Time Makes Changes, Oh Deer

In 1982 I was asked to design a landscape for a site on the very southern, wind-swept edge of a housing community. This point of land routinely gets 50-90 mile-per-hour winds. So no tall trees, just low-growing shrubs and perennials. The clients wanted color. So, like the left photo shows, they got color. These colors vibrate in resonance with the foggy days. They are almost more intriguing than during the harsh light of full sun. What some thought would be a gaudy color scheme worked well during the many fogged-in days. The clients were pleased.

The bright orange and yellow are two types of Siberian wallflower [Erysimum x alliionii]. The small santolinas in the background grew enormous and spread to be the same plant on the right. [See the base of one featured in the October the 13^th blog.] The wallflowers weren’t so fortunate. They became breakfast, lunch, and diner for the herds of deer that migrate through the property every day. The santolinas, gray and green, lavenders, sea pinks [Armeria maritima , also know as “Thrift”], California poppies, and daffodils slowly replaced or were planted to replace those plants that de-evolved. Life is change. And gardens should be influx with the environment. No static landscape here. The need to adapt and replace plants got the homeowners out to take an active role in the garden. This is more important than the “grand design”, but doesn’t show up in photos.

The garden has evolved since 1981. The owners’ have kept a close eye on what was doing well and what was struggling to live. Not to mention what the deer ate or avoided. The outcome is on the right. Taken from nearly the same angle as the 1982. [Not the same season, the lavenders and satolinas were not in bloom during the late summer.] The scheme morphed into an almost new design, but more in tune with the special micro-ecosystem of the place. And the elements will continue to shape this garden and its gardeners for decades to come. This not a static, photo shoot for one of Martha’s magazine, it’s nature playing with its self.

Let me know what you think.

Visit my web site to learn about my new book on drip irrigation and other gardening books.

NOTE: The comments section at the bottom of the post has disappeared. Click on the "___ Comments" button or the title under the "Blog Archives". Thanks, Robert

Foggy Tourists

Poor tourists. They read about sunny California and come for their summer vacation traveling the scenic Highway 1 only to find days of fog. Fall and late spring often have much less fog than in the height of summer.

I just returned from two wonderful days on the coast 100 miles north of San Francisco. I got lucky with glorious fog-free weather. What visitors and locals fail to notice along the coastal Highway 1 is the extra 32 to 123 inches of "rain" each year. Although actual summer rain is scarce-to-nonexistent in the Northern California Mediterranean coastal zone where I live, another type of "rain," consisting of droplets of condensed fog, is a frequent occurrence. Moist summer fog condenses on the leaves of plants, mostly tall trees.

Shortly after moving to my mountain ridge, I noticed that a foggy summer evening produced the sound of steady rain beneath the tallest trees, while the meadow 20 feet away remained dry. I became obsessed with fog drip.

I put a rain gauge beneath a 125-foot tall Douglas fir tree near my garden and another 100 feet away in open grasses. The needles of the Douglas fir have an immense surface area for condensation. The Douglas fir tree averaged up to 2-1/2 times more "rain" year-round than the open field a mere 100 feet away. I discovered over 10 years of records that this single tree can gather one or more inches of water during a single heavy fog—six inches during one very foggy August! That rare six-inch fog drip equaled 163,000 gallons of water for every acre of tree foliage! It is fog drip that helps water the edges of redwood grove just around the corner from my house and allows the redwoods to expand their growth into the adjacent fields, shrubs, and smaller trees. (The trees at the edges of the forest get much more of the fog drip than those inside the grove. The perimeter trees strip most of the fog moisture from the sky.)

Fog drip is so uncommon that it is rarely found even two miles inland from my garden. I learned that microclimates can indeed be very small, special places. A microclimate that never shows up on the evening weather report. Nature sure has extraordinary niches as part of its fabric of life.

Alas, coastal-bound tourists are not impressed at all with fog drip. It rains on their parade— especially if camping in a tent beneath coastal redwoods.

Please post a comment - I want to know what you think.

Visit my web site to learn about my new book on drip irrigation and other gardening books.

NOTE: The comments section at the bottom of the post has disappeared. Click on the "___ Comments" button or the title under the "Blog Archives". Thanks, Robert

Dripping My Way Through the Forest

For anyone interested in water, a rain-gauge is not only an essential tool and toy, but a great topic for cocktail party chit-chat. Did you know, for example, that one can actually overlook 30 to 60 inches of "rain"?

I live on a high ridge dividing a hotter, dryer inland plain from the more temperate, wetter Pacific Ocean climate some five miles to the west. The non-drought average rainfall on top of my cloud-scraping ridge is about 60 inches per year.

Shortly after moving here, I noticed that a foggy summer evening produced the sound of steady rain beneath the tallest trees—even though a meadow 20 feet away remained bone-dry. I soon learned that in my Mediterranean coastal zone, summer "rain," consisting of droplets of condensed fog, is a frequent occurrence

In this climate, with its summer fogs and winter rains, moist air condenses on the leaves of plants and forms droplets like the hot-weather "sweat" on a bottle of cold soda. The collective needles of the Douglas fir trees near my house offer an immense surface area for this condensation.

I set up a rain-gauge beneath the tallest (125 -foot) Douglas fir tree, and over six years I've discovered that this single tree gathers one or more inches of "rain" each summer night during heavy fogs, and half-again to twice the year-round "rain" of the adjacent open meadow. The month of August usually produces six inches of summer fog drip, or an amazing 163,000 gallons per acre of tree foliage!

To utilize nature's original "drip irrigation" and take direct advantage of this free rain, I plant beneath the dripline of the Douglas firs near my patio The difficulty is finding plants that are somewhat drought-tolerant, shade-loving and deer-resistant. So far my list includes most of the varieties of Daphne (Daphne spp.); wild ginger (Asarum caudatum); native Western ferns; foxgloves (Digitalis spp.); huckleberry (Vaccinium ovatum); Forget-me-nots (Myosotis scorpioides); salal from Northern CA, OR and WA (Gaultheria shallon); the native thimbleberry (Rubus parviflorus); Euryops pectinatus (gets leggy, must have late evening light); and various ornamental grasses. Soon to be infiltrated by Rhododendrons spp., Azaleas spp., and bear berries (Mahonia spp.)

Please post a comment - I want to know what you think.

Visit my web site to learn about my gardening books.

NOTE: The comments section at the bottom of the post has disappeared. Click on the "___ Comments" button or the title under the "Blog Archives". Thanks, Robert

Spring & Summer Moisture

Last night there was a very gentle rain that lingered for only a short time. It announced the coming of spring and the dry months ahead. 

The peach, plums, plumcots, and quinces are the early-blooming fruit trees in my garden; the first to announce spring is here, no matter how briefly before the yearly drought of summer. Even a gentle rain can affect the pollination and bring disease such a fire blight and scab. So I watch the clouds dissipate and the fog slip back to the shoreline so the sun can dry the flowers to prevent such diseases of fruit trees. The warm, sunny days also bring forth pollinating bees (what few are left) and insects that flutter about in the warmth of the sun and "do their thing". 

The rain was typical for late winter, the roads were wet along my lane, but the asphalt was dry beneath the larger trees. The shadows of dryness follow light mists and gentle rains. In the dry times of the summer, the pattern is reversed. Fog laden with moisture often roll up the hills to my house and the trees 1200 feet above the ocean. The trees gather the fog and condense the moisture into "rain". Then the roads in the open, next the to meadows, are dry and the lane is wet with "rain" beneath the larger, taller trees. 

Many people assume only the roots absorb moisture for the plant's growth. Not always true. Both spring rains and summer fog drip directly feed the needles of the nearby redwoods. It has been discovered that the stomata under the leaf can actually absorb tiny amounts of moisture. This amazing process is but one part of the puzzle about how the forest surrounding my home passes through each summer's dry cycle.

More to follow on future postings.

I'd like to hear about the special micro climates at your home and in the garden. 

Please post a comment - I want to know what you think.

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