Category: Nature

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.

Perspective

A carrier pigeon arrived in the garden in late February. It spent the better part of the day just watching. It was not carrying a written message on its banded leg, but perhaps it foretold what was about to unfold.

The ducks and geese mock us now. Public use areas have been closed due to COVID during the remainder of hunting season. The birds have found plenty of places to feast and fly – unmolested. We envy their togetherness.

The rescue is very quiet.

We have limited our on-site volunteers to two per shift. It ensures that there are teams available to feed, clean, exercise and care for the dogs while protecting ourselves and each other.

I have found a quiet corner in the garden away from working team members to keep the weeds from overrunning the place.

And to get out where it is safe. I usually crave my solitude in the garden.

Strange that I should miss the commotion.

The little boy I wrote about last week – Orbit – has gone to foster.

Remington, too.

They can finish healing there while reducing our volunteers’ chores. Our fosters have stepped up in a big way for which we are grateful.

Solitude is hard for some. If we can find a silver lining in this disaster, it is the forced time to stop our hectic lives long enough to appreciate each other, goodness, and the things that should unite not divide.

“It is only when we silent the blaring sounds of our daily existence that we can finally hear the whispers of truth that life reveals to us, as it stands knocking on the doorsteps of our hearts.” ~K.T. Jong

A friend posted to social media. She was feeling frustrated and penned up. To busy herself, she cleaned her bookshelf where she found a copy of The Diary of Anne Frank. Perspective.

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.

Choose Your Garden

You can create whatever man-made environment you want – just as you can build false societies.

But these artificial landscapes require strict restraints, constant oversight, and continuous, often heavy-handed, feeding to maintain control. Without it, they eventually return to their natural state – often in bullying or survival-of-the-fittest ways.

Natural gardens spring from what was always intended to be there.

True to their nature, they find paths of peaceful coexistence and mutual cooperation.


And they thrive.

Their success supports future generations of flora as well as fauna – the critters that depend on their good stewardship for food and shelter.



The natural garden is built on true foundations of sun, water, and earth.

A healthy society is built on foundations of mutual respect, tolerance and peaceful coexistence.
The choice is ours.
What kind of garden do you want to live in?

Vote.

Fall Garden Project Number One

No, really, there are no remains in the Memorial Garden…although you might suspect otherwise if you saw this.

While we were away, fall signaled its arrival.


Just hints so far, but the creatures know.


And with cooler days come a mountain of projects. First on the list: a complete demolition and re-do of the raised bed area of the garden.

Once, these housed a mountain of overgrown and deadly blackberry brambles. They spread their spikes throughout the garden, so they were banished to the perimeter a few years ago where they (and the bunnies) thrive safely out of the dogs’ paths.

Blueberries, California Poppies and a bed of Rosemary took their place, but the spot was too dry and hot for the blueberries, the boards were rotting, and the Bermuda grass was winning the war on all fronts. I have learned to let nature have her way…to a point which does not include Bermuda grass!. So, the raised beds have been razed and the blueberries donated – and in their place will be gentle mounds hosting native and drought-tolerant selections more appropriate to the site while echoing other sections of the garden.

The first order of business, however, are trenches.

When it rains, everything on the property flows from the dog yards and kennel to the garden. It helps to keep the dogs drier (our first priority) but creates lakes in the garden. We lost one tree this year to the swamp that collects in the center; we want to prevent that going forward. So, in the design are trenches and mounds – to act as catch basins for some of the deluge while keeping drought-tolerant plants high and dry.

Maria helped me with phase one: the blueberry and box frame removal while unearthing and capping the existing irrigation.

Nash came to the rescue to cut down and remove the heavy redwood boards.

And while the dogs did not quite grasp the principle of sled dogs to help in moving wheelbarrows of gravel,

Kermit the cat was happy to provide supervision and amusement.


A few plants will go in this fall to get established, but mostly, we’ll fill the bed with fresh compost and leaf mulch and let it “cook” over the winter to be ready for spring planting. I have learned the hard way: preparation and patience pays rewards in the end.




What’s on your fall garden list?

Yellowstone

The Native Americans called it “Burning Mountains.”

They thought an evil spirit lived among the meadows, rivers, forests, and towering mountains. If you witnessed the geysers or stepped into one of the scalding pools – you might think so too.

But good spirits live here. Animal spirits. Nature spirits.

I have just returned from my first (long overdue) trip to Yellowstone National Park. It is magnificent.

I traveled with my friend and fellow gardener, Maria, and her son. There were bets against our compatibility as journeying companions as we fuss and bother like two sisters when we are in the garden. But when it comes to travel, we are surprisingly compatible. Up at dawn to catch the sunrise and the wolves.

Chasing all day after animal sightings, we put 800 miles on the car – mostly in the park.

Fourteen-hour days flew by soaking up the park’s beauty –

From its barren, fossilized landscapes,

To its turquoise pools,

Snow-covered mountains,

Meandering rivers,

And expansive valleys filled with roaming bison, long-horn sheep, pronghorn, elk, coyotes, bears – and if you are very lucky, wolves.



Yellowstone is home to 67 different mammal species –



and a few birds as well.


As a photographer – I am deeply humbled. I lack the equipment or the instincts of my traveling companions for spotting and anticipating the animals’ moves.

But you don’t need to see the whites of their eyes to appreciate their place in the landscape.

Or the poetry of tenderness in such a rugged and wild place.




They loom so large in front of us –

but we are all just specks in nature’s place.

You can understand how people who live in this wide-open country have little understanding or appreciation for “city folk.” It is a harsh, unforgiving existence – but filled with an indescribable and addictive beauty.

It is hard to leave.

And I will return.

“Take nothing but pictures.
Leave nothing but footprints.
Kill nothing but time.”