1. Wisteria sinensis

My week began with a very special botanical field trip to Sierra Madre, a hamlet near Pasadena that each year celebrates its hometown hero on the second Sunday of March.

That hero is a 116-year-old plant. Isn’t that cool?

Invited by Paula Panich, who enticed me with promises that I would see “one of the seven horticultural wonders of the world” (seriously, who could resist that offer!?), I drove 60 miles east to Sierra Madre and joined Paula’s entourage.

The Sierra Madre Wistaria Festival, a full-blown, main-street celebration, was under way to celebrate what the Guinness Book of World Records has named the world’s largest blooming plant – a Chinese wisteria (Wisteria sinensis).

Said wisteria, which the locals more accurately call Wistaria*, was planted in 1894 by Alice Brugman. She rode by horse and buggy to the R.H. Wilson Pioneer Nursery in nearby Monrovia to purchase the vine in a one gallon pot, spending 75-cents.

It now covers nearly one acre, weighs over 250 tons, and produces more than 1.5 million blossoms during a glorious, five-week run each spring. The festival occurs for one day only, when the property’s owners (aka the “flower stewards”) open up their gardens for thousands of visitors.

We were in attendance a little early in the vine’s bloom cycle, as you can see. But still, it was a sight to behold!

 The vine covers two private residential gardens and is supported by a sturdy matrix of metal arbors. We walked underneath the canopy formed by lightly-scented, pale purple clusters that looked gorgeous against the intense-blue sky.

A festive day indeed! 

As pretty as Victorian wallpaper, the vines and blossoms trace the sky

*Wisteria or Wistaria?

According to a brochure distributed at the festival, experts at the Los Angeles County Arboretum and Botanic Garden have always used the correct spelling with “a” rather than “e.”

“The plant was named to honor Caspar Wistar (1761-1818), an American physician and University of Pennsylvania teacher. Among his accomplishments, he wrote the first text book on anatomy. When the name of the genus Wisteria was recorded, it was incorrectly spelled. So, one could say that all along, Sierra Madre has correctly spelled Wistaria.”

 Now you know.

2. Eschscholtzia californica 

This being perhaps my last spring as a full-time resident of Southern California, I was eager to squeeze in a visit to the Antelope Valley Poppy Reserve. My goal was to see the valley’s meadows and rolling hills awash in vibrant orange – a celebration of the California Poppy, the State Flower since 1903.

While poppies grow in many areas, along the edges of highways and in surprising pockets both urban and rural, the only remaining large fields are in the western Antelope Valley. This area is part of northern Los Angeles Co., about 90 minutes northeast of my home in Thousand Oaks.

My parents were en route to visit this weekend (from the Phoenix area) and so I convinced them to take the detour north off of Hwy. 14 to meet me for a Friday morning Poppy Adventure.

We arrived at the 1,800-acre reserve located about 15 miles west of the town of Lancaster. As with my wisteria visit, we were definitely too early for the peak poppy bloom.

Despite plenty of spring precipitation, the temperatures here had not warmed up enough to prompt massive blooms. There were beautiful patches of orange poppies, intermixed with other lovely wildflowers – including blue lupines. We took joy in what we saw and promised ourselves to return in the future.

I wish I could go back in two week’s time – that’s when the display will be the showiest!

3. Yucca brevifolia 

On our way out of the Antelope Valley, we discovered an obscure state park called the Ripley Desert Woodland. This 560-acre “virgin forest” is populated with Joshua Trees (Yucca brevifolia) and California junipers (Juniperus californica). According to the brochure we picked up:

“This is how the western part of the Mojave Desert must have appeared to early explorers as they came through the area” in the late 18^th and early 19^th century. . . .”

The park is named for Arthur Ripley, a farmer who willed the acreage to California when he died in 1988. He farmed a large amount of land in Antelope Valley, but he also was concerned enough about the Joshua/juniper woodlands to preserve a pristine area.

I was quite moved by this wild place. Walking through this desert woodland was pretty awe-inspiring. To find it, drive on Lancaster Road, heading west, about 5 miles beyond the Poppy Reserve.

We now have a backyard that is grass-free. The space has undergone a huge transformation since earlier this summer when a crew removed the last patches of dying turf. With irrigation repaired and new planting beds+borders outlined and populated, we received a delivery of California Gold crushed gravel to carpet the walking areas. I’ve since decided on the very best way to describe this color of gravel. To me, it will forever be called “Golden Lab.” When our dog Zanny lays on the gravel in the warm Cali sunshine, we notice that her fur blends beautifully – practically the same color.

Our 25th anniversary was last week, and Bruce surprised me with a brand new digital camera, a Canon PowerShot G10. This is a “big girl” camera. No point-and-shoot idiot stuff for me anymore. OK, basically, I have no idea how to do anything BUT point and shoot, but I hope to learn.

The partner-in-crime in this Canon choice is none other than Bill Wright. Bill and I have worked together for years and together created Stylish Sheds and Elegant Hideaways. He knows his stuff. I’m sure he rolled his eyes (privately) about my wimpy camera shenanigans while we were on location together. Lucky for me, Bill advised Bruce on this camera purchase. Oh, and one sweet note. Bruce gave me a 35mm manual camera for a wedding gift on August 24, 1984. It was a beautiful Pentax. I used it for years, but eventually, it broke (OK, it “was dropped,” which is my passive way of saying I broke it) and couldn’t be repaired. That he remembered the wedding gift 25 years ago and wanted to do a reprise was both thoughtful and romantic.  I’m going to get major mileage out of this Canon. That is, when I learn all of its bells and whistles.

Until then, here is my maiden voyage. Photos of the “new” backyard:

This won’t be a long post because it has been a long day. But I have some images to share from today’s field trip to Santa Cruz Island, which is part of a string of eight small islands forming the Channel Islands off the California coast (between Santa Barbara and Long Beach). Perhaps the most famous is the glamorous Catalina Island. But since I wanted to see nature and take a break from the freeways and noise, the remoteness of Santa Cruz was appealing.

My companion Paula Panich has ventured to Santa Cruz twice before by herself. She suggested a day trip over the holiday weekend and we both arranged to be away from our families for a good part of the day. It started by booking our passage through a commercial boating company called Island Packers. We each spent $48 for the round-trip journey. The boat left the Oxnard Harbor at 9 a.m. We boarded and sat up on the top deck, along with other pleasure-seekers, cameras and small video recorders around their necks. No one was disappointed by the 90-minute crossing, thanks to a playful performance from dolphins, including several that seemed to want to “surf” in the boat’s wake.

Paula had prepped me for this trip, helping dictate a list of what I should bring: 2 bottles of water; 2 bottles of Gatorade; a fanny pack and a backpack; nuts and dried fruit; a hat and sunscreen; polar fleece and a rain jacket; hiking shoes. I added my fav hiking food – hard cheddar cheese and salami, along with crackers.

The thing is, Santa Cruz is one of four northern islands that make up the Channel Islands National Park. The only amenities on this rocky, isolated destination are a few port-a-potties and potable water. You can plan ahead to camp or kayak here but everything you bring in . . . you must pack out.

We got off the boat at 10:30 a.m. and checked our watches: Four Hours. Before hiking, we wandered through the historic displays that covered Santa Cruz’s background dating to the first indication of human life there 2,000 years ago. Those humans were probably the ancestors of our local Chumash Indian tribe. European settlers had their moment in time here, too, unfortunately. This island was home to sheep, cattle and pig ranching over the years. Paula and I kept asking ourselves: Who would transport livestock to this island to “farm” when there was still a ton of good, undeveloped property on the mainland a century ago? Ridiculous.

But, of course, we were tickled to see the remains of a few “sheds.”

There you go. Sheds are everywhere.

The natural beauty of Santa Cruz, though, made everything man made look uninspired. The terrain blew our minds. I kept saying: “It’s otherworldly.” Finally, Paula said it reminded her of Iceland, an otherworldly place she visited last October. When we hiked up to a bluff overlooking the Pacific Ocean to the southwest and the Santa Barbara Channel to the northeast, I was struck by how varied the geography is here.

On land, it’s desolate, dry and hilly (the livestock ate most of the native vegetation, but there are efforts to reintroduce native plant species). On the perimeter, it’s rugged, weather beaten and dramatic, where the sheer face of the island exposes itself to the sea.

Here’s a paragraph from the National Parks brochure we picked up:

Santa Cruz Island: Here are pristine beaches, rugged mountains, lonely canyons, grass-covered hills, and some animals and plants that you have never seen before. This paradise is Santa Cruz Island, a miniature of what southern California looked like more than 100 years ago. The largest island in the national park, with 61,972 acres, Santa Cruz is 22 miles long and from two to six miles wide. A central valley splits the island along the Santa Cruz Island fault, with volcanic rock on the north and older sedimentary rock on the south. Today, the Nature Conservancy and National Park Service preserve and protect the island.

We spent most of our time just staring at the rock formations and speculating about what force of nature had shaped them in which millennium. The trails were narrow, single-file style, and perilously close to the edge of cliffs and bluffs. But we felt more exhilarated than frightened.

Our clock wound down to 2:30 p.m. and we had to make our way back to the pier to re-board the return boat. This morning, I worried about what on earth we would do to fill 4 hours on an island, one with no tree cover, few places to sit but on the ground, and lonely views of water and rock all around us. But breathtaking scenery, good conversation with a close friend, a zip-lock bag filled with nuts and dried fruit, a few cheese-and-salami bites and – wow – time flies.

I can’t wait to schedule a return visit. Just think, only 30 minutes away from home is the boat that will bring me back to the wild place called Santa Cruz.

A few weeks ago, I interviewed a hot Santa Barbara floral designer for a story that will run in the May issue of 805 Living, our local shelter glossy.

While telling me about the fresh-from-the-garden arrangement he created, the designer mentioned that the lilacs came from a farm in Antelope Valley.

I know of Antelope Valley because it is the famous home of the California Poppy Reserve (which I am kicking myself for NOT getting to see last month when the ubiquitous yellow-orange flowers were in bloom). That flower fact is filed away for future reference . . . but suddenly, the idea of LOCAL lilacs is tickling my fancy in a big way. Some of my best childhood moments were experienced with my face buried in wild, unkempt but intoxicatingly fragrant lilac shrubs: first in the backyard of a Connecticut rental house in the mid-1960s and later in a historic Massachusetts town square where lilacs grew with abandon in the mid-1970s.

In the late 1990s, we planted a Syringa ‘Sensation’ in our Seattle garden. My dear friend and former college roommate (and longtime garden muse) Karen Page selected the plant for us while helping with several landscaping projects. It grew tall and robust and blessed me and my garden alike each June, producing voluptuous trusses of darkest-purple florets edged in pure white. Too beautiful! It now lives in my memories.

So today, while racing through the Thousand Oaks Farmers Market near closing time (to pick up a half-dozen hand-made tamales for dinner), I stopped dead in my tracks at this little scene: a row of white plastic 5-gallon buckets FILLED with pale and deep lavender clusters of lilacs. Two women were working out of the back of a pickup truck, clipping and bundling lilacs: gorgeous, fresh-cut, real lilacs. I overheard one of them telling a customer that she grows the lilacs in Antelope Valley.

The connection was made! I introduced myself to Elizabeth Kilcoyne of Kilcoyne Lilac Farm and her neighbor-assistant Marie. I asked: “Do you sell lilacs to S. R. Hogue in Santa Barbara?” Her face broke into a lovely, warm smile: “Yes.”

I told Elizabeth and Marie about the 805 Living article and they already knew about it – my editor Lynne Andujar and her photographer Gary Moss had shot scenes of Thousand Oaks Farmers Market flower vendors a few weeks ago – for our upcoming flower story.

Without thinking, I switched into Debra-as-Reporter and started quizzing the women about these awesome, California-grown lilacs. Wait!!! I raced to my car and grabbed my little Flip video camera and returned to see whether Elizabeth would let me tape a short interview with her. She agreed and here is the interview:

httpv://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-oOdGqEm-xQ

I came home with a lovely bunch of Elizabeth’s lilacs and have promised myself that come next spring, I will visit her farm and display gardens filled with 150 lilacs. Plus, I need to find an outlet to produce a magazine story about Kilcoyne Lilac Farm.

The varieties seen here are: ‘Charles Jolie’ (or ‘Charles Joly’) and ‘Ludwig Spaeth’ – two dark reddish-purple lilacs (‘Charles’ has a tiny white spot – Elizabeth calls it a ‘B’ – in the center of the floret); and ‘Michael Buchner’, the pale lavender French hybrid. Before I filled a jug with the blooms, I made sure to clip the bottom of each woody stem and then slice the stem in half, with a 1-inch cut. This technique helps the stems drink more water and stay fresh.

July in Southern California dishes up a haze of purple in every hue. I recently snapped a few photos to capture the floral bounty around us.

It’s the weekend; time to be lazy and enjoy a little eye candy. So here we go:

Lavender-blue agapanthus cascades down the hillside in my neighborhood

This time of year, AGAPANTHUS takes over our “East Hills” neighborhood. Seattle gardening friends, eat your eyes and hearts out! When I first visited this neck of the woods, in spring 2006, I was blown away by the appearance — shall I say ‘explosions’? — of lavender-blue agapanthus blooms on every corner of town.

“Okay, I guess I can live here after all,” I thought. I mentioned loving this plethora of agapanthus to my friend Nan Sterman, a California native and author of California Gardener’s Guide, Vol. 2.

“Oh, Debra, they’re gas station plants!” she exclaimed.

As I’ve said before. . . one woman’s gas station plant is another woman’s rare collector plant. Imagine describing it as a commonplace “filler” for the corner convenience store! I know of a few passionate souls in Seattle who willingly forked over $15 for a 2-inch Agapanthus ‘Blue Heaven’ cultivar from Heronswood (or, elsewhere spent $20 to $40 for larger pots of this pretty purple South African native). And then. And then. Well, if my efforts were at all representative, there was the breath-holding that occurred through the wet, chilly winter months, as we pretty much realized the true-blue agapanthus wasn’t going to emerge in great shape the following spring. Like many tender perennials, well, they were pricey annuals. Or, they were in need of massive amounts of pampering, such as potting up the fleshy rhizomes and moving them indoors for the winter.

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Today, all I have to share are these photographs of my sole hydrangea plant. This pinky charmer lives on our covered porch, surviving the heat, I guess, because of its deeply shaded existence.

It is 90 degrees outside as I write at 7:30 p.m. With adequate water, this hydrangea seems to cope with close-to-the-century-mark temperatures. But if it wasn’t protected by the overhanging roof, it would be miserable.

In contrast, hydrangeas in Seattle can handle a few days of excessive heat, here and there. But their blooms and leaves get crispy when subjected to sustained hot-and-sunny summer conditions. All the more reason why I cherish owning at least one non-crispy specimen here in Zone 10!

This hydrangea was a “housewarming” gift nearly 2 years ago, given by my husband’s boss on the occasion of our move to SoCal. To me, “Miss Hydrangea,” it seemed ironic to receive a no-name, hothouse variety in a 1-gallon pot, cloaked in that crinkly-metallic florist paper. It nearly toppled over because the few enormous mop-head blooms were wildly out of proportion to the size of the plant itself. In my former garden (seen at left and right), I was lucky to grow several cool Japanese hydrangeas that were gifted to me by friend Richie Steffen of the Miller Garden. These babies seemed to think they were still growing in their native soil because they exploded in size over the period of a few years – only to crowd out the nearby path. (Although, I must confess that the huge mophead hydrangea shown here was also a housewarming gift that arrived in a 1-gallon florist’s pot: It was given by our then-new neighbor David when we completed construction and threw ourselves a move-in party in 1998!).

Back to this pink hothouse hydrangea, which sat on my kitchen counter and seemed to be mocking me. If she could have spoken, she would have said: “You think you’re such a great gardener? Well, guess what? No one here cares that you grew a dozen stunning hydrangea shrubs, not to mention two climbing hydrangeas, in your old Seattle garden. Try keeping me alive here in Zone 10!”

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