The Santa Clara Valley really was as idyllic as the natives say it was. It was excellent for us kids, as well as for our parents who raised us here. That is why it is also know as the Valley of Heart’s Delight.
Every autumn, the orchards would turn soft yellow. Cherry orchards got a bit more orange. Apple and pear stayed greener later. The foliage still smelled sort of fruity. Leaves would start to fall with the first breezes and cool autumn rain. There was still mud here back then. It was real orchard mud; not the sort that happens because a gardener waters the lawn way too much.
By winter, the foliage on the ground smelled earthy. . . very earthy. It might have been slippery to walk on. The upper stems of the bare trees reached upward as if they were not expecting to be slowed down by the change in the weather. The trees seemed to watch each other getting pruned, and then point and laugh at each other when it was all done. Debris piled on the edges of the orchards burned fast, and then smoldered for a few days, with a narrow wisp of almost sweet smelling smoke.
Spring made you think the whole world was in bloom! It was billowy white bloom. Apricot was the best, but cherry ad almond were brighter white. Prune seemed to be very slightly blushed. It was all white, but different flavors of white. It was so soft and fragile. The fragrance was surprisingly simple, sort of fruity, and . . . perfect. Apple and pear bloomed later, giving the illusion that bloom lasted a long time. However, each type of orchard bloomed only for a short time. Let’s be honest; apple and pear did not smell quite as good as the rest; and some described them less graciously than those of us who were kids back then. Walnut and fig, well, they were always the odd ones anyway.
Summer smelled like fruit. It was everywhere. It smelled sort of grassy at first while the fruit was developing. By the end, it smelled way too ripe. Finally, it smelled like wine and toasted soil. The soil here really was great. It was grey and heavy. Summer was warm but only rarely hot. Mustard grew under the trees, and then wilted down just before getting cut.
We were all raised with horticulture, whether we realized it or not, or whether we liked it or not. We all got peanut butter and jelly sandwiches in our lunchboxes because our mothers had to get rid of the apricots somehow. Fudge at Christmas was overloaded with walnuts. Mom’s apple pie was not revered here like everywhere else in America. It was our culture. It was everywhere.
Even though almost all of us were natives, and most of our parents were natives, and some of our families had been here for several generations, the horticulture was imported from all over the place. Apricots, cherries, prunes, peaches, almonds, walnuts, figs, pears, apples; there was just about every fruit tree imaginable. They came from Turkey, France, Italy, Spain, Greece, England, Persia . . . really anywhere and everywhere. Our ancestors brought their horticultural expertise from Italy, Spain, Japan, Oklahoma, Portugal, Mexico and who knows where else. It all came here and somehow got mixed together to make the Valley of Heart’s Delight, our own distinct culture within the Santa Clara Valley.
No other big tree has trunks as sculptural as those of the California sycamore, Platanus racemosa. They bend and groove so irregularly, seemingly without direction, that it is a wonder that old trees in the wild eventually get a hundred feet tall. Some trees have a few trunks. The mottled beige bark is quite striking both in the shade of the broad canopy, and while trees are bare in winter.
There seems to be some discrepancy about the correct spelling of crape myrtle, Lagerstroemia indica. Many of us spell it as ‘crepe’ myrtle, thinking that crepe is the thin colorful paper that the flowers resemble. It is actually a rolled up thin French pancake. The thin paper is actually spelled as ‘crape’. Of course those of us who dislike the commonness of crape myrtle might omit the ‘e’.
There are certain disadvantages to gardening in such a perfect climate. We can not grow things that require significant chilling in winter. Nor can we grow things that require prolonged heat in summer. Seasons change so gently that it is easy to get behind schedule. It is already late summer, whether it seems like it or not. What we do not do in the garden is as important as what we do.
‘Moonshine’ is probably the epitome of fernleaf yarrow, Achillea filipendulina, even though it is technically a hybrid. From the middle to the end of summer, its three inch wide corymbs (flat-topped trusses) of tiny bright yellow flowers stand as high as three feet above ferny and gray basal foliage. Bloom is best in full sun and warm exposure. Established plants do not need too much water.
It makes sense for flowers to bloom in spring. Winter is too cool, windy and damp for both flowers and the insects that pollinate many of them. By summer, successfully pollinated flowers have faded, are busy making seed to disperse in autumn. Some plants produce fruit to get birds and other animals to disperse their seed. There are certain advantages to blooming early in the spring.
Tony Tomeo 