LATEST AND LAST REVIEW

I've decided to stop posting book reviews here and to return to my focus on gardening and food (and some other things, no doubt, from time to time). That means I'll be setting up another blog for reading and writing, and I'll post the link when that's done. But in the meantime, one last book review which, since it's for a book about gardening, is appropriate for a blog that began with that focus.

Because I live and garden in the southern Arizona desert, I was delighted to receive a review copy of The Water-Saving Garden by award-winning garden writer, designer, and blogger Pam Penick.

It's easy to take water for granted; it's also very foolish. Like it or not, between over-population and climate change, water is not an infinite resource, not something to be taken for granted. Back in the 19th century, posters encouraged settlers to go West with the pie-in-the-sky claim that "rain follows the plow." It didn't then and it doesn't now, but that doesn't mean we can't have beautiful and productive gardens. As Penick shows us, what's required is careful planning, in how we prepare our gardens (soil, irrigation, and care in what we put where), what we select to plant (native and drought-tolerant or arid-adapted plants for the most part), and how we water and otherwise care for them. Water harvesting and irrigation are key to the last point.

Penick offers solid, workable advice in this extremely readable, beautifully illustrated, and highly informative book. I recommend it to any gardener, from beginner to the most experienced. I guarantee you'll find much practical and useful information in it, including ideas and advice that may surprise you - I already have!

After the Rain

Now that the monsoon has arrived (though it's taken the last 2 days off) the desert seems revitalized and if Joe and I are any example, so do the people who live here - well, some of us, at least, those who spend any significant time outdoors. Instead of the usual 30-45 minute stroll around the neighborhood, we've been taking longer morning walks in Greasewood Park, a minimally developed desert park just a quarter-mile away on the other side of Speedway. It's where I nearly stepped on a rattlesnake some years ago (and haven't seen one there since) and where all these pictures were taken two days ago.
     One of the first things we noticed was the number of bright green baby ocotillos - and the bigger ones are also greener than they've been in a while.

 Here's a closeup of the leaves and the formidable spines. When we first moved to Tucson I read an essay by a local writer who was reminiscing about how, in spring, her mother would send her out to scratch the ocotillo with her fingernail to see if it was green below the bark-like skin. I guess that was a sign spring had arrived. We always look for the scarlet flame-like blossoms at the tops of the long stalks.

 What a gorgeous gray sky! It was so cool and the air was so moist, almost like far northern coastal California, where we used to live. Except no redwoods, or blackberries, or ocean - okay, maybe not much like it after all. But it sure felt good. These cactus wrens seemed pretty happy - and amorous.

We call this area the saguaro nursery because of the many young saguaros there; in fact, I've never seen so many youngsters in one place, spread out over a rather large depression below a low ridge.

 Young saguaros are often found in the company of "nurse plants" that protect them from predators and the elements. This one is very well protected by a dense and very spiny cholla (I never argue with a cholla) and a greasewood on the other side.

 And here, in the foreground, is a saguaro at the other end of its life cycle, dead but still standing. You can see the nice straight ribs of the skeleton still holding it up, and a big "boot" at the top, a cavity that in the living plant would have served as shelter and/or a nest site for various creatures. Our neighbors have one in their front yard where woodpeckers raise a brood of babies every year.                            

I have no idea what these tiny seedlings are.

 The rain dug a channel down the middle of this trail,

 where we also spotted these deer tracks. We see quite a lot of wildlife in our neighborhood - coyotes, javelinas, hawks, rabbits, the occasional bobcat - but have yet to see an actual deer on the hoof.

 When Isaiah was about 3, he and I took a walk in Greasewood Park and found a deer's foreleg (that's the most deer I've seen there). He hunkered down and poked it and turned it over with a stick. "Nana, where's the rest of it?" he asked, and we talked about how coyotes had probably eaten the rest of it. He was very serious and scientifically fascinated with his observations, in a way that was just wonderful to share.
     I don't know what these little plants are, either, but I'm fairly sure they're seedlings of some cactus-type plant. And what an interesting color!

There's so much that's so interesting on the trail that it's easy to forget to look up, but this sky, this view was certainly worth it. When we lived in Humboldt County I had a friend who said that, living there, he'd become a conoisseur of gray sunsets. Here we become conoisseurs of skies like this because they are such rare gifts.

One reason I'd brought my camera was to get pictures of millipedes; we'd seen hundreds the day before but I was beginning to think we might be out of luck. And then there they were, along the last ridge on the way home. This is their defensive posture, coiling up to protect their heads, which seems quite sensible though I don't imagine things with such tiny brains do much actual, logical thinking. Most of them are about 5 inches long, and you can see the pairs of delicate legs on each segment. I think they're rather beautiful, and they're harmless, since they can't bite like their centipede cousins. But they do have some rather disgusting - though I'd argue also useful - behaviors.

 Millipedes are detritivores, which means they eat things that are rotting and otherwise unappealing to humans. They're also coprophages, which would be a wonderful insult to use in a bar fight, I think. Instead of telling someone to "eat sh-t and die" you could just call him a coprophage and he might be so confused that it would give you time to get away safely. Anyway, judging from their numbers in the  park, millipedes live quite well on the feces they find along the trail. What we were trying to figure out was how those bits of cloth wound up in coyote scat. There was certainly nothing in the news about anybody going missing who might have wound up as a coyote's lunch - anyway, they really don't eat people.

      Looking up again, here's another long view of the results of the rain. I took this shot while standing on a bank about 12-15 feet above the wash that a few hours earlier would have been running with water. The center is smoother than it's been in months, still unmarked by any tracks and scoured clean, except along the edge, of smaller rocks and debris. I wish I could describe the feeling in the air and the way, on a morning like this, the desert smells like rain.

Waste Not, Want Not

A few weeks ago I bought a goldfish plant (columnea x banksii) - I think it was probably at Home Depot - and while repotting it this little branch broke off, so I stuck it in a tiny bottle of water. That's what I usually do when something like this happens, even if it's not the preferred method of propagation for a particular plant according to the gardening authorities. The worst that could happen is that I have a pretty mini-bouquet for a while, but if I get lucky, the cutting roots, as this one is doing (the roots - all 2 of them so far - are still very small and not visible in this photo, in which the plant appears larger than in real life). The added bonus - totally unexpected! - is the 3 blossoms! It's obvious where the plant gets its name. No sign of buds or blossoms on the parent plant, but it looks nice in its new pot, which will go well with the blossoms when they appear.

 The begonia below is about 5  months old and also came from branches broken off while the parent plant was being repotted. The lovely blossoms make me think I should move the mother plant into the kitchen too, since the light seems better for it there.

But in some ways, I'm most excited by this little plant that's growing out of the bottom of a head of celery. Here it is after about a week floating in water,

 and this morning, about 2 weeks later. It's definitely celery, even if it doesn't seem to want to stand up straight with the stalks tight together the way we find it in the store. Since the end of the original stalk is looking pretty funky by now, I suppose I should dust it with rooting hormone and put it into a proper pot with soil. It hasn't really produced any roots, but it may if I do that. I found the idea on another blog some time ago (and apologize for being unable to cite my source, an anxiety especially strong among current and former English teachers); that blogger said to pot it up in soil right away, which just wasn't convenient at the time.

So I guess my point is that it's fun to see things grow, fun to make something from what we'd normally throw in the garbage or at best the compost. And if you have kids or grandkids, or any kids, around, both you and they can have the pleasure of watching something grow and of learning together.

The Many Uses of Tea and the Beauty of Bells

I'm having a hard time waking up this morning. Maybe it's because spring break begins at 5:00 p.m. tomorrow, and I am soooo ready! Maybe it's because I haven't had my tea yet.  Tea is a wonderful thing, great to drink, but not only to drink. Afterwards you can lie down with cooled tea bags over your eyes to reduce puffiness. And used tea leaves are wonderful for plants.

On the left is a dish of tea leaves, on the right the tea bags that used to contain them. The tea leaves go on top of the soil in potted plants or in the garden, the tea bag papers into the compost (you could throw the tea bags into the compost unemptied and straight from the pot, of course). Because the tea leavings look so much like soil, no one even notices, though you could take a fork and mix them in, or spread them evenly and artistically.

     I learned about plants' affinity for tea and coffee years ago, when I was visiting the Methodist minister in Payette, Idaho to see if my Brownie troop could use a room at the church for our meetings. In his office he had the most glorious Boston fern I had ever seen, and I asked him what he did to make it so lush. It was simple, he said. He tended to forget about his (black) coffee sometimes, and his secretary would scold him for letting it get cold, so before she could catch him he'd dump the cold coffee into the fern's pot. I drink my coffee and tea with sweetener and milk or cream, so I don't empty my cups into my plants, but the dregs from the pot are a different story, and the plants thank me.

 

     This is the covered entryway to our front door. You can see I like ferns. From top to bottom, Boston fern, maidenhair fern, and the little one in the blue pot at the very bottom is called a mother fern. I think the label said they originally come from Australia. All of them like tea!
     When I lived on the north coast of California one of my favorite places was Fern Canyon, a gorgeous, magical spot opening onto the beach and a nice hike from Elk Prairie campground. Ferns are a little trickier in the desert, but they do nicely in this protected space (though I took everything inside during our recent hard freezes, except the ivy on the trellis, which survived quite nicely).

     Here's a close-up of that ivy, with a couple of the Talavera pottery animals that climb our entry walls, and one of Ben's Bells (www.bensbells.org): 

"Ben's Bells are not for sale... Several times a year, hundreds and hundreds of Ben's Bells are hung randomly in public places around Tucson and beyond. The only way to get a Ben's Bell is to find one or to be 'Belled'." 

We found our bell hanging from the railing of an abandoned office building. The idea is, after you find one, to take it home and hang it  where you'll pass by it and let it be a reminder to be kind to those you meet. The organization also "Bells" people to honor them for their charity or community service. Ben was a little boy who died suddenly in his mother's arms some years ago, and out of that tragedy has come a way to celebrate kindness and sharing and love. Hundreds were hung around Tucson after the January 8 shooting here, and blessed all those who found them or heard of them.

    I hope your day is blessed with kindness and love and maybe a nice cup of tea.