Category: Nature Photography

The Earth has Music

“The earth has its music for those who will listen.” ~ Reginald Holmes, The Magic of Sound.

You would be forgiven for not seeing them right away…so small among the tall summer flowers.

The mean Grackles left as quickly as they appeared…their little fledglings grown. Good riddance! And in their wake, the hummers are back.

Just in time to drink up the best of what the garden has to offer.

It seems that the staples of Penstemon and Salvia are nothing compared to the feast of Agastache and Bee Balm perfectly situated under a favorite tree for cover and rest between acrobats and nectar sips.

Drink up sweet summer, friends!

The garden has missed you.

Mama Always Said

Mama always said you cannot pair orange and pink. She was wrong.

The apricot and pink tulips in the Memorial Garden are a stunning combination.

The birds know…

spring has arrived. Our rose arbor is beautifully rebuilt, and the fruit trees are beginning to blossom.

What I wish Mama had told me was that the alpacas and goats – sent to new homes this winter after Jody’s passing – were the safety plan for the hibernating tortoises.

These beautiful, fifty-year-old creatures had been in Jody’s care for the past several years. When she could not care for them last summer, I looked after them with near daily runs of fresh fruit, greens, corn, and dunks in their pond.

One of their favorites: rose petals. There were four bushes in their enclosure – one for each tortoise. And I made sure that the petals were on weekend breakfast meals.

When they came to wake the tortoises and move them to a new home, they found them dead. I won’t go into it; the tale is too sad. Suffice to say that the hooves of the alpacas and goats protected against marauders. It was a heartbreaking discovery.

This weekend, I moved their roses to the Memorial Garden. I brought with them the four pieces of tortoise art including one heavy stone statue that had long ago lost its head. It was presumed lost but when I picked up the tortoise planter I found it had been stuffed deep inside there long ago. A little gorilla glue should take care of that. If only there were a fix for the dearly departed.

They will be remembered here.

On a happier note: an update on Jody’s garden. A team did come together and in two weeks, amazing progress has been made. The weeds have been beaten back, the raised beds cleared, and the orchard restored. With the jungle cleared, I was able to trace the irrigation system and reset the timers. There is more to do, but we are on the way.

It will be up to the team to determine what to plant: a vegetable gardener – I am not. We will look to donate the surplus to a local food pantry. A small offering of goodwill to the community that has been so supportive of us.

We’ll need that continued support as we are presently swimming in dogs! The expected impact from the pandemic has arrived and their faces are not just Golden, but red, white, brown, black and spotted. Hopefully, we will not see a return to the last recession years when we were taking in 800 dogs a year. But our welcome mat is out and we have LOTS of waiting families.

To Dream A Garden

“I knew it would be bigger…but…”

We had an honored guest in the garden this weekend.

Laure is a master gardener and the original architect of the Homeward Bound Memorial Garden going back more than ten years.

Her design drawings are still housed in our shed, although the garden has morphed quite a bit over time.

The plan called for themed beds. Some, like the White Garden and Rose Garden bed are still as intended. We found that others like the Iris Bed were magnificent in spring but did not offer enough interest later in the season. Things got moved around, repeating patterns of color and shape throughout. It makes for a cohesive approach that moves in waves from one season to the next.

The original plan was much more tidy than the garden today. But crowded beds offer more cooling root protection in our hot summer (and fall!) months and help to keep the weeds at bay.

What Laure was marveling about most was the size of the trees. Back then, the garden was bathed in full, unrelenting sun all day long. Now, the trees have matured and we find we need to move plants into pockets of sunlight outside their shade.

She arrived just in time to see the asters in full fall bloom. And she marveled that a seed of an idea for what she called a “collar tree” became the metal weeping cherry tree whose branches are adorned with the tags of dogs who have come through our doors. To dream a garden and see how that it has flourished…

We learned the garden will be acquiring a new feature. A small chapel is planned as Jody wished to house the ashes of the Homeward Bound dogs who came to live with us in Sanctuary or who were helped to the bridge to end their suffering. Jody kept their ashes in her home all these years with dreams of a final resting place for them.

Life and family commitments pulled Laure away. But she laid the foundation of what this garden has become. We hope that she will return with the time is right. In the meantime, she has plans and plants to share that will assist our Monarch friends. A beautiful addition to our beautiful garden.

The Gardener’s Shadow

We are sizzling this week. I have been giving the garden an extra evening drink when possible, and I am lucky to have a garden buddy to watch over things when I cannot be there.

Rob is our primary dog photographer at the rescue, the author of Rob & Dog, and a recognized dog whisperer.

He reintroduced me to photography years ago when I began working in the garden. I studied photography in art school but adopted the snobby bias of my painting professors that photography was somehow beneath the “fine arts.” Age begets wisdom. I have come to my senses.

Rob is a constant presence at the rescue working with the dogs, guiding some of our special needs pups, and always willing to watch over some of the special needs plants.

This week, he oversaw the newly (and too-lately) planted Agastache and Rudbeckia. I don’t typically plant in the heat, but the spring shipment was delayed in our crazy Coronavirus world. The starts are still alive and thriving despite the heat. I had no doubt.

He also shares in watching over the feral garden cat, Freida (Frieda, Frida…we never actually settled on the correct spelling of her name).

For years, we have put food and water out for her. We provide shelter from the heat, cold and rain in the shed and in her igloo close by. Over time, she has gradually let us come ever closer. These days, she will sit out openly and watch us from a few feet away and waits on the porch for her meals.

We have an unspoken competition: who will be the first to pet her?

I envy Rob’s talent with dogs, am thankful for introducing me to the lens again, and am grateful to have someone to watch over the garden and all its creatures when I cannot be there.

“The best fertilizer is the gardener’s shadow.” ~ Author Unknown

Nature Will Improvise

We need new descriptors for gardening in our valley now. Thanks to climate change, “full sun” should be relabeled “scorch-resistant.” Beyond “drought tolerant” should be a new category: “desert-like.”

Everything I thought I knew about the garden has changed.

“Despite the gardener’s best intentions, Nature will improvise.” ~Michael P. Garofalo

Nature will improvise. But our gardens, as we have known them may be forever altered. Plants that once sought daylong sun now shrink from the blazing afternoon heat and require shade relief.

In years past, we had to provide protection for a couple weeks of 105 to 110-degree weather each summer. Now, most days from June through September brush or crest the century mark requiring a very different strategy for a garden that is not visited by its keepers daily and can only be partially served by a drip system.

Mulch is a necessity, but not near plant bases to ensure the water reaches roots. Planting in mounds surrounded by moats allows water to collect and pool while still providing good drainage. Systematically amending the clay soil with compost and leaf mulch helps it retain precious moisture, deliver nutrients the plants need, and supports an ecosystem of beneficial microorganisms.

Extra steps are required to support those who visit as well. Shallow trays of water are placed throughout the garden for thirsty birds, bees, and butterflies.

Tall, airy plants help to shade more tender varieties while still letting light in.

They also provide shelter for birds and butterflies from the baking sun.

With the cooler temperatures and a fall bloom, our hummingbirds and butterflies have returned to feast on salvias, penstemon, asters, zinnias, California fuchsia, and verbena.

I will have to get used to seeing these friends early and late in the season but not in the heat of summer.

“We are the first generation to feel the sting of climate change, and we are the last generation that can do something about it.” ~ Jay Inslee

Live in Each Season

“Live in each season as it passes.” ~ Henry David Thoreau

Having lived through the wet of winter, the erratic fits of spring, and the scorching heat of summer, it is time to rejoice in the mosaic of fall.

I love the chaos of the fall garden.

All the little starts and shoots have grown tall and wild.

Their well-defined contours are now a tangle of color and cascading form.

They lay all over each other like summer camp friends clinging on – knowing a goodbye is ahead.

Like the joy in seeing my little foster charges grow up and go home, the fall garden is the culmination of winter dreams, spring plantings and summer labors.

And then it starts again.
I walked through this weekend and made notes about what worked and what failed…
which to divide and which to let stand and go to seed.

Maria brought gifts from the plant sale that found new homes adding to next year’s bounty.

And planning is underway for a wedding in the garden next September.

Fall is full of chores – all in good time. First – a breath and a moment to sit, soak it up, and take it all in. Living in the season.

Absence

Often, the absence of something is felt as tangibly as its presence.

Anyone who has ever lost a loved one—two-legged or four—knows this. The silence when returning home or the space in a room previously occupied by their being feels loud and hollow. The empty void as weighty as their once physical presence—leaving regret for ever having taken our time with them for granted.

This spring, the garden was filled with swallowtails, painted ladies and cabbage butterflies.

Now, there are none.

Two weeks ago, the hummingbirds were so busy drinking from the Agastache that this one ultimately decided to pull up a seat at the bar and rest while feeding despite the annoyance of my camera.

Since then, there have been none.

The garden is full of flowers that attract birds, bees, and butterflies.

The bees are plentiful and enjoying their solitary feast,

but the hummingbirds and butterflies are noticeably absent.

It was an unusually long, wet and cool spring but in the late two weeks, it has been unusually hot—record-setting hot. Hummingbirds must feed all day to sustain themselves, but they avoid the heat and seek shaded shelter.

If the nights are too warm, they cannot recharge. The result can cause malnutrition and exhaustion.

I prefer to hope that they have found another, more abundant source of nectar and tiny insects to feed their growing young somewhere—but the suddenness of their disappearance is disturbing.

Butterflies depend on a succession of blooms from spring to summer.

When they come too early, their life cycle is disturbed—potentially irreparably.

Have we altered our planet so significantly that even the havens we have created are inhospitable?

“You think you can fix everything, change everything. But there will come a day when things cannot be fixed. And, you know what, it will be a day just like today”. ~ American Indian elder, quoted by Kent Nerburn.

The garden is still beautiful, but it is not the same without the flying friends who usually accompany it.

It is quiet. Ultimately, the garden depends on the pollination these winged wonders provide to ensure its longevity. And not just the garden – our food supply. Without the bees and birds and butterflies, nature is in jeopardy.

What legacy do we leave in our wake?

“We do not inherit the earth from our ancestors; we borrow it from our children.” ~American Indian proverb

Dear hummers and butterflies,

the flowers anxiously await your return…

as do I.

Nature’s Call: Effie Yeaw

In pursuit of new adventures, you sometimes lose sight of the jewels in your own backyard.

Effie Yeaw Nature Center sits inside Ancil Hoffman Park in Carmichael, CA – a treasure embedded among 100 acres of oak woodland along the American River.

It was named for Effie Yeaw, a teacher, conservationist and environmental educator who led natural and cultural history walks in the area once known as Deterding Woods. The Deterding family has a long history in the area dating back to the 1800s. Their ranch in Carmichael called San Juan Meadows became Ancil Hoffman Park. Effie Yeaw worked with citizen groups to ensure that this magical place would be forever protected from urban encroachment as the surrounding area was built up.

Today, the American River Natural History Association and Effie Yeaw Nature Center work collaboratively to provide educational and interpretive programs and information about the natural environment. Children and adults come to tour, learn, and explore. But Mondays, only the trails are open, and in January, the skies are grey and threaten rain which makes it the perfect time to visit.

Hawks, owls, pond turtles and even rattlesnakes call this home along with a deer, rabbits, hare, squirrels and rare sightings of coyote (not seen by us!).

Egrets, quail, and a host of birds feed at the river, on the ample berry brambles and on bugs hidden in giant oaks. And wild turkeys…everywhere!

Getting a late start, we saw fewer birds than expected. A California Towhee,

an Egret happily fishing for lunch,

and acorn woodpeckers enjoying their snacks. How do they hang on at that angle?

But SO many deer!

Resting,

feasting on the tender early spring grasses,

and roughhousing.

Rut season is in the fall, so this was more about a whos-who in rank.

Surprisingly, the middleweight conceded to the featherweight.

But before savoring the victory…

consider that it might just have been a case of nature’s call.

The American River Parkway has so much beauty to offer.

Effie Yeaw is one of its most precious gems.

Unity

When a group of gardeners first answered the call to help create the Homeward Bound Memorial Garden, the design included a dozen or so beds, each devoted to a specific species or type of plant.

There were planned beds for iris, viburnum, daylilies, white roses, ornamental grasses, succulents, perennials, and even a one devoted to container plants. It was a design born of the individual interests of the volunteer gardens who would be dedicating their time but lacked something essential: unity.

The garden got underway based on this design, but as some of the original volunteers fell away, those of us who remained started shaping a different vision.

Through trial and error, we learned what worked best in the clay soil and the Valley’s extremes of heat and cold without a great deal of babysitting as the garden does not have daily keepers.

Native plants began to play a larger role along with drought-tolerant plants suited for our Mediterranean-like climate.

Gradually, divides of successful combinations were repeated throughout the garden giving the disjointed patchwork needed cohesiveness.

The repetition brought order to the chaos of the unconnected beds. Patterns of color, shapes and sizes bridged divides and created balance without the need for unnatural barriers or symmetry.

Now, species are echoed throughout with an overarching theme of greys, silvers, blues, purples, mauves, and white that perfectly support dashes of vibrant seasonal color.

There is also a better sense of scale with plants relating to others around them and the trees and statues that form the garden’s bones.

Foundational plants provide year-round color and texture: artemisia, lamb’s ear, ceanothus, barberry, agastache, lavatera, iris, lavender, Santa Barbara daisy, sage, yarrow, fescue, penstemon, rosemary, and grasses.

Spring bulbs, summer splashes of dahlias, California fuschia, coreopsis, annual and woolly sunflower, and glorious fall displays of aster and Mexican marigold ensure that the garden is interesting all year long.

The result of is a greater sense of harmony: every color in the rainbow is represented at some point in the season, yet the beds flow and fit together, and the whole is strengthened.

What a world this would be if we applied the same principles outside the garden.