Roger's Ramblings

Azalea Creek at The Cedars; The Blob and Mule Trail.

2011-01-28T15:46:00.000-08:00

Looking East up the Azalea Creek drainage, following the abandoned mule trail.

The Cedars, the massive "island" of ultramafic rock (=serpentine) in NW Sonoma Co. California is a large place. Further, the limited number of people who have had a chance to visit its amazing canyons, have generally only seen a small part of the place. Typically we tour people around our Main Canyon parcel where the trails we constructed make the formidable terrain accessible. Trails are unquestionably the easiest way to make the inaccessible, accessible, not to mention more enjoyable.

But for those who have visited before, our second favorite place to take them is Azalea Creek, the second largest drainage (watershed) within The Cedars. Azalea Creek has some exceptional features, including the largest calcium carbonate formation at The Cedars and some of the most ancient old-growth Sargent cypress woodland (Hesperocyparis ((=Cupressus)) sargentii.)

A view from across the canyon of The Blob, the largest calcium carbonate (travertine) feature at The Cedars. The creek runs diagonally across the picture but is hidden by the trees.

View toward the central portion of The Blob in late afternoon light.

In the center is a grotto like space, The Maw (sometimes called The Balcony), with its fanciful stalactite-edged hooded roof.

Another unique feature of Azalea Creek is the remains of a mule trail that accessed at least two mining areas in this watershed, this mining area being called the Yellow Streak Mine. The Yellow Streak Mine is one of three chromite mines in The Cedars, the other two being in the Main Canyon (and known as the Rattlesnake Mine and The Slats). But these later two mines had a road to take out the ore, and in East Austin Creek over the ridge, the magnesite mines there had a small gauge railroad to haul that out to civilization. But in Azalea Creek they used a mule, and carved a route through the rocky slopes and talus to get to and from these mines.

Here, looking W down Azalea Creek, an early stretch of the mule trail can be seen carved into the cliffside in the center. It then passes through a woodland and re-emerges near the base of the orange toned hillside, not far above the vegetation near the bottom, but is not distinct enough to see clearly in this image. About half way across this relatively flat area the trail split; one branch heading down to the creek ultimately, the other climbing up to the right where a stretch is visible to the right of, and near the top of, the tall tree in the right corner.

An approximation of the trail route is drawn in fuchsia below.

A stretch of the mule trail cut into rock; such areas tend to be the best preserved.

Here I am on the trail approaching the first of two mining areas. Photo by David McCrory.

An interrupted sloping line across the center horizon shows portions of the trail, but in the gully it is completely gone; thus this is as far as most can get, as the drop off is precipitous. To circumvent these washouts is very difficult and dangerous. This photo by David is from down in the creek, and for scale, you might be able to make me out in the gully where the upper gullies converge.

Ultimately the mule trail reached the upper canyons of Azalea Creek, which are deep and so narrow as to be very difficult to utilize for access. Thus the trail had to cut across some steep cliffs and talus slopes to get to the upper mining area, which would have been beyond the right edge of this picture.

In this closer view the trace of the trail can be seen as a shallow diagonal across the center horizon of this picture - going from the spine of the ridge on the left side to the woods on the right side. The cliffs to the left of the spine have become so eroded, the trail is not only impassable, but it is hard to even find any remnant.

As the trail continued up this canyon - the North Fork of Azalea Creek - it passed in and out of two wooded zones and then emerged (not visible here) from the center of the left side of this picture. It then heads over to, and above the strange rock outcrop with the large white spot and continues beyond at the base of the rocks with the marble-cake like coloration. These ochre colored bands are believed to be the 'yellow streaks" that gave the mine its name.

The terminus of the trail was this strange arcing cliff face about 12' high, with a shallow overhang, . This area is to the immediate right of the previous picture.

Looking W down Azalea Creek, Mohrhardt Ridge (not part of The Cedars) in the distance (bluish green). The two previous pictures would be to the right of this view (though not immediately so), but this view includes about 90% of the mule trail. The visible parts of the trail are drawn in fuchsia in the image below. The gaps in the center are where the trail is obliterated by erosion.

A picture drawn by a guest staying at the Berglund Ranch in 1948 (now Campbell Ranch) of A. L. Laton and his wife Wanda, riding home to Cazadero. Laton was the operator of the chromite mines at The Cedars. The mines were about 10 miles from Cazadero and even today in a car, it seems like a very long journey.

New Home Garden for Planet Horticulture

2010-12-08T16:16:00.000-08:00

Forestville, Sonoma Co., CA

Gardens, like hope, spring eternal for those who are passionate about plants.
In mid-September 2010, we moved to Forestville in Sonoma Co. and immediately set out to create a new garden.
We cleared away the previous landscape as it had little interest for us, leaving only the paved back patio, raised vegetable bed and 7 plants.

View S from the downstairs, showing cleared back yard on September 17th.

Same view late December 2010. This part of the garden is now essentially complete and waiting for warm weather to return for new growth. This part was relatively instantaneous, as most of the plants were in containers, and essentially were re-arranged in their new home.

SE corner of the back garden after clearing, mid September 2010. The purple leaf plum, two Red Flame grapes and a crepe myrtle were left from the original landscape.


Same view as above in late December 2010. As in the earlier pictures, the planted urns edge the pavement, but beyond, most of the plants are in the ground. The largest urn, a tijana or olive oil jar from Portugal, creates a focal point from anywhere in the back garden. Although it is hard to distinguish the individual plants, the plantings will form a woodland of palms, evergreen and deciduous trees and shrubs, large and small succulents with an herbaceous and bulb understory. There is even a "secret" sitting area in the corner that a garden visitor can discover. (Note: the two sculptural urns and the chiminaria are lidded during winter to prevent them filling with water.)

Snow Melt Part 2; Released from refrigeration, spring flowers return.

2010-07-07T20:13:00.000-07:00

Note: Suggest reading Part 1 first.

I often comment on how quickly spring wildflowers come and go here in the North Bay counties of California, but the low elevation progress of springtime is an eternity compared with the mountains. Up there, plants may stay dormant under deep snowdrifts for many months and then suddenly one day they are out in full sun on an 80 degree (F) day! This requires a quick response if the plants are going to complete their cycle of growth, flower and seed, especially if they are plants that require moisture and cool temperatures, as these mountains are hot and dry once the snow is gone.

Toothwort, Cardamine species, sending up a flowering scape within a week after its deep snow cover has disappeared, even before the foliage appears. Even though I thought I had focused a lot of attention in trying to figure out the names on our local toothwort species (see blog, "Cardamine Uncertainty" from earlier this year), this one also leaves me uncertain. Probably a type of Cardamine pachystigma which is known from N of here at Plaskett Meadows. However these plant have pure white flowers while C .pachystigma usually has pink or purple flowers.

The attractive toothwort (or milkmaids) foliage is thick, almost succulent, and is almost silvery on the upper surface while deep purple beneath. Here it has emerged through a still flattened clump of Eriogonum compositum, a large-leafed perennial "buckwheat" with huge creamy white flower heads (later of course). Against the rock is Cheilanthes gracillima, a lovely evergreen fern that will curl up when dry in the summer.

On the rocks! Here the Cardamine forms a loose colony amongst the fractured rock pieces. These plants have relatively small flowers that open white and fade white. Underneath this loose rock are stems, usually about 5 - 6" that connect to tubular strings of tubers. Over time due to shifting rock, slides, fragmenting root pieces and so forth, sizable clonal colonies develop.

A gem of these high ridges is Purdy's fritllary, Fritllaria purdyi. Similar in overall size to the talus fritillary in Part 1, these have greener leaves (but a dull grayish green), and the leaves are arranged in a cluster at the base and diminish quickly up the stems.

Fritillaria purdyi is well-known to native plant enthusiasts of the North Bay, and is often a "destination plant" for early spring field trips. Especially for those who scour the serpentine barrens of Napa, Lake and Colusa Cos., this plant is always a joy to come across in flower. While the majority of its sites at low elevation are on serpentine, especially in vernally wet swales and barrens, it also has an alternative habitat on the volcanics of The Palisades - in sight of my window as I type this (The Palisades, not the fritillary). What it seems to want is relatively sterile soils that are wet in winter/spring, but go bone dry later.

A sweet plant however one looks at it, but fascinating in close up detail. The tepals (petals and sepals that look alike, 3 each) are sort of thick and succulent, something like the base of a lettuce leaf. Overall they are translucent, but with variable bronze marking zones, streak and spots. Hints of green and gold also show through.

At low elevation, Purdy's fritillary flowers in March or early April, although as you move up in elevation it can sometimes be found in May. On the high ridges of Hull Mt., especially Windy Gap, it is likewise early, but needs to wait until the snow melts. But it doesn't wait long once the snow is gone.

Initially on opening they face down or outward, turning upward with age.

In distribution this bulb is usually relatively rare - maybe a dozen or two here and there, at most a hundred in one area. Even on Windy Gap just N of Hull Mt., it needs to be looked for, although I saw at least several hundred plants - most not yet in flower. Further to the N however there are gravelly ridges with many hundreds, probably thousands of bulbs in relatively small areas (acre or so). Thus while the number of people who see them in the mountains is limited, the plants themselves are likely to be far more numerous up high than all the lower elevation sites combined.

Typically a plant of few flowers, most often 1-3, but rarely plants with as many as 8 may be found.

Looking down on the glossy backsides, here with a sizable bronze zone.

Clustering foliage at the bottom and flowers at the top.

Although nearly anyone who sees this plant would love to add it to their gardens, it is yet another native that just seems to be impossible to cultivate for any period of time. While at UC Botanical Garden at Berkeley, we tried to grow populations from many elevations and locales, all without any success beyond a year or two.

And just one more picture before moving on...

As much of an uncertainty now as when I first saw it thirty years ago is another lovely Claytonia found on Hull Mt. In Part 1 I discussed the lovely annual Claytonia saxosa, however this is a perennial species which forms a small round tuber about 3-4" deep.

This Claytonia is probably C. lanceolata, the Western spring beauty, although there is not much lanceolate (lance-shaped) about it to my eyes. Nor does it look anything like the illustration in the Jepson Manual (p.901). However the description does say that it is variable, and I guess we have to go with that explanation. On Hull and Windy Gap it is widespread in some areas just after snow melt, but disappears quickly as the heat sets in.

Moving from one uncertainty to the next, a real treat to come across are the dwarf mountain larkspurs in the genus, Delphinium.

This vivid purple-blue mini-larkspur takes a little longer to come up and flower, probably about 2 weeks or so after the snow disappears. It is one of two possible species, but I didn't key it out when I was there; thus I can't say for sure. It could be either Delphinium decorum ssp. tracyi, Tracy's larkspur, or D. antoninum, Anthony Peak larkspur, but it takes root characteristics to really separate the two.

The color seems especially vibrant against the gray rock talus.

The foliage is lovely too being nearly orbicular (round) but with deep divisions. The foliage tips the scales for me in terms of which species this might be, being more reminiscent of the Anthony Peak larkspur, but it is only one character.

Close up of larkspur flower, the lower flower already passing.

Author employing old-fashioned collection notebook on scenic bluff.

A plant I must mention, even though it is not native to California, is a lovely mat forming member of the mustard family, Aubrieta deltoides. What is special about this plant - and as far as I can tell it is only one plant - is that I first saw this on my first trip to Hull in 1981. It is located at the base of the stairway up to the Hull Mt. lookout tower - although there are only piers left now where he fire lookout once stood. I remember puzzling over its identity 30 years ago when a ranger came out of the lookout and she laughed and told me I would never figure it out because it was not native. Apparently some early ranger - possibly trying to improve on nature - had thought it might grow there and "pretty up the place." For better or worse, that person had a good horticultural sense as this plant has persisted for most likely close to a half century enduring intense wind, wind cold and summer heat and drought, to flower beautifully every spring.

What I found particularly interesting is that the plant is exactly the same size and the same stage of flowering as when I first saw it. Imagine running into an acquaintance you haven't seen in 30 years who hasn't aged. It is both comforting and disconcerting. 30 years erased in a flash of remembrance, the perfect end to a long day on Hull's mountain.

Last but not least, and the only plant I'll mention not from the summit ridges, is this lovely race of bowl tube iris, Iris macrosiphon. Down around 5,000' elevation in the pine/fir woodlands, is this quite yellow form of this widespread and variable species - probably the yellowest it gets anywhere in its distribution. Creamy forms are not uncommon, but seldom do they possess this strong a coloration. In our area of the North Bay, blue, blue/purple or deep purple are the most common color forms.

The variation and splendor of the California flora is always amazing, even after a lifetime of experiencing it!

Snow Melt on Hull Mountain; Fleeting Beauty Follows Vanishing Snow Beds. Part 1.

2010-06-28T18:23:00.000-07:00

My first solo trip into the "wilds" of California - at least beyond the immediate Bay Area counties - was to a mountain in the North Coast Ranges named Hull Mt. This was in 1981, and the destination had been suggested by the late Marshall Olbrich, original proprietor - with his partner Lester Hawkins, of Western Hills Nursery in Occidental in Sonoma Co. Marshall had been there a few years prior with Nevin Smith, another now-famous name in California horticulture, who is currently an owner of Suncrest Nursery in Watsonville, Santa Cruz Co. (Both Nevin and Marshall have way too many achievements in horticulture to go into here, but it was their trip to Hull that prompted my first adventure there.)

A view from about 6400' elevation on Boardman Ridge looking up toward the summit of Hull Mt., about 6,850'elev. A road cuts across to the upper left where it goes over a saddle; but on this weekend of 19 June 2010, it was stilled blocked by deep snow drifts.

Hull Mt. is located at 039degrees31'19.36"N and 122degrees 58'08.27"W. It is named for an early settler of Sacramento in the mid 19th century, James Hull. Hull had a hunting cabin on the mountain, but was found mauled to death, presumably by a grizzly bear. There is a site (place name) on the topographic sheet of this area named Hull's Grave, which I located back in 1981, marked by the rotting timbers of a large cross. Even today with our road system and macho vehicles it is a long tiring journey from Sacramento to Hull Mt.; it is hard to imagine the arduousness and perils of such a journey back in the 19th century.

Looking out to the SSW from the bluff at 6,400'; the small city of Ukiah in Mendocino Co. would be in the distant valley of the upper left section of the picture.

The view from the same bluff looking SE toward the rambling multiple summits of Snow Mt. (with snow). On the horizon ridge to the N of Snow Mt. is the conical silhouette of St. John Mt. and N of that Sheetiron Mt. To the S of Snow Mt. is Goat Mt. These are all some of the S-most peaks of the North Coast Range above 6,000 feet. The montane chaparral here is predominantly huckleberry oak, Quercus vaccinifolia and green-leaf manzanita, Arctostaphylos patula.

On the N side of the pass or saddle of Hull Mt. the snow banks were still 25' deep in some areas where winter snow drops heavily and shadows prevent melting until June or even July. The dense conifer woodland here is mostly red and white firs (Abies magnifica shastensis and A. concolor).

Although I had returned to Hull Mt. and environs several times in the 80's, it was always with other people, usually on long road trips where we passed through quickly with only brief stops to photograph or collect seed. Thus I had a yearning to go back and re-visit on a personal journey, maybe even re-discover some of that excitement of seeing it for the first time. In this regard, I was not disappointed. The road system was even more confusing than I remembered and the road was certainly in even worse state of disrepair than that first trip when I was sure I was going to ruin my car. Even with a 4WD truck today, I had the same thoughts on this journey. But, as usual, I made it up to near the summit before being stopped by snow, and, as usual, the best part of the trip began after getting out of the vehicle.

Although the presence of the snow meant hiking beyond my camp, it meant I was here at the perfect time to see the brief beauty of snow melt plants in flower. The first 'beauty" I came across was a plant I had first seen here at Hull in 1981, Fritillaria glauca, the talus fritillary. It was as beautiful as I remembered.

Talus fritillary, Fritillaria glauca, an exquisite member of the Lily Family, growing out of deep loose talus chips. The paired silver gray glaucous foliage - thus the "glauca" in the species name - is nearly identical to some tulip (genus Tulipa) species. If you were to turn the flower upward, the resemblance is ever more compelling.

The flower color of talus fritillary is mostly a bronzy purple-brown, or sometimes with more golden color on the inside giving an tawny-orange. There can be pure golden yellow flowers on some, though rare here, and none were seen on this trip.

Fritillaria glauca is restricted to Northern California and southern Oregon, though I have seen it almost exclusively in the North Coast Ranges (as opposed to the Klamath region). It is only 4 or 6" tall and is easy to overlook, but is almost always on the N side of a ridge or peak, in what are called "snow beds", those areas where snow lingers the longest. While some plants are solitary, most form small colonies, the largest colonies can be 12" across.

On some flowers the petals seem to flare back more than others, although it is possible that this feature is merely an older flower, it is hard to determine being there only such a brief moment in time. These sites tend to be extremely windy and it could simply be a flower blown open by the wind.

In the evening light the sun shines into the flowers giving them even more radiant beauty.

Another jewel of a plant is an annual in the Portulaca family (Portulacaceae) called Claytonia saxosa. Those in some parts of the country know the genus Claytonia as spring beauty; here in the West, we mostly know them as miner's lettuce (Claytonia perfoliata) or a variety of other short-lived annuals and perennials. Two common annuals in our part of CA, found mostly on rock faces, talus and ledges are Claytonia exigua and C. gypsophiloides, both which have sea-anemone-like foliage and tiny white, pink or pink-stenciled flowers. However both can occur in such numbers during late winter or early spring to be quite colorful and lovely, C. gypsophiloides being the showiest due to its larger and more numerous flowers and the brilliant satiny reflective quality of the inner petals.

Although I love seeing our low elevation species of Claytonia, there is something unexpectedly fresh and fun about C. saxosa. It also grows in masses on rock talus and rubble, a habitat seemingly inhospitable to a tiny annual, as the soil may be 4-8" below where the plant appears. If one moves the rocks aside, you see that while the ball of foliage and flowers appears on tops of the loose rocks, there is a thread of root that travels through the soil-less rock pieces until it hits real soil down below.

I first came across this in the evening when the flowers were closed for the day, but just the red ball of condensed foliage, bracts and buds was gorgeous. This plant is about 2" in diameter (5cm). The foliage initially is a greenish gray, but with the intense sun quickly turns red or pink, making these tiny annuals stand out from the barren rock slides.

Nestled in its bed of rock fragments, the plant seems to appear almost instantaneously after snow-melt, ready to flower and set seed almost immediately - the whole life cycle probably occurring in less than 3 weeks. Once in flower, the plant has a semi-succulence that permits it to ripen seed even if broken off of its roots.

Once morning comes, the pink/red ball of foliage becomes a ball of flowers. This area has been free of snow for about a week. (The other plants are the prostrate Lupinus albifrons v. collinus on the left and a single leaf of Fritillaria glauca on the right.)

The extensive gravel "pavements" of some of these montane ridges can have thousands of these tiny plants such as here at Windy Gap just N of Hull.

The expression, "Cute as a button" comes to mind often with this species.

The next species is a widespread spring perennial of many habitats, but when it grows at snow melt, it is yet another plant, quite unlike what I see regularly at low elevation. This species is Western buttercup, Ranunuculus occidentalis, in the Buttercup Family, Ranunculaceae. When I was first seeing this back in 1981, the high montane forms were given a varietal name, var. ultramontanus, which is no longer recognized (as distinct from the species), but which, given its unique gestalt, is at least a good label for this expression.

Just a few days, maybe only one, since the snow departed, and the flattened vegetation sprouts relatively large showy buttercup flowers well in advance of its foliage. The grass is Danthonia unispicata(?).

Close up of several flowers and the silky foliage just starting to expand from the ground. Eventually this will produce a stem over 1' tall and branched, much like the typical species. But at this stage it resembles some of the butercups that are totally restricted to snow beds, such as Ranunuculus eschscholtzii of the mountains of Western N America.

Part 2 will feature another fabulous Fritillaria.

And goodbye to our lovely Fritillaria glauca.

Purple leafed stream orchid, another unique race of plants from The Cedars

2010-06-14T20:55:00.000-07:00

Purple-leafed stream orchid, Epipactis gigantea, (The Cedars' purple race) is a wonderful variation on an old familiar species. At its best, it is a stunning rich rose/black/burgundy in color, the color being deepest and richest when first emerging in spring, but typically holding in intensity through flowering.

Glistening rose burgundy color on the new growth is luscious, while additional texture is added by the venation and glistening surface cells.

This race of stream orchid is not simply one color, it is quite variable in the wild with a range from the traditional green leaf, to nearly every intermediate shade of green, greenish silver, green with burgundy venation, pale burgundy purple, deep burgundy purple, etc. In most locations various colored forms, each forming a colony, may occur together.

They are distributed throughout the various canyons of The Cedars, each canyon having a slightly different range of intensity of colors and mixes. For example in Mineral Spring Canyon, nearly all the plants are some shade of bronze or burgundy, many very deeply colored, with only a few largely green foliaged plants. In the Main Canyon, nearly half of the plants found are green and intensely purple plants rather uncommon. Thus the genetic tendency toward purple is unevenly developed depending on local conditions.

The play of light on the foliage brings out additional coloration.

The deepest colored colonies are generally the most exceptional, especially to a horticulturist's eye, as the color tends to be quite complex with hints of blue, rose and silver often revealed in certain light. It is typical for those with the purple coloration to gradually mature to a dark, almost blackish green by or just after flowering, certainly by the time the capsules develop.

The variability of the plant color can range from deep burgundy to bright green as seen in this picture where the two grow side by side in a seepage at The Cedars. While the green plants are almost indistinguishable from the typical widespread species, the purple ones are remarkably distinct.
The typical species ranges from British Columbia to Mexico and Texas, but in that entire extensive range, only those at The Cedars have developed this deep coloration to the plant. In 1995, a plant from The Cedars was botanically described by orchid expert, botanist and author, Paul Martin Brown as Epipactis gigantea forma rubrifolia, meaning red-leaf. In botany, a "forma' is the lowest level of botanical recognition, usually based on a single character difference.

The purple-leafed forms became immediately popular in horticulture after I introduced them at the UC Botanical Garden (UCBG) in the early 80's. Here is the most widely grown selection, 'Serpentine Night' growing in a container with Oxalis spiralis 'Aureus' in my Maybeck Cottage garden around 2000. Only routine water is needed to keep it happy.

On my first trip into The Cedars on July 25 1981, I did not comment on the Epipactis in my collection notebook, probably due to the fact that by late July the foliage is not profoundly colored as it is when first emergent. But by early 1982 I had already made several dark foliage coloration, one of which became the popular cultivar, 'Serpentine Night'.

Here, again in my Berkeley CA garden is a pot with both Epipactis 'Serpentine Night' and another variegated form I named 'Serpentine Candy'. Unfortunately the variegated form proved very weak and died within 3 years. (Ceramic "snails" by Berkeley artist, Marcia Donahue.)

'Serpentine Night' growing in the old Serpentine Display Bed (7) at UCBG (Berkeley) back in the mid-80's. Contrasting is the furry silver-white foliaged Stachys albens, an association sometimes found in the wild at The Cedars. (Note that Stachys albens, while lovely, is extremely aggressive at spreading underground, care in siting it is advised! Great for large pond margins.)

Other than foliage color, the purple-leafed Epipactis at The Cedars is quite similar to the normal species. The flowers are perhaps a little darker due to the strong purple in the sepals, but typical green Epipactis also has some bronzy coloration in the floral parts. The persistent dark leaf color though gives an overall deeper color quality to the flowering plant.

The lovely glaucous and ferny foliage of serpentine columbine, Aquilegia eximia, creates a memorable composition. This form maintains deep color even into flowering.

In the wild the plant is most commonly found in creek margins growing out of rocks and crevices where it survives the scouring of high water and debris in winter. The many seepages - both normal pH and ultrabasic (pH >11) - also provide ample habitat for these unusual forms. I estimate that there are probably about 1,500 plants of Epipactis growing at The Cedars throughout the nearly 6,000 acres of ultramafic (serpentine) rock. Oddly, although the coloration is genetic and not dependent on the serpentine, few plants have been found downstream off of the serpentine, even though The Cedars is the headwaters of several major creeks.

Another excellent color form, very deep burgundy with a hint of rose-purple, here growing in habitat. Hoary coffeeberry, Rhamnus tomentella on the right.

I often get asked where the selection 'Serpentine Night' came from within The Cedars, but unfortunately I don't know for sure. In those early years of exploration, I didn't know the various canyons as well as today, so no specific notation was made of exactly where I collected it. Plus I collected at least half a dozen selections in the early years, and a number of populations are very similar in color to 'Serpentine Night'.

The two stems in the middle are an unusual blackish burgundy; while those on either side show predominantly green. Even those plants with green foliage show bronze tones in the stem, especially near the base and underground.

Living up to its common name as stream orchid, here is a predominantly green leafed form growing in 4" of water at The Cedars. Even though the foliage is mostly green note the purple coloration of the stems. In the greenest plants found at The Cedars, purple is always found in the lower stems and underground bracts.

Stream orchids are perhaps the easiest native orchid to grow, whether the typical green leafed forms or the purple. Because they spread by rhizomes underground, I've even heard some gardeners complain that they are "weedy" - though I've never felt this way myself. Basically they like loose soil and routine water. Because they emerge from dormancy later than many winter/spring perennials in our climate here in the Bay Area of California, it might be wise to mark where they occur to avoid planting something new on top of them.

A sweet little flower with classic orchid features and complex coloration.

There are a number of facts that make the purple leafed orchids of The Cedars fascinating.

This variant is only found in California.
This variant is only found in Sonoma Co.
This variant is only found at The Cedars and is restricted to serpentine rock and soils.
The color is genetic and not a result of growing on serpentine; seedlings from purple plants will produce variously shaded purple offspring. Plants in cultivation have retained the coloration for nearly 30 years!
It is one of seven endemic plants found only at The Cedars.
Several of the other endemic plants are characterized by extreme purple or reddish coloration in some vegetative or floral part, as well as many other plants at The Cedars (that are more widespread species.)
The selection 'Serpentine Night' has won awards from horticultural societies here and abroad.

While much of the purple coloration becomes muted or not apparent in late summer, by fall the golden amber fall color reveals the purple suffusion once again. Foliage of serpentine columbine, Aquilegia eximia, again provides a lovely contrast.

While much botanical investigation has been done at The Cedars, the mystery remains why so many plants there have developed enhanced anthocyanin coloration, often in species that are not closely related. (Note: for another example of this phenominon, see my blog, "Cardamine Uncertainty.) This would make a great research project for some interdisciplinary study; involving botany, geology, climatology, evolutionary biology, etc.

So this essay is for those who want to know more about our native stream orchid, especially its most unusual variant, The Cedars endemic purple-leafed race. The plant world would be poorer without it!

On The Rocks Part 2; Flowers walled and jeweled.

2010-06-04T14:13:00.000-07:00

Must-have mustards:

One of the plants I chose to try on my rock outcrop was Western wallflower, Erysimum capitatum (v. capitatum), a lovely biennial species frequently seen on rocky banks, ledges, road cuts, openings in woodland and chaparral, etc. Often, after fires or other disturbances that open up and expose rock or soil, this plant can appear prolifically, sometimes by the hundreds.

Western wallflower just starting to flower in February. Eventually the primary spike elongates, often to 3'. In most situations the side branches will also elongate and flower, though in stressful sites usually only the primary spike flowers.

I had been wanting to try this native wildflower for several years, but I also wanted to grow the race that naturally occurs in the Garnett Creek drainage, this is the creek that drains through our property here in Calistoga CA. But I had only seen it occurring naturally in one spot and only one plant, on a rock bluff about a half mile up the canyon. Last spring I explored another nearby rock outcrop and found a few more and made a point of returning to collect 3 siliques (seed capsules); each plant might have 20 - 50 siliques if medium-sized.

A loose grouping of wallflowers on my rock outcrop in March. They provided a wonderful bright wand of color during the damp and often dreary days of "winter" here. The bluish lilac heads in the picture are the native blue-dicks, Dichelostemma capitatum, pre-existing at this site.

Knowing that this species is biennial, that is, it takes two years to flower and then die - and, not wanting to wait for two years before "seeing" it, I decided to try a trick that I had used years ago while at the UC Botanical Garden at Berkeley. I waited until the last week of August to sow the seeds, even though it was during a heat wave and hardly the conditions you wanted tender seedlings to endure. I made sure the seed pot stayed watered, and within eight days, there were dozens of tiny seedlings. During September and October I carefully made sure that they didn't dry out and gave them small doses of fertilizer every few weeks.

Grown off of rock, in "regular" soil - here being a heavy clay - Western wallflower typically produces a bushier plant with many side branches, thus creating a mound of flowers. This can also be induced by pinching the primary "leader" during its vegetative phase. Sometimes browsing rabbits may do this for you..

We were fortunate last fall to have a substantial rainfall in mid October which thoroughly moistened the ground including my rock outcrop. I used this opportunity to plant out the rather small seedling plants into various crevices, niches, ledges, etc. on the outcrop. Although we didn't have follow up rains for several weeks after that, I watered down the areas with new seedlings regularly so that they did not dry out - as young seedlings are wont to do if not watered, usually with tragic results.

By the time the rains returned in November, the seedlings were already quite well established, and subsequent rains kept them growing quickly. A little fertilizer around each rosette helped them turn into small plants by December. Being mustards, wallflowers thrive during the cool season, getting bigger as the days got colder and shorter.

Early flowering wallflowers and juvenile rosettes (rosette above right of big flower head). The rosettes of wallflowers are formed from many long narrow leaves, each leaf having shallow drawn-out lobes on the sides - these scattered teeth and lobes give an extra visual appeal to the foliage mound .

In nature, wallflowers germinate soon after the first rains and grow through the winter/spring into rosettes, which then sit out the long dry season until the next seasons' rains revives them and prompts them to flower the second spring. By starting them early and getting them to grow before the New Year into little rosettes, when the days lengthened, they "thought" that they were already a year old. Thus during January I was thrilled to see most starting to elongate into flowering stems - the "trick" had worked. Of the nearly 75 seedlings planted out, nearly 68 flowered (5 had died), thus the biennial had been turned into an annual.

Apart from growing them in your garden which is quite easy since they are readily available (Annies Annuals, etc.), our Western wallflower is always an attractive plant to come across in the wild. This species, Erysimum capitatum, is the most widespread in the state, occurring in many sites at many elevations. The color too varies considerably, and previously some of the color variants were considered species or subspecies but are now lumped together. The most widespread color is a deep golden orange, but some are more pure orange, others more yellow, others even cream. For example, the plants native to the Calistoga area are slightly more golden than those at The Cedars 40 miles to the W, where they are more orange.

Western wallflower at The Cedars in Sonoma Co. in March. Wallflowers are excellent at attracting butterflies to the springtime garden.

Evalyn's Touch.

If you want to add an annual to your garden that no-one has ever seen before, one that will amaze you every time you see it, try the Farnsworth jewelflower, Streptanthus farnsworthianus. Native to the southern Sierra Nevada foothills it is named for a 20th century rancher and amateur botanist/naturalist, the late Evalyn Farnsworth of Porterville, Tulare Co. Like most jewelflowers it grows on sterile, stony or rocky places, especially "balds" and ledges.

I was first given a 4" pot of this annual (actually two separate friends gave me one each - I guess my penchant for weird plants is well known) about 4 years ago; it was being grown - and still is - again by Annies Annuals of Richmond CA, a source for many unusual plants in our area (she ships too).

While the wallflowers were flowering in Feb. through April, the seedlings of the Farnsworth jewelfower were growing discretely, having self-sown for 4 years now on this rock face. By May, they were producing their curious "flowers", actually spikes of flowers set off by huge purplish/metallic blue bracts. While hard to see in this overall view, there are many in the central area of this picture.

Having moved to Calistoga the previous year, I immediately thought that I should try this native treasure on my new rock outcrop. They did excellently, and when they went to seed, I crushed it up and sprinkled around to a wider area. The next season they returned in good numbers, and I've enjoyed this plant ever since.

Sometimes called Evalyn's jewelfower, this remarkable annual displays its bright white true flowers against a very unusual expanded bract of rose purple overlaid with a strange bluish color that reflects the light.

Our native jewelflowers (genus Streptanthus) are numerous and all seem to have developed odd features - growth form (branching), foliage modifications, flowers and even seed capsules (siliques). But Evalyn Farnsworth really hit upon one of the weirdest. But it isn't simply weird, it is quite lovely, Dr. Seuss would have loved it.

Those who have followed my "ramblings" for some time know that jewelflowers have been an interest of mine for nearly 30 years. Here in Calistoga, we have the bristly jewelflower, Streptanthus glandulosus (ssp. glandulosus) on a rock outcrop across the canyon. At our property at The Cedars N of Cazadero in Sonoma Co. we have two other subspecies (ssp.) of bristly jewelflower, the ssp. sonomensis (Sonoma jewelflower) and the ssp. hoffmanii (Hoffman's jewelflower). We also have another annual, the bearded jewelflower, S. barbiger, and the odd biennial, Morrison's jewelflower, S. morrisonii. The last four entities only occur on serpentine soil or rock - another interest of mine.

While the stems and true flowers are small, it is the purple-blue bracts that stand out from a distance, creating a wonderful color accent in the garden.

I have over the last 30 years tried to grow many of California's fascinating jewelflowers, but most have been very difficult and frustrating in cultivation; especially if you want to keep them for more than one season. Last winter I tried growing seed of the bristly jewelflower from across the canyon, but it - while germinating quickly and easily - grew stunted and distorted as the plants enlarged.

What you see is not what you get. Similar to some other jewelflowers, the juvenile plants give no indication of its future. As a young plant the leaves are finely divided, with almost thread-like divisions. In mid-life, it has a "crisis" and changes its appearance entirely, the ferny foliage of youth becomes large clasping heart-shaped leaves which then produce the even larger purple colored bracts below the flowers. This plant is in transitions showing the two types of foliage.

Thus it is surprising to me that the Farnsworth jewelflower does so well. I'm sure the rock outcrop helps, but it doesn't seem to be bothered by disease, mildew or aphids like some of my other attempts with other species.

Mass of Evalyn's jewelflower on rock face. These have self-sown into the rock crevices - a hard place for any plant to grow. The colored bracts provide an excellent accent to the silver and grays of Dudleya, Santolina chamaecyparissus, Senecio talinoides 'Jolly Gray', and trailing Salvia sonomensis. Below, Athanasia acerosa, a shrub with yarrow-like flower heads and lilac-pink rose.

Autumn in June. As the plants matures and begins to dry out the clasping foliage turns soft colors of lilac, bronze, peach, salmon, yellow and chartreuse. The purple bracts look even more interesting at this phase.

Not your ordinary garden annual, both the form and color of this jewelfower creates exceptional interest. I have not tried this, but if it could be dried with these colors, it would make a unique dried "flower" arrangement.

A cloak of many colors giving its farewell to spring, time to segue to another season.

Golden lotus banana, Musella lasiocarpa; little banana, big interest.

2010-05-25T11:37:00.000-07:00

Four golden lotus "flowers" in May as new leaves are just starting to emerge in my Calistoga garden.

I first heard of Musella in the mid-90's in some catalogue (can't remember the name) which mentioned its great hardiness and showed a tiny picture of its "flower". At that time I was living and gardening at the Maybeck Cottage Garden in Berkeley CA, and I was open to trying almost anything. I also like the look of bananas and had several growing in the garden there already. (The name Musella is a diminuative of Musa, a genus of bananas). Soon afterward, I noticed Heronswood Nursery (then in Kingston WA) had it listed in their catalogue, and since at that time I was ordering dozens of fascinating plants from that amazing place (quite different from today), I ordered one. I have to confess I also loved the name, Musella, so soothing and mellifluous.

In the winter months after the leaves die off, a swollen "bud" emerges from the succulent trunk.

I planted my new treasure in the front bed, where the breakfast nook jutted out, and enjoyed its tropical looking foliage the first season. Even in its first year the main stem became surrounded by many pups. In the second season, the plant grew robustly developing a thick succulent short trunk from which 4' long elongated oval leaves were produced. By this time the plant was a small colony of stems and leaves and provided a lovely contrast to the chusan palm, Trachycarpus wagnerianus, nearby. But it was still entirely a foliage plant. It wasn't until the third winter that it finally flowered.

Here in my Calistoga garden, Musella forms an excellent mass of large foliage that is highly resistant to tearing or shredding - so common in true bananas. The large foliage, while textural in itself, provides a "shadow board" for the nearby Trachycarpus.

While this plant is touted for its winter hardiness, I have only grown it in the moderate climates of the Bay Area of California, where frosts are rare. But even here, in winter, especially by mid December, or earlier if there is a frost, the large, strong leaves begin to deteriorate in appearance. I cut them off at this stage. This leaves the strange club-like trunks encased in recurving dried leaf bases, which while having that "weird factor" is probably best considered the "off season". But once the plant has a few years of establishment, these odd trunks will suddenly burgeon at the tops. Eventually a large swollen "bud" is formed of bracts that are variously colored gold, golden orange, or reddish orange.

First season "bud" on left and second season "bud" on right. Initially this "flower" will seem to come out of the stem top, whereas in subsequent years it will appear on top of the dried bracts of the previous seasons' "flower". Eventually the entire stem will die.

From my experience both in Berkeley and Calistoga, this budding can occur nearly any winter month, but is inevitable by spring. As the outer bracts of this "bud" curl back, an interior of dozens of golden bracts condensed into a fat artichoke-like structure is revealed . These continue to curl back, eventually forming the "lotus-like" head that is strangely beautiful with its cone-like center with a glowing tip, and golden orange reflexed bracts.

Three true flowers can be seen poking out of the base of the bracts as they reflex.

The "true" flowers are actually small tubular flowers on the inside base of each bract. They are the same color as the bracts, and are partially hidden unless you look directly inside the head. They are extremely popular with hummingbirds in my garden suggesting that there is a reward inside each tube. The humming birds will often sit on the reflexed bracts and delicately sip out of the rows of tubular flowers. For some reason this sight always reminds me of a comparative wine tasting.

Two close ups of the foliage showing the pronounced textural quality of the leaves which are slightly folded with a strong central rib running the length and a herring-bone pattern of the lateral veins - more pronounced below than above.

The color(s) of the "lotus" have a wonderful radiant quality, even during dreary wet weather, the glowing heads almost appear to float in the landscape, reinforcing the appropriateness of its common name. On those days with glowing skies at sunset or dawn, the heads almost seem on fire.

A second season "flower" showing both the lovely spiral arrangement of the bracts and the glowing golden color that seem radiant in early or late light.

This closer view of the Musella foliage shows the rippled leaf surface, adding a pleasant visual richness to the leaf. The ability for shadows to play on the leaf is another plus.

Gradually, as spring moves into summer, the leaves will once again re-appear and gradually "swallow up" the golden louts heads, masking them unless you have the curiosity to pry apart the leaves. But from my observations it seems like the flowering stops altogether. And while the floral heads are what may attract the plant enthusiast, the foliage mass is not to be disparaged. In many ways it is most similar to the bird-of paradise plant, Strelitzia reginae, but with bigger bolder leaves, more like the giant bird-of-paradise, S. nicolai, but not quite as large and never developing the tall trunk that species will develop. The biggest plus is that the leaves are very tough, seldom ripping or shredding which is so common on the big Strelitzia and most bananas. My biggest plant in the Calistoga garden gets the full brunt of near-hurricane force winds during our many ferocious wind storms - storms that often last more than a day. These are storms that can defoliate some plants - but not the Musella. Not that these leaves are completely tear proof, but they are tough.

By the second season after flowering, the flower head and stem finishes its life cycle. On the left the smaller head is above the previous season's dried bracts. On the right, flowering has ceased and large, pea-sized black seeds burst out of their enclosures.

While I have read that this plant grows best with routine water and good drainage, and I'm sure the plant would love these conditions, my reality has been of heavy soils and drought stress. Yet my plants look great. And better than that, the foliage shows almost no stress even on the hottest days - often in the low hundreds (F) here, while almost everything else in the garden looks wilted and distressed. I think the fleshy root mass probably accounts for this ability to deal with so much heat, providing water even when there isn't any in the surrounding soil.

A garden view of Musella in May on a rainy day where the flower heads suggest torches.

Fortunately for us here in the Bay Area of CA, this once obscure plant is no longer hard to find in the retail nursery trade. So for those who have a tickling for the tropical, let us lotus, the golden lotus that is.

Whether in sun or overcast, the plant in f lower is radiant; a wonderful addition to any garden.

On the Rocks; gardening on a rock outcrop. Part 1

2010-05-10T19:33:00.000-07:00

The rocky bank as I first saw it before we purchased the property. Here it is covered in dry weedy grasses, thistles, etc. There are two separate terraces above the stone-inlaid concrete walls, with garage, small house (roof) and water tanks behind them.

A habitat that has always fascinated me is the rock outcrop. Rock plants are frequently different than the prevailing plant community, thus represent a sort of island of unusual beings. The conditions of growing on rocks often creates plants of atypical form or expressions, odd appearances and features. And plants growing on rocks tend to display themselves dramatically and with flair.

Part natural, part exposed rock bank along driveway just after moving in. A few pots, ceramic pig, pipes and metal sculptures temporarily set against hillside awaiting decision on future placement. The lower of two concrete retaining walls can be seen at top.

Because of my attraction to rock outcrops, I have often envied yards that had exposed rock. One could construct a rock outcrop, but that is a lot of work. And unless you are very good with rocks, it is often unsatisfactory, especially compared with nature.

So I was rather thrilled when we bought our property in Calistoga 5 years ago and it had considerable rock around the houses. I speculate that originally the site was probably an impressive rock outcrop that mostly got leveled to build the two houses, garage and two driveways. However fragments persisted and some areas were actually created by excavation, which exposed the subsurface rock.

The rock bank after first rains showing new growth. predominantly weeds. Two Yucca and a 'Santa Rita' opuntia (cactus w pinkish pads) and the pre-existing purple fountain grass (Pennisetum) are the only plantings in Nov 05. (The little shed is a pump house).

While the horticulturist may crave rocks, rocks don't crave horticulture; the simple truth is that it is really hard to grow plants on rocks. On this bank the top had something like soil in spots, a colluvium of clay and rock rubble, but other sections are mostly rock and rubble. The four native blue oak - Quercus douglasii - were obviously going to have priority of resources, especially water once the heat arrives. There were three other native plants growing there; the perennial Phacelia heterophylla, the summer dormant bulb, soap plant, Chlorogalum pomeridianum, and another bulb (corm) called blue dicks, Dichelostemma capitatum.

By the spring of 2006 more planting had taken place, especially at the base of the bank where good soil had been brought in to grow a more traditional mix of horticultural material such as roses, Cape reed, Chondropetalum tectorum, shrub milkwort, Polygala dalmasiana, 'Purple Haze' honeyplant, woodland beschorneria, etc. etc. etc. The idea was to make the approach to the main house more exuberant, but not to hide the rock face. Most of the growth on top of the rock are the pre-existing natives; phacelia and soap plant.

The rock outcrop here was always intended to be naturalistic with an overlay of horticultural experimentation. Seen mostly in passing while driving or walking along the driveway, it was not intended to be a precious "rock garden" of choice alpine treasures or minute bun plants. That is another form of horticulture altogether, generally more suited to a place where the exquisite details of those types of plants can be more fully appreciated.

By the spring of 2008 both the bottom "mixed border" planting as well as the rock planting itself had grown in a bit, although the plants on the rocks were quite slow. Thus there is not much that stands out in this picture except the Yucca 'Blue Boy' below the wall and the Yucca aloeifolia 'Marginata' above the wall. However all the native-to-site plants were thriving, and the diversity of plants was much greater than might appear. On the rocks were shrubby Senecio, many Agave species and cultivars, Dudleya and Echeveria, Pachyveria, Salvia sonomensis and S. brandegei, Aloe species, Trachycarpus wagnerianus, Eriogonum umbellatum, Xanthorrhoea preissii, Watsonia X's, Amaryllis belladonna, Amarcrinum, Aeonium, Puya, etc. Also another native annual, Phacelia distans had moved in on its own.

The summer months were very hard on the rock plantings as they received very little water, some none, and they are subjected to many hours of intense sun and heat almost every day for 6 months. The plantings at the bottom did receive more regular irrigation, thus were able to "cover" for the drier background planting. While many gardeners consider the winter as the "off season", here it is the opposite, with summer being the dormant time of year. In spite of this, some plants did retain good appearance, particularly the Yucca, Opuntia and the shrub Senecio - which are particularly impressive in their drought tolerance (there are two green plume-like small Senecio shrubs below the wall, one on the left and one in the middle, both near oak trunks.)

By November most of the plants are in full re-hydration and starting to grow again. This is the same pattern as one would find in nature in this area. However a "trick" I developed while taking care of the CA native collection when I was at the UC Botanical Garden (1978 - 2002) was to extend the season by starting to water in October if the rains didn't appear on their own - this activates the new growth so when the rains do materialize, the plants are set up to utilize the moisture more rapidly. (While the philosophy of "celebrating dormancy" is valid in a dry climate, after 6 months, the celebration gets kind of tiring. Time to celebrate rejuvenation.)

This is a close up detail of the center of the rock area showing several Agave, Dudleya, Pachyveria, and the trailing Opuntia compressa. (Opuntia compressa, native to the central and eastern North American continent especially on sand dunes along the coast and Great Lakes, is a lovely cactus of great hardiness. It is best displayed cascading down a slope. However, while its lack of large spines makes it look "friendly" for a cactus, the tiny and numerous glochid spines - barely visible - can be insidious and irritating if handled without good gloves).

By late January the rock plants are in full growth, with an Aloe arborescens Variegata in flower. The two green shrub Senecio, mentioned above, are especially attractive in the winter light. The low gray ground cover on the top center of the bank is the native sage, Salvia sonomensis, native to the volcanic ridges not far from the property. It, and the native bulb called blue dicks, while not obvious in this picture, are already in flower.

View of rocky bank planting in April 2010. Spring is definitely the peak season here, though some of these will look good into the early summer; particularly the mixed shrub plantings at the base which get routine irrigation. The numerous yellow flowered scapes projecting from the upper rocks are the native wallflower, Erysimum capitatum, grown from seed obtained in the canyon. Blue dicks, Dichelostemma capitatum, are numerous on the upper slopes, but not as visible in this picture - yet are showy in real life.

Part II will feature more detailed portraits of a few select plants from this rocky site.

Cardamine Uncertainty: The Cedars form of toothwort; heart-shaped foliage marbled in black, silver and purple.

2010-02-18T08:29:00.000-08:00

Got milkmaids?

The lovely rhizome (corm) leaves of toothwort at The Cedars showing conspicuous marbling of silver and purple; the undersides of the leaves are always deep purple as is typical for species.

Most Californian plants take advantage of the winter rainy season to get started in their life cycles, but few complete the full process of growing, flowering and setting seed completely contained within these rainy months. At The Cedars (Sonoma Co., CA) there are a few annuals that fit this pattern, and one showy perennial, California toothwort.

The flowers of toothwort are very early season, often appearing before December, but they are showy and cheerful, especially in the two months they have the flowering "field" to themselves. They can be white or pink initially, but all turn darker pink to rose as they age. On dry days they face outward or upward, but become nodding during rainy weather. They close at night and stay that way on dark days.

The toothworts were formerly in the genus, Dentaria, the Latin name referring to teeth, and the roots of the European species were used medicinally for tooth-ache (another common name for this group in California is milkmaids, I assume due to some visual similarity). A few decades ago, all the Californian species (as well as others) were re-assigned to the genus Cardamine (car DAM in-knee), a genus previously most known to temperate climate gardeners by popweed, Cardamine oligosperma, an annoying weedy pest whose seed capsules explode when ripe, flinging the seeds everywhere - often in the gardener's eyes. While today it is considered a weed exploiting the human tendency to create disturbed soil, popweed was once native just to the Western US. There is actually one small spot within the canyon system of The Cedars where popweed is found; whether it was native to the site or brought in by human traffic is uncertain.)

A solitary juvenile plant on the left, a mass of dozens on the right. The dreaded popweed, a common garden "pest" during the winter months. It's short season from germination to exploding seed capsules can be as short as 8 weeks. In dry gardens this is mainly a weed of the cool season, but in irrigated landscapes can be a problem year round.

Anthocyanins are dark pigments found in many plants such as the purple color of "red" cabbage, the purple of purple-leafed plums or eggplant skin, the blue of blueberries, the black of blackberries, etc. The race of toothwort at The Cedars seems to represent an enhanced anthocyanin version of the more widespread species (Cardamine californica).

Young growth often emerges and exhibits very dark, almost black coloration; seen above left in front of rock with leaf and new stem. Right picture shows coloration persists into stem elongation and early flowering.

Today in California - using currently published Floras - we have about 10 native toothwort species, each with one or many varieties; worldwide there are about 170 species. However the way we look at and name our toothworts is changing. In the future the new, The Jepson Manual II (JM II) and the Flora of North America (FNA), the author or these groups, Ihsan Al-Shehbaz, will be reducing to synonomy many names that we have been using in JM I. According to Al-Shehbaz - lead author for the entire Brassicaceae or Mustard Family - in our area of the North Bay there will only be two choices, C. californica and C. nuttallii; C. californica being more southern, while C. nuttallii goes N into British Columbia. But even using this highly reduced choice of possibilities, the plants at The Cedars still seem ambiguous.

Rhizome leaf, the first leaf to appear and typically different looking from the leaves on the flowering stems which emerge just afterward. Both here show strong purple coloration in the upper leaf while the leaf on the right also shows the silvery character (rather than green).

Beyond the basic question of what is the best species name for this entity, there is the fact that the plants at The Cedars have characters not characteristic of either species - especially the pronounced leaf coloration/mottling characters shown in the pictures. Before corresponding with Al-Shehbaz, I had thought I had hit on the answer, as I noticed that in the Sonoma Flora (Best et al, 1996) that C. pachystigma var. dissectifolia was listed as occurring in NE Sonoma Co. up N of Cobb Mt. Looking up this entity online (CalPhotos, Plant Profiles and CalFlora), the pictures of both the species, C. pachystigma and its variety, dissectifolia, have the silvery, purple streaked/mottled leaves of those plants at The Cedars. It didn't seem implausible to think that if this variety occurred in NE Sonoma Co., it could also occur in NW-Central Sonoma Co as a disjunction (separated range or distribution). It seemed particularly plausible as both those entities have an almost exclusive occurrence on serpentine soils and rock - thus The Cedars seemed ideal. Furthermore, several dozen other plants at The Cedars are disjunctions - thus this fit that "theme" perfectly.

The early foliage leaves (without stems) are almost always simple roundish or heart-shaped, though a few may have secondary leaflets. This plants shows all the odd characters; dark coloration, splotching w purple, and silvery sheen on upper leaf.

But since in JM II, C. pachystigma will be restricted to plants with simple leaves on the stem (not 3 or 5-foliate as at The Cedars) and its variety (v. dissectifolia) won't even exist (except as a synonym of C. pachystigma), this option is no longer a possibility as a name. Since C. californica is so widespread in our area, it is perhaps enticing to place The Cedars toothwort into the more northern species, Nuttall's toothwort, however more features fit California toothwort than that species. Thus we are left with considering it as just an exceptional form or race of California toothwort.

Cluster of early rhizome leaves before flowering stem emerges. Because there are no gophers in The Cedars, some plants can develop into substantial clusters.

As one drives into The Cedars, typical California toothwort is common in grassy meadows, oak savannah, and open woodlands for many miles - there is nothing unusual about this. As soon as one enters the "hard" serpentine canyon of The Cedars though, one can immediately recognize that the plant has become different - more isolated individuals, shorter and stouter, thicker leaves with pronounced colorations on the upper surface, and more pink or rose pink flower color (some are white, but all age pink, while some start deep pink and age deeper). It is clear that The Cedars entity is not only more obvious, it is bolder in nearly every visual feature. To my eye, the plants remind me of the vigorous robust plants one would see in the first season of an area that has burned (the previous season) - sort of an exaggerated example of what the plant might more normally look like. Here however, there has been no fire and these characters show up every year even in overgrown sites.

Some leaves have pointed tips on the lobes, others curl back.

So for now, it seems best to consider that these plants have gradually exaggerated certain features that exist in the widespread species, but which probably fit the habitats within The Cedars better. The more pronounced anthocyanin throughout the plant suggests it has gone the same way that the Cedars' endemic purple-leaf stream orchid (Epipactis gigantea f. rubrifolia) has - producing a unique race characterized by this enhanced coloration.

Anthocyanin anyone? The darkest plants would be interesting horticultural selections - however my previous experience trying to grow these at UCBG (Berkeley) suggest this race is challenging and impermanent in cultivation.
It must be kept in mind that the colorations in the young leaves mostly disappears at seed maturity, although some dark or silvery tones may persist - these are primarily juvenile characters, but are conspicuous through flowering, even early seed development. Another caveat is that since these characters have appeared at The Cedars, it is likely that similar races may have appeared elsewhere in open rocky sites - it would be nice to hear of anyone else's experience finding or observing them, and whether they are the same or unique in some other manner.

Since the Cardamine at The Cedars flowers exclusively during the rainy season, the flowers have dealt with that fact by easily bending over, becoming nodding, when wet - thus avoiding water splashing into the sexual parts (anthers and stigmas) of the flowers. I initially wondered if the plants were using some "cue" on rainy days to nod, but it appears most likely that simply the weight of water droplets on the flowers cause this "adjustment", as even a heavy nighttime dew will cause the flowers to bend downward. As can be seen in the above photos, petal size varies considerably - though most are the larger/bigger form as on the right.

The flowers of the toothwort are sweetly fragrant up close (similar to wallflowers (Erysimum)), though my nose does not detect any fragrance from even a foot away. In ideal sites - such as loose rubble and talus openings in woodland or chaparral, each clone will form a small colony from underground spread, each colony easily separable from its neighbors by its distinctive leaf coloration or flower color and form. While asexual root reproduction is common, each plant is usually surrounded by numerous and variable-looking seedling plants - suggesting sexual reproduction is equally or possibly the more common means of regeneration. Like its popweed relative, each ripe silique (seed capsules) will explode - flinging its seed widely. Even a single previous-season's dried seed scape may be surrounded by dozens of seedlings; their variability showing that the leaf characters are re-sorted in each seedling generation.

I used to think that the toothwort in The Cedars pretty much occurred everywhere within this ultramafic (serpentine) geological unit, but I've noticed this spring that it is actually rather restricted - though abundant and showy in the right places. It seems most profuse in open chaparral or cypress woodland that is very park-like, and on the lower, more stable talus slopes, or rocky ledges. On the rocky talus slopes it is the most impressive, each plant often forming a sizeable colony of basal foliage and one to many flowering stems, somewhat like a bouquet sitting in the sliding rocks. Each plant is different from its neighbors; one with very silvery foliage, one with nearly black foliage, one without any markings at all - and everything in-between. It is one of the joys of visiting The Cedars in the winter months. It can start flowering as soon as 6 weeks after the first rains in fall, but peak months are always January and February when little else is showy.

What this plant's unusual characters reinforce to me is the fact that The Cedars has once again "pushed" a plant into a unique or at the very least unusual set of features - maybe not enough to constitute a species, but obviously distinct to the human eye. The Cedars rules!

Is the leaf coloration some sort of camouflage? I used to say that the foliage seemed like it was trying to match the silvery, reptilian coloration of serpentine. However I have yet to see a leaf that "disappears" against its background to my sight. Thus, to benefit the plant overall any theoretical predator would have to be searching primarily by eyesight and have poor eyesight as well. But who know?

(P.S. anyone missing my excellent article on The Cedars in Fremontia, the journal of the Calfornia Native Plants Society (came out in Dec. but listed as April 09), should consider joining the organization to get a copy. It will be posted on-line in a few months at their website if you want to wait.)

Give em an inch

2009-12-12T14:34:00.001-08:00

Garnett Creek is about 6 miles long, a relatively small tributary of the upper Napa River. (The Napa River travels the length of the Napa Valley, in Napa County, CA.) The creek has two branches, one originates in the N end of the plateau called The Palisades, behind Table Rock. A shorter branch originates at the N end of the facade of the rock escarpment called The Palisades. Our property is bisected by Garnett Creek just about 2+ miles down from the watershed ridge. I have spent considerable time in the creekbed at all times of the year and enjoy experiencing its many moods and appearances.

For most of the summer and fall, Garnett Creek is dry except at seepage pools which are rare. In the winter and spring its flow can be great or absent, depending on rainfall frequency and amounts. It has been interesting to see what it takes to get the water flowing.

At the end of the dry season, it usually takes 3 to 4 inches of rain in a short period of time (a few days) to recharge the creekbed and have obvious flow through our property.

Dec. 11 09, showing dry creekbed after only 0.2" of rain that day.

Because it takes percipitation to keep the system flowing, during long dry periods - such as are common before the New Year, the water often disappears after about 2 weeks of decreasing flow. But it is clear the water does linger underground because it may take only 0.3" afterward to get it flowing again.

Dec 12 09 after 1" of rain, creek is now actively flowing.

The watershed does benefit from several factors that tend to exaggerate the rainfall. The ridge is nearly 1,500'+ feet higher than our house, thus the clouds have to lift to get over them and often drop moisture. Most of the upper watershed is hard volcanic rocks with only shallow soil or gravel pockets, thus what rain falls, typically quickly sheets off and down the creek. And importantly, the upper watershed is dominated by knobcone pine, Pinus attenuata, in thick stands. Knobcone pine, as with many conifers, is very effective at turning aerial moisture into dripping water, thus even a thick cloud-cover on the ridge can produce "rain".

So it is very likely - although I don't have any proof - that the actual rainfall, or precipitation reaching the ground in the headwater zone could be double, or more, what my rain gauge records at my house. At least twice, when there had been barely measurable rain in my gauge, the creek has mysteriously come back to a low flow - and the water has to come from somewhere.

Closer view Dec 11th

Same view next morning.

The transformation seems almost miraculous. There is nothing unattractive about the dry creekbed, but the look and sound of flowing water is another dimension to the landscape, and one that we crave. Almost by definition, the presence of life on Earth is inextricably tied to water, thus it seems no great surprise that we get so much pleasure from the sound of it. We need it, we can not survive without it.

California polypody fern, Polypodium californicum, on bluff above a small waterfall at the N end of our property along Garnett Creek. While the fronds of this fern are present for about 6 months, it is never lovelier than when freshened by rain.

I always cheer when it rains - although I don't enjoy being damp or chilled - because it is almost invariably good for both the garden and natural areas. It kicks into gear the whole chain of life that burgeons into springtime and then sears into summer and fall. It revives the creeks and makes a music all too rare in our predominantly arid climate.

One of today's rainbows across the canyon.

I can complain with the best of them, but I often feel a little anger when I hear folks moan and whine about the rain, especially newscasters who exaggerate the supposed misery. We couldn't be here without it.

Room with a view

2009-11-29T20:38:00.000-08:00

Moonnrise above The Palisades, 30 Nov 09.

I've been very fortunate in my life to have lived in a number of exceptionally scenic spots. During college in Ithaca NY I shared an apartment in a rather funky building perched above Ithaca Falls with views out over the valley - though not of the lake. Ithaca Falls is one of the Finger Lakes regions' many scenic waterfalls but is within the city limits and was exceptionally lovely when frozen in winter, or swollen with spring rains.

View across the San Francisco Bay from the Maybeck Cottage garden, 11 Jan 2000.

While in Berkeley CA, during part of my career at the UC Botanical Garden, I lived for 14 years in the Maybeck Cottage in North Berkeley. This was another rather funky structure - though with great charm and the historical association with architect Bernard Maybeck and his family - but it also was sited directly across the bay, with an unobstructed view of the Golden Gate Bridge connecting San Francisco with the Marin headlands. I could watch the sunset move N to S (and vice-versa) as the seasons changed, and I believe it was around Nov 5th when it set in the middle of the bridge from my perspective (the spring counterpart was in early Feb.) First as a renter and later as an owner with David McCrory, the Maybeck Cottage was the place I was able to really explore the horticultural possibilities of living in the Bay Area of California, as well as explore my concept of gardening itself. (check out our website for more pictures of the Maybeck Cottage garden, www.planethorticulture.com.) While at the UC Bot Garden, another great viewspot, I was able to explore the full spectrum of California native plants - or at least those I could successfully grow. Though of "lesser" importance, I also took care of the Bot Garden's Eastern North American collection of plants. In Berkeley my "horticultural plate" always looked like Thanksgiving Dinner, seemingly way too much, but all delicious stuff.

Daytime view of The Palisades above Calistoga, from our deck, 3 Dec 09.

Now we live in Calistoga CA at the N end of the famous Napa Valley. Our house looks directly E and NE toward The Palisades, a long escarpment of volcanic rock S of Mt. St. Helena (the highest point in the county at 4300'). Although the term, The Palisades, specifically applies to the stretch of cliffs, most folks, myself included, use the name to refer to the entire plateau stretching S of Mt. St. Helena to just S of the gap where the old Oat Hill Mine Rd. (now a trail) passes E through the cliffs toward Aetna Springs. Most of this plateau is in the 2400' - 3,000' range. Palisade is a term originally applied to fences, barriers or fortifications made out of pales or stakes, usually sharpened at the top and set into the ground. We have all seen movies with re-created forts employing this technique. Later the term was put on long stretches of cliffs, often along riverbanks, that resembled this type of fortification. I am not sure when the name was applied to the cliffs above Calistoga, but it was probably early on in European settlement of the valley. Every sunny day, from our house, we can watch the last sunlight move up the cliff-face, usually accompanied by a color change as it approaches true sunset; first golden, then orange, then reddish. Once the sun has set in the W, the rock turns back to a cold gray color with amethyst tints. Thus, although we can't watch the true sunset, we get a reflected sunset on the cliffs.

The Palisades in the orange phase with rising moon above, 29 Nov 09.

Because I look out at The Palisades every day, I tend to take a lot of pictures of it. Rather than bore you with endless sets of similar pictures, I chose some of my favorites from the last 4 months. This is my favorite time of year as the latest sun hits the cliffs directly and the moon moves to the N to rise above the cliffs (whereas in the peak of summer the cliffs are in shadow from Mt. St. Helena at sunset and the moon rises over the ridge to the S).

Late light on storm clouds, 22 Nov 09, just before sunset.

(same as above)

Same date as above but more to the S where the Oat Hill Mine Rd. pierces the facade of The Palisades to continue eastward (now a popular hiking/biking trail).

Moon above at very last light, 31 Oct 09.

Date as in previous, but moon appearing to be ready to roll off cliffs.

A slice of late light as sun gets below ceiling of clouds, illuminating the central cliff portion, 18 Oct 09.

As above but near the N end of cliffs.

Last light and rising moon, 2 Sept 09. Here the moon is still S of the main cliff section.

Nearly the full escarpment, 26 Aug 09.

Post sunset cloud glow, 31 Aug 09.

Slipping into darkness, post sunset glow and moon over Oat Hill Mine Rd. ridge.

Blue and Weeping

2009-11-26T11:00:00.000-08:00

It was love at first sight; the Atlas cedar (Cedrus atlantica) and I go way back. I vividly remember when I first saw this tree as a child, probably about 1962, because three had just been planted on a lovely estate, Elmcourt, on Belleview Avenue. in Newport, RI (I grew up in Newport). Although many of the grand old estates in Newport had magnificent trees, I had never seen this icy blue conifer before, and there were no old ones that I knew about. I was so taken by its distinctive color and look, I eventually convinced my dad, Raymond, to plant one on our humble - though lovely- suburban yard. The last I saw, that one had become a magnificent tree. I was always proud of that tree since I had learned my love and enthusiasm for plants and the techniques of gardening from my late dad, yet he had listened to my advice. I don't recall when I first saw the weeping or pendulous variety, 'Glauca Pendulum', but I'm sure it only increased my appreciation of this magnificent conifer. And although it was rare when I was a child, it has become quite widespread in temperate climate horticulture since then. I have always had a weakness for pendulous or "weeping" plants, coniferous or otherwise. Again, as a child, my favorite plant in Newport was the magnificent weeping European beech (Fagus sylvatica 'Pendula') so common on the large estates. But it could be a hemlock (Tsuga), mulberry (Morus) or elm (Ulmus); if it weeped, I loved it. I think, as a child, the space created underneath these pendulous plants was special - as adults seldom thought it worth going there, yet it was like a secret space that I could enjoy. I've tried since, to mimic this "space within a space" concept in many landscapes Planet Horticulture (www.planethorticulture.com) has created.

A lovely old farmhouse in Western Sonoma County, CA. In front of the house is a raised terrace, separating the house from the driveway, but the terrace and house were largely exposed to the frequent "traffic" on the driveway. We had the fortune of working for a wonderful couple who own a 6 acre parcel in Graton Valley, part of the greater Russian River drainage, located in a very scenic part of Sonoma County between the small towns of Graton and Occidental. (Some of you may be familiar with Occidental as it was closest town to the famous Western Hills Nursery (www.westernhillsnursery.com), founded by the late Lester Hawkins and Marshall Olbrich. The garden serves as an inspiration for generations of horticultural enthusiasts).

The yard presented many interesting design challenges, many which I'll discuss in future blogs, but linking disparate spaces and structures, and providing more privacy were two crucial issues with the clients. The elevated terrace on the S side of the house was previously planted with blocks of lavender (Lavandula) and the so-called lavender cotton, (Santolina) (see first photo.) Using lavender in big planting blocks became popular in California about 2 decades ago, and seems to have become de rigeur in estate-type plantings. Our clients gave the nod to our suggestions to move on to a new layout and plant palette. The clients wanted to spend more time on this sunny front yard terrace, especially in the winter months, but there was no privacy from the driveway. It was frustrating for them to be in such a remote location, yet feel like they were visible to anyone driving in. Even with rural properties, screening and privacy are a primary concern.

The solution came while I was visiting Sweet Lane Nursery (www.sweetlanenursery.com) E of Petaluma. This nursery specializes in specimen plants. Generally in Planet Horticulture designs, we prefer to use 30 or 40 moderately sized plants, to one large specimen. This permits the clients to have greater diversity with a moderate budget, as specimen sized plants, while more immediate in effect, are typically high priced. Because of my love of the Atlas cedar, particularly the weeping variety, when I saw the above specimen I took some pictures, as I wanted to show Dave this gorgeous specimen. I remember thinking, "It would be so wonderful to use a plant like this in one of our gardens" as the "value" of specimen plants is that you can get age without waiting; this plant is estimated to be 70 years old. Whoever started this, obviously never lived to enjoy its current beauty.

What I also like about this is that it hadn't been trained into the "S" curve trunk that seems to be standard in the nursery trade today - why I've never been sure as it gets tiresome to see such a plastic and variable shaped plant trained into some boring cliche. This specimen had been grafted onto a vertical trunk at about 5' tall, thus formed a lovely, irregular umbrella effect, longer than wide, thus also had potential as a living curtain.

As you probably guessed, Dave sent some pictures of the plant in the nursery to our client, and they loved it and decided to "splurge", since it seemed to fit the aesthetic of their 19th century farmhouse look, and would screen off a large stretch of the terrace from the driveway immediately. In the above picture the previously boxed specimen had been placed at the top of the terrace wall. Instead of planting it in a hole in the ground, we decide to add greater height to the screening effect by building a mound around the root mass, thus gaining another 3' or more. It also meant that the trailing branches could be left on the plant rather than trimmed up which would have been necessary if planted at ground level.

Another picture from within the terrace showing the root mass set at soil level before the mound was created. You will also note from the picture that we had replaced the block of lavenders with a naturalistic planting. With paths and seating areas carved out, the area became a stroll garden with hang-out spaces rather than some simple pattern to be looked at from a distance.

Looking N toward the house from a meadow on the other side of the drive. Note how perfectly this weeping blue Atlas cedar fits the scale of the house, as if some foresightful early resident had planted it decades ago. Although there are still some evident gaps in the screening, these have been planted with a variety of screening shrubs of smaller size, chosen mostly to play off of the sculptural and colorful cedar.

Looking toward the weeping Atlas cedar from the sitting area nearby. Here you can see the mound planted with a mosaic of low herbaceous plants that can tolerate the shadowy understory. The elevation of the mound also reinforces the enclosing aspect of the tree. The beautiful foliage of the lotus banana (Musella lasiocarpa) is on the left. (More on that remarkable hardy plant in a future blog.) The front yard terrace is now a pleasantly private space, part garden, part living area. Making spaces of any size more usable by the folks who own them is one of Planet Horticulture's favorite achievements.

This garden has been an exciting and fun project to work on and this landscape will become one of the great gardens of Sonoma County as it matures.

Origin of a Species; the story of a new species for The Cedars, Sonoma Co.

2009-08-17T10:54:00.000-07:00

Looking down into extensive serpentine rock barrens at The Cedars, habitat for the new species of buckwheat (Eriogonum).

It is always fascinating to look back and realize that something you initially thought was trivial has progressed into something quite important. The story of a new species to be named at The Cedars - that amazing serpentine canyon N of Cazadero in Sonoma Co., CA - began that way.

Ternate buckwheat, Eriogonum ternatum, Sanger Peak, Del Norte Co., CA

Pete Vielleux, a friend who runs a native plant nursery and landscape business, and who also regularly posts excellent photos of native plants and landscapes, eastbaywilds@sbcglobal.net , happened to be growing a selection of creambush, genus Holodiscus, called 'Shangri-La'. In July 2008, Peter Gonzalves from the USDA contacted him about the status of this name, 'Shangri-La', as he was compiling information on the widespread Western species of creambush, H. discolor and wanted to trace all the official cultivars (cultivated selections) of that species.

Snow Mountain buckwheat, Eriogonum nervulosum, Hyphyus Creek, Colusa Co. CA.

Pete V. forwarded the query to me as he knew I was likely to know more about it. I did know about this, as Shangri-La is a local place name at The Cedars, and a friend, Dan Segal, now of Plantsman Nursery in Ithaca, NY, dan@plantsmen.com, had put that name on a seed batch of Holodiscus he collected and grew when he was working for North Coast Natives nursery near Petaluma, CA. The Shangri-La site is the first parcel as one enters the serpentine canyon at The Cedars, and has been used by residents of this area to refer to a cluster of buildings that are said to be an old resort set adjacent to a marvelous swimming hole.

The Cedars buckwheat, Eriogonum cedrorum, at type locality across from the Upper Mine (site) at The Cedars, Sonoma Co., CA

The Holodiscus that this name, Shangri-La, was applied to has always intrigued me, as it doesn't fit any described Californian species, nor for that matter, any species I know about. It is sometimes lumped into the widespread coastal species of creambush, H. discolor, but differs greatly in most features. I have wondered about what name to put on The Cedars creambush since I first saw it in July 1981, but haven't yet found an answer. However, The Cedars creambush is another story and merely the background for the subsequent events.

Dr. James L. Reveal, authority on the genus Eriogonum, collecting specimens of The Cedars buckwheat, July 28, 2009.

Severe serpentine barrens of the type locality with several mats of The Cedars buckwheat visible below the rock outcrop.

So I conveyed the essence of this story to Peter Gonzalves, but mentioned that maybe Dan Segal could elaborate, and I cc'd my response to Dan. In one of those strange coincidences, Dan Segal was installing a garden in Ithaca NY for Rose Broome, the wife of the world's authority on the genus Eriogonum, Dr. James L. Reveal, of the Bailey Hortorium at Cornell. Dan had been telling Jim Reveal about The Cedars, and had mentioned that there was an unusual buckwheat there, which he remembered to be Eriogonum nervulosum, the Snow Mt. buckwheat (picture 3 above.)

Mat of The Cedars buckwheat showing fresh flowers (yellow) and scarlet aging flower heads.

Close ups of the flower heads of The Cedars buckwheat, showing mostly new yellow flowers. Each flower head is composed of several smaller clusters on separate branches that originate at a cluster of bracts that resemble narrow leaves.

In a reply to Dan, I mentioned that the buckwheat he was referring to was ternate buckwheat (see picture 2 above) and I sent a set of email pictures I had taken the week before at The Cedars to Dan who forwarded them to Jim. I nearly immediately get an email back from Jim Reveal politely telling me that my buckwheat name was wrong, that it almost certainly couldn't be ternate buckwheat at The Cedars. I was wise enough to know that one doesn't argue with an "authority", especially in a group as large and complicated as the genus Eriogonum. So I inquired, what is it then?

Close up of fresh and aging flower heads. Each "head" is composed of several clusters of flowers held in small cup-like structures called involucres. Each involucral cup contains many individual flowers that emerge for several weeks. In the head with the yellow flowers, note that each ring of flowers represents one involucral cup with more buds in the center. In peak flower (when the anthers and/or stigma are ripe), the individual flowers are held upright. Pollinated flowers age red as they get larger, their pedicels get longer, as they turn downward and hang over the side of the involucre.

I had long considered the buckwheat to be ternate buckwheat, E. ternatum, a species generally considered to be restricted to the Klamath region of NW CA. The population at The Cedars had been considered "extra-limital", a plant outside its normal range or at an extreme.

Another close up of the flowering heads. In the upper right you can see one involucral cup with 4 yellow flowers in the center surrounded by a ring of reddening aging flowers.

Thus began a correspondence; by sending pictures, making herbarium vouchers (dried specimens) that I mailed to him, and trying to make observations in the field at The Cedars. Being uncertain about some of the complex features specific to this genus that I was trying to observe, I made some mistakes, but Jim very patiently kept me on track. He also requested a number of Herbaria to send him their herbarium sheets of the two entities in question, E. ternatum and E. nervulousm. Because he was very busy with other work relating to the genus, and because it was also getting quite late in the season for flowering plants, he said, "Let's plan to look at it next July (2009)".

Two views of the full mat-forming plants with mostly finishing flowers or ripening seed. Note the foliage is covered with hairs giving a silvery or gray-green color to the plant. These hair typically will often fall off the upper surface by winter.

The history of our awareness of this buckwheat at The Cedars goes back to 1947, when Freedom Hoffman - the first botanist to explore and document the plants of The Cedars thoroughly - collected a non-flowering mat of foliage as an herbarium specimen. The Eriogonum authority at that time, Susan Stokes, annotated it (i.e, identified it officially) as E. nervulosum, the Snow Mt. buckwheat. Snow Mt. buckwheat is a gorgeous but rare species from extreme eastern Sonoma Co. (The Geysers) and also various isolated serpentine barrens of the Inner North Coast Ranges where it is a low to mid elevation species - except at the eponymous Snow Mt. where it occurs at 5,000' to 6,000' elev.

By mid-winter, here in early February, most of the hairs on the upper leaf surface have fallen off leaving a glossy, heart-shaped leaf. The bright red color is atypical, this plant being in a very stressful site, or perhaps it is preparing for Valentine's Day.

I was the first to collect the plant in flower at The Cedars. I had seen it on my first trip in 1981, but not in flower, and it wasn't until 1983 that I made a trip specifically to collect it in flower. I was surprised, as I was expecting the lovely fluffy pink flower heads of E. nervulosum, but instead the plants at The Cedars had fresh flowers of bright yellow which soon aged to maroon or burgundy-red. Back then, I sent herbarium specimens to the late Walter Knight, an authority on the flora of Sonoma County, and he identified it as E. ternatum, and indeed, it did "key out" to that as the primary distinction separating E. ternatum from E. nervulosum was flower color (yellow vs. whitish pink).

Looking across a canyon from one site of The Cedars buckwheat to another, however at this distance the plants are not visible. In The Cedars there is an enormous amount of bare rock which is highly fractured and thus falls apart constantly producing large talus slopes in the gullies and swales. These talus slopes are the preferred habitat for the buckwheat, yet only a small percentage have the buckwheat. The reasons for its limited distribution is unknown.

I have always been a little tentative about putting a name on buckwheats simply because there are so many, nearly 260 species in all, and almost 200 named taxa (named entities of any rank) in California. The features used to distinguish one from another are often quite small and variable, making it hard to feel certain that you've gotten it right. But I've always loved them as a group, enormously variable from annuals to tiny mats to 4' shrubs; but almost always lovely. Early on in my career in California I used to joke with Richard Turner (now editor of Pacific Horticulture magazine, http://www.pacifichorticulture.org/ ) that we should form an "Eriogonum Society" much like there is a Rhododendon Society or Primrose Society, etc. to highlight the horticultural wonders of the group. Jim Reveal now tells me that there is an Eriogonum Society at: http://eriogonum.org/.

While at the UC Botanical Garden at Berkeley, I tried growing as many as I could collect or get seed of. Some were quite successful, others less so, but their typical summer-flowering habit made them an important component of the summer garden.

Looking across a canyon at a serpentine barren and talus slope; this view is a close up of the previous picture's upper right quarter's central section. With binoculars one could see perhaps 15 flowering plants, but in this image only about 5 are visible as red or yellowish mounds. The closely related Snow Mt. buckwheat grows in nearly identical sites, but in more interior terrain. The Cedars is less than 9 miles from the Pacific Ocean by air.

In late July Jim Reveal made a trip to the West Coast to look at several populations of buckwheats. On July 27th he visited a site on Walker Ridge in Colusa Co. in the Complexion Creek drainage to view and collect some Eriogonum nervulosum, the species he felt The Cedars entity belonged to botanically. We then drove up to The Cedars that evening to get an early start, as the next day was predicted to be in the high 90's F. Our neighbor up there, Bette Campbell was kind enough to let Jim stay in her guest cabin, while I "roughed it" up at our camp with the dogs.

Steep to shallow serpentine talus slopes seem to be where the Cedars buckwheat is happiest, forming sizable mats. The mats, a collection of small foliage rosettes with horizontal connecting stems is well adapted to shifting talus as the rock particles can filter through the mat and essentially "layer" the outer rosettes without burying them. In this view (not great) there are probably at least two dozen or more mats, though only about 8 show well.

Early the next morning, we met and hiked up to our Upper Mine site (one of two abandoned chromite mines on our parcel at The Cedars). Across from the mining scars is a 70 degree slope of bare rock and talus extending several hundred feet above the creekbed, the site this buckwheat calls home. We looked, photographed and collected some flowering specimens, but initially Jim realized that this was definitely not E. nervulosum, and in most features, quite similar to E. ternatum. It seemed, this was not going to be a new species; a little disappointing from my perspective, as field botanists always love to find that "new species". However I knew that the ultimate objective of taxonomic botany is to describe what is there, not what we want to be there. Dr. Reveal needed to fly back to Ithaca, so we left by late morning.

A week of so later, I received an email from Jim, saying that he studied both species (E. ternatum and E. nervulosum) and decided that The Cedars Eriogonum was indeed distinct. He asked if I would be a co-author of this new species. For me this was exciting and a great honor. It was exciting for The Cedars, as now it would have an 8th endemic taxon (endemic = restricted to; taxon = singular of described botanical entity of any rank, taxa = plural). It would also be quite rare, as the plant only occurs on a small fraction of what seems like suitable habitat within The Cedars.

Full circle. You may remember this story was prefaced by another story about The Cedars creambush, a mysterious Holodiscus species that intiated this sequence of events. The only woody shrub that occurs within the populations of The Cedars buckwheat, is this very Holodiscus. Here you can see a very old and largely dead shrub with dried flower heads growing amongst dozens of the Eriogonum, though in this picture only a few are faintly visible (one is in the shadow on the left of the creambush). Here we are looking down a large talus slope about 150' high where at least 200 buckwheats grow, though they do not register visibly. The previous picture was taken near the bottom of this slope but horizontal to this view.

In two weeks we had the botanical description written up; Jim did the taxonomic description, I did the habitat, ecological information and distribution map. It was submitted to the Journal of Botanical Research at Texas, reviewed, accepted and is already on its way to getting published. So now we can welcome to the botanical world, The Cedars buckwheat, Eriogonum cedrorum!

And what of the curious Holodiscus? Jim Reveal and I are currently investigating this entity as a possible new species, but more research needs to be done. Stay tuned!

Postscript: Pete Vielleux mentioned at the beginning of this story has just posted a large set of pictures from The Cedars for anyone wanting to see more of this terrain and its plants at: http://www.flickr.com/photos/eastbaywilds/sets/72157622299892126/

For anyone using a topographic program, the type locality of this new buckwheat species is: 38degrees37'16"N, 123degrees07'37"W (sorry, still can't find the degree symbol - or any symbol - in this program).

Silverado Brewery beer garden

2009-06-11T16:41:00.000-07:00

It may seem to some that read my blogs (and previously my emailings) that my primary occupation is observing plants in the wild; this unfortunately is not the truth. Designing landscapes and gardens with my partner, David McCrory, is my actual profession. There are a number of common threads in the two activities based on perception and the implications of a given site. But one is concerned with observing what is there and the other is about creating what someone will observe.

We recently completed a project in the Napa Valley just N of St. Helena, located at a historical stone building now housing a micro-brewery and restaurant. The restaurant has a outdoor eating and drinking area in front of the building but separated from busy Rt. 29 by an old, low stone wall. The outdoor space is dominated by a huge valley oak (Quercus lobata).

One of the problems with the site is that the brewery building is connected to a whole series of other buildings that form a complex, with multiple parking lots and many different entrances, thus it is confusing where one should go if one wants a beer or meal.

The entry we first encountered was a wide gravel road off of the parking lot. Although the outdoor picnic tables were evident, it was unclear if this was the main entrance or a service entry.

To improve the perception of this as the main entrance the proprietor had a wide, yet narrower concrete walkway poured to lead to the front door (in the center of the facade). Another improvement was removing a strip of asphalt to separate the parking area from the building, which while creating some strange-shaped gaps, did make it clear that one should not drive up the walkway.

We took his concrete walk several steps further. First the concrete was stained with iron sulphate to give a warm rust color that picked up on the brownish red of the stone facade. A ranch-style gate frame was built to give the parking area an obvious entrance directing traffic to the front door. A sign saying Silverado Brewery will hang from the top piece, re-affirming that this is indeed the path to the brewery. We also extended the planting along the walkway to make the first part of the passage more of garden experience.

(above) Entry walk and beer garden tables before.

Same view after new planting.

A view inside the gate. The plantings along the entry walk were part previous plantings, but edited and supplemented with many new items. We used a number of edible shrub/trees such as black mission fig (on left), Santa Rosa weeping plum, two citrus and many herbs that could be harvested for the restaurant. Golden leafed hops were used repeatedly as vines.

One plant we featured, although it is currently not conspicuous in the pictures are 8 golden leafed Robinia 'Frisia', a type of black locust. These were used outside the skirt of the large valley oak, to provide summer shade for the outdoor tables, as sitting in the sun when the temperature is 85 degrees (F) or greater - a common occurrence in the summer here - is unbearable.

I first became enamoured with the Frisia golden locust nearly 3 decades ago when I saw them at Western Hills Nursery in Occidental CA in Sonoma Co. The golden-hued light that streamed through the lacy foliage reminded me of autumn under a Norway maple "back East" where I grew up. However with Frisia, you have that golden light from leaf break in early May through October when the leaflets fall. Unlike many golden-leafed trees, this one does not turn green a month after leafing out, nor does one have to wait until fall, as with some trees. Other pluses this tree has is it is deciduous, thus the welcome winter sun will not be blocked, it is quite drought tolerant, it grows quickly, takes pruning well, and does not sucker from the roots as do some locust, and rarely sets seeds. But it is the radiant glowing golden light that really sets this tree apart. Some diners and/or drinkers, will probably feel like they are reaching that pleasant euphoric glow that good food and beer can create.

While nearly all the plantings have flowers, we did not want to create a flowery effect, as the owner wanted the beer garden to have a masculine feel. Thus the plantings are meant more for foliar effects and to create separation and shade. We also emphasized the edible potential by using many vegetables - at least as temporary fillers as the more permanent elements grow in. Corn, squash, tomatoes, etc., along with the herbs and fruit trees, should give the garden a practical, casual, grounded feel quite different from the fluffy yet stiff formal landscapes you see everywhere else in the valley around wineries.

On axis with the main walk we placed a large beer barrel made into a recirculating fountain, both as a focal point while walking to the main door, and to provide visual and audible pleasure of water. The main door is to the right of this picture and not seen. The doorway behind the fountain is not used by the public but allows a view into the beer making section of the building.

A view from the N end of the building before showing the recent concrete walkway to the front doors, and the parking lot in the distance. In this picture the nearer door (where the concrete walk meets the asphalt walk) is used primarily as a service entrance and as a view into the brewery section of the building, and is not used by the public as an entrance.

Same view afterward. The odd asphalt section was removed and turned into a foundation planting bed, as is the next strip against the building. The half wine barrels were removed. Most of the beer garden space is to the right of this view, and is not substantially changed except for the over-story golden locust trees added to provide shade. After all, the primary need of a beer garden/outdoor eating space is space and flexibility for good food and good beer. Though it is also nice to find the front door.

Weeping flowers; a nod to the pendulous flowered California buckeye

2009-06-04T11:23:00.000-07:00

California buckeye, Aesculus californica, is a much loved native tree. I tried to convey my affection for this versatile deciduous small tree in a recent article in Pacific Horticulture magazine (Vol. 70, #1, Jan - Mar 2009) which was illustrated with Phil Van Soelen's excellent photos.

Each May and June as I drive around the North Bay counties, I revel in the gorgeous floral display found along nearly any road and even within many towns and cities. Since my brain always focuses on variation in the wild, I've become intrigued by the various ways the long flower trusses are produced, their size, length, width, color and angle of display.

Most commonly the flower clusters are up and outward-facing, giving an exuberant, almost celebratory character to the round-headed trees or shrubs. Some trees have a range of angles, usually the upper flowers being erect, the side branches being horizontal and the lower branches angled downward, creating a radial look.

A small number of trees have predominantly nodding or pendant flower spikes. This character seems especially well expressed in the Napa Valley and the picturesque town of St. Helena seems to be the epicenter of this rather rare trait. These floral waterfalls are - in my opinion, stunningly beautiful, and it is odd that so little is ever mentioned concerning them.

Here is one just south of town (St. Helena) on Charter Oak Dr. growing along the margins of a small creek.

Not far away, this tree graces the picnic grounds of Taylor's Refresher, a popular local drive-in eatery.

Just west of town, this beauty is on Spring Mt. Rd. just before it heads into the hills, making a wonderful statement at a road junction.

This is the above tree (closer) showing the densely packed flower spikes - a lovely swoop of fat fragrant flowers.

Unfortunately, California buckeye does not root easily, so clonal propagation of these forms is restricted to grafting. I've tried collecting seed from some of my favorite plants, but the character is probably recessive, as the only ones to flower so far (after 5 years) are erect flowering.

Just N of town on Rt. 29 this festive tree always brings a smile to my face, such prolific beauty for free and without work.

If there were a contest for most pendant, this tree above the bus stop on the main street in town near Pine Street would certainly win. Although it tries to grace the bus shelter, the clutter of the street sadly detracts from its beauty - in a park it would be a feature plant. Close up of the nearly vertically descending trusses - much like a wisteria - of the bus stop beauty.

As the buckeye might say, "There's not just one way to flower; just do it beautifully!"

Farewell to spring?

2009-04-22T20:25:00.000-07:00

While I do mark my seasonal progress by the plants in flower, the actual progress of the season is well beyond my control. A four day heat wave during the third week of April is enough to tip the balance for many plants. During this short span, lush green hillsides turned tan on their southern and western flanks as annual plants dehydrated by the millions.

To mark this turn toward our dry season, two plants on our property along Garnett Creek here in Calistoga at the N end of the Napa Valley, have made their debut.

Perhaps the more impressive in terms of sudden appearance is the native bulb (corm) called ookow or wild hyacinth, Dichelostemma congestum. Just last week while walking our trails with a friend, I was looking out at the hundreds of blue dicks, Dichelostemma capitatum, and commented, "I wonder when the ookow will appear?" It has been a tremendously successful year for blue dicks, some landscapes tinted a lilac-blue haze with their hundreds if not thousands of flowering heads. But last week, while there were still dozens and dozens of blue dicks in flower to be seen, I could not find a single ookow, which I knew should follow in floral sequence.

New on the scene, ookow, Dichelostemma congestum.

Today, in the same spot there was not a single fresh blue dick to be seen, but hundreds of ookow - a complete reversal. Given their similar appearance, often identical sites and this "presto-chango" sucession, it is no wonder people assume they are the same plant - a cluster of blue-lilac flaring tubular flowers clustered in a head waving on a tall stem above the grasses.

Closeup of ookow. Each flower has three fertile stamens, the other three modified into staminodea, here as three projecting pieces of petal-like tissue colored identical to the petals, each have a forked (split into two) tip.

Forked (or bifid) staminodes flank anthers in center of flower. Pink chalices replace dried up larkspur (subject of Two Blues blog) on sunny hillside.

The second plant to put in an appearance is appropriately commonly named, Farewell-to-Spring, the species I have is graceful farewell-to-spring, or Clarkia gracilis. Last week I noticed the first few, but by today there are sweeps of pink. It is similar to many other Clarkias in being a relatively large, cup-like flower, much like a small tulip. Named for William Clarke of the famous Lewis and Clark expedition of 1804-1806, these large cup type is sometimes called Godetias - and often the horticultural hybrids still are sold as such.

Satiny petals of Clarkia gracilis, this plant with unspotted petals.

The Clarkia gracilis on my hillside hasboth spotted and unspotted forms, some undecided. The species is fairly widespread, but has a number of named races (subspecies). All are exquisite, but the subspecies albicaulis, is unquestionably the showiest with huge tri-colored flowers - a must-try if you see it in a nursery or catalogue (not shown here).

Spot the difference?

The cross-shaped (cruciform) stigma (female receptive organ) can be found in many genera of plants in the Evening Primrose Family (Onagraceae), though not all.

Undecided about spots. Ambivalence is not just a human trait.

The race here qualifies as the subspecies sonomensis, the Sonoma graceful farewell-to-spring, though here we're in Napa Co. However having a spot is part of the defining character of this subspecies, so where does that leave the unspotted ones?

Clarkias are one of those annuals that can be very plastic with their form depending on resources; sometimes very tall (2'+) and branched with large (2") petals, other times shrunken into miniature single flowering plants only 2" tall with half inch petals.

Close up of Diogene's lantern, Calochortus amabilis.

Another plant to mark the season is the native bulb called Diogene's lantern or yellow fairy lantern, Calochortus amabilis. The botanical name, Calochortus means beautiful grass, while, amabilis means beautiful, thus we have a beautiful, beautiful plant (with grass-like foliage). I saw my first in flower nearly a month ago, but now is when most are in mass flower. It is one of three species of nodding yellow-flowered calochortus, the smallest in most features, but also - and this is important to plants - by far the most widespread.

Although we don't generally go around carrying lanterns anymore, it would make a lovely design for one. Reminds me of those ceiling fan/light globe combos so popular today.

Diogenes was the third century BC Greek philosopher and all around curmudgeon who walked the streets of Athens carrying a lantern during the day, "looking for an honest man", which cynically implied a fruitless search. Heavy stuff to put on a wildlfower. Searching around the North Bay looking for an honest wildflower display, would not be fruitless, as this lovely lily family member is common on slopes and canyons in many spots in the North Coast Ranges, though it is not everywhere.

Azalea time

2009-04-20T10:35:00.000-07:00

Plant people tend to mark their seasons not so much by the calendar date as what is flowering now, or just about to flower, especially with plants for which we feel special affection.

A plant that really marks the middle of springtime for me is the flowering of Western azalea, Rhododendron occidentale, a deciduous shrub that is frustrating to grow well in gardens, but which performs magnificently in the wild.

This shrub, generally about head height, dominates the margins of the all the lower creeks and seepages in The Cedars, in Sonoma County, California. For anyone new to this blog, a few words about The Cedars. It is a large area in NW Sonoma Co. composed entirely of serpentine rock called peridotite, most being a particular form called Harzburgite. Serpentine rock, and its derived soils, are hostile to most plant life, thus the plants that grow on serpentine areas tend to be unique or unusual. The Cedars is roughly about 7,000 acres of this rock, and is eroded into deep canyons with perennial water in the lower reaches. To view The Cedars on Google Earth, the approximate center is; 38(degrees)37'25.99"N and 123(degrees)07'02.86"W (sorry, I can't figure out how to insert a degree symbol in this program). Western azalea, while tolerant of serpentine soil with permanent water, is not restricted to this rock type. It can also be found along creeks and rivers in the Coast Ranges and Sierra Nevada, as well as coastal meadow/prairie. It is especially common in the mountains along creeks and in wet meadows. While the plant is surprisingly shade tolerant, it flowers most heavily when exposed to lots of sunlight - thus those at The Cedars, which often are out in full sun, can produce masses of flowers.

Western azalea in full sun on bank above creek.

At The Cedars the flower color is similar to that found in much of North Coastal California, that is, it varies from a relatively rich rose pink on some shrubs, to almost pure white on others, and most inbetween. All have a large golden or orange spot on the enlarged upper petal.

White flowered Western azalea.

Deep rose pink flowered; in all, the deepest color is on the reverse side.

The flowers produce a strong fragrance that most people find intoxicating, and inevitably the urge to bury your face in the glowing floral mass is impossible to resist. The fragrance is a rather heavy floral sweetness with hints of spice, and just a touch of skunkiness. The mefitic (skunky) component is due to the oily gland-tipped hairs that cover the outside of the flowers and young foliage. This gives Western azaleas a fragrance that is quite unique and memorable, while being highly enjoyable.

Although considered a gorgeous shrub, it has proven very difficult in cultivation; very slow growth, devastating powdery mildew in summer, and reluctance to flower being some of the common problems. In general, almost any plant seen in the wild looks better than the best-grown plant in cultivation, though of course, there are exceptions. The irony is that, especially in sites like The Cedars, the plants are growing exceptionally well, yet are growing in conditions that should be anathema for any self-respecting rhododendron. Here they grow in full all day sun with harsh reflected light and high heat, often in rock crevices devoid of any humus, no nutrients, and often with highly alkaline water - any one of these conditions enough to kill most azaleas or rhododendrons. Go figure!

Powerful fragrance, dreadful reputation

2009-04-16T09:43:00.000-07:00

Of all the California native plants, poison oak, Toxicodendron diversilobum, is easily the most dreaded and feared. In fact the standard reference for California plants, The Jepson Manual (Hickman 93) states "one of the most hazardous plants in California".

Indeed, for those allergic to its oils - which is probably most people - it is a major deterent to enjoying natural areas throughout most of the state. And there is no issue here with denying its often extreme effects - agonizing rashes and ceaseless itching which can incapacitate a person and even lead to serious medical complications.

Few people have much positve to say about this plant which can be nearly omnipresent in some areas. But not everyone is allerigic to it, or only minimally so, and so it is easier for us to look at the plant perhaps more objectively.

It is an impressive plant in many regards, able to thrive in an enormous range of habitats and situations. It has many forms; groundcover, clinging vine, massive sprawling shrub colonies, or isolated free-standing shrub. It grows from sealevel into the lower mountains and from the coast to the edge of the deserts. It is tough, repsrouting quickly from damaged stems and root fragments, and is hard to eradicate completely without repeated efforts.

It is well-known for its early "fall color", as it goes dormant as early as late June in some sites, to late fall in more favored habitats. It produces gorgeous coloration as it goes dormant, and this process can linger for months, creating a tapestry of yellow, peach, salmon, raspberry to rich glowing scarlet and red. Folks who detest the plant will see these colors and say to themselves, "Yikes look at all that horrid poison oak, it's everywhere!" Other, like myself, will say, "What a treat to have so much color so long in the summer landscape."

But a feature surprisingly few people associate with this plant is its intense sweet and spicy fragrance when in flower in the spring. It is perhaps, after Ceanothus (California "lilacs"), second to none in its fragrance, and a very lovely fragrance at that.

poison oak with small flowers

Why so few people know it as a fragrant plant is perhaps understandable, given most folks reluctance to be anywhere near it. Also, the flowers are quite small, though often produced in strings or branched clusters in great numbers. But one doesn't have to stick your nose into the plant to enjoy its scent, the scent carries freely on the air, often forming large plumes of spicy sweet scent that drifts throughout the landscape. Often while driving with the windows open, I will smell it first and then look around and notice a large mass of it dozens of yards away on a bank. Or while walking in the woods you may pass in and out of the fragrance repeatedly, each time thinking, "What a wonderful fragrance!" Most will glance around trying to figure out what is causing the fragrance, and will either be perplexed or attribute it to some showier plant in flower nearby.

tiny 5 petalled flowers don't look like much but pump out the fragrance

The fragrance is closest - to my sense of smell - to carnations or dianthus (pinks), that wonderful combination of spice and sweet that most want to inhale deeply again and again. Trying to emphasize the postitive, what a treat to have so much delightful fragrance given so freely by a plant that is so common and widespread. No need to toil over beds of carnation or cottage pinks with their short season, need for rich prepared soil, water and fertilizer, and weeding and dead-heading. Here we get all the fragrance and none of the work!!!

Another plus is the fragrant season is quite prolonged, especially in the canyons, where the sunny plants will flower weeks before those on shades slopes. And even when they are finished in your area, one only has to drive up to a higher elevation to enjoy the flowering season again, and again. Follow up note: after posting this, a few folks have told me that they can absolutely not detect a fragrance from this plant. While I find it hard to believe, given the intense fragrance I get from this plant, it is the nature of fragrances to be of variable perception among various people.

Two blues

2009-04-06T20:13:00.000-07:00

Rich saturated glowing blue color in flowers is rare.

On our property here in Calistoga, CA, we are fortunate in having three native larkspur, genus Delphinium, the scarlet Delphinium nudicaule, the dark purple-blue D. decorum, and the cobalt blue to purple-blue D. variegatum. I do not want in any way to disparage the other two for they are exceptional species, but the glistening cobalt blue D. variegatum is hard to get enough of.

It is hard in these smaller photos to capture the glistening quality of the petal surface which have both the "diamond-dusted" and "crepe-like" characters seen in plants such as bearded iris or some poppies.

This species seems to have more color variation than either of the two other mentioned which are fairly constant. One extreme here is the darker purple type.

This species grows in clay soils that are wet during the winter months, often with water oozing from the bank edge where these grow here. The other two have their distinct habitats; the scarlet larkspur grows in fractured rock and rubble, while the D. decorum grows on steep slopes in a clay/gravel mix typically at the edge of woodland or under deciduous oaks. This is a drift of the larkspur on the edge of a precipice in Calistoga. Over the years I've seen many fabulous displays of this native plant. Perhaps the most memorable was several acres of vernally wet clay meadow called Morgan Valley near the Reif-Rayhouse Rd. in southern Lake Co.

As glorious as this larkspur is to enjoy in the wild, it is not considered transferable to a garden setting, though folks will keep trying. The larkspurs in horticulture are generally preferable in this regard, though even those can be a challenge -but one with great reward.

A plant that I grow in my garden here in Calistoga that shows great promise for a stunning blue flowered panicle several feet tall is the rare Echium gentianoides, or tajinaste azul. It is restricted in the wild to the mountains on the island of La Palma in the Canary Island group. Annie Hays of Annie's Annuals has propagated this beauty. I was initially cautious, as other Echium species have become noxious weeds in the coastal regions of California. But I cut up the seed stalks of E. gentianoides last year and have not seen a single seedling yet in my garden, though I'll continue to monitor the situation.

Two views of the Echium in front of a large Spanish olive oil urn, pictures taken yesterday. It is an unusual Echium as the leaves are not bristly hairy but smooth with a lovely silver-blue color and pinkish petioles and stems. It is very heat and drought tolerant here, though the plants go into a semi-dormant late summer phase, but come back quickly during the winter. According to Warren Roberts, superintendent of the UC Davis Arboretum, it comes from areas that receive snow, thus is hardier than many of the other echium. I do not know, however, what the bottom line is for temperatures, as our Calistoga garden is amazingly mild with no freezes in 3 years.

I originally bought 3 plants, two are this rich deep blue while one is paler, but still an excellent color. I believe they are currently all seed grown, so some variability is to be expected - so if you come across it, buy several. Also can be ordered from Annie's website, http://www.anniesannuals.com/.

The botanical species name, gentianoides, refers to the rich blue flower color that is simiar to that commonly found in the genus, Gentiana, or gentian. Gentians are often plants of mountain meadows and are noted for their deep blue flower color, gentian-blue often being used as a color name.

Strep Trekking 1, some observations on the genus Streptanthus, the jewelflowers

2009-04-04T20:05:00.000-07:00

Plant obsessions are odd enought to start off, but to be fascinated with a small-flowered mustard relative that few people will ever notice is probably weirder. Streptanthus, is Greek for twisted flower, but it is actually the wavy-margined petals that give this impression. The common name of jewelflower, is quite appropriate for many species given the intricate detail of the flowers and their often glistening colors.

Bristly jewelflower, Streptanthus glandulosus, Calistoga CA

I have the great fortune, and indeed it is a sort of personal wealth, to have populations of Streptanthus on two different properties we own, one species here in Calistoga CA and three full species (with many variant races) at The Cedars, in Sonoma Co.,CA.

Jewelflowers occur in much of California, though they are seldom common, and typically are restricted to rocky sites and odd soil or rock types. Many are restricted to serpentine rock and soil. Having spent 30 years exploring serpentine sites throughout California, I got to meet a lot of Streptanthus - some extremely rare. Indeed it would be hard to "know" CA serpentine plants without getting to know Streptanthus. As with other complex species groups, it has been hard for botanists to concur on what name goes on what plants. Some variation is profound with strange characters appearing almost as if Dr. Seuss was directing evolution. Other variation is extremely subtle, slight changes in size, flower color, leaf shape, etc. Genetically it seems like the plants are not quite ready to "settle down" to a consistent form; there are still too many options to explore. One feature shared in many jewelflower species is a dramatic change in foliage from the seedling rosette as it matures into the flowering plant. Some species drop their lower leaves by flowering which makes identification more difficult, since only the atypical upper leaves may remain. Bearded jewelflower, Streptanthus barbiger, juvenile foliage rosette left, in flower right. Note the strange brownish-pink-amethyst color of the juvenile leaves, they almost mimic the gravel color of the serpentine rock. The botanical name means bearded jewelflower (barbed, barber, beard, etc. all come from that latin root), but ironically most populations and races do not have hairs (beards) on the flowers. This shows that botanical latin, while having to meet certain rules, does not have to correctly describe the plant; although for fairness sake, some plant probably did have hairs. This species is restricted to the North Coast Ranges of California and always is found on serpentine soils or rock, often at great distance from its nearest neighboring population. The plants above are from The Cedars in Sonoma Co. The juvenile was photographed April 3rd, the flowering plant last year in May.

A jewelflower that occurs both here in Calistoga (Napa Co.) and in two forms at The Cedars (Sonoma Co.) is the bristly jewelflower, Streptanthus glandulosus, a widespread though infrequent species of both the Central Coast Ranges and the North Coast Ranges in California. It is frequently found on serpentine rock/soil, but is also on other rock types such as volcanic, sandstone, cherts, etc.

This seedling of bristly jewelflower illustrates where its common name comes from; most foliage and even lower stems are densely covered with bristly hairs. As the plant grows, most will also produce glandular hairs, i.e. hairs tipped with a sticky exudate, thus the botanical species name, glandulosus. Both the bristles and the glandular secretions are intended to deter predation by animals and insects. As will be mentioned below, there are a number of races of this species, but nearly all look identical at this juvenile phase. This species is also an exception to the generalization mentioned previously about the upper foliage changing dramatically; in bristly jewelflower it changes slightly, usually becoming gradually smaller and less toothed as the plant elongates.

The race of bristly jewelflower that is found extensively within the canyons of The Cedars (Sonoma Co.) has rose-pink calyxes (the cup-like bowl from which the petals emerge). In the past this was given the botanical name of Streptanthus glandulosus ssp. secundus var. hoffmanii, or Hoffman's jewelflower. Hoffman was an amateur botanist who extensively explored serpentine sites in Northern California, particularly The Cedars area in Sonoma Co. which forms the headwaters of the two branches of Austin Creek. He was also fascinated with the genus Streptanthus. It was Freed Hoffman who coined the term, strep trekking, my title of this series.

Here's another race of bristly jewelflower which is found outside of the canyons of The Cedars (Sonoma Co.). In the past, this race was called var. sonomensis, or Sonoma jewelflower. It is similar to several races of jewelflower found in Marin Co. to the south, but is restricted to Sonoma Co. Even within the county, there are several color forms; white with pink, white, white with yellow or yellow. This is the typical color form of bristly jewelflower, a very dark, almost black-red-purple calyx. These are plants found near my home in Calistoga (Napa Co.), but this color race occurs predominantly throughout its extensive range. A very similar color, though even darker and with smaller flowers is the rare Tiburon jewelflower, Streptanthus niger, found in only a few sites in Tiburon, CA (Marin Co.), the best known site is adjacent to the historic St. Hilary church.

This topic to be continued periodically.

First Flowers Fill Fervent Feelings For Fresh Future

2009-03-25T11:55:00.000-07:00

I think every gardener faces this dilemma; plant for now or plant for later. Most do both of course, but if there’s just that one spot left, what will go in it? Will it be a baby-blue eyes (Nemophila menziesii) for its delightful blue and white flowers making me smile for the next two months only to die, or will it be a penstemon, perhaps flowering this summer, but maybe not even until the following season? It is at this early time of the year, just as the low elevation California landscape has begun to wake up and grow, that I find myself almost desperate for some floral sign that renewal is on its way. Although there will be far more flowers in late March and April, more diversity and more amazing masses and mixes of colors and scents, it is the first wildflowers each season that mark my personal internal calendar and affect me the most. The first shooting star (Dodecatheon hendersonii), buttercup (Ranunculus californica), toothwort (Cardamine californica), hound’s tongue (Cynoglossum grande), Indian warrior (Pedicularis densiflora), checker lily (Fritillaria affinis) or scarlet larkspur (Delphinium nudicaule) hits me with an intense physical pang of pleasure. Even if I’m alone, I gasp and then the phrase, “Oh look, the first shooting star!” inevitably escapes my lips. This reassurance, that in spite of the desperate economy, or a multitude of personal problems, things are on track, everything will be alright, is so gratifying, that it is hard not to smile. It is one of those “Now” moments, when all past and future concerns have receded to the wonder of the present.

Ceanothus ‘Berkeley Skies’ in mid February in Calistoga. The soft lilac coloration is hard to capture against the background, but is not missed by the hundreds of honey bees that comb its every flower. In the garden, it is the same craving that attracts me to the earliest flowering bulbs, shrubs, annuals or perennials. To have a ceanothus burst into flower in late January or February is relentlessly energizing, a denial of the cold, rain (or lack of it), wind, or general dullness of the season. Here in my Calistoga garden, the first is always the lovely selection called Ceanothus ‘Berkeley Skies’, a seedling that appeared in the UC Botanical Garden (UCBG) in Berkeley back in the 80’s. I have always assumed its parentage was most likely a hybrid between big-pod ceanothus (C. megacarpus) a very early white flowering species from Southern California, and glory bush (C. gloriousus), a later blue-lilac flowering species of Northern California. Whatever its true parentage may be, it is a beauty, with very early pale lilac-blue flowers with a deeper black center on a large, vase-shaped shrub with small oval or teardrop shaped leathery leaves, often with minute teeth on the margins. Given its purported parentage, it can likely become a small tree to 15’, but most ceanothus are of limited longevity, and 10 to 15 years would be its expected life span, though twice that would not be surprising. Ceanothus ‘Berkeley Skies’ showing close to true soft-lilac coloration and deep purple-black center in this close up. The color shows up very well in cloudy or rainy weather. I know of UCBG at Berkeley propagating this shrub for its plant sales, and Cal Flora Nursery of Fulton, CA run by Sherrie Althouse and Phil Van Soelen.

First flower scape of Muscari macrocarpum, mid January; note second scape emerging on right. Another winner in my garden is a lovely bulb from Greece and SW Turkey currently called Muscari macrocapum ‘Golden Fragrance’. I’m not sure if the cultivar name, ‘Golden Fragrance’, is any different than the species and I suspect it is just to give the catalogue descriptions more “sex appeal”, but regardless it is now one of my favorite bulbs in the garden. I first saw it about 10 years ago when it was quite rare in the nursery trade, and assumed at the time that it must be very hard to grow, but I was mistaken. I grew it in my Berkeley CA garden, then in our Sebastopol, CA garden, and now in our Calistoga garden, but it is only here that I’ve used it in mass – as the price of bulbs came down significantly in recent years. It is a winter bulb in our climate, starting to show foliage in December and flowering in mid-January, and will continue at least into late March. It loves our summer-dry climate, but also does well in beds with routine water. In fact it has come up in every spot I’ve planted it from sun to light shade (deciduous and evergreen trees), rock, gravel, garden soil, clay. It has pushed up through 6” of compact mulch, dense grassy meadows, or open soils. And, unlike so many other bulbs that we waste our money on, it comes back dependably, increasing slowly, and each division flowers (unlike many Muscari that multiply excessively but produce mostly foliage). It produces large, puffy and ruffled triangular seed capsules (macrocarpum or big pod) that can be of visual interest in and of themselves, but so far none of these have germinated spontaneously. The foliage is also large compared to many Muscari and is a pleasant grayish color.

Muscari macrocarpum in mid-February with second set of flowering scapes. Another sequence will follow into March. Sometimes called the yellow flowered muscari or grape-hyacinth, it is actually a complex color, starting off a dull bluish purple and then quickly changing to a chartreuse-yellow in primary flower. In some light the greenish cast becomes apparent, but in full sun mostly yellow comes through. It reminds me of some of the S. African Lachenalias in coloration. While noticeable, it is more subtle than many bulbs, but is lovely in detail. But its biggest plus – and I would grow it even if the flowers were 1/10th the size or brown – is its intense sweet fragrance. I’ve planted drifts throughout the garden (as mentioned in nearly every spot I could think of) as wafts of the fragrance fill the winter air on still days and even days of mild breezes. You loose track of the number of times you stop whatever you are doing to say to yourself, “What a lovely fragrance!” You don’t even have to be near the plants, the fragrance just drifts around. Unlike paper-white Narcissus, it has none of the chemical smell that makes some folks gag. The fragrance is clean and sweet, reminding me of Daphne or hyacinth, potent yet pleasant. And the flowers appear in a sequence over many weeks, so it’s not one of those one-shot wonders like tulips. For me, the first flowers appeared in mid-January and there are new flowering scapes in flower now near mid-March. The flowers held up excellently both in our dry January and our rainy February. And the flowers do not wilt if picked as an entire stem, even left out of water. But its ease of culture, persistence, mid-winter flowering, and incredible fragrance make it a winner for me. It has also done extremely well in containers, tolerating summer dryness (just stacked up) and has come back better each season. Definite a four star marvel for our area. The bulb is available from almost all the bulb companies.

Muscari macrocarpum coming up under a grove of foothill pine (Pinus sabinian), a most inhospitable spot for most plants.