True Dirt

wanted: Darryls

Anyone familiar with Newhart (the Bob Newhart show reincarnate of the mid-1980s)would know I mean plaid clad Vermont backwoodsmen. They would appear with Larry, their brother ("I'm Larry and this is my brother Darryl and my other brother Darryl")and (silently) rid me of my backyard varmints. I'm talking squirrels, oppossum and racoons.

My friends at high elevations in the Berkeley and Oakland hills have their deer problem and are endlessly discussing solutions like hanging bags of puma urine (who packages this stuff?) and perusing ever changing lists of "deer proof" plants (cactus is perhaps the only sure thing). There are also the moles and gophers which, thank the goddesses I don't have. My sister--a fanatic and highly energetic gardener--once poured gasoline down her gopher holes and then lit matches and dropped them in. Fortunately nothing ignited but she may have been in violation of the Environmental Protection Act.

Squirrels and raccoons, unlike the deer, moles and gophers, don't rate pages of garden catalog remedies. The squirrels have people buying them expensive corncobs and sunflower seed bags at the hardware store! And I don't think anyone realizes that the huge hole in their lawn that appeared overnight was dug by a giant racoon and five family members.

I went out this morning to inspect the wire cage I put up yesterday around the trunk of the Banksia rose--to protect the poor mangled clematis vine at its base that somebody keeps digging up. Well, there was just a hole where the clematis had been--inside the wire cage. So it wasn't the racoons.

The squirrels continue to gnaw the water barrel (or is it racoons clawing it?), strip bark from the Japanese maple, the lemon tree, and the old rhododendron. They break the branches of the elderberry to get at the fruit and dig up plants in all my pots to bury peanuts somebody is giving them. The raccoons--big hairy thugs with muddy paws--just squash everything in their path and leave mud prints everywhere (the hammock, the pumpkin, the Adirondack chair). And they chew on the water pump and the hose and any gardening tools left out. And the oppossum? One got it's head stuck in the plastic netting around my tomato patch. Mostly I just encounter them climbing past the kitchen window on their way up the oak tree, their shiny red eyes staring uncomprehendingly into the sudden glare of the yard light. Marsupials. Who knows what they want?

The Darryls would take care of all this nonsense. With a backwoods BBQ.

another lawn experiment

Berkeley Hort had a nice selection of creeping thymes when I was there yesterday (dropping wads of money) and I decided to engage in a small (very small) experiment to see if I could start a thyme lawn. There is just a small mottled patch of grass-like substance in the back garden--unlike the front which does it's three-foot high wild thing and seems appropriate for the native California plant border.

But in the garden I need a small open area with defined edges to make things look less chaotic. Much as I despise the typical American lawn with it's unvarying squareness and dullness I do think there is a place in most gardens for a relieving swath of plain green. But it does not have to be grass. The native California grasses, in fact, mostly grow in clumps or bunches and wouldn't be suitable. The ones that grow en masse are very tall.

Many years ago I set out to banish the turf lawn in the backyard. It was a rectangle that didn't add much charm to the already too-geometric dimensions of the garden. I spent one spring trying to dig it up intending to scatter sow "wildflower" seed. Ha! The ingenious evil of the turf manufacturer was a green plastic netting upon which the bluegrass had been grown. This was set down on barely graded adobe--on a slope too. When I attempted to hack up the grass with my shovel I hit the plastic netting. And when I tried to pull up clods of grass and netting I found it embedded in the sticky adobe. I succeeded only in removing some patches of the turf-and-net. Then I filled the ugly holes with new dirt which sort of floated on the wet, gummy adobe.

The "wildflower" lawn seed turned out to be mostly clover, a lot of English daisy and some white yarrow. The English daisy has become a nuisance and is a magnet for rust, the bane of my roses. The yarrow is rather nice but gets lanky in flower. The clover fails to compete successfully with the indominatable Bermuda grass and hardy dandelion. At least I destroyed the rectangle though mostly by throwing bags of redwood chips in a kidney shape in the middle of the lawn patch. Eventually I dug up some corners and rounded the edges off.

This time I have simply dug out a handful of clover and bermuda grass and installed the two clumps of thyme--T. praecox arcticus (white flower and dark green leaves) and T. pulegioides (pink flower and golden leaves. Easy, except there is the problem of the racoons who come almost every night now to dig substantial divots in the clover sward looking for tasty things. I have come to use those wire "hanging basket" cages for plant protection. They work nicely if secured with a couple of landscaping "pins" that work sort of like large hairpins. I also use patches of chicken wire cut into appropriate shapes and tucked around the plant base--and also secured with pins.

We shall see...

old t-shirt scarecrow

the Tree Reviewer

Kathy of Cold Climate Gardening expressed surprise that I would even get notice of my neighbor's intent to cut down his trees (see comments from yesterday's post). I guess I was a bit surprised myself to get the letter. I know that Oakland has tree ordinances because I've been on the wrong side of some of them. But Rich did a little research and found Oakland's "tree cutting" ordinance. Thank you Rich!

A tree removal permit, if one is required, shall be authorized by the Tree Reviewer

A permit is required to cut down a "protected tree" which is defined as: "On any property, Quercus agrifolia (California or Coast Live Oak) measuring four inches dbh or larger, and any other tree measuring nine inches dbh or larger except Eucalyptus and Pinus radiata (Monterey Pine)." (Too bad for the poor Monterey pines and Eucalypts.)

And the city is required to notify neighboring property owners that a permit to cut such trees has been applied for. I (or the presumed owner of my rented property) did get a letter but it just said the next door neighbor "...has applied for a Tree Removal Permit to remove the following tree(s): Six (6) Trees."

It also said I could appeal any decision about the permit after filing a $50 fee within 5 days of the date of the permit decision. And I had until June 29, 2005 to contact the city about "information regarding the issuance or denial of Tree Removal Permit.

Well, I did call. But the person on the other end of the line didn't know what trees were being cut down either. I didn't know until I saw the red signs. I did take photographs of the signs and mocked up a flyer to print and stuff in neighborhood mailboxes. More on that later. I think it's time for me to get to know my city Tree Reviewer.

Meanwhile, back in the garden... this morning I stuck some "mid-summer revival" plants in the dirt to liven up things in the heat wilted, dried up pots and borders. Only because I happened to be in the vicinity of "Berkeley Hort" on an unsuccessful errand and was lured into the Neiman Marcus of plant stores. Dropped a small fortune on bright things and herbs--nothing fancy. One interesting find: a Mexican marigold, not a cultivar, with a tangy citrus (described by many as tangerine) scent when the leaves are touched or brushed by. It stands about a foot and has grey green feathery foliage. Tagetes lemonii. "Mt. Lemon marigold is named after John G. Lemmon (1832-1908) who first collected this plant for cultivation in 1882 from the Huachuca Mountains in Cochise County, AZ." from the website of Prof. Chris A. Martin at the University of Southern Arizona.

And that makes my day. I once took a trip to the Huachuca Mtns. with a band of crazed birdwatchers. We went to find the Coppery Tailed Trogon. But that is another story.

the red signs

My neighbors on the northwest side live in a beautiful big house, built in 1918, that sits on a huge lot--actually three lots, a kind of land use miracle in this hodgepodge layered urban landscape. There are remnants of the house--and garden's--former grandeur half buried and crumbling but visible from the four-foot chain link fence that separates me from their backyard; a small cement pond, empty now and a repository for trash; a brick chimney and remnants of a patio that probably was an outdoor entertaining area; a crumbling stucco garage of a size to accomodate Model Ts not SUVs. And there are trees. Dozens of them. Some obviously planted intentionally such as the 100-foot Deodar cedars, a redwood, and many plum trees that are likely the offspring of the original ornamentals. There are also many unintentional trees, the black acacias which sprout like weeds in these parts, and a half dozen California live oaks that are most likely the ancestors of oaks that grew on this hillside long before the neighbor's house--or any house--was built here.

My neighbors are very hard working. They have a flooring business they run from the house. Two or three white vans parked in the front of the house get loaded with oak flooring from a shed in the back by the laborers hired to do the work who sometimes sleep in their own vans in front of our house to be ready to go early in the morning. They also have a large family, three generations worth as far as I can tell. I have only met the grandmother who used to take her infant grandchildren for brief walks past my front yard. I do not see her anymore. But the children have grown into kids and there are more infants and relatives about the place. There are big plans now to expand the homestead. The man at the City permit office said they are planning to build "two structures" on the lot.

Recently a letter arrived in my mailbox from the city informing me that the neighbors had applied for a permit to cut down six trees on their property. The trees were not identified. Last week I noticed red signs tacked to the big cedars in the neighbor's back yard, and on the acacia and a couple of Indian laurels. Later that day I walked past the neighbor's house and saw many more red signs--on the oak trees in the front of the house. I counted ten signs altogether. Almost every tree on the hillside estate has a red sign on it. "Marked for removal" they all said.

one morning in July

I walked out into the garden. The sky still foggy pale but the air warm. A pumpkin had appeared overnight - or did I just now notice it - among the giant squash leaves. And beans! all of a sudden it seems. And a lone red pepper. Butter yellow cone flowers waved in the slight breeze, stalks as high as an elephant's eye. Insect activity embroidered the air. A fat yellow-faced bee on an orange dahlia. Tiny fly-bees zoomed about. A pale green swallow-tail caterpiller perfectly matched the feathery fennel upon which it dined. Roses were making their encores - one at a time: Kathleen Harrop in fading pink satin; Rose de Roi in deep magenta; Indigo in bud; pale Pax and the butterscotch blooms of Buff Beauty arch above the Lemon Tree border where tiny blue asterisks have appeared--the early asters. The velvet red lips of lobelia cardinalis algow in the shade of the generous oak. And the multicolor mulleins, impervious to heat, clay soil, and bugs. The lavender is fading. And the harebells are spent. The Peruvian lilies have set seed and the hybrid yarrows have turned from glowing yellow to burnt brown. But the alabaster umbrels of the natives are gleaming in the sun.

All is well and perfect in the garden this early July morning. The flowers and trees neither notice nor care that just over the fence red paper notices are tacked to the trees. In the distance, down the hill and across Park Boulevard, brontasaurus-size machines groan and beep as they move small mountains of dirt. A jackhammer rumbles. It is a harbinger. The signs say the trees will be "removed". Hundred-foot tall cedars, broad-crowned live oaks, black acacias, an Indian laurel. Someday. When the permits are received and the contractors hired and this still July morning is a lost memory.

chainsaw gardening

When people drive by my house as I'm mowing my front "lawn" they are more likely to think I'm practicing my golf swing. I do not play golf. But cutting grass with a long-handled scythe comes pretty close to a golf swing exercise as far as I can tell. Of course there's the "back swing" attack that is more like hitting a low flying tennis ball. I took up the scythe after my lawn broke the mechanical mower. Broke the axle right in half on a giant tuft. Tried the weed whacker too. Which requires cadging together two extension cords and running them out the front door. As well as protective gear: long sleeves, socks, sturdy shoes, and long pants--to prevent being accidentally whipped by the string or flying debris--as well as goggles and a handkerchief tied over the nose and mouth.

My neighbors probably think I'm missing a few screws. They haul out their array of gasoline-fired lawn mowers, weed whackers, dust blowers, and chainsaws for a Saturday gardening session. When finished, their lawns are like wall-to-wall carpeting, their edges are square, and anything sticking up more than a foot high is duly shaved, or rounded, or cubed.

I went to a doctor appointment yesterday and noticed the handiwork of what must be their new gardener. For months now I've been admiring the graceful growth of a small abutilon in the courtyard of the doctors' offices. It is the one that sends each delicate branch arching downward in a perfect cascade of pale pink globes. But the cascade was no more. The gardener had "pruned" it to a few blunt stems all sticking straight up. It looked as if a small chainsaw had delivered a couple of quick karate chops and moved on.