Casa Coniglio

christmas wish list

2009-12-21T20:16:00.000-08:00

It’s no surprise what gifts would thrill me. They typically have to do with plants, although I would be thrilled if they passed a single-payer health reform bill.
There are intangible things: I’d like my partner to give me a card saying that he decided that he wants us to move to Hawaii. Hmm, wait a minute, both of these so far is completely unrealistic. So before we go on, let’s set some ground rules.

The standard criteria for a gift, is that the gift has to be tangible (a note offering a hundred hours of garden work is acceptable, but also completely unrealistic). It has to be reasonably priced.

So here’s my wish list:

Muck boots, knee high.

1001 gardens you must see before you die. (and I would totally accept the offer to take me to some of them).

garden chipper/shredder

Jonagold semi-dwarf apple tree

worm composter

Gift certificate for seeds.

I’m going to give my hubby a cubic foot of orchid bark for Christmas.*

*Just kidding.

mini purple

2009-12-13T16:27:00.001-08:00

Laeliocattleya Mini Purple 'Tamani' is probably the the most difficult orchid in my collection of which to capture an image. This is the closest that I've come to so far, but it is still a far cry from the real thing. Why is it so difficult? The petals are a velvety reddish magenta, not red, not purple. But it is pretty close to red with a tint of purple. The lip is the closest to the true color. The camera captures the flower as more purplish than my eye sees it, and captures the veining on the petals that aren't very apparent in real life. The petals are darker than the sepals in real life, and the entire flower is composed of shades of the same color, not as the photo shows, with the lip having a redder area, and the petals and sepals more purple. I'll keep trying, but if anyone has any suggestions, please let me know!

Oh and by the way, there is no way to capture the intense day-only fragrance of this orchid.

winter color

2009-12-13T08:50:00.001-08:00

Penstemon pseudospectabilis and Eriogonum umbellatum are showing their winter colors. Interestingly, the Eriogonum umbellatum 'Proliferum' that I purchased this year stayed green.

The opuntia are starting to show some color, but will develop much more color as the winter progresses.

Datura ferox (Oak-leaved thorn apple) showing its winter form. The graceful lavender trumpets have evolved into strikingly thorny fruits.

penguins and snowflakes

2009-12-10T18:14:00.000-08:00

I know this is not a garden photo, but since I posted the Christmas cookies last year, I figured I do the same this year. Made over a hundred cookies this year, for the office staff.

gnarly and muscular

2009-12-08T17:07:00.000-08:00

I don't consider myself a tree hugger. At least not literally. I tried it once and it was uncomfortable. I think it was a huge redwood tree, a tree whose bark is rather spongy, and whose size is so impressive, that of any tree, a redwood is one that looks like it should be hugged. The bark poked me in the face as I attempted to wrap my arms around it, then my finger hit something soft and wet and squishy. My other hand encountered something suspiciously like a spider web, which freaked me out. I let go after this gesture, left with a liberal coating of bark bits, leaf bits, moss bits and various other things. That was the end of my tree hugging career. Maybe I should have tried an aspen.

That, of course, is not to say that I don't love trees. I suppose that I am a tree hugger in a philosophical sense rather than a literal sense. I love the twisted branches of certain species of trees, and as much as I dislike winter, the cold season is when the branching structure becomes the most obvious and appreciated.

The winter silhouette of oaks are some of the most handsome, even if it takes a lifetime (or two, or three, or...) for them to achieve the gnarly form that I love. The incredibly large coast live oak specimen (Quercus agrifolia) in the top photo is probably a couple of hundred years old. At least. The smaller grey oak (Quercus grisea), photographed on the Sandia foothills, is harder to guess, since they stay pretty small and grow so slowly. If my still tiny 5 year-old Quercus turbinella's are any indication, this photographed oak could be nearly as old as the big coast live oak. The valley oak of central California is one of my all-time favorite oaks (bottom photo, shot through a car window). The curvaceous branches have an almost muscular appearance. There is a mystery as to why they are not reproducing, however, and old trees are dying without being replaced by seedlings. Some people blame the cows, other people blame pollution. I hope a solution is found soon, before we are deprived of the incredible beauty of these trees.

I also like apple trees, which also can get gnarly.
What other trees do you enjoy for the winter silhouette?

running

2009-12-06T16:21:00.001-08:00

It seems that all I've been doing lately is running. From work, to errands, to holiday events, run, run, run...go, go, go. Which is strange, because with the weather so cold (13 degrees last night!), all I want to do is stay in bed. I made it out for a hike today, but not until late. The sun was getting low in the sky, which allowed me to take this photo...of me...running. Those are my gloves in the hand, as I'm always too cold when I start out, but knowing that I'll warm up, a backpack is necessary.

Although you can't tell from the landscape seen here, there are a few things going on in the plant world. I'll post them later. It's been too cold for me to want to go out.

time for little stars

2009-11-29T14:47:00.000-08:00

Brassavola Little Stars (Brassavola nodosa x B. cucullata) has started blooming. It's not the best year for it, since I divided the plants last year, but the flowers are highly anticipated and cherished nevertheless. I waxed on about the plant and the incredible nighttime fragrance (its parent B. nodosa is called "Lady of the Night orchid" after all), in a previous blog entry. Sniffing the flowers this year, I understand my friend who doesn't really like the fragrance. It is not necessarily a pleasant fragrance. There are tones of acetone to the fragrance that are a bit odd. It is not a sweet floral fragrance that you would expect if all you had experienced previous to this were "orchid" scented candles or room scents. Those synthetic fragrances don't smell much like orchids to me. There is certainly a spiciness to the flowers' scent, as I mentioned in the previous blog, of cloves, nutmeg, cardamom, ginger, lilies and star jasmine. There is also a distinct hydrocarbon aspect. I expect that the moths and other night-flying insects of the tropics find this scent irresistible. I wonder what my love of the flowers says about me.

mr. doom and gloom

2009-11-25T13:10:00.000-08:00

With the onset of the cold weather, I have become Mr. Doom and Gloom. Even the orchids haven't cheered me up since they had not yet started blooming. Good thing I bought a Meyer lemon bush this last summer. It's blooming now, and even has a single fruit. A couple of whiffs of lemon blossom, and the spirits rise. In a few days, the Little Stars orchids will be in bloom. Bliss.

disposable lives

2009-11-19T17:21:00.001-08:00

One of my peeves that gets my tail in a knot is the casual way in which people treat plant lives. This is particularly true around the holidays, when people give living plants as gifts to be enjoyed. What does that say about us, when we consider enjoyment to be the placing of living things in environments that are not suitable for their health or sustenance until they wither and die? We find joy in causing their death? Bad light conditions, decorative pots in which plants either drown or dehydrate, and inappropriate temperature and humidity spell the deaths of these plants. (Above, what I call a bowl of death).

That's not even going into what the plants went through to get to that point. I suppose you could consider some of them as being pampered, but that would be about the same as saying that the goose that gave fois gras was pampered before its death.

It's plant torture. One of the worst examples of this are the decorative gift "bonsai" trees. Even well-cared for bonsai are in a state of fragile bondage. Every moment of their lives are constrained and controlled in ways that are contrary to the plants natural habit. Roots are bound and pruned. Every drop of water is only what the owner allots to it. A missed day or two can mean the death of the plant. Branches are bound and forced into arrangement like the feet of women in China a century or so ago. Any attempt by the plant to grow out of bounds is immediately addressed in the severest measure. Limbs and trunks are stripped to create scars suggestive of age. It is about as much as someone can do to it without quite going over the line of death. These things done to a human would be extreme torture. (I suppose that you could say that life is about suffering whether plant or human)

Of course, most gift bonsai plants never live past the few weeks of the holiday (most being outdoor plants that can't tolerate indoor conditions), though well-cared for (huh, well-cared for!) plants can live for centuries (can you imagine enduring centuries of bondage, torture, and mutilation? We do find beauty in suffering, though, as some fantastic works of art occurred from the persecution of such individual. But it's a sad excuse to claim the pursuit of beauty in torturing someone). It has been said that I should start a BLF (Bonsai liberation front) movement, planting bonsai in the ground.

How can I find it beautiful when bulbs are placed in stones and forced into bloom until spent and then discarded? Even if planted outdoors, these bulbs forced into bloom out of season would die, or more typically would not survive in that climate anyway. Even if planted out in an appropriate climate, forced bulbs take a few years to recover. Plants that can be grown as houseplants are better, but how many people are able to successfully grow amaryllis from year to year?

I suppose you could say that any garden is an exercise in control. That's what we find beautiful in many gardens: the placing of plants, the shape, form, calculated bloom times. And who can say that plants in the wild have it any easier? They struggle against weather, competition, browsing animals. They frequently do not survive. But the differences are many-fold. Plants in nature are doing what they are meant to do most of the time. They are growing where they are adapted to grow, and growing in bare stones and water in a glass container is not where I see many plants that are given as holiday plants, growing naturally. The difference is also that we are not inflicting wild plants with their struggles, although we can appreciate them and the beauty they have achieved because of them. In the garden, we are at least attempting to provide plants with conditions necessary for their natural habit of growth rather than placing them in conditions that we know will only quickly lead to their death.

I think there is a line that is crossed in disposable holiday plants.

So what to do? Well I am guilty of giving amaryllis bulbs to my family this year. I gave them bulbs that were pre-planted in decorative pots. These pots are not ideal for growing them on in the future, but at least there is some soil for the roots. I also know that my family members know how to care for plants, and will give their amaryllis a bright windowsill, regular moistening, and even some nutrition (or suffer my wrath!). My family also lives in areas where amaryllis can be planted outdoors, and they were advised of this. They have all shown the ability to successfully care for potted plants.

The point is: give plants that aren't just going pretty for a week or two and then die or be disposed of. These are plants such as azaleas, poinsettias, cyclamen, unless you live in an area where they can be planted outdoors before they die (putting them outside where they freeze to death doesn't count). Avoid plants that really should be outdoor plants, but are forced to bloom for the holidays (like lavender). There is never enough light indoors for them to survive. Please don't give bonsai. If you must give a plant, give something like christmas cactus, which can be a houseplant that can live happily on a windowsill for years. The cybister amaryllis, or the "butterfly" amaryllis papilio are said to live happily as evergreen houseplants. Clivia would be a generous gift. Consider a beautiful houseplant. Keep in mind also, the recipient's desires. Do they even want a plant? If the plant is for yourself, can you care for the plant after the bloom is over?
Christmas cactus

Butterfly amaryllis

Cybister amaryllis

Clivia

You may find all this a bit extreme. But in all honesty, I do find it sad, the numbers of plants that will perish during the holidays.

(images off the web, primarily from White Flower Farm and Jackson & Perkins. This is not an endorsement or a condemnation. They just have pretty pictures)

saving grace

2009-11-15T07:59:00.001-08:00

The saving grace of cold winters is the occasional snow. It is not very frequent here, and when it does come, it does not last very long. Usually, the warm bright sunshine makes quick work of the snow, the next day. My sister commented that she thought that it was snowy throughout the winter here, since every winter I have been sending her photos of the snow. What a misrepresentation! It was the unusual aspect of the snow that made me send her the photos, so that was all she saw.

Whenever people visit my garden, they ask me what I am going to plant in this pot. It has been empty for years. It's not because I can't decide what to plant in it. Actually, I had planned on putting in a water feature. But getting an electrical supply to that area of the garden would be a hassle, and I've put it off. I love the way that the snow brings out the geometry of the pot's rim. So much so, that I'm leaving it empty.

The icing of snow on the top of the fence always catches my eye. Is this why they call certain pastry decorations, icing?

marsh

2009-11-13T20:48:00.000-08:00

When I was in school, I spent my summers at my sister's house, which was previously my parents' house. It was situated within walking distance to the shoreline, where there still is a nature center, and walking and biking paths. There were a series of mounds in the marsh, and it was fun to ride my bike across them, along the paths that others had made. I'd pedal hard to reach the top of a ridge, and zoom down the precipice into the bottom, then use the momentum and pedal hard to reach the top of the next. It was a series of hills and valleys, screaming speed and mad pedaling, but oh, what fun!

The house is again my parents' house, my father now walking slowly with a cane, whereas when they lived there before, he could lift a cow. While on this trip, I visited that marshy playground of my youth, walking the short distance to the shore. These days, the hilly bike paths are gone, the area now a series of high priced houses, as shown above. There is now an asphalt paved walking path, whereas the path I remember was gravel. This is the first time I've walked this area since those days on my bike, and the trees of the new houses look like they have had 7 or 8 years of growth on them. These changes make me realize the time that has passed, how long it has been since I was here last. Although I am not an "old" man now, if I saw me now when I was of the age when I first biked the path, I would say that the me of now was very old indeed. I feel time weighing upon me.

The paved walking path along the shoreline follows the same route, and I walked along it to the marina. The path is now crowded with people, whereas I remember being the only one riding the trails on my bike. Here is the place where the water was violet as the sun set, and I watched it in quiet solitude. There is where the clouds of insects lay in waiting for me to pass. That place is where I lost control of my bike, skidded out, hit my head, and there was no one to see this accident. There is where the driftwood collects. Those places are still there. There is still beauty to be found. Though the years have passed and new pathways laid, these things have not changed.

november in albuquerque

2009-11-11T19:09:00.000-08:00

Just for contrast from my previous post, of my sister's neighborhood, here are some images from my neighborhood. Yucca thompsoniana looking cute, above.

Roses in my neighborhood are a bit less than perfect.

Or a bit more than a bit.

I did find some colorful leaves, in this case a flowering pear tree.

Another pear, looking eye-catching, although the surrounding landscape is rather different.

And the milkweed seed pods are opening, the fluff catching the light.

A couple of front yards to contrast from those in my previous post.

A pathway of muted browns and grey-greens. I actually find this to be a restive color scheme.

Just for perspective. This is where I get homesick. I'll take more flattering photos next time.

november in norcal

2009-11-11T06:38:00.001-08:00

While the world is fading to brown around me here in Albuquerque, the gardens around my sister's house by the Bay are humming along. I was there for a visit this past week. My brother-in-law's pale version of Princess Flower (Tibouchina urvilleana - above) is looking perky after a rainstorm.

Isn't Agapanthus supposed to bloom in the summer?

The roses were perfect. Just impossibly perfect (but apparently not impossible, because they were everywhere).

Just a tiny portion of this house's many roses.

The persimmon trees were glorious, the leaves and the fruit nearly the same color.

Persimmon trees would be great even if they didn't have delicious fruit.

The combination of roses and fall leaves were not unusual.

"Lemon tree, very pretty, and the flowers are so sweet..."
How many places can boast of blooming daylilies at this time of year?

Bougainvillea and Princess flower are blooming away. Hard to believe it is November.

When I was young, I used to wonder how anyone could stand living anywhere else. I realized that this climate was only a very small portion of country, and I felt sorry for everyone else. I felt very lucky.

Now I am everyone else. Then again there aren't that many people who get to live here, either. Every locale has its distinct characteristics to cherish, even if things are not blooming year-round.

I've got to remember that.

cakewalk

2009-11-09T18:57:00.000-08:00

I've been away visiting the folks in the San Francisco Bay area. Spent a day helping my sister make cakes for my father's birthday party. With the addition of another sister's chocolate mousse cake, there were six cakes altogether. Whew! Plant photos to come.

This was my contribution, and yes, I made the rose from fondant. Looked better in real life than in the photos, but oh well. OCD* is a necessary qualification to making this cake.

Chocolate mousse cake and swirly circle cake made by a sister.

My 10 year-old niece made this one. How cool is this? I love it.

All of us together made this one.

One sister and I made a frog-on-a-lily-pad cake. I didn't think about taking a photo until it was almost devoured. Sister made the frog.*Obsessive-compulsive disorder.

it's coming down

2009-10-29T14:50:00.000-07:00

If there was any doubt about the weather, it became abundantly clear this afternoon.

Here's snow coming down on Karl:

'Winchester Cathedral' was planning on making a show, but this is as far as it got.

A spider web under an overflow pipe makes for a curious scene.

Apache plume (Fallugia paradoxa) becomes a delicate tracery.

There's a heuchera and some dianthus under there.

so much for the growing season

2009-10-29T10:08:00.000-07:00

An early winter storm has hit us, and yep, that is snow on the mountains. Yesterday morning there was flurrying at my house. Today's high is supposed to be 41F and tonight is expected to be as low as 23F. The osmanthus flowers froze last night, and are crispy brown this morning. We'll see how the rest of the garden fares as the week goes on.

saffron

2009-10-24T10:43:00.000-07:00

Although saffron crocus (Crocus sativus) doesn't make a dramatic show like Crocus speciosus does, it is a nice surprise to have in the fall. Here it is, peeking out of the Artemesia versicolor. I find that although saffron crocus survives, in my garden it never produces enough to make a good showing. Maybe it needs a more Meditteranean climate. It is also a slightly muddy mauve which does not catch the eye in the garden, even if it is attractive enough up close. My two flowers won't make enough saffron to flavor a dish of paella, but I like the novelty of having the blossoms.

after the show

2009-10-21T19:00:00.000-07:00

Like fall leaves, the purple asters give a big splash, but the color doesn't last for very long. After all, they don't have a lot of time to put out seeds before the cold weather comes. Fortunately, after the big show, comes an encore. Quickly after the blooms fade, sometimes even before the last of the purple daisies fade, the pappus forms attractive puffballs that catch the light. These help the seeds disperse (like dandelion seeds), but can make a mess as they stick to clothing when the gardener is trying to neaten up the garden.

dalea

2009-10-19T05:33:00.001-07:00

Not to be confused with Dahlia, which might sound similar, Dalea frutescens, or the Black Dalea, has tiny pea-shaped flowers (it is a legume after all). It blooms for a long period in the fall. In milder climates, it can bloom all winter, but not here. Here, in my neighbor's yard, it hardly needs any water at all.

cottonwood

2009-10-18T20:28:00.001-07:00

It's that time.

crocus speciosus

2009-10-17T12:57:00.000-07:00

As follow-up to the last post on C. speciosus, here's another view.

osmanthus heterophyllus

2009-10-16T05:41:00.000-07:00

Osmanthus heterophyllus (Holly-leafed osmanthus) started blooming yesterday, and I'm thrilled. It's blooming at least three weeks earlier than last year, when it started blooming in November. Last year, just when the first blossoms started to open, we had a freeze, and all the flowers and buds were gone. Most people probably wouldn't notice. This plant is rated as hardy to zone 7 or even 6, but that's for the plant, and not the flowers. But that's why most people plant this tough shrub from Japan - for the leaves.

The leaves are said to resemble English holly, although the plant is much smaller, and leaves generally are not as lustrous (except one cultivar: 'Gulftide' which may be a hybrid with another species). Apparently, this plant is much loved in Japan, since there are quite a few cultivars. 'Purpureus' has purple new leaves, 'Goshiki' is a short bushy plant with splotchy/speckled variegation that to me looks like spider mite damage but to other people is delight itself.

Incidentally, "heterophyllus" as you might have guessed, refers to "different leaves" (although you might think it refers to being a "heterophyte," or a plant deriving its nutrition from other organisms, it's not). My plant once had holly-like leaves on the bottom, but rounded leaves at the top. Now it is only rounded leaves as you see in the photo. Like English ivy, the juvenille leaves are different from the mature form, although in holly-leaf osmanthus, the plant still blooms on the juvenille form. So "holly-leaf" is a misnomer in a sense, because that's only half the picture. There is a form 'Rotundifolius' which is only, as the name says, the rounded leaf form.

I didn't plant this plant for its leaves. I planted it for the flowers, which bloom in late fall, so late that some years I don't get to appreciate them. Although they are charming to look at, they certainly don't make a splash. I wanted the fragrance. I wish I could grow its relative Osmanthus fragrans, whose flowers smell like apricots simmering in honey, but alas, O. fragrans is not hardy here (though I've recently learned that a variety O. f. 'aurantiacus' may be). So I planted O. heterophyllus, which has its own delights. The flowers smell like an exotic blend of honeysuckle and green tea, and although the fragrance is not powerful, it carries a long distance, so that when I am in another part of the garden, I can detect even a few blossoms in bloom, and the plant can line its branches with hundreds of blossoms.

Of course I'm a bit curious about why the plant has bloomed almost a month early this year. Is it that the temperatures have stayed low enough to trigger a bloom cycle? Or is it that we are headed for a particularly cold winter?

the problem with fall leaves

2009-10-14T11:34:00.000-07:00

Just a few days ago I was bemoaning the lack of fall leaves in my garden. I missed the dramatic statement of the changing of the seasons. Like spring-blooming fruit trees, there is not much that is more visually impressive than colorful fall leaves to ring in the season. Fall leaves are the season's last hurrah before the onset of the quiet of winter. These colorful leaves set the heart a-leaping.

The problem with fall leaves, is the same problem as spring flowers: they don't last very long. A week, maybe two is all you'll get for all the drama. While this is as much as you could ever ask for in a bouquet of roses, or even a pot of amaryllis, it seems all too soon that it is over.

Here's my neighbor's ash tree, with my 'Wichita Blue' juniper in front, as I posted it October 3rd:

Here it is today, soon to be ready for the bleak days of winter:

The impressive but brief show of the fall leaves is in contrast to the flowers of long-blooming plants. Agastache 'Ava' has been blooming since August (with some color showing in late July). Here it is today:

Not bad for three months of color, eh? Agastache 'Firebird' has been blooming since early July and is just fading out. Chocolate flower has been blooming since May, and is still blooming. I wonder: do we just take these long-blooming plants for granted?

It's too bad the fall leaves don't last longer, isn't it? Which had me thinking: there are plants whose fall foliage last a long time. In fact, there are a few plants whose cold weather color lasts as long as the weather stays cold. I've even blogged about some of them previously (in February).

Eriogonum umbellatum. Duh. How quickly we forget. It's even a native plant.

Opuntia 'Santa Rita' is so obvious.
Then there are non-native plants such as Nandina domestica (Heavenly bamboo). There are some cultivars that just glow throughout the winter. One of these is 'Firepower' (do a google search) named such for the brilliant color the leaves take on in the winter. Other nandinas can turn blazing colors as well, such as this one in another neighbor's yard (is it 'Gulf Stream'?).

Here is everyday Oregon grape holly (Mahonia aquifolium), looking not-so-everyday in the winter.

This is the glowing color that my neighbor's boxwood takes on with frosty weather. It turns back to the nondescript green that we all know, once spring arrives.
For some gardens, this winter-long fall color may be even more exciting than true fall color. Just something to keep in mind.

fourth of july in october

2009-10-11T10:51:00.000-07:00

The Fourth of July Canyon is known for its amazing fall foliar displays. The tree mostly responsible for this is the southwest version of the sugar maple. Known variously as the Wasatch maple, the big-tooth maple, or the rocky mountain sugar maple, this tree is felt to be a regional variant of the sugar maple (Acer saccharum) and is thus now known as Acer saccharum grandidentatum (previously it was known as just A. grandidentatum). It differs from the typical east-coast sugar maple by being shorter (to 20-30 feet tall instead of growing to 60 feet), having smaller leaves, and needing well-drained rather dry soil.

It has the same spectacular fall colors however, and for those of us who live in the southwest and miss the fall fireworks that deciduous forest trees provide, a trip to the Fourth of July Canyon can satisfy this craving.

We took a trip to the canyon yesterday, and it was clearly apparent that we had missed the peak. Perhaps two weeks ago, the canyon would have been incredible. There were sights to see however, from the blazing inferno reds, to glowing oranges and yellows, to delicate pinks. Sometimes this was all in the same leaf.

Good thing we got there early. By the time we left (around 1pm) the parking lot was full, the entrance road was entirely lined with cars parked on the side, and there were a dozen or so cars coming up the road. I wonder where they parked, because there was not a spot left.

suddenly

2009-10-10T14:01:00.000-07:00

Today is day 1 for this autumn's showing of Crocus speciosus. This is one of the plants that I put in the garden to get me excited that it is fall. It helps me overcome the feeling of the pending doom of winter. There are many fall-blooming crocuses, and it is a shame that the spring bloomers get all the attention. Of the fall bloomers, Crocus speciosus is common, but that doesn't stop it from being my favorite (so far).

When blossoms appear, they emerge literally overnight, so that they are always a surprise. One day it is bare ground, and the next the blooms are open. If you are a very careful observer, and have the time to sit in the garden each morning as the sun rises at this time of year, you might catch them emerging out of the ground. It's curious that I have a half dozen blooms today, where yesterday there were none. How do they know to coordinate their blooms to the same day?

The flowers last only a few days, but the corms usually produce at least a few blossoms each, so the show is prolonged. Each blossom is at least twice the size of dutch crocuses, of a luminous color and a shape that catches the light of the sun so that they become glowing bowls of blue. You can't miss them in the garden.

They are worth anticipating in the fall.