti Coleman's garden.