Posted on by tonytomeo · 10 Comments

The Colors Of Karma

0407160708aThe statute of limitations allows me to discuss this now. It happened thirty years ago, in the spring of 1987. The famous landscape designer, Brent Green, was my roommate in the dorms at Cal Poly, San Luis Obispo. As the bearded iris started to bloom, Brent immediately noticed a bed of uniformly pink bearded iris off the edge of a lawn in the inner campus. He watched it bloom from beginning to end, and occasionally updated me on the progress. During the process, he convinced me that these iris were very rare. Neither of us had ever seen pink bearded iris before. We had no idea that they could easily be purchased from mail order catalogs or nurseries.

Late one warm spring night, Brent telephoned me from a landscape design lab where he had been working late. Back then, we answered a telephone when it rang. Before I could wake up enough to think about what I was doing, or just say “No.”, Brent convinced me to bring something that he needed from our room to the lab. Without thinking, I got dressed, grabbed his designated duffel bag and got on my way. I was sort of concerned that the duffel bag seemed to be empty. I figured that whatever was in it was very lightweight.

By the time I got to lab, Brent was in the lobby, and his associates were leaving. Brent did not seem to be interested in whatever was in the bag. He just thanked me for bringing it as we waked out as if to go back to the dorms. I was puzzled. As we walked, Brent explained that he only needed the bag, and confirmed that it really was as empty as I suspected. I was even more puzzled. I asked why he woke me up in the middle of the night to deliver an empty bag across campus. Well, in the few minutes it took for us to get this far into the conversation, we had arrived at the bed of pink iris. You can imagine what happened next.

Yes. Brent dropped the bag on the ground and began to stuff it full of all the bloomed-out iris rhizomes he could grab! Suddenly, I was very awake, and protested. He explained that now that the iris had finished blooming, they would be dug up and disposed of. What else could I do? I knew he was correct. I did not want to waste the iris. I also realized that panic would only draw attention, and that delaying the process would only increase the likelihood of getting busted. I pulled up as many rhizomes as I could hastily grab as well, and stuffed the bag until it was full. Brent was feeling rather satisfied as we walked back to the dorms. I was mortified.

The rhizomes got split and groomed, and eventually went into our mothers’ gardens. We each got about half. The following late winter and early spring, Brent would check in on his when he would go south for the weekend. I would check on mine when I would go north. They grew well, and fattened up to bloom. The stalks came up. The buds swelled. Then, finally, and with much anticipation, they bloomed! They were magnificent! They were glorious! They were spectacular! They were purple and yellow! WHAT?!?! Where was the pink? What happened? This is NOT FAIR! Wait a minute, . . . Could it be karma?

Thirty years later, we still grow these two bearded iris. They are known simply as ‘Karma Purple’ and ‘Karma Yellow’. We do not know their real names. A few years ago, they were joined by a nice tall ‘Karma White’, which was supposed to be a rusty red that I ‘borrowed’ from a neighbor. Neither Brent nor I have ever grown a pink iris.

Posted on by tonytomeo · 6 Comments

Goodbye To An Old Friend

image(16)

After decades of deteriorating structural integrity, Quercus lobata of Felton finally succumbed to a need to prioritize public safety, and passed away at home in Felton Fair on June 20, 2017. His age is unknown, but may have been about three centuries. He was born in Felton before Felton was, and lived his entire life here. In the idyllic alluvial meadow between Zayante Creek and the San Lorenzo River, he was a simple forest tree for most of his career, and only became a distinguished shade tree when Graham Hill Road was built. Instead of retiring later in life, he became the most prominent tree in the parking lot when Felton Fair was constructed. In his spare time, he enjoyed feeding neighborhood squirrels. A tree of few words, or really none at all, Quercus lobata never complained about anything, even when cars crashed into his bulky trunk, and stripped away large portions of bark where decayed cavities later developed. His remains will be scattered as mulch,and used to warm homes throughout the region. Ashes will be scattered as stoves and fireplaces are cleaned. Rings will be counted privately. Quercus lobata is survived by an unknown number of children, countless squirrels, and countless admirers of various specie throughout Felton.

The obituary above was serious business when it was written. What it does not mention is that the deceased did not fall down or die completely of natural causes. It was cut down after dropping a very large limb onto a roadway, demonstrating how dangerous it could be. It would have gotten more dangerous if it aged and deteriorated more. No one wanted it to be cut down. It was just too necessary.

This is the part of the job of arborists that non-arborists do not seem to understand. We arborists love our work, and we love trees. However, that does not mean that we object to the removal of each and every tree. The people who live with trees are more important. Any tree that blatantly endangers people or property must be removed or made safe.

Unfortunately, valley oaks deteriorate and fall apart for many decades before they finally die. This particular tree might have survived for quite a while if it had not been cut down. It also would have continued to drop limbs.

Distinguished old trees are always the most difficult to condemn. No one is old enough to remember when they were not here. They witnessed more changes to their little part of the world than anyone. Without going anywhere, some of them here in California visited three different countries; Spain, Mexico and the United States of America.

In the end though, death is perfectly natural. The tree had spent centuries doing what it was put here to do. It was time for it to go. Behind the stump in the picture, one of its babies is already becoming a nice young tree. Another one is just to the east, just beyond the left edge of the picture. They might shade the road and driveway for a few more centuries. What history will they see during that time?

 

Posted on by tonytomeo · 5 Comments

Roots

blog

In the lower right corner of this picture, next to the fenced garden gate, and just beyond the mown grass and what appears to be a walkway, there is a small clump of bearded iris foliage. No one knows where these iris came from, or for how long they had been there when this picture was taken in the summer of 1969. They were growing in the garden of my great grandmother, in Hoot Owl Creek, just south of Red Oak in Latimer County of Oklahoma. It is unlikely that my great grandmother purchased such non-utilitarian plant from a nursery. It was probably acquired from a friend or neighbor sometime during the half century that she tended the garden prior to 1969. It could have been around even earlier, since my great grandfather’s family first developed the farm as Oklahoma became a territory.

The flowers are an alluringly soft lavender blue, on elegantly tall and lean stems. They are relatively small for bearded iris, and lack any fancy frills or ruffles. In fact, they are quite neatly tailored, with a simple sweet and fruity fragrance that resembles that of grape pop. This iris is probably one of the prehistoric specie of iris that was used to breed modern cultivars. Some of these sorts of iris were known affectionately as ‘grape pop’ iris, but it is impossible to know if or how this particular iris is related.

Many years ago, probably in the early 1980s, my grandmother brought some of these iris back to her home garden in Santa Clara in California. They proliferated enough to share with friends and neighbors. A few went to my mother’s garden, where they also proliferated and were shared with friends and neighbors. Now, my mother’s great granddaughters play in a garden where these same iris will bloom next spring; only a few months from now, but at least six generations from that well outfitted homestead garden in Hoot Owl Creek.

Where will these iris go from here? It is impossible to say. Younger generations are not very interested in horticulture. However, I really doubt that my great grandmother could have imagined that they would have gotten this far. What is funny is that these iris are probably more interesting now to current generations than they were to my great grandmother when she planted them.

Posted on by tonytomeo · 8 Comments

Never Forget the Valley of Heart’s Delight

 

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.

Posted on by tonytomeo · 1 Comment

California Sycamore

70913No 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.

California sycamore is a surprisingly well behaved street tree, but only for a few decades or so. The roots are quite complaisant. The main problem is that the bulky trunk eventually gets wider than the parkstrip. Another problem is that such a big tree drops a huge volume of foliage in autumn, and then again in spring as anthracnose ruins much of the new foliage. The big palmate leaves are about eight inches wide, and covered with tomentum (fuzz) that is irritating to the skin.

Posted on by tonytomeo · 1 Comment

Street Wise About Street Trees

70913thumb

There is no such thing as a perfect tree. All trees have foliage that one way or another, eventually falls to the ground. All trees have roots that might try to displace something that gets in their way. Many trees are messy in bloom. Some make messy fruit. Except for palms, all trees have branches that can be broken by wind. Just about any tree can be blown over if the wind is strong enough.

This is why the selection of trees that are appropriate to each particular application is so important. Finding trees that provide enough shade, obscure an unwanted view, or perform any specific function is one thing. Finding trees that behave while performing their assigned tasks is something else. There are always compromises. A certain degree of bad behavior will likely be tolerated.

Street trees for a parkstrip between the curb and sidewalk can be the most challenging trees to select. There are so many variables to consider. Many neighborhoods have saved us the trouble of selection by prescribing a specific tree, or maybe limiting the choices to only a few species, whether or not they are actually appropriate. Otherwise, we are on our own, to select whatever we like.

Microtrees might seem like good choices. They do not get big enough to damage a sidewalk, or make much mess. These are trees like crape myrtle, purple leaf plum and photinia (in tree form). These trees can be proportionate to narrow streets, but really do not shade much more than a single parking space. Because they are so low, they need serious pruning for adequate clearance.

Mid-sized and bigger trees like Chinese pistache, honeylocust maidenhair tree and some of the modern hybrid elms certainly cause more problems, but might be worth the bother. They shade curbside parking and part of the front yard nicely. Like small trees, they need to be pruned for clearance, especially over the roadway, but they eventually grow up high enough to be out of the way.

It seems that trees that exhibit some of the better characteristics for street trees are deficient in other ways. Australian willow has very complaisant roots, and is very resilient, but also branches low, and is not much to look at. Fern pine and several oaks are excellent street trees for decades, but eventually get big. Root barriers will delay, but not prevent roots from damaging sidewalks.

Posted on by tonytomeo · 2 Comments

Crape Myrtle

70906There 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 is plenty for horticultural professionals to dislike about crape myrtle. It is remarkably complaisant, and proportionate to small urban gardens. Consequently, it very often gets planted even where other trees would be more practical or proportionate. It is the most common street tree because it so rarely damages curbs or sidewalks, but does not get big enough to shade the street.
The biggest varieties do not get much more than twenty feet tall, so work well in utility easements. Trees might be on a single straight trunk where space is limited, or to display the appealingly mottled bark, they might have multiple trunks. The billowy white, pink, red or mauve blooms are spectacular in late summer. The deciduous foliage can get quite yellow, orange or red in autumn. Hard pruning in winter improves late summer bloom and autumn color.

Posted on by tonytomeo

Timing Is Everything For Pruning

70906thumbThere 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.
Plants know what time it is. Almost all are slowing down significantly. Many natives do almost all of their growth in spring, and then spend the later half of summer just getting ready for autumn. By now, the buds of deciduous trees like sycamore, oak and willow are already getting plump, even though they will not do anything until the end of winter. Non native plants will not be too far behind.
Evergreen plants that get pruned or shorn a few times through summer might need to be pruned or shorn one last time. If not done now, it probably should not be done any later. They need a bit of time to recover and regenerate a little bit of new growth prior to autumn. Otherwise, the exposed inner growth will stay exposed, and get worn by the weather as summer progresses into autumn.
Some plants need a bit more time to for new growth to mature than others do. Privet hedges for example, are quite tough, and do not seem to mind getting shorn at any time. New growth of holly, pittosporum and photinia gets stunted and discolored if still trying to grow as the weather gets too cool for it to continue. With enough time, new growth starts, and then ‘hardens off’ before autumn.
Like pruning, fertilizer promotes new growth, so should likewise not be applied too late. One last application of fertilizer can improve the color of citrus foliage before winter. Greener lemon and lime foliage tends to be more resilient to frost. Iron is particularly helpful for foliage, and is less likely than complete fertilizers are to stimulate new growth that will be sensitive to frost later in winter.

Posted on by tonytomeo

Fernleaf Yarrow

70830‘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.
Most varieties of fernleaf yarrow also bloom with bright yellow or gold flowers. Some might bloom with pale yellow, rosy pink, pale pink, reddish, white or pink and white flowers. All are good cut flowers, and can be dried. Some varieties are more compact. The most compact varieties work nicely in planters of mixed perennials. Butterflies and hummingbirds find them wherever they are.
Pruning out deteriorating blooms may promote sporadic subsequent bloom until autumn. However, some plants may bloom all at once, and then not bloom again until the following summer. Large blooms on the most vigorous plants may need to be staked. New plants can be propagated by division from mature plants. ‘Moonshine’ and many other cultivars are sterile. Others might self sow.

Posted on by tonytomeo

Flowers Might Be Getting Scarce

70830thumbIt 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.
Native plants that are endemic to chaparral climates are quicker with bloom, so that they finish before the air gets too arid. Desert plants might bloom for less than a week. Some tropical plants might bloom whenever they want to because they do not understand the concept of seasons, but they are not the prominent plants in our gardens. Therefore, flowers get scarce this time of year.
Besides the few perennials and annuals that bloom as long as the weather stays warm, there are not many plants that bloom reliably so late in summer. Belladonna lily, which is also known as naked lady, might be one of the flashiest, as its bright pink flowers bloom on top of bare stalks before the low basal foliage develops. It was actually dormant through the warmest part of summer.
Billowy and bold pampas grass flowers bloom this time of year, but are uncommon. The boldest type of pampas grass is too big and difficult to manage for home gardens. The smaller type has dingy tan flowers, and is so invasive and weedy that it is unavailable in nurseries. Those of us who have it in our gardens did not plant it. Other grasses with nice late flowers are not very colorful.
Russian sage has become one of the more popular late blooming perennials. More traditional Japanese anemone, goldenrod, lion’s tail and showy stonecrop all seem to have lost popularity over the years. Mexican blue sage should bloom best late in summer, but often finishes sooner than expected. Yarrow often blooms later than expected, until summer ends. Marigold, blanket flower and some sunflowers bloom until frost. Chrysanthemums, whether grown as annuals or perennials, are just beginning late in summer.