up the ladder to reach the rainy day perch — these photos were brightened considerably!
Los Angeles is having its rainiest December ever, which has everyone on edge because wildfire-scarred land doesn’t absorb rain well and tends toward runoff. A good portion of this rainy munificence fell inconveniently on heavy travel days over the 24th, 25th, and today the 26th. Here at home in urban Long Beach the street drains are keeping the water moving so there’s no real cause for alarm.
I grabbed my usual celebratory rainy day seat this morning atop the laundry shed under the pergola, high and dry. (The pergola is an interconnected series of three roofs of varying sizes built against the south-facing back of the house, designed more for sun relief than the infrequent rain.)
Both of us taking dry shelter under the pergola
I met this little guy taking refuge under the pergola too.
long tapered blooms of Aloe ‘Tangerine’ (looking west)
looking north at the house
stubbier flowers of Aloe ‘Moonglow’
With the aloe flowers opening, the hummingbirds are queuing up for prime positions, and December rain is not going to stand in their way.
this might be Aloe maculata ‘Yellow Form’
nothing better for the garden than having rain “in the bank”
Billie in a sun patch before the rain
We traveled briefly for a long weekend and left Billie with a neighbor — I think she missed her garden more than us! Take care, more soon. AGO
December temps have been in the 80’sF, astonishing even to this lifelong Angeleno. Fairly quickly I’ve re-adapted to the prevailing attitude that keeping track of the weather is mostly irrelevant here. I left checking hourly weather forecasts behind in Oregon with my mud boots. The outdoor temp gauge here gives enough rough data as in, wow, is it really over 80F today? I have to admit my old bones appreciate the warmth, and my busy nervous system thrives on busy mornings in the garden. The more tedious the task, the better for slowing time. Just cleaning up the bromeliads has taken countless focused, very zen hours.
clean!
Cleaning up the Yucca rostrata, its very first thorough grooming, reduced the fractious world to absorbing fractals for a few blessed hours.. There was a 3-4 inch collar of acacia debris clogging the trunk in a circular vise that kept the trunk moist, which can’t be good, and the cascading skirt of dried lower leaves acted as a dam preventing debris from escaping. (Yes, there’s now a 2-foot, very slow-growing trunk!). Hemostats, hori-hori knife, scissors, battery-operated hedge trimmers and sharp blasts from the hose — every tool on hand was brought to the task. Mostly I used my hands, which two days later are slightly less sore. Please don’t tell me that all that debris is actually essential to the yucca’s health. At this point, I’d rather not know.
The old skirt of dried leaves precleaning can still be seen in the above photo
yucca precleaning. Foreground Agave ellemetiana was buried under growth and debris. Pups of Agave attenuata ‘Raea’s Gold’ (or ‘Kara’s Stripes’?) and Aechmea recurvata are filling gaps created by shade and debris of the manihot tree, now cut down at the base, all seedlings banished on sight. Dark red crinum in far corner.
the trunk is not ready for its closeup yet, with some patches of shaggy bits left to deal with
a little more cleanup needed but hubba-hubba look at that trunk!
It was clearing and unearthing the rock path that provided the needed access to tackle cleaning the yucca. I’m experimenting with using decomposed granite as a mulch to keep down weeds along the rocks, approx 3 inches deep. There’s already a lot of gravel here, and there is a bed of sand too from a former dry-laid brick patio, so it’s almost like a base for the d.g. was prepped beforehand. So far the carpets of couch grass seedlings that return everywhere else have not made a reappearance.
Soft and grassy Hechtia tillandsioides on the left, my kind of weed suppression
The d.g. was mainly kept to the rocked area. Weed trap Agave ‘Mateo’ got some of it, and I may add more d.g. around the more permanent plantings if this gambit works. The spreading clump of Hechtia tillandsioides suppresses the weeds beautifully, and I want more but haven’t figured out its propagation preferences yet. I may have to disturb that flourishing clump for divisions.
seasonal gifts of flowers forming on Aloe ‘Tangerine’ on the left, ‘Moonglow’ on the right
Agave ‘Ripple Effect,’ variegated sport of ‘Mr. Ripple,’ was bought in Oregon, brought down to the LA garden. (Note the sprinkling of small grass blades of couch grass hoed out, a near-daily chore. I did this all last winter too and still had fields of couch grass infesting the garden upon returning this fall. I know I’m obsessing over this, but I’ve never had this weed issue before.)
Familiarizing myself with local plant offerings continues. At an Orange County destination nursery once famous for an adventurous plant selection, now more famous for its restaurant and holiday decor collection, I unexpectedly found an aloe with an intriguing name ‘Tingtinkie.’ Hmmm, sounds South African, possibly from one of the great aloe growers like Sunbird Aloes. Reflexively, as I’ve done countless times while plant shopping, I tapped into the phone and was taken, of course, to the San Marcos Growers encyclopedic website, where I found this comprehensive physical description as well as how SMG came to know and grow this little aloe. You know, just another typically erudite SMG entry. Where did Randy Baldwin find the time?! In fact, every plant I’ve mentioned in this post, including Hechtia tillandsioides, the crinum, Kalanchoe ‘John Bleck, and Agave attenuata ‘Kara’s Stripes,’ can be found in SMG’s online database.
Aloe ‘Tingtinkie’
“Aloe ‘Tingtinkie’ A small hybrid aloe that forms a mound of 12 inch wide rosettes bearing 7 inch long slender green slightly recurved leaves with evenly space teeth along their margins. Through much of the year appear the upright inflorescences to 18 inches tall, that are quite sturdy given the relatively diminutive habit of the plant, and bear a large terminal cluster of flowers that are a dark coral pink in bud and open to a cream color tipped with green. The buds are at first erect then horizontal with the flowers opening from the bottom up holding themselves downward – very showy! Plant in full sun to light shade in a well-drained soil and irrigate occasionally to infrequently. This plant forms a cheery cluster of foliage and seems to be in bloom much of the year. We first saw this plant growing at Ganna Walska Lotusland in 2006 simply tagged “Aloe sp. 2006-024”. Lotusland’s accession records indicated that the plant came to them from Abbey Gardens Nursery as a Cynthia Giddy hybrid aloe (AbG 75-220) – Cynthia Giddy was a well-known South African conservationist, horticulturist who maintained Umlaas Nursery in Natal, South Africa. We also grow the very popular aloes, Aloe ‘Cynthia Giddy’ and Aloe ‘Rooikappie’ that came from this nursery. In 2015 The Huntington Botanic Garden released this plant through their International Succulent Introduction (ISI) program as Aloe ‘Tingtinkie’ (ISI 2015-18) (HBG 32505), confirming it was a Cynthia Giddy hybrid that came from her Umlaas Aloe Nursery in 1973, with speculation that it likely involved Aloe bakeri crossed with some other larger flowering aloe (possibly A. cryptopoda) and that the name was thought to be a term of endearment for a “dinky thing”, in reference to the dwarf stature of the plant in comparison to its relatively large flowers. We do have a comparison plant from the ISI release but our plants in production are all from plants won at auction the Lotusland Exception Plant Auction. — San Marcos Growers
still a few SMG-labeled plants out there on nursery plant shelves!
Goodbye to the patron saint of West Coast gardens! After 45 years, San Marcos Growers shuts down January 2026, but the website/resource library will endure. The aloe description provides clues to the amazing synergy of growers and gardens that surrounded SMG — Lotusland, Huntington Botanic Gardens. For more on SMG, check out this video, which bobs and weaves through a who’s who of West Coast horticulture, Brian Kemble of Ruth Bancroft Garden, Jo O’Connell, Flora Grubb, John Greenlee. (At about 17 minutes Jeff Chemnick of Aloes in Wonderland gives a wonderful presentation on what makes the Central Coast so special for growing and gardens.)
Kalanchoe ‘John Bleck,’ another horticulture hero mentioned in the video above. I think Randy Baldwin says he’s obtained more plants from John Bleck than just about anyone else.
A scape of the giant red crinum, aka Queen Emma’s Purple Crinum, has been opening this week.
the more flowers open, the richer the scent
And a spasm of scented blossom from the Acacia podalyrifolia fills the front garden with notes of anise.
cleaned up bromeliads taking a break from the garden in a hanging basket. Potted plant is the hanging bromeliad Acanthostachys strobilacea
Enjoy the holidays — or not! Take care, mind how you go. Best, AGO
Wunderkammer in a San Pedro warehouse was new to me, filled with movie set decor, steampunk creations and lots of gothic horror stuff. A really engrossing browse.
Spending winter in Los Angeles means I get to indulge a lifelong passion for looking at old stuff that goes way back to thrift-shopping in high school. (Seriously, we were dressing like Annie Hall before the movie came out.) Other than the local Habitat for Humanity, which occasionally has a few gems, there’s nothing comparable on the Oregon Coast. The Long Beach Flea Market was in action our first Sunday in town, and despite the rain forecast we couldn’t stay away, spending maybe an hour before the heavens opened up.
Urban Americana in Long Beach. Bauer planters
Another of my first stops was Urban Americana in Long Beach, where I spotted these Bauer planters. I didn’t know Bauer was doing a Willy Guhl-type planter! These were $400 each.
Urban Americana, see-through metal stuff always gets me
Note I didn’t say “shop” for old stuff. The days of finding Thonet chairs cheap at the local thrift shop are over. Even with prices out of my reach, I really enjoy a nicely curated collection of experiments in design, some failures, some timeless. It’s a great way to quiz yourself on what attracts your eye, or not, and why.
The real Willy Guhls I found at Big Daddy’s, which is closing this month and relocating in the future to Carpinteria.
also by Willy Guhl
There were a few large planters brimming with succulents plump from the recent rain. I was so attracted to this simple idea that I brought it home — the idea, not the planter.
I didn’t happen to have an imposing architectural bowl on hand, but there was a slimy, disused birdbath that, when tipped over, proved to have a hollow base. After cleaning and drilling a drainage hole, I pulled every spare Echeveria agavoides I could find to fill the basin. This echeveria seems to endure months of neglect better than the blue kinds in my garden.
Stress brings out different shapes and colors, but these are all Echeveria agavoides
What’s really funny about this scene is that it’s a composite of past rambles around town. The galvanized table top came from Smith & Hawken’s going-out-of business sale. Used for shop display, S&H didn’t even think to put a price on it, but we managed to come to reasonable terms when I decided I couldn’t leave without it. Indestructible after decades outdoors. The Loll couch comes from a local consignment shop. Also indestructible other than the sooty filth that accumulates during the. months we’re away. It easily scrubs clean.
On my rambles around town I was hoping to find maybe a couple more metal shop chairs, so incredibly useful for showcasing pots. Slim legs, doesn’t throw much shadow.
For example, the Mexican Grass Tree, Dasylirion longissimum, in the ground was mostly concealed under debris at the base of the fernleaf acacia. Elevating it on the shop chair really brings out the cascading quality of its grassy leaves, which I prefer to the saw-toothed D. wheeleri.
Euphorbia resinifera at Rolling Greens
After Big Daddy’s, I stopped at Rolling Greens and Flora Grubbs, which were roughly in the same part of town. I took few photos, just enjoyed the beautiful plants and containers. I think I remembered the camera at Big Daddy’s mainly because the location will be closing. They will be missed.
Aloe pluridens throwing some autumn blooms. Whatever else the garden is up to, the pedilanthus is always in bloom for the hummingbirds. After weeding and clearing out summer growth, there’s a lot of open ground, which makes me nervous! Maybe small-scale succulent ground covers are the answer — and topped-uip gravel mulch
Checking in on the Long Beach garden, it feels a little like cleaning up after a party that you weren’t invited to. In summer’s aftermath, it’s all about reading the seedpods and dessicated growth for clues of what vegetative frivolity transpired while I was away. (I last saw the garden in May 2025.)
old tillandsia flower.
Judging by the amount of dried bloom stalks to cut down, the anigozanthus had a good summer and bloomed well. Aloe lukeana had several dried bloom stalks. The horned poppy romped through the succulents, smothering them like party bunting in yards of foliage and dried seedheads. But once all the tumbleweeds of summer growth were cleared, the garden re-emerged as I remember it. This holding pattern is of course a relief but also a little bittersweet. It’s the day-to-day adjustments and experiments (and weeding!) that keep a garden fresh and exciting, only possible when living with it full time.
Checking weather reports, the heat wasn’t too excessive this summer, maybe a few episodes over 90F.
Multiple tree-like sonchus staged a takeover, and older woody specimens where thinned, leaving a few young rosettes. Other insistent reseeders included Manihot grahamii. The canopy of the manihot, a small tree, was cut but the 2″ trunk remains along with dozens of its progeny. Couch grass infests everything, and there’s days left of weeding to deal with it.
Buds showing on Aloes ‘Tangerine’ and ‘Moonglow’– most of this couch grass has been weeded out
It’s a lot to ask any garden to manage on its own for six months, but once again I’m thrilled and relieved to find the garden holding itself together somehow.
Strobilanthes gossypina made a neat dome after being cut back hard in spring. Trunk belongs to Manihot grahamii which will probably be removed to avoid its fierce reseeding
The garden is scruffy and shaggy with sesleria, which needs raking, but one of this grass’ striking virtues is being able to withstand the infiltration of couch grass. Removing this weed winding through the base of the big aloes has been the trickiest job yet. Yards of dessicated, skeletonized stuff like African basil were pulled. Silvery-leaved Geranium harveyi, so beautiful when I left the garden in April, couldn’t handle the dry summer. But a vibrant dwarf copper canyon daisy, Tagetes lemonii, somehow continued to bloom despite the excessively dry conditions. Working near the daisy releases that offbeat pineappley scent, heavy with tropical resin notes.
On the right ‘Pacific Night’ coprosma planted in spring made it through its first very dry summer
Overall, though, it’s the herbaceous stuff that causes the most work, either from reseeding like the sonchus, manihot, Geranium maderense, euphorbias, Tinantia pringlei and Verbena bonariensis, or smothering summer growth, like the glaucium horned poppy. Still, a lot of issues were caused not by reseeders and weeds but by the growth of maturing plants.
golfball pitt on the right in 2024, much more rotund in 2025 — a beauty actually but at least three times the size I anticipated
A couple of large restios had to be moved and planted elsewhere, and the deferred decision was finally made to remove the dwarf “golfball” pittosporum, which was needing a lot of clipping to keep to 4×4′. A really good alternative to a box orb, I hated to sacrifice the pittosporum but couldn’t get enough root to move it.
opened-up view without the 4×4-foot “golfball” pittosporum, replaced lower right with a small Agave celsii ‘Nova.’ A chondropetalum/restio obscuring the shapes of the big aloes was also moved.
Agave celsii ‘Nova,’ said to be quick to bloom (and therefore die) but at least it will stay relatively small in the process
Plant shopping in the rain followed by planting in the rain on Friday — Mangave ‘Frosted Elegance’
got carried away and even brought home a begonia ‘Spirit of Pemba’
some plants improved with neglect, like a potted Agave xylonacatha ‘Frostbite’
A neighbor came by to water infrequently, which I think helped with the potted plants even if they were only spritzed superficially. The ground was bone-dry.
it seems I absent-mindedly planted a little caput-medusa type euphorbia in the pot with the ‘Medusa’ aloe, and somehow didn’t really clock the horticultural pun until this visit
caput-medussae-type euphorbia in pot with Aloe ‘Medusa’
Mangave ‘Lavendar Lady’ and other mangaves seem to be thriving
the pergola has been invaluable for protecting pots from strong sun and also offering varying light levels at its perimeter
the funnels and pots planted with succulents and tillandsias were moved out from under the pergola to catch some rain.
potted cactus getting more light and a sip of water
The drive south from Oregon was harrowing the first day, battered by an atmospheric river and relentlessly pounding winds. We took three days, two nights this time, and stayed the first night in Brookings, near the California/Oregon border. Driving through the little town, I wasn’t sure I could trust my eyes. Wasn’t that a tree aloe in someone’s garden? Salvia leucantha and a large Agave americana also whizzed by as we drove out of town. Checking the phone proved I wasn’t hallucinating. Brookings is considered the “banana belt” of Oregon coastal towns. Really cool working harbor too.
puttering in the rain Saturday morning, trying out a new a bird bath location
Rain predicted all weekend, what a godsend. More soon, AGO.
The front garden is developing the low-growing, evergreen shrubby chops capable of withstanding the windy rainstorms of winter. We had a fine example of such a storm just a few days ago.
foreground Calluna vulgaris ‘October White,’ shrublike variegated euphorbia ‘Silver Swan ,’ Leptospermum lanigerum, the Woolly Tea Tree, Miscanthus ‘Malepartus’
Planted much later than the back garden, even so the front garden has filled out quickly. In fact, a lot of its plants are largesse from the back garden, either in cuttings or from moving entire plants.
Calluna ‘Winter Chocolate’ and Baccharis magellanica ‘Inca Point’
Olearia x mollis ‘Zennorensis’ transplanted to the front garden, came through the mild winter of ’24/’25
Fabiana imbricata making good size in a year from a very small cutting
back garden increases in evergreens too. Fern is Polystichum setiferum, box, Yucca rostrata
We’ve tentatively settled on this Thursday for a departure date to head to Southern California. Our old fleet of cars is getting cranky, so we may make the drive in the 2011 Honda Element or my old Mini Cooper, whichever seems the best bet for the 1,000 mile trip. Billie has sprained her other (nonsurgical) back leg, but an X-ray today looks promising. Complications abound! The skies are filled with V’s of geese, the farm fields with herons and elk down from the hills. We’ll catch up in Los Angeles — more soon, AGO.
The morning of October 15 the roofs were frosted, the grass crunchy underfoot. First frost.
Tillamook Oregon 2025 — autumnal serendipity in a neighbor’s garden
Near a small park where I take Hannah and Billie for their “running game,” a neighbor grows assorted dahlias and zinnias, and I always check their progress. A few days ago I gasped when I saw what this pumpkin-colored zinnia and Tiger Eye Sumac were cooking up in October and reached for my camera phone, something I rarely think to do. The neighbor and I had talked about the zinnias in early summer. His first batch from seed failed when planted out, and he had to buy some more plants local, so the zinnias were late getting started. We have all internalized a make-or-break schedule for when to get summer annual seeds sown, etc, but there is mercifully some wiggle room, as shown by this splendid display (and a second batch of cosmos in bloom now, which I sowed late July.)
October 16, 2025, Centaurea macrocephala threw a few. more yellow pompoms
Some final notes before heading south. The dark foliage belongs to Penstemon digitalis ‘Dark. Towers,’ so good throughout the growing seasons, from leaf to seedpod, that I’m trialing another cultivar ‘Blackbeard’ with Schizachyrium ‘Little Red Fox’ (where Stipa gigantea grew before removal and replacement by Stipa gigantea ‘Little Giant.’)
Sinopanax formosanus getting squeezed by the acacia, something to sort out next spring. Unless winter turns into a Thunderdome that sorts it out for me (two plants enter, one plant remains)
evergreens are filling in, changing the herbaceous v. evergreen ratio significantly, to be re-evaluated next spring
I can’t find any fault with Aster horizontalis ‘Lady in Black’ so brought in another plant to have more fluffy pillows of tiny daisies next autumn
Sweet peas on the Oregon coast are an entirely different growing proposition than I’m used to in zone 10. They are summer-long garden contenders, with leaves that don’t mildew and flowers that don’t stop.
Salvia ‘Amante’ started bulking up and lightly flowering in September but really took off in October, catching fire in the much cooler temps and shorter days
I took a flier on Cosmos atrosanguineus ‘Cherry Chocolate,’ a new variety without the velour petals of the familiar one. I couldn’t detect much cocoa scent either. But the flowers are larger and it did produce more of them, and on upright stems for cut flowers. A novelty I’ll probably not protect for winter.
I’m hoping that the annual/tender perennial vine Rhodochiton atrosanguineum is madly dropping its seeds for next summer
Beschorneria septentrionalis had a good summer (and hopefully will have a good winter)
So good at the beginning of the season and the end, little evergreen shrubby Veronica catarractae responds vibrantly to deadheading mid-summer
cold nights, deep color on Polygonum orientale
dahlias holding on despite a couple frosty. nights
towering Eryngium pandanifolium, an eryngo that loves wet feet
I’ll be dreaming all winter on what the garden has up its sleeve for next spring.
The morning routine in October is now two-fisted, coffee in one hand, fly swatter in the other to dispatch the spider webs that proliferate overnight. I appreciate their predatory contributions and only knock down webs directly across paths, which seems fair. And their webslinging brings undeniably sublime effects.
Dodging spider webs in October brought home the realization that the small paths had shrunk even more as a result of OEP (overly exuberant planting).
Bupleurum fruticosum in July, removed this weekend along with Senecio munroi just behind. Both shrubs were needing constant pruning to keep the small path off the patio accessible. Spider webs hung like caution tape across the path every morning, access that had shrunk to less than a foot across.
senecio and bupleurum spring 2022. The bupleurum was dug up from the Long Beach garden, where it hated life, to the Oregon coast
Two beloved shrubs were sacrificed to widen the main path, casualties of OEP. Admittedly, there wasn’t even space for one 3×3′ shrub, let alone two, and the bupleurum seemed to be aiming more for 5×5′.
Senecio munroi planted spring 2022
I’ve rooted cuttings of Senecio monroi and have it growing in the front garden, so no real loss there. And though I’ll only have memories of the bupleurum, at least I got a long-anticipated opportunity to grow this fine evergreen and make it somewhat happy. Pruning it to fit was in no way doing it justice.
Now I can enter the garden without turning sideways
I often questioned why I bothered to water this plectranthus all summer. Lower temps in October added some much-needed salsa to ‘Guacamole’!
A rinse of autumn has washed over the garden. No frost yet and none predicted until possibly the end of the month. We had a few days of rain early last week. A very different October from our first in 2021, when it rained every day.
Hebe recurva
sedum and rust
Arctostaphylos ‘Sunset’
Aster horizontalis ‘Lady in Black,’ a dark and fine twiggy presence all summer, still has some sparkle to add in fall
phygelius reblooming
as an experiment more cosmos was sown in late July. Will it or won’t it bloom before frost? This October it will!
more evidence of OEP — the case of the disappearing paths
Late May 2025, Los Angeles to Portland. Though I’ve taken lots of trains in Europe, this was my first long-distance train trip in the U.S., working out to roughly 29 hours. My companions were game as they come, charming 2-year-old Domino and her papa Mitch. The Pacific Ocean fills the window frame most of the trip north in California until the train veers inland somewhere along the Central Coast.
Weirdly, I took no photos of the ocean views, only landscapes. And they were not verdant green landscapes but filled with all the tawny colors emblematic of the Golden State. Horizontal bands of gold, rust and ochre were punctuated by dark green cloud-like forms of Coast Live Oak and jagged geologic scars. Scenes of wild landscapes, scenes of industry. Thrilling, shifting juxtapositions of land, water, clouds and sky. If you like looking and wondering and thinking of nothing but what rushes by the window, a train ride is the way to go. And there’s a dining car and a sleeping car (the sleeping berth is extra).
so many color studies
a small portion of Oregon City’s massive decommissioned hydroelectric plant Willamette Falls, the oldest power plant west of the Mississippi
Legs of Lobelia tupa now visible on the right with grass removed
This longer east view of sunrise-haloed Chionochloa rubra was not available two days ago. Stipa gigantea spilled onto the rock at the west end making the path impassable, comprising overall about 5′ in circumference with half of that path obstruction. And the stipa sat directly opposite the big arching restio Rhodocoma capensis, so obstruction was built into the planting. A typical design problem for me. (Thankfully I had started to come to terms with the problem by removing the tetrapanax growing next to the restio earlier this spring.)
July 2024 when tetrapanax and Stipa gigantea still ruled the garden and paths were impassable by mid-summer.
Still I was convinced the grass was worth every bit of difficulty to ensure those oatsy panicles danced high over the summer garden while being sheer enough to allow sunlight to penetrate the plantings underneath.
Chionochloa rubra and snowflake-like Geranium robustum
But unexpectedly the Wonder Garden plant sale included Stipa gigantea ‘Little Giant.’ And so unexpectedly I began to contemplate the garden without the giant Golden Oats grass and sizing down to the little version.
Dividing the grass was already at the top of the list of tasks for next spring. Being an evergreen grass, this stipa doesn’t need cutting back but does require extensive grooming. Its strengths are a very early flowering and then the long-lasting, light-catching golden seedheads that follow spring through winter, sailing well above the base of leaves. The big open question with the dwarf version concerns that ratio of height between the flowering stems and the grassy clump. It might be an inelegant congestion of form without the tall and transparent silhouette of the species. I asked around at the sale, and no one had experience growing ‘Little Giant.’
With ‘Little Giant’ in hand, the back-benched spring job of division became an immediate fall job of removal. Love for the Golden Oats grass was outmatched by needing to reclaim an east view in autumn light and easy access along the path. ‘Little Giant’ was not planted in the same area near the rock path but behind Lobelia tupa, in the berm that’s almost a foot higher, and hopefully the elevation will give the smaller grass a high enough profile to shine.
white plumes of Persicaria polymorpha in July 2025
That there was an opening in the berm to plant the stipa only came about by removing Persicaria polymorpha, whose girth was claiming 6 feet. And it’s such a good plant, also early to show in spring and impressive all season. Height is never a problem, only girth. If only there was a little version of this persicaria! A small piece of the persicaria is growing in a narrow bed along the east fence, not a future-proof site but it can always be moved again. I’m hearing some positive buzz on Koenigia divaricata, which has a similar effect as the persicaria.
Schizachyrium scoparium ‘Little Red Fox’
My guess is that the enormous clump of stipa was also acting as a support to Lobelia tupa. The very wispy grass I planted instead, Schizachyrium scoparium ‘Little Red Fox,’ is unlikely to fill that supporting role. Meanwhile, Marty’s back is out today from pitching in to help remove Euphorbia stygiana, whose enormous growth and size was turning it into a cutback shrub to keep the back path along the fence clear (a recurring theme). Except imho euphorbias should never be considered cutback shrubs because…well, the irritating sap issues. There’s another of this euphorbia elsewhere in the garden that seems to be slower in growth.
Joe-pye weed August 2024 before moving this clump to east fence
The other “little” brought home is ‘Little Joe,’ the dwarf Joe-pye weed. I guess the garden and I are getting to that point where some down-sizing workarounds are needed. Fresh in my mind was a nice couple I met shopping at the WG plant sale. I asked if they were looking for plants for sun or shade, and they said they were in a predicament where their 30-year-old garden had no sun to give, and they wanted to take it all out and start over! A cautionary tale for my overplanting ways…
I met a small bright green frog in the garden last night, a first in either of my two gardens. Lizards are common in the Long Beach garden, and both are sensitive creatures whose presence generally bestows a clean bill of health on a garden. I hope the little frog gets his fill of slugs! And invites more frog friends to the garden too.
I took a hard fall on uneven pavement walking Billie earlier, so that’s the end of any more ambitious plans til spring. Fortunately, looking up more info on chionochloa, I discovered a wonderful New Zealand blog that somehow escaped my notice, Tikorangi The Jury Garden, to read while I ice the knee. Especially pertinent for zone 8, 9, 10 gardens.
looking east — finally got the fence repair painted
Sometimes I get the sense from an offhand comment that gardens are considered escapist entertainment. My experience has been the opposite, and maybe this is what comes with small gardens in crowded neighborhoods. Because I’m constantly outside, I know to the minute when a neighbor on the west lights off the burn pile he keeps in the far corner of his lot, where the noxious smoke wafts over us, not him. A neighbor on the east yells “Shut up!!” at Billie in a tone so shudderingly ugly it must have taken a lifetime to perfect. (Admittedly, Billie has never heard a neighborhood dog chorus she didn’t want to embellish with her unique contribution, and we’re constantly admonishing her about this.) When conversations floating over the fence become loud and intense, I focus to discern whether it’s anger or raucous, back-slapping humor. When I step into the garden, front or back, it’s not an escape but an immersion in every aspect of local life.
the neighbors on the east
As far as I can see, ours is the only house that uses a screen door in summer. I’ve never seen anyone sit on their front porch as we do daily in summer, sometimes when it’s still dark outside with the first coffee. But then front gardens are not part of the neighborhood culture here. From what I’ve seen, gardens foster engagement with the neighborhood, not retreat. Sitting on the porch in the early morning is where I met the daily walker Jerry and discovered he is the one who keeps the homing pigeons that occasionally wheel over the garden, such a gorgeous sight. (I learned a couple days ago that hawks got two of his pigeons, a rare but unfortunate occurrence Jerry feels is part of the deal and doesn’t begrudge the predators.) From the porch is where I became familiar with the small woman whose young grandchildren are nearly as tall is she is. They always hold hands and chatter away as they walk. The small woman walks home enormous loads from the grocery store in a backpack that bends her spine.
Standing in the garden to gauge the changing light, humidity, wind, to observe where water pools or cold air settles, to use my limited senses to give plants the best chance at life in a garden, it strikes me we act as proxies and surrogates for the plants, putting ourselves in plants’ shoes, so to speak. And that practice will always mean spending loads of time outdoors acting as a human gauge to measure the basics, air, soil, water, temperature, invertebrate life or lack of it. It means complete engagement with the essentials of life. I don’t know why I’m sensitive on this issue! But it does piss me off when it’s implied that making gardens is a a trivial, escapist hobby.
thuggish Helianthus ‘Lemon Queen’ and Acacia pravissima
In the garden random thoughts wheel in and out like homing pigeons. Politics, family, the tyranny of one-party rule, the tithonia I want to remember to grow next summer. And where is my bulb order anyway?
Salvia uliginosa’s best month is September when the brushes thicken and deepen in color
Verbena officinalis ‘Bampton’ self-seeded just a couple plants, not yet a pest, in bloom all summer
Salvia ‘Amante’ is so very, very late unless you have a greenhouse to give it a jump in spring. From the breeder of ‘Amistad.’ On the east fence. I should dig it up and bring it back to zone 10 where it will bloom for months
on the east Corynabutilon vitifolium made size this summer. Remains to be seen how much of that size it keeps over winer
After a couple moves, Rubus lineatus seems to like its new home on the east side of the house. Not sure what to expect of this one — deciduous, semi-evergreen, thuggish?
Metapanax in shimmering bloom
Verbascum roripifolium intertwined with metapanax
Solanum jasminoides is out of control vigorous, always in bloom, but it does partially block the view now of the neighbors to the south from the back patio…
This might be the last weekend I can score rabbit poop from the boy who brings buckets of it to the local farmers’ market, which only runs through September. Amazing stuff. Never burns like other manures.
