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Monthly Archives: November 2012

This series of posts begins with pictures taken on August 28, 2012. A new client and a Big New Project! Let’s call it Little Yellow House… and please watch these pages for a continuing series of updates.

Above: the house from the street, facing north. Dominating the picture is an old silk tree (Albizia sp.) which is now reaching the end of its life. One of the most important early issues of this project is that this noble giant has to be removed, because it is seriously infected by a fungus that has taken advantage of the tree’s weakness during recent dry years after the automatic sprinklers failed some years back.

In the foreground a large wisteria bush forms a rounded hump to the left of the light pole. Like the rest of the garden, this wisteria has been allowed to fend for itself for many years. It has sent out dozens of long sinewy shoots that have twined together to form this rather large mound.

At the base of the light pole to the left of the blue mailbox, a small streetside strip contains agapanthus, sweet alyssum and red-flowering stonecrop (Sedum sp.).

As beautiful as it may be with its spreading form, the silk tree’s leaves are turning yellow. Not only is it doomed by disease, but this tree has seriously hampered the vegetation below by shedding vast quantities of its finely divided leaves and flowers which cover the plants below, preventing them from fully absorbing what light gets through its own foliage.

In nature, this habit of dropping leaves and flowers benefits the silk trees by suppressing undergrowth and creating a special ecosystem of leaf mould and decomposition critters, but here in this garden we want a much more varied ecosystem.

Yes, sadly, the silk tree must go.

Above: Looking north-northeast from the south corner, in front of the wisteria is a sweet little mugo pine. In front, purple daisies and some stray wisteria runners. Some serious pruning needed here, but this south corner of the garden will be one of the easiest areas to handle.

Above; looking west from the street end of the driveway, the wisteria bush is at the left edge of the picture in the background. Just in front of the wisteria but behind the front walkway is a wildly overgrown section containing some daisy bushes and a whole lot of grass, under which are some struggling decorative wild strawberries (Fragaria sp.) that are invisible in this picture.

Below the silk tree’s branches in front of the house is an area containing old, deeply entrenched clumps of agapanthus and butterfly iris, running from the right foreground into the center background. Both of these are species that can eventually take over large areas of garden space, highly drought-tolerant and unfortunately rather invasive if left untended.

In the larger center front section are lots of violets and various other plants adapted to the part shade of the silk tree. As we shall see, there are a whole lot of far more troublesome plants here that are yet to be revealed. Just wait until I get a chance to start watering!

Above: looking southwest from the end of the driveway. In foreground at right, healthy but highly invasive agapanthus clumps. Behind them, violets and more. Further back, the overgrown section with daisy bushes and grass in front of the wisteria bush. At left, extending back along the sidewalk in the early morning shadow of the parked car, two streetside strips. The closer one contains purple trailing lantana struggling to survive in the dry, sun-blasted conditions near the street. Other kinds of “weeds” and grass also compete for that space.

Above: at the base of the mailbox, a small streetside strip containing lush carpets of sedum and some white-flowering sweet alyssum with a few more purple trailing lantana. There is also more agapanthus in there too. In the back, the overgrown, grassy area in front of the wisteria and to the right of the mugo pine.

Above: a closer look at the overgrown area in front of the wisteria mound. It is early afternoon by now, and I have already removed a lot of the tallest grass stems. Wild strawberries are now visible at the base of the daisy bushes. At far left, an agapanthus in the front strip displays a tall stalk with white flowers.

Next: we visit the back yard.

Now that our new name is chosen and the new business is officially started it seems appropriate to have a flashback to one of my earliest manifestations of deep nature gardening.

Above is a container ecosystem garden, created way back in 2007 just a few weeks before this picture was taken. It features a strong young nettle plant reaching for the sky. There are also two kinds of sorrel: white sorrel that grows from bulbs (see the flowers?) and yellow sorrel that grows by runners. There’s a tiny patch of scarlet pimpernel down in front. Just visible at lower right, partly hidden by the rim of a pot, is a foxglove seedling that grew quite large and produced a whole series of beautiful flowers. Also present just in front of the nettle: a small Egyptian walking onion that sprouted from a bulblet that was deliberately planted. This is the only plant that was deliberately placed in this container. Everything else sprouted from the seeded eco-compost.

You might notice that large areas of the earth in this container are bare. In those early days, I was quite zealous about keeping some spaces clear so that interesting, unknown sprouts could emerge. I still do this, but not to such a great degree.

This particular mini-garden has the unique distinction of being the oldest container ecosystem in the collection that is still evolving and growing. To this day, it remains in almost the same spot at the south corner of the deck, still hosting a never-ending variety of volunteer plants and attracting its own cool kinds of bugs and other critters. It gets more sun now that the magnolia tree has been removed.

How does it look today? Remember the happy springtime raspberry bush and later its tiny little berries? It sprouted several years ago in this very container, and has now crowded out almost everything else, except for some sorrel and clover. The pink and white rocks are still there, hiding under the leaves. It looks like the raspberry bush is on its last legs now, though, so it might be time to clear out some of the sorrel and scatter a bit more eco-compost. What will grow among the dying canes?

This container has been through a whole series of evolutions, and there’s still much more to come!

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Surprise! We have a new name and an exciting new company is born. At last, the ecosystem art gardening projects are coming together as one entity. “Deep nature gardens” describes who we are, what we do, and what we create.

By the way – the old name “one green stone” and its old URL will still work. But from now, the blog’s main URL is http://deepnaturegardens.com.

Stay tuned for more great new developments!

Every day this talented spider catches a tasty collection of flying insects. The web gets rebuilt, morning after morning. What a fantastically effective way to trap flies and other nutritious prey!

This is an orb-weaver spider, probably Araneus diadematus, yet another import from Europe. It is a female – the males of orb-weavers are quite small and difficult to find.

Here’s a great photo essay on A. diadematus, from Nick’s spiders of Europe. (Not one of my blogs, he’s another Nick.)

Males of this species make much smaller webs. If they find a female, they make their web at the outside edge of hers. Like most spiders, their mating is tricky. Males risk their lives as they make forays into the female’s web, looking for some arachnid nooky.

Later this year, she will retire from active trapping. If she’s lucky enough to have mated, replete with eggs she will find a sheltered place and lay her eggs, surrounding them with a sac of silk.

The tiny spiderlings will hatch out in the spring. For a while they will cluster near their birthplace, then spread far and wide. Each one lives two years, overwintering as a young, midsize spider.

A. diadematus is also known as the cross spider. In the picture above, can you see the white cross on her back?

I could not find any male web near this one. Did she find a partner?

Usually, grass plants are removed from the garden with unhesitating passion. Among invasives, grasses are without doubt the most troublesome. They are so insistent, so hard to control, that they are almost completely prohibited within the deep nature garden. But sometimes I make an exception.

Above is a panicle (flowering stem) of a delicate little grass growing with minty-looking lemon balm in the shade under some bushes.

Grasses are notoriously hard to identify. The one pictured above could be bentgrass (Agrostis or Polypogon) or it might be orchardgrass (Dactylis glomerata) or maybe velvetgrass (Holcus lanatus) or even some type of bluegrass (Poa sp.). A detail identification could require close inspection with a hand lens. Whatever it is, it’s pretty and as long as it behaves itself it’s welcome here.

Here is another pretty little grass in the same shady patch, arcing out above a tiny live-oak seedling. This one could be a brome, possibly Japanese brome (Bromus japonicus).

Graceful shapes and subtle hues of green and yellow amply reward close inspection of the nodding flowers.

When this garden was first handed off to me by the previous gardener, it was chock full of crabgrass, fescue, and bluegrass, all left over from the time when the garden was mostly lawn, some years back.

Many hours of pulling were required to remove all the grasses, but there came a time when it was clear that not only had the crabgrass been successfully extirpated, but also almost all other kinds of grass.

To this day, the only grasses that are allowed to grow to reproduction age are small, non-threatening, interesting kinds like these two – and they are watched closely! If they get too big they are drastically limited.

You say you like lawns? Don’t get me started.

Remember the many-flowered feverfew in its massive, blooming glory?

In most traditional gardens such a plant would be cut back or completely removed once its main flowering burst is done. But in this deep nature garden, many plants are allowed to have a full, natural life.

In this case, the fading flowers on top have gone to seed, and the seed heads have now begun attracting new kinds of bugs and even some small birds who seem to be eating the seeds.

Meanwhile, new stems have sprouted from the base among the earlier ones, bearing even more of those happy little flowers.

Now this healthy feverfew not only hosts pollinating insects, it also shelters a whole new community of critters on its old seed heads.

Will the new shoots keep coming in, or will this honored plant eventually die a normal death, after its long blooming and fruiting season? Either way, tiny new feverfew plants are now sprouting all across the garden.

The pyracantha shrub at the extreme east corner of the garden is bursting with abundant berries. Actually, they are technically not berries but pomes, similar in structure to apples and pears. Each fruit contains a tiny clump of seeds surrounded by flesh that is bitter but edible – to both birds and humans. Here are two recipes for pyracantha jelly. I haven’t tried either one yet.

Also known as firethorn, pyracantha is native to Europe and Asia. There are several species with berries that are white, red, or yellow. They also have exceptionally nasty thorns, making them good shrubs for human-impenetrable security hedges.

This particular firethorn used to be a giant ovoid of dense leaves enclosing a thick mass of spiny branches. It was frequently sheared back by gardeners with their awful hedge trimmers. Sadly, there are no photos of its original rather ugly shape. When I took over the garden I chopped it back all the way to stumps, but those were allowed to remain and try again.

It sent up dozens of new stems, many of which I simply pulled right off. New wood emerging from old was very easy to break! In the picture at right (taken in November, 2011) the entire space framed was originally filled with a tall, globular mass of spiny brown branches, covered by a thin shell of tiny leaves.

Within weeks a new, beautiful form grew in, with a radically different shape.

It kept on growing and growing and the remaining shoots became thicker, denser, and more vigorous. Each stem became covered with even more amazingly nasty thorns than the ones the plant used to bear. Each thorn is as long as my little finger, with a super sharp needle point at the tip. Pruning such a vastly spiny creature can be challenging, but the reward is a plant of rare beauty.

In May of 2012, when it had already become taller than the six-foot fence behind it, it covered itself with thousands of gorgeous white flowers that attracted bees, flies, beetles, and many more pollinating insects. Standing next to it, one could hear the combined buzzing of all the bugs.

By  this time it was clearly getting out of control. Although it was densely in bloom, its wide-spreading branches were intruding across the path, causing human pedestrians to risk getting punctured by the sharp spines.

Reluctantly, I pruned it back, right in the middle of its blooming phase. Not good for most plants, but this pyracantha, invigorated by its recent complete chopping back, didn’t seem to even notice. Now the garbage collection guys and my neighbors could pass by without damage.

By June 2012 the flowers had dropped their petals. In their place were vast bunches of small green fruit, promising an abundant crop. One of the smallest, lowest branches of the bush was already so heavy with fruit that it broke off at the base. This was to happen to several other small branches during the rest of the summer as the fruit became heavier and riper.

The berries ripened and turned red quite suddenly, taking less than a week from green to punchy, fluorescent crimson. Now this proud pyracantha stands like a thorny sentinal at the east corner of the deep nature garden.