- Author: Cheryl A Potts
My husband and I just completed a month long trip through five US states and two provinces of Canada. Driving with our Australian Cattle Dog, Katie, for thousands of miles in our 24 foot RV, we saw just about every kind of scenery there is. The majestic Canadian Rockies, icy formations of Glacier National Park, forests of Montana, plains of Wyoming, congregations of teepees on the Blackfoot reservation, the Pacific Ocean from the Oregon coast line, the small towns and hamlets of Everystate, large metropolitan cities booming near extensive waterways, formerly booming, now unadaptable towns dying due to changes in the economy, thousand-acred fields of brilliant yellow flowers of the canola plant in bloom in Alberta, lakes so large one cannot see the other side, and the mighty redwood trees of our own state.
Oh, yes, and the desert. Miles and miles of ancient desert, changing only occasionally through the eons, by a fence post falling or a speed zone sign acquiring new bullet holes. Browns and greys. Dust. Unnamed dark brown and grey mountains on the far horizon (or is that a mirage?). Straight, oh so very straight highways leading only to the mirage and beyond. Trucks, And more dust.
But wait! What was that? A flash of incredible color there by the side of the road. Bright red. It is a flower, a living plant actually growing, here in the heat, and dust, and no water and only trucks. "Go back, Richard! I need a picture." My good husband granted my wish, stopped the RV, backed up and took pictures of a blooming paintbrush. Sadly, the picture did not turn out well, but I became aware of a very important factor of nature. What made that plant so special to me, special enough to request stopping and asking my mate to go out in over 109 degree weather for a snapshot?.
Admittedly, were I to see that plant in any one of my Master Gardener friend's beautiful flower gardens, I would not give it a second look. I would not ask questions or request a cutting. But out in the middle of the hot, dusty, truck infested Nevada dessert, I relished the beauty and wonder of this glorious plant. It was nature tricking me by using contrast. Opposite of the seemingly lifeless grey arid dust, was this luscious living green and red example of growth, change, newness. life.
As we ventured further into this vast seemingly wasteland, the wild flowers performed perfectly. Even though it was late in the season, (July), the flowers were prolific. We saw Hooker's balsamroot, yellow ephedra, pink and red wildroses, rayless daisies, and monument plant, to name a few.
My ride through the desert branch of our trip went from secretly asking "will this ever end?" to wonderment and awe, and a new appreciation for the use of the element of contrast in my own garden.
How beautiful is a plant that grows in the desert? I do not have its courage...
- Author: Jenni Dodini
I had a wonderful dinner in Napa for my birthday. One of the nicest parts of the meal was the ambiance of the patio seating. The entryway was lined with oak leaf hydrangea. Like most of the patrons, I had to touch and smell the simply beautiful flower clusters that were at least 6 inches long!
Once I got home I had to look them up on-line, then in the Sunset Western Garden Book. On-line, I felt like Fairfield would not be an inviting climate for them as Napa is generally much cooler, especially on the riverfront where I found them. The Western Garden Book gave me more hope for success. Although they are native to the south-eastern U.S., they will grow in Sunset zones 2b - 23. (We are in zone 14) They are classed as a shrub although the ones that I saw formed an arbor over the walkway. They will grow 6 feet tall and 8 feet wide. They bloom in late spring to early summer in elongated clusters of white to pale pink. The oak-shaped leaves turn bronze to crimson in the fall. (I feel another dinner on the riverfront in my future!) There are 3 varieties of the full size and also dwarf varieties. Imagine my surprise when I found 'Pee Wee' on a recent trip to Lemuria's in Dixon. I was told that this particular variety does well in both sun and partial shade. I hope so because that plant would not leave me alone until I bought it.
- Author: Marshall Foletta
It's summer—and that means baseball, tomatoes, and wasps. Since moving to the “country” I‘ve come to associate the leg-dangling flyers with the rising thermometer. But only recently I've decided that a little more tolerance and a little less panic should guide my response to these beneficial insects.
There are more than 100,000 species of wasps populating the planet—and the vast majority (“solitary wasps”) live out their lonely lives in anonymity. But “social wasps”—those that live as members of colonies—are far less successful in flying below the radar. Here in California, the most ubiquitous social wasps are yellow jackets and paper wasps. The former have a nose for picnics; no experienced barbequer lights up a grill without setting aside a sacrificial steak to lure the uninvited critters away from the table. And it's not a bad idea—yellow jackets (actually a name that can refer to one of several different species within the genera Vespula and Dolichovespula) are among the more aggressive wasps. When foraging for food or defending a prized piece of beef (Vespula pensylvanica is actually known as the”meat bee”), the yellow jacket is a formidable foe.
Yellow jackets can be a pain, but I've found their less aggressive cousin, the paper wasp (Vespidae polistinae), to be the greater nuisance. True to their name, they use a centuries-old recipe of wood pulp and spit to construct nests under eaves, behind fence boards, and inside horse stalls. They rarely attack unless provoked, and they don't care much for barbeques, but if you disturb their nests (which by August are everywhere) they unleash their aerial fury.
I'm actually pretty fortunate. I experience only a mild reaction to wasp stings. My wife, on the other hand, is more sensitive. A recent sting on the jaw left her looking like she had gone three rounds in The Octagon. And some folks suffer even more severe effects—a systemic allergic reaction that, on rare occasions, can lead to death.
These risks mean that we should not take wasps lightly. But neither should we over-react. Wasps play an important part in the ecosystem. Some are pollinators—but perhaps even more important, most are useful predators of harmful insects. Paper wasp larvae, for example, pack a voracious appetite for caterpillars. Their doting parents will transport corn earworms, armyworms, and loopers back to the nest to feed their brood. It's my understanding that juicy hornworms are a particular treat.
So while no one likes to get stung, wasps really are our friends—which means the next time you reach for the bottle of wasp-be-gone, think about your tomato plants. Isn't a vine-ripened tomato worth a little pain?
- Author: Tina Saravia
At just about midnight the other night, I received disturbing news that a childhood friend had passed - five years ago. I was chatting online with a mutual friend and I had just said goodnight, when our mutual friend broke the news. Needless to say I had a restless night.
I woke up feeling a little groggy from lack of sleep and remembered last night's news. I wasn't totally shocked, after all I hadn't seen or talked to my friend for over a decade. So I started going about my day.
First thing, the iris (Iris sp.) plants that my dad dropped off at my doorstep had to be moved to the side yard. These rhizomes will go to the Master Gardener's Plant Exchange on Sept. 26.
Then I picked my first group of ripe heirloom tomatoes. Using a small sickle, I also harvested some lavender flowers. (How come nobody told me about my friend dying — for 5 years. Am I not important enough to be told?)
Later, as I go from room to room in the house, I noticed a couple of paper bags of harvested plants and seeds from many weeks ago; Garlic (Allium sativum) — I took some of the excess papery skin off and put them in an open weave bag. Cilantro (Coriandrum sativium) seeds — I removed the seeds from the plants and stored them in an airtight jar. (Did nobody tell me of my friend's passing because he wasn't important enough?)
Just when I thought I was done, I noticed another paper bag with seed pods in it —Love-in-a-Mist (Nigella damascena). This plant with beautiful blue flowers and frilly leaves had shown up in my spring vegetable bed, next to the cilantro, carrots (Daucus carota), collards and broccoli (Brassica oleracea). Possibly a "gift offering" from the birds that ate all my blueberries last spring.
As I start crumbling the brown dried-up seed pods, the tiny little black seeds appeared. The beginning of next year's crop that will grow into little new plants, bloom, go to seed and the cycle starts again.
Seeds: Like a person's life, we are born, we live and we die. But what we leave behind is the memory of how we live that we pass on to those left behind to carry on and keep the cycle going.
My friend may be gone. But I will always remember his loyalty, protectiveness and wise advice.
As to my Nigella seeds, I finished separating the seeds from the chaff. Then I started pouring off what I thought was the chaff onto the ground. I caught myself in time so I still have about 20 or so seeds left in the container. I guess I'll be seeing volunteer Nigellas with my succulents next year.
- Author: Trisha Rose
Watering our lawns is now restricted to 3 times a week between 9 PM and 6 AM here in Vallejo. The newly instituted restrictions are focused on common sense, don't water the hardscape or you may get fined up to $500 per instance. We have a controller for our home irrigation system, so no big deal right ? So day 1, change timing from 8 PM to 9 PM, realized about 10:30 that water hadn't come on because got the AM switched with the PM. Reset the system to PM and reset the days again. So about 11 PM no water yet. So now 3 days later had to reset the day sequence again and get the timing right. Watching TV and darned if the water didn't come on again!! This time I go out and manually turn on each valve, of course it's 10:30 at night, at least we only have a lawn in the backyard. My husband can't believe we've been outsmarted again. Well at last he found the culprit, the battery had died in the controller. Boy, that brought back memories of my class with Ken at Solano Community College last semester and all the issues we ran into setting up the irrigation for the new orchard out there.
In the meantime after I finish with watering the lawn last night about 11 PM, it starts sprinkling. What the heck, it's August.