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Today’s Blog is Brought to you by the Number 9

Magic Fern Number 9

This glorious fern lives under the orange tree in our yard.  It fascinates me!  I’ve been searching Google images all morning, but I can’t seem to locate a similar one.  When I do I’ll post the botanical name.

From early March through late June or July, it unfurls these otherworldly fronds.  When I started photographing the process I expected it to take several days.  Two days later the tightly wound coils unfurled, leafing out into large, fan-like leaves.

I learned the hard way that the dusting of brown feathery scales is a skin irritant, no doubt a natural defense mechanism against foes and photographers alike.  I had to toss all clothes in the wash and shower-mid day to stop the infernal itch.  Beware!

Now that fern-unfurling has arrived in my backyard, I’ll be out there everyday, camera in hand.   I’ll keep a respectful distance of course.  Birding is fun but ferning is funnier!

Tightly Coiled

Happy Under the Orange Tree

Update:  This is a Woodwardia fimbriata, commonly known as a Giant Chain Fern

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Catnip: Intoxicating Perennial

Catnip Seeds

Not all cats like catnip. (Not everyone likes chocolate either, to my dismay). In my own personal experience, however the vast majority of  felines take some pleasure from this fragrant herb.  My cat Estare literally drooled the first time I introduced it.  He rubbed his little chin through the crushed leaves, over and over again.   His brother liked it okay, but for Estare it was an experience.  Our current passel of kitties also enjoy it.  We have a few handmade cat toys, sewn by our local vet and  I buy loose-leaf nip as well. It seems to relax, intoxicate or invigorate, depending on the mood.

I planted catnip several years ago and  enjoyed watching it grow into a magnificent plant.  I didn’t know it would produce such pretty little flowers or that it would grow so large.  It filled most of the space below the lemon tree, supplying us with fresh leaves for a year.  Unfortunately the lemon tree split in two during a storm.  When we removed the damaged tree, the catnip went along with it.  I never got around to planting it again.

Earlier this year Unleashed by Petco passed out a catnip-embedded card as a thank you for supporting one of their programs.  Perhaps one of the cats slipped them a fiver to remind me to get back on track.  Catnip here we come!

Freebie from Unleashed by Petco

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The Accidental Compost

Organic Wonder

Every year I say I’m going to start a compost pile but then lazy wins out.  Whenever I toss a banana peel or an egg-shell I think, “if only I had a place to compost.”  Part of my ambivalence is where I would put it.  Compost  needs sun and room for turning and both are at a premium in my back yard.

Two years ago my son collected fallen leaves from our Chinese Pistache in early October to use in his spooky Halloween display.  He filled a large Rubbermaid bin with dead leaves but forgot about them in the excitement of the day.  When I rediscovered the bin, decomposition was under way so I decided to snap on the lid and let nature takes its course.  I pried back the lid every few months and checked on the decomposing leaves. I gave them a quick toss with my gloved hands, closed the bin, then went about my business.

By the end of last summer I had compost!  Sometimes lazy gardeners can catch a break.  I love the texture and the smell of that wonderful decay.  I know the plants were happy too.  It was  a joyful experience mixing it into the planter beds. I may come over to the dark and loamy side yet.

Composting Recipe:

I jotted the following notes into a notebook two years ago so I would be ready to move from “accidental composter” to the real deal.

In half-inch thick layers:

Combine 3 parts “brown” organic material to one part “green”

3 parts brown includes dried leaves, small twigs, etc.
1 part green includes grass, cut flowers, coffee grounds, egg shells, tea bags and fruit or vegetable peels

Mix into a bin approximately 3′ x 3′ x 3′

Add a small amount of moisture as needed and turn once a week.

Serves several plants.

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WindowAlert: Protect your Songbirds

We invite birds to our garden in a variety of ways using fragrant flowers, flowing fountains and feeders.  To that end, it was disheartening when the occasional feathered friend mistook our window for the sky.  That unmistakable thud left an indelible mark on our soul.

The good news: by applying WindowAlert™ Decals, collisions are largely a thing of the past. According to their site:

WindowAlert is a window decal that may be applied to home and office windows. The decals contain a component which brilliantly reflects ultraviolet sunlight. This ultraviolet light is invisible to humans, but glows like a stoplight for birds. Birds have vision that is up to 12 times better than that of humans. WindowAlert decals help birds see windows and avoid striking the glass.

The decals are removable and re-positionable.  The static cling variety can be cleaned by rinsing in warm water as necessary.  I purchased the Decorative Leaf Decal, but they are  available in a variety of shapes.

Support your local garden center or nursery if you can.  I shopped at Los Gatos Birdwatcher in our community.  You can also buy directly from the WindowAlert site.

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Rehabing the Swing

In need of some TLC

My readers know how I love my swing.  Sadly, it took a tumble in a wind storm, flipping heals over casters into the rock wall. The lower frame is sound, but that brief flight and subsequent landing tore one inch gashes into the canopy frame.

Before dismantling the canopy frame this winter, I thought it was simply bent and needed straightening.  Now that we’ve taken it apart, the mechanical fix is more complex.

The no-cost fix is simple: we’ve relocated the swing to the shady part of the garden, where it now rests under the orange tree.  Who needs an artificial canopy when nature has provided one in my backyard.

The seat cushions are a different story: they need a good overhaul.  I used an old, flocked table-cloth to cover the cushions off-season and it worked well.  Then spring rolled around and the neighborhood squirrels decided it would make excellent nesting material.   They had that cloth de-flocked in two days!   I get lazy in the colder months so between the unceremonious toss of the swing and the table-cloth dismemberment, I simply turned a blind eye.  Last summer I put a towel over the cushions, and made do with the bent top.  Neither one had any affect on my impromptu nap schedule.

Now that the yard is spruced up, my swing looks neglected.  It resembles a dorm room couch, minus the cookie crumbs, but with plenty of mold to give one pause.

Time to call on my sewing skills.  I’ll let you know how it goes.

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Lavender Caper

"...Here's flowers for you: Hot lavender, mints, savory, and marjoram." The Winter's Tale

It’s a mystery. Two summers ago we planted a row of lavender along the front deck. Five small plants with big potential. Within a few months they would be peeking over the edge of the deck, covered in fragrant blooms.

The plants doubled in size, supporting each other as they grew out and up. They bumped up against the lawn; spilled on to the stairs. Except for one. One of the five plants was still below deck. Like the runt of the litter, I reasoned, the smaller plant needed more time.

My well-honed sense of symmetry was eschew; I wanted each of these plants to grow into one cohesive row. The plant seemed healthy. It branched, it flowered, and it grew. Every few days I would lean over the edge of the deck, lifting its branches skyward. Perhaps this lovely lavender had simply lost its way.  “Stand tall,” I encouraged; that space is yours to fill.

I sought the advice of a couple of garden experts. One suggested it was something in the soil. I asked if it was possibly a dwarf variety but they didn’t think so. Nearly two years later the plant is still small.

I’m pragmatic when it’s time to pluck annuals from the earth and I can thin seeds and pull weeds with impunity. Giving up on an established perennial, however, feels like the gardener’s equivalent of throwing in the towel. If only the plant would send me a sign by turning brown, falling over or displaying a visible blight. Then I would be ready to let it go.

June, 2010

February, 2012: One of these plants, is not like the other...

Dwarfed by the Others

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California Gold

Tall, graceful golden grasses grace the garden.  I’ve tried capturing that movement with my still camera for a year.  While poking around with my camera yet again, I decided to record 10 seconds of movement and song instead.

Here is my own little homage to our beautiful golden state.

Breezy

We inadvertently matched the walkway to one of our cats

Golden cats abound: the neighbor's cat blends in

Golden Field Stone

X Marks the Spot

Nestled below the Magnolia

Storm's Brewing

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Magic of Swing

I dreamed of a garden swing for years, but it seemed like such an extravagance. Stylish and pricey swings graced the pages of Grandin Road catalogs and the garden section of Sunset Magazine, teasing me with the seductive possibilities of life with a swing. When my youngest son was still small we would “test drive” all the display models at our local Home Depot garden center.

Then in 2009 I spotted a swing in town for under $200. Though it wasn’t a high-end model it looked sturdy and it was comfortable. The seats were cushioned and the back had built-in head rests and a canopy to fend off the sun. It was perfect! We snapped one up and my husband assembled it for me for Mother’s Day.

Had I known that swings had magical powers I would have splurged years ago! Whenever I wandered outside to sit on my swing, a kind of hypnotic trance took over. Suddenly, swinging was more important than answering email or tossing a load of laundry into the dryer. Invisible hands lulled me. I could barely move.

My boys were drawn to the swing, too. I would trek outdoors and before I knew it I had company on the swing. Back and forth we would go, swish-swish, swish-swish, swish-swish. Feuding cats set aside their differences and joined me on the magical swing, paws curled in as they settled into the deep cushions.

If I had to make a phone call, I figured I may as well do it from the swing. I pretended to read my book out there, but in short order the sun and swing led to slumber.

After three seasons under the noon day sun, my swing needs a little TLC.  I’ve got my eye on some new fabric, part revitalization, part disguise.  If the shopkeeper ever learned about the magical powers they would undoubtedly find a way to double the price.

Mother's Day Two-Fer

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Second Chances

There is no accounting for taste.  It’s one of life’s mysteries.  I’ve raised two sons in one household with identical  food choices, but only one of them  loves fruits and vegetables.  I continue to re-introduce different foods, he continues to eschew most of them.   Broccoli is not on his short list.  He says it’s too bland.

Today, he turned a corner!  He invited a young friend to stop by to see the new garden.  Together they swept gravel from the path.  With joy and pride he trimmed small florets of broccoli to send home with his mate.   He then nibbled on one of the organic florets and pronounced: “I like it because it is bland.”   Three cheers for second chances and the power of a garden.

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After Dark

After Dark

I’ve gardened in the rain and cold until my fingers were numb.  I’ve gardened at dusk till feasting mosquitoes drove me indoors.  I’ve even gardened in the mid-day heat, keeping the tormenting sun at bay with hats and sunscreens and moveable umbrellas.  But I’ve never gardened after dark.

“Dark” is subjective of course. It’s that time of day when I reluctantly turn my garden over to the other side.  If I’m outside too late, Dark reveals opossums, meandering along the fence.  Frankly, they give me the creeps.  I once encountered one on my pathway late at night, walking straight for me.  I froze in place, but it ignored me and meandered on.

Raccoons also visit the yard, playing in the fountain and on one occasion, tapping on the cat door.   The rats don’t always wait for Dark.  They rustle around in the orange tree reminding me to pack up my tools and head on in.  Dark is just around the corner.

Spiders, a gardeners friend, have cousins that prefer to wait for Dark.  They live under the BBQ and below the eaves.  They don’t make a sound, adding to the creepiness factor, but I know they’re there.

I’ve found myself racing the setting sun, trying to pull one more weed before night falls, trying to prune one last vine.   I become a little obsessed with the work at hand and I’m reluctant to stop.  In the summer months it’s usually too hot to garden by day.  My fair skin prefers the damp mists of Avalon to the sunny climate of San Jose.  Since I live in the suburbs and not a mystical novel I’m forced to make do. So I race that setting sun while acknowledging the inevitable.  My garden is harmless by day, but like the closet of my youth, with the flip of the light switch, all bets are off.