summer at last

Sum­mer finally arrived last week. A humid mass of high pres­sure from Mex­ico hopped the bor­der fence and gave us some hot days and tropical-looking morn­ing clouds that lit up bril­liantly as the sun rose.

After almost four months with a total nat­ural rain­fall of .05 inches much of the gar­den has been head­ing into its defen­sive dor­mancy. But a few plants seem to be rev­el­ing in the arrival of some real sum­mer heat. Top of the list is this Cal­i­for­nia fuch­sia, the ‘Route 66′ cul­ti­var, which opened its flow­ers to coin­cide with the hot weather. Some Epi­lo­bium species and clones have fairly small, gray-colored leaves, but this is one of those where the leaves a smidge larger and greener, a bright con­trast to the scream­ing orange flowers.

Desert marigold, Bai­leya mul­ti­ra­di­ata, has been bloom­ing away with the help of a lit­tle addi­tional water, but not much.

In the bed that gets some irri­ga­tion the gin­gers are the cur­rent stars of the show. Coin­cid­ing with the Cal­i­for­nia fuch­sia was this kahili gin­ger, Hedy­chium gard­ne­r­i­anum, a plant that I’ve been grow­ing since my early teens, a hand-me-down plant from one of my mother’s gar­den­ing friends. Sit­ting in the back yard after sun­set is a treat with this insanely fra­grant gin­ger nearby.

Of course sum­mer isn’t all about the flow­ers. The fig tree is hit­ting its peak fruit pro­duc­tion this week. It’s the vari­ety ‘Brown Turkey,’ which is sup­posed to do well with less heat than what most other vari­eties require. This has been one its best years ever for me. I’m try­ing to fig­ure out what went right this year, and I’m think­ing the suc­cess has some­thing to do with water. This past win­ter and spring actu­ally deliv­ered a slightly-over nor­mal rain­fall that was spaced evenly through­out sev­eral months. Also, last year I applied some water-conserving wood­chip mulch over the bed that con­tains the fig. And John’ has made a point of water­ing the zone around the fig every other week or so. I hope to be able to repeat the suc­cess next year, which accord­ing to the prog­nos­ti­ca­tors could be a drier than aver­age La Niña year.

The gar­den herbs are doing well. A six­pack of pars­ley sev­eral months back is turn­ing out to be way more than two peo­ple who use pars­ley once or twice a week. At least it’s a pleas­antly tex­tured plant for the front of a border.

A six­pack of basil, how­ever, hasn’t seemed to pro­duce nearly enough. Maybe the basil will pick up with the warmer weather.

Sur­pris­ingly the trop­i­cal lemon­grass plants (both the East– and West-Indian ver­sions) haven’t been sulk­ing and are over­pro­duc­ing just like the parsley.

Adding to the pile of edi­bles, our neigh­bor Olinda stopped by with her grand­son. It was all she could do to carry this giant water­melon. John was impressed with its size and sug­gested I weigh it: 30.8 pounds.

It’s one of the with-seed vari­eties that stores these days don’t seem to stock much any­more. Stun­ning rind, don’t you think? One of the many things we’re los­ing in part because of big agra.

I was hop­ing to save the water­melon for a day or two, until we had room in the fridge, but I was a lit­tle clumsy pho­tograph­ing its cool rind in detail. Now I know what a melon dropped 3 feet off a table onto a brick patio does. It stays in one piece, but you have to deal with it right away.

High sum­mer also means the best can­taloupes of the sea­son. This is Scooter help­ing us out by fin­ish­ing a cou­ple of half-melons we had for break­fast. The melon came from the local hybrid grocery-farmer’s market.

And so our sum­mer begins: a lit­tle too much melon and a gar­den peak­ing with fruit and herbs. Life is good.

August 23 2010 | Categories: gardeningmy garden | Tags: | 10 Comments »

dr. frankenstein’s plum tree

While John and I were out look­ing for a small orna­men­tal tree at our favorite local place to shop for plants, Wal­ter Ander­son Nurs­ery, we passed by some bins of bare root fruit trees. We weren’t in the mar­ket for a fruit tree, and we really don’t have the per­fect place to put one.

But John eyed the bins wist­fully. “I’ve always wanted a plum tree.”

frankensteinplum

Our past expe­ri­ence with a stone fruit was a vari­ety of apri­cot that was sup­posed to do okay with­out much chill­ing here in coastal San Diego. It’s been almost a dozen years, and that’s prob­a­bly how many fruit we’ve har­vested off the tree. Some of the fruits were eaten by crit­ters before we got to them, but for the most part the issue is that there just haven’t been many fruit to begin with. It just doesn’t get cold enough here for suc­cess with apricots.

I had that dis­cus­sion with Kurt at the nurs­ery, and he assured us that all the plums they car­ried were selected to do well in this area. I wasn’t totally con­vinced, but with John and Kurt work­ing their influ­ence, I gave in. We now have a plum tree. Or is it five plum trees?

We walked away with one of those Franken­stein multi-grafted plants, with a branch of five dif­fer­ent vari­eties. The the­ory is that they’re selected to pro­vide a long sea­son of fruits. But the real­ity of multi-grafts is that the vigor of the dif­fer­ent vari­eties is never the same as that of the oth­ers, and one or two vari­eties often take over unless you con­tinue to prune the plant care­fully. In fact, one of the vari­eties is listed as being par­tic­u­larly vig­or­ous. Uh oh.

John like the idea of the long sea­son. I liked the idea that out of the five vari­eties we might actu­ally find one that does well here–and actu­ally taste good. If a vari­ety doesn’t bear after its trial period, off the island it goes. Here’s what we ended up with:

  • Santa Rosa: 300–400 hours chill requirement(below 45 degrees) . This vari­ety is the one that ends up planted every­where in South­ern Cal­i­for­nia, and it seems to set fruit pretty reli­ably. The fla­vor isn’t any­thing to get excited over, though. It’s in the “why bother” cat­e­gory for me, and I’ll be really dis­ap­pointed if it’s the only one that does anything.
  • Bur­gundy: 300–400 hours chill requirement
  • Golden Nec­tar: 400–500 hours chill requirement
  • Beauty: 250 hours
  • Meth­ley: 250 hours

frankenstein-plum-flowering

Now, less than two weeks in the ground, some of the branches are bloom­ing already. Encour­ag­ing. But I sus­pect the tree was at least some­what pre-chilled at the orig­i­nat­ing nursery.

Inter­est­ingly, the branch with the most green foliage and no flow­ers at all is the sup­pos­edly low-chill Meth­ley. And the other low chill vari­ety, Beauty, has next to no flowers.

I’ll report back on how this all goes. How I love a good experiment!

February 07 2009 | Categories: gardeningmy garden | Tags: | No Comments »

figs!

Brown Turkey Fig fruiting

Brown Turkey Fig fruiting

Figs are among my favorite fruits, but they’re also among the fruits that are usu­ally sad, unripe dis­ap­point­ments when you get them from a store. To help make up for that deficit we put in a ‘Brown Turkey’ fig tree over ten years ago.

Figs excel in the warm parts of the Mediter­ranean where they orig­i­nate, but given cool sum­mers they can sulk and not do par­tic­u­larly well. ‘Brown Turkey’ and ‘Osborn Pro­lific’ were a cou­ple of the vari­eties listed as doing well with less heat. Here in coastal San Diego ‘Brown Turkey’ has turned out to be a great choice. The plant is bear­ing now, pro­vid­ing us–and some of the neigh­bor­hood birds–with tasty brown-purple-black fruit.

Last season’s crop ended being a puny one, so John chopped the tree back by a third. Figs pro­duce two crops–an early one on last year’s wood and a larger, later one on this year’s. Prun­ing the tree sac­ri­ficed most of the first crop. But this sum­mer has made up for what few figs we’ve had so far this year.

Another fac­tor with its crop could be its water­ing sched­ule. Where the tree was placed–in the tough love bed behind the studio–it gets plenty of sun, but some­times only gets sum­mer water every three to four weeks. Figs are listed as being drought tol­er­ant once estab­lished, but at the same time they’re listed as enjoy­ing being watered. The plant def­i­nitely perks up after a good drench­ing so we know that could be part of the story. But it’s nice that there’s a plant that will pro­vide at least some­thing edi­ble with­out too many gal­lons of the lower Col­orado River poured on it!

August 18 2008 | Categories: gardeningmy garden | Tags: | 4 Comments »

once an orchard

I wanted to find the quince tree again.

It prob­a­bly had been close to ten years since I last hiked my nearby Los Peñas­qui­tos Canyon Pre­serve. Still I clearly remem­bered com­ing upon an ancient but still fruit­ing quince in one of the trib­u­tary canyon bot­toms. Unwa­tered for decades and tended only by the wildlife, it had seemed like a mir­a­cle of sur­vival in San Diego’s desert climate.

Survivor quinceLast Sat­ur­day I scootered up to the pre­serve and started a slow stroll through the native wil­lows and sycamores and oaks that line the dry creek in López Canyon. I only vaguely remem­bered the loca­tion, but less than half a mile in, right by the side of the trail, there it was, still very much alive, green and loaded with fruit.

Fruit on old quince tree

Nearby, in the shade of an old sycamore and crowded with some robust shrubs–including poi­son oak–I found a sec­ond tree with fruit on its branches.

Quince and poison oak

And then I started look­ing around in earnest. Off to the left stood a dif­fer­ent kind of tree, either a dif­fer­ent quince or maybe even a pear. It had a thick, creased trunk and the plant was clearly old. But the tree still drooped a lit­tle from the weight of the fruit.

Quince or pear treeQuince or pear fruit

Old apricot in Lopez CanyonNot far ahead stood another spec­i­men. Though with­out fruit it was clearly another fruit­ing tree, prob­a­bly an apri­cot, judg­ing by its leaves, a month after the last of its offer­ings would have been ripe.

So that made for four trees that I could find with­out crawl­ing through more poi­son oak or fur­ther through the snakey grass. I’m cer­tain all the trees were many decades old, but exactly how old I couldn’t say for sure.

Local his­tory places an orchard oper­a­tor in this canyon as late as 1921, so some of the trees may date to then, though this area has been ranched and cul­ti­vated at least as early as the early 1800s, when this area was con­tained in the first of the Mex­i­can land grants in Alta Cal­i­for­nia, to as recently as 1962, when the land was acquired by the County.

Ruiz-Alvarado adobe, San DiegoNearby, under a pro­tec­tive shel­ter at the con­flu­ence of López Canyon and Los Peñas­qui­tos Canyon, stand the remains of the Ruiz-Alvarado Adobe, one of the old­est struc­tures in San Diego County.

Any­thing older than a hun­dred years around these parts is con­sid­ered a relic. If you were to believe the most wish­ful of the sources the adobe would date all the way back to 1815, though more reli­able sources place its con­struc­tion at 1857. This small adobe, along with a later, grander one to the east, became part of a thriv­ing con­cern ded­i­cated to ranching.

Ruiz-Alvarado adobe, San DiegoMaybe it’s wish­ful and over-romanticizing on my own part–or maybe not–to imag­ine that the set­tlers who lived in this adobe planted the fruit trees in López Canyon. But the trees are as much of the human his­tory of this area as are the few remain­ing adobe walls. Here we need all the his­tory that we’ve got.

July 25 2008 | Categories: places | Tags: | 2 Comments »