Tough and dependable might seem unusual adjectives to use when describing a fern, but this guy's adaptability is almost legendary. Because it can take such a large amount of abuse, it is often subjected to same, looking worse for wear by hanging on none-the-less. Given half a chance, Nephrolepis cordifolia, Southern Sword Fern, will reward you with its handsome foliage and ask for little in return. The upright nature of the fronds also makes a nice compliment with modern architecture (here it is against the wall of the new De Young Museum in San Francisco. An occasional topdressing of compost will keep a patch of these ferny fronds going strong year after year.
I read with great interest this discussion by Don Roberson (titled the same as this post). It was interesting to learn that California Fish & Game were the agents who (re-?)introduced this bird into California (I cannot recall ever seeing one in any of the places we traveled throughout this state during my childhood (to many decades ago to mention). It seems like they've suddenly become very common in the SF Bay Area in the past 5-10 years. One does not hear about an adverse effect their presence has (contrary to the introduction of European wild boar!!). In the photo above, my wife and I saw a group of turkeys sneaking through the shade of this Graton apple orchard in Sonoma County. They certainly seem to be very much at home, and easily find whatever food they need to thrive. I suppose that we may discover more on this topic in the years to come. Meanwhile, would any of our Southern European friends like an American turkey to add to their local fauna?
The unusual shape and texture of this interesting tree never fails to get attention. The open airy crown is supported by a bright green trunk, branches, and twigs. The laves are very long and feathery, giving the whole a distinct 'weeping' character. the tiny little pinnate leaflets fall soon after the leaves are formed, leaving the strong green midrib to carry on with photosynthesis. In extreme dryness, these eventually also fall, leaving that work to the trunk and branches. The bright yellow, red-orange spotted flowers are delightfully half-hidden among the filmy green foliage. Truly a tree of character, native to the US Southwest and Mexico, yet still very adaptable to our mediterranean climate.
There is something somewhat comforting about the regular appearance of Zauschnerias each autumn. This native comes in virtually a single flower color (strident red-orange), though there are a few white forms and a single shell-pink cultivar. Individuals species and clones range widely in form, from small to tall, spilling to upright, tiny leafed to large leafed. But it is very welcoming to see these flowers at this time of year, when most else is still resting in summer dormancy. They announce that the rainy season will soon begin and the consistently warm summer temperatures will start to give way to cooler days. I always like seeing them when they appear.
Oh, and they are a favorite of Hummingbirds as well!
These giant Asters we once grew in our garden in Oakland. I was given them by a gardening friend who knew nothing about them (even that they were Asters!). They grew easily for us - in fact they continued to grow all year long, getting higher and higher, much higher than they did for my friend. Finally, they burst into hundreds (thousands?) of flowers all over their top half. These flowers stopped traffic - literally. We then lived next to an traffic intersection. The huge mass of these lavender flowers caused people to slow down and even come to a full stop while driving by. This was especially true at dusk, when the bluishness of the flowers would start to glow with the half-light of the evening. After about a month of this, the flowers were all gone, the tall, stiff stems had to be cut down and tiny little basal shoots would start the whole annual cycle all over again. Eventually, it was all too much to deal with and to devote such a large area of the garden to (these Asters spread at their roots significantly each year!). They had to go, but I still miss them.
We used to live down the street from a very nice local plant nursery. While we all frequented this establishment, purchasing various supplies and new additions to our gardens, it was also a favorite neighborhood pastime to go 'dumpster diving' to see what they might have tossed out that we might nurse back to health! One day a neighbor discovered this specimen of Ponytail Palm. She new i would find it interesting so she presented it to me one day on the street. Clearly it had lost its terminal shoot through some sort of mishap, hence it being discarded. I ended up planting it in a public garden where I was a volunteer, along side another, larger, more symmetrical specimen. It was already forming multiple new crowns and made an interesting 'bushy' accent to it larger brother. Years later, it is starting to catch up in height and is also the first specimen to start flowering!! It was a real treat to see the flowers so close at hand (these plants get very tall and the flowers are always at the top), just head-high. The day I saw it many people also stopped to get a closer look. Beaucarnea recurvata, native to Mexico (Tamaulipas, Veracruz, San Luis PotosÃ), is a member of the Agavaceae, related to Yuccas and Century Plants. A well established specimen is very drought tolerant requires little care. Their bases become very broad and swollen, giving rise to the name Bottle Palm. There are some amazing specimens in the Huntington Garden in San Marino next to Pasadena, CA. Too seldom planted in the SF Bay Area, where this one is growing. My Spanish is not good enough to understand this Mexican video, but I found the hostess so charming and sweet, I wanted to include it here!
The Warning of the Urginea [Drimia] maritima, by Tammara Hayimi Slilat Like a pale ghostly finger, a warning from down under, the first blooming wand is sent to sweep the cobwebs of complacency from our sun blinded eyes. And so, in the middle of summer's pleasure cruise, while the sweet juice of a watermelon is trickling down our chin, on our skin that has grown used to feeling free air, the flower is drawn, pointed at our hearts and we remember that indeed it has come out here last year as well. But in spite of our excellent memory it always catches us off guard.
I was prompted to post this bit in response to the emerging shoots of my own Drimia maritimas, signaling the beginning of fall with their leafless shoots. The rosette of leaves died down months ago at the end of spring and the bulbs have lay dormant in their pot till now.
Years ago, during my tenure as a Head of the local Branch of The Mediterranean Garden Society, we received word from a fellow in San Jose, CA that he "had a lot of 'giant Mediterranean onions' he'd like to get rid of and would we please come get them?" From my home in Oakland, I contacted some of our members in the South Bay and we put out the word that these 'onions' were available for the taking. I asked someone in my area who was planning to go down and check this out to bring me bad one or two of these strange things.
Turns out the 'onions' were in fact Drimia [formerly Urginea] maritima, the Mediterranean Sea Squill. The bulbs were indeed quite huge! I can't imagine that he was eating these as this plant is a well known source (in the Mediterranean) of rat poison. We never did find out where he got these bulbs, but apparently they kept multiplying in the narrow space in which he'd planted them and he'd had enough of digging out the surplus.
How these bulbs divide is actually somewhat unusual - rather than producing basal offsets, these true bulbs split dichotomously (dividing or branching into two equal pieces). Each new bulb produced this way will flower in the next year or two, so a nicely blooming clump is had somewhat quickly.
The few bulbs I ended up with from the transaction mentioned above have multiplied enough to be able to give a few away and still have a number to plant in a large pot. These previously grew on the grounds around a local school, much to the delight of the children and their curious parents. When they suddenly needed to be dug (because of some maintenance about to take place over summer session) I was delayed in replanting them. In spite of bring out of the ground, they decided to flower anyway, inspiring an impromptu photo opportunity with my family. Like some other fall blooming bulbs, such as Amaryllis belladonna, this tendency to flower while out of the ground is not unusual - just be sure the bulb is planted before the leaves appear later.
Here in California, a grower in the San Diego area now markets these bulbs for sale, so they are becoming far more common. Appropriately, they make a point of mentioning that these plants can grow without supplemental irrigation and are not bothered by deer or gophers.
Apparently the relatively slow manner in which these bulbs multiply (mentioned above) was a frustration for this commercial enterprise. But they discovered that cutting into the 'pad' at the bulb's base and planting said bulb up-side-down, caused it to produce a large number of tiny bulbils which could then be separated for propagation - interesting.
A fall flowering plant is always of interest to me - after a mediterranean climate's long, dry summer dormancy, it is exciting to have cooler, wetter weather announced in such an pleasant way.
