Category Archives: weather

The sun shines on triads of blue.

my garden, weather, , , , , , , ,
This evening’s view through my kitchen window.

It seemed like most of May was overcast and cold… Oh, I know there were a few sunny hours in there, but I had to turn on the furnace again, and I felt my mood sink. Many days, in the evening just before dusk the clouds would open up and let a few rays through, as the damp marine breeze was blowing in. But at the very end of the month: the sun! the sun! I guess I am a central California girl in my bones.

The penstemon bloomed while the weather was still gray; as soon as there was enough sunlight, I took its picture, from north, south, east and west. Things are really crowded right now by the patio, and the blue-eyed grass is barely peeking out from under that penstemon. I guess the Santa Barbara daisies (erigeron) are not exactly blue, but their lavender tone made me think of this group as layers of blue blossoms:

On the other side of the garden, nigella, salvia and borage definitely make a blue bouquet:

The plum trees got some kind of icky leaf curl on their new growth, from the wet spring I guess. Also, because of the constant rain, we were able to apply a dormant spray only once during the winter. Alejandro came today and cut off all those branches, which were going to get lopped anyway in a couple of weeks, at the solstice.

While he was working, I wandered about like an enchanted queen considering her domain, picking flowers here and there. Though the blues definitely make a splash in the garden right now, they didn’t steal the show from the sweet peas and yarrow in my bouquet. Any day that ends with fresh flowers in the house I count as a success. Garden happiness!

The tarragon is winning.

food and cooking, my garden, weather, , , ,

This morning I read that we had got two inches of rain in the last 24 hours. It’s the Atmospheric River again! When I took out the trash, I discovered that the lid to the can had blown open, and the bin was half full of water. I was very glad that there was no trash in there swimming around.

The first asparagus came up this week, and the first freesia this morning. We have one day, today, with no rain, but it’s coming back, they say; the River might run for four more days.

I finally peeled, chopped and cooked the last of my little pumpkins that I’d grown last summer. I had saved seeds in 2021 from what looked like a mere ornamental pumpkin bought at Trader Joe’s for a front porch decoration, but after eating all the larger ornaments, I didn’t want to waste that little guy, so I cooked him, too. He was the sweetest of all! It was really satisfying to get descendants from him.

When I was at church during a short spell of sunshine this week, I saw this quince bush (above) with an unusual color of blooms.  So far none of my seeds have sprouted; they must be waiting for more warmth. But the tarragon has come out of dormancy and is overtaking the hairy bittercress that’s invaded its pot. Go, tarragon!

Slishity-slosh…

art, poetry, weather, , ,
Leslie George Dunlop

Throughout 2022 I collected poems in a folder named “For Grandchildren.” They were of the sort I thought Pippin’s or Soldier’s children might enjoy, and my plan was to either send them one by one in letters, or take a bunch with me to read in person with them.

I selected a few from that collection to take in a sheaf to Colorado at Christmas, and the boys were interested to see what I’d brought, and to listen to and with me. After we read my bunch, they brought me two of their favorite books of poetry to read from, one of which was A.A. Milne. Here is one of my offerings that we read, which I really appreciate this week when in my area we are experiencing the Atmospheric River. I am thankful for it, I assure you, but I can relate to feeling “just not the same” with this rainy brain.

RAIN

I opened my eyes
And looked up at the rain,
And it dripped in my head
And flowed into my brain,
And all that I hear as I lie in my bed
Is the slishity-slosh of the rain in my head.

I step very softly,
I walk very slow,
I can’t do a handstand–
I might overflow,
So pardon the wild crazy thing I just said–
I’m just not the same since there’s rain in my head.

-Shel Silverstein

Okutama in the Rain by Kawase Hasui

What happened in the garden.

my garden, weather, winter, , , ,

When I returned to California from the Rocky Mountains at the end of the year, I was surprised at the changes in the garden. Shrubs that had barely begun to take on fall colors before Christmas, suddenly were bare and brown. Though we’d had plenty of frosts in the fall, the zinnas under a covered walkway continued to hang on — until the solstice, apparently…. They heard it was officially winter, and they knew in their deepest parts that winter is not for them. They lost their will to live.

The lemons are all bigger and brighter. This tree is so leggy, it needs a good pruning, but I don’t know quite how to proceed at this point… and I especially am puzzled about when to do the job, because it seems always to be bearing. Maybe Alejandro will know what to do.

My spider plant, though it was healthy and green through last winter and this frosty fall, seems to be dead. But cyclamen are popping up, no doubt loving the heavy rains that have thoroughly soaked the ground. Yesterday I found several containers in the yard that had collected a foot of water in the last ten days.

The fountain that I’d turned off before leaving is filled to the brim from that rain, and while I was gone Alejandro pruned the plum and fig trees, and the wisteria. The pomegranates left on those dwarf bushes turned pale from cold and old age. I’ll pluck them soon and put them out of their misery, and prune those bushes, which have grown slightly out of bounds.

With so much of the landscape at its most drab, I was surprised to see bright calendula faces. Dear, hardy little garden friends! God bless you, and all your companions as well, the many who are having a brief rest while you keep watch, and shine brighter than the January sun.