Category Archives: my garden

landscape, landscape design, my garden, plant profiles

my newest sage

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The number of examples that I have in the garden of the sage genus, Salvia, is growing. The latest addition is a tiny little plant of white sage, Salvia apiana, that I put into a hole in the front yard where a few other plants have failed. The plant is native to this area and doesn’t require additional water so I’m confident that it should have no problem with with the dry soil and the hot sun exposure. Time will tell whether it can compete with the roots of nearby established plantings.

Local examples of the white sage show it to be fairly low, mounding plant of strongly-scented greenish white leaves. Robin Middleton’s amazing salvia site says that “people find the fragrance of the foliage unpleasant…I don’t particularly like it,” and the description at Las Pilitas Nursery calls the perfume a mixture of “sage, pine needles, burning rubber, skunk.” To my nose, that mixture of sage and pine needles and burning rubber and skunk smells like the local chaparral and long hikes on a sunny afternoon, so I actually enjoy it. In the late spring the low plant puts up informal head-high spires of white flowers, sometimes with a lavender tint, but for me the plant is most valuable for its attractive foliage.

Photo from the Wikimedia Commons, contributed by Eugene van der Pijll [ source ]

In addition to having a number of uses for the local Native Americans as a food, flavoring and medicine, the white sage was considered sacred, figured in sweat lodge ceremonies and was used remove evil spirits.

After the conclusion of 1996 Republican National Convention in San Diego one of the more creative post-convention protests involved an action to exorcise the evil that some thought the convention brought to town. In an act of purification, in an ceremony that involved drumming and chanting, protesters burned sticks of white sage to cleanse the Convention Center site of the residual evil.

gardening, my garden, rambles

barbie's excellent garden adventure

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Realtors have their location, location, location mantra that they recite as the factor that contributes most to a property’s value. A similar thing could be said for predicting how well a plant will do in the garden. Even if you follow the basic instructions on a plant’s requirements–basic information about its preferences for sun or shade, for instance, or its preferences for more or less water–lots of other variables can figure in the equation for how well the plant will do for you.

Here are a couple pairs of pictures of Barbie posing by plants in the garden so you can get a sense of scale. In each pairing, the plants next to Barbie went into the ground on the same day. But you can see how much difference the location of the transplants made in how much they liked their new homes.

First is Barbie next to plants of Rudbeckia hirta ‘Green Eyes’ that were planted last Fall:

Barbie and Rudbeckia #1 Barbie and Rudbeckia #2

In the first location, in the front yard, the plant is hanging on but not happy. It gets sun virtually all day and gets watered infrequently. The soil is fairly dense clay with minimal amendments, and the location has no mulch. With multi-year-old plantings nearby, much of the water is sucked up by roots of the more established plants.

In the second location, the plants are doing much better. The exposure is East-Northeast, meaning the plants get sun in the morning, with some additional boost reflected off the house. Watering is generally about once a week. The soil is clay, similar to the first location, but it received a few amendments at the time of planting. A layer of dark pebbles serves as mulch. Though the plants are next to a shrub, the shrub was planted at the same time and the rudbeckis, meaning the roots from the shrub weren’t running through the area and didn’t interfere with these plants getting established.

My conclusion? Though frequently considered a fairly drought-tolerant plant, rudbeckias do appreciate some moisture. Competition from nearby plantings can have a dramatic effect on how well a newly-introduced will do. Increasing the watering of the little front-yard plant could give it a better chance, and doing a little root-pruning with a shovel about a foot away from the base of the plant would help reduce competition from its thirsty neighbors. Some sort of mulch could help preserve soil moisture in this very exposed location.

Next we see Barbie posed next to plants of the tomato, Cherokee Purple:

Barbie and Cherokee Purple #1 Barbie and Cherokee Purple #2

Both locations face West-Southwest, assuring strong sun from before noon into late afternoon. Both locations receive light-to-moderate watering. The soil in the first spot is moderately heavy garden soil amended with organics. The location is part of a retired fishpond where the concrete on the bottom had holes drilled into for drainage, making this in essence a large container set into the ground. The soil is probably less than one foot deep, and the spot isn’t mulched.

The second plant is in a raised bed with deep, sandy soil that wasn’t amended before the plant went in. The plant benefits from a light layer of wood-chip mulch.

The tomato appears to appreciate a deep soil that would encourage a strong root system. Since I can’t do anything now to increase the depth of the soil in the first situation or to improve its makeup, some mulching could help keep the moisture level more uniform. Also, since the plant is essentially containerized, applications of low-nitrogen fertilizer would help equalize its chances for success with the plant that can set its roots deep and wider in search of nutrients. For next year’s plantings, replacing the current soil with a mix more appropriate for containers could also let the plantings fare better.

After this photo shoot in the garden Barbie had to come back inside for a rest. It’s tough being a supermodel.

gardening, my garden

organic, kinda sorta

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I suppose saying that your gardening methods are mostly organic is like saying you’re slightly pregnant. If you’re a total purist this is a yes/no sort of thing. I try to keep away from most chemicals, but every now and then something pushes me off the wagon.

Mealybugs ugh ugh ughA few days ago I discovered that there was a sudden and massive infestation of mealybugs on one of my plantings of green-eyed gloriosa daisies, Rudbeckia hirta. In addition to the mealybugs, there was a major trail of ants going into the bed.

I’ve posted before about the symbiotic relationship some fungi and critters have with ants. Since then I’ve read how another critter–bumblebees–have been increasing their dependence on the honeydew produced by sucking insects, in this case, aphids. Apparently the bumblee population has crashed in Scotland, likely because of habitat loss that has destroyed many of the plants they depend on. To compensate, the bumblebees have been visiting plants infested by aphids and feeding off the sweet goo the smaller critters produce. The aphid goo, however, lacks the essential proteins that plant nectar provides the bees, and the bees are suffering even more.

In dealing with my ant-mealybug problem I didn’t want to use a bunch of poisons, partly out of principle, partly out of the fact that the affected plants sit right outside the kitchen window–not a place I wanted a pile of toxics.

My solution to this problem was two-pronged: try to control the ants that were cultivating the mealybugs, and reduce the number of mealybugs on the plants to give them a fighting chance.

I’ll start with the mealybug control steps because that was the organic part. You can knock down mealybug populations to a certain extent using a strong blast of water. You can also use a non-toxic substance like insecticidal soap. With people heading over to the house this holiday weekend, I opted for the latter approach, hoping the control would be quicker and more thorough. A thorough squirt to cover stems and leaves–top and bottom–has reduced their number considerably. I’ll repeat in a couple of days to try to drop the population further.

The ant control part was more difficult. Some species can be controlled by a mixture of borax and sugar left near their trails, but unfortunately my ants didn’t care for my cooking. Dishwashing detergent mixed up with water can sometimes be poured onto their nests to control many of the ants that come in contact with it, but effects don’t last long. Ants dislike cucumbers, so you can sometimes keep them away by spreading cucumber peelings. But once again, that can have limited effects.

So out came the barrier spray that I used once this year to keep them out of the house after everything else failed. The hardscape around the plants got a quick perimeter line of the stuff, as did a couple spots where the ant line crossed some bricks. A quick touchup a couple days later and so far they seem under control.

So, yes, I did let a few squirts of chemicals into the garden, but compared to spraying the plants all over with something poisonous, this seemed like a reasonable compromise.

So is this organic? Not really. But it’s a good way to reduce dependence on chemicals by taking a more systematic approach to pest control.

gardening, my garden

sharing with the birds

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I don’t deadhead every flowering plant in the garden–That would drive me crazy! Besides there are plants that produce seeds that keep the local bird population happy, and many of these plants are annuals that would only come back next year from seed.

Lettuce going to seed

There are some lettuce plants that I’ve been letting go to seed for the last decade or so. I put up with some slightly scrappy looking plants for a month or so. But there are some little yellow-green finches that descend on the vegetable garden, making a most excellent squawking racket. And when the weather turns cool again, there’s a nice little collection of baby lettuces, all from seed, some plants for the salad plate, some to make more seeds for the birds.

gardening, my garden

deadheading, or, forever 21

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You probably know someone like this: Through their young adulthood, through the prime dating years, they hit the gym hard, run, watch what they eat, and pay close attention to styles so that they were always immaculately dressed. But then they eventually meet a mate and settle down. As life’s other priorities take over, the former jock or swimwear model puts on a few midriff pounds and stops being interested in how they look to potential suitors.

That’s the same phenomenon that happens with a lot of flowering plants in the garden. Once they reach maturity, they go crazy putting out flowers to charm pollinators. But before long, the plants have literally gone to seen and start looking scrappy.

These are probably plants that you invited into your garden because of their flowers, not because of their ability to set seed. With many annuals, shrubs and perennials removing the spent flowers–deadheading– is a reliable way to extend the blooming period and keep the plants tidy.

Gaillardia plant
Here’s a plant of the perennial blanket flower, Gaillardia pulchella, that I’ve been deadheading regularly for the last two months. Left to its own devices it would set seed and bloom a lot less or not at all. The process isn’t difficult and can be a relaxing way to spend a few minutes in the garden, clippers in one hand and a refreshing beverage in the other.

Of course one of the most satisfying forms of deadheading is to cut flowers with a bit of stem to bring inside and enjoy in a vase!


Gaillardias to deadheadOf these two flowers, the one on the left is ready to be removed.



Bucket of deadheaded bloomsA week’s worth of spent flowers, ready for the recycling or compost.


Here are some basic deadheading guidelines for a few other kinds of plants:

Many annuals (marigolds, calendulas, cosmos, zinnias, geraniums, pansies, petunias): You can pinch off the old flower on most of these, or you can also use a sharp pair of pruners. Fortunately many annuals are bred to be low maintenance, so they can look great for a long time even without the extra work. But a little attention can keep them looking nicer, longer.

Plants with tall stalks of flowers (snapdragons, floxgloves, penstemons, some sages): Wait until the stem has finished blooming or has just a couple of ragged flowers. Cut the entire stalk below where the lowest flower formed, and above a stem node.

Roses (most modern hybrids): Cut the stems to just above a node where you see five leaves emerging. Cutting higher may give you a few more flowers, but they’ll likely be smaller and on weaker stems.

Bulbs: Cut the flowering stem once the blooms have faded, making the cut towards the base of the plant. Even though bulbs generally won’t rebloom the same season after deadheading, cutting off the developing seed heads will allow the leaves to recharge the bulb for next year’s flowering instead of producing seed.

my garden, plant profiles

mistaken identity?

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Summer in my garden began officially on Wednesday, June 25 at approximately 6:35 p.m., when I held in my hands the first ripe tomato of the season. Here’s a shot of the fourth tomato, from yesterday. Seems like a couple of large two-legged mammals invaded the garden and ate the first three…

My Mr. StripeyI’ve said a couple unkind words against the mounstrously vigorous Mr. Stripey, but that’s the variety that bore first this year. The fruits so far have been small, about three ounces, sweet and extremely mild, with a very thin skin. The color is a rich, medium yellow, with dark rosy-red flushing to the fruits both inside and out. So far they don’t gush classic tomato flavor, but they’re still the best tomatoes I’ve had since last autumn’s farmer’s markets.

The fact that this is the first variety to bear this year confuses me a bit. Mr. Stripey is usually listed as being a large, beefsteak, late-season tomato, bearing 80-85 days after being set out. Some sources mention that the variety often sold as Mr. Stripey is actually the smaller-fruited Tigerella, and several sites list their plants with both names. How unhelpful is that? If I can judge by photos of both varieties, mine looks much closer to the true Mr. Stripey, even though the fruit is small. What do you think?

A couple Mr. Stripey images on the web:
Mr Stripey
[ source ] [ source ]
Versus a couple Tigerella images on the web:
Tigerella Tigerella
[ source ] [ source ]

Most sources list Tigerella as also being a late-bearing variety, so mistaken identity would have had little to do with my seeing the fruits towards the start of tomato season.

The thing that confuses me most about the identity of the tomatoes in the garden is the fact that Mr. Stripey sits about four feet away in the bed from the hybrid Early Girl. I planted the hybrid on the same day as Mr. Stripey, mainly to get some early tomatoes and to get a head start on summer. The Early Girl label says it should bear 50 days from being set out, and that’s been a reasonable estimate based on my past experience growing it. This season, even though Early Girl has a half dozen fairly nicely-sized fruits on its branches, they’re all still as green as the leaves. Fifty days from being set out? Not even close.

So, instead of concluding that Mr. Stripey came with the wrong label, I’m starting to wonder if I don’t have an impostor trying to pass as Early Girl. Maybe some disgruntled Home Depot employee switched the tags? Or their supplier decided a red tomato is a red tomato and no one’s going to know the difference? This wouldn’t be the first time I got something other than what the label said.

Even though there’s a certain amount of variation from plant to plant–it’s probably a little unfair to evaluate an entire tomato variety with just one plant–I doubt that the variation would explain the differences I’ve seen. Time for CSI San Diego. Time for some backyard DNA testing…

All that said, I guess I’ve made a strong case for buying seed from a reputable grower–and then carefully labeling the seedlings!

my garden, plant profiles

no bad plants?

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I’ve killed my share of plants when my pride in being able grow something got in the way of common sense. And then there are cases where the plant gets the serious upper hand.

One example of the second situation is of a pencil cactus, Euphorbia tirucalli. (Notwithstanding its common name it’s not a cactus at all, and instead belongs to the genus that brings you the perky holiday poinsettia.)

Someone gave John a little cutting. It looked cute. Why not put it in the ground? A little bush with pencil-shaped leaves would be fun.

Several years later its cuteness wore off as it matured into a serious large shrub, ten feet tall. At some point John tried to prune it and got some sap into his eye. There are reports of temporary blindness for at least three days as a result of the sap, in addition to frequent reports of extreme skin irritation. Fortunately John’s situation wasn’t so dire, but it was extremely painful. That wiped out almost all of the plant’s cuteness points, and when its roots started to push over a retaining wall, that was it. It had to go.

I tend to be generous in my evaluations of the value of various plants. There are specific niches in specific ecosystems for every species. When pulled out of an appropriate context and thrown into an grossly inappropriate one, however, plants can respond in two ways. Either they can die–not good for the plant. Or they can take over the way this euphorbia did–not good for the new environment or growing situation.

Last Fall I got out the pruners, loppers and ax, covered every bit of exposed skin that I could, then started to take the thing down. The plant easily filled up the back of the pickup with wet succulent plant parts oozing sticky, milky juices.

The local landfill has a greens recycling program. But they took one look at the evil load and directed us to the dump side of the facility. As a result, a couple millennia down the road, some archaeologist will try to make sense of our culture by picking through a pile of broken washing machines, rotted sofas, discolored pizza boxes and pieces of a mysterious plant with powers to blind and incapacitate.

Euphorbia stump

Nine months later the plant is seriously set back, though not entirely dead. My energy flagged before I could get the stump out of the ground, and every now and then the plant tries to come back to life. I’ve since seen shade-tree sized specimens of the species in West Hollywood, so I’m convinced I got to the plant before it was too late. I’ll just keep at the regrowth until the plant decides to give up the ghost.

Euphorbia pupHalfway across the yard, in a little clay pot, sits another variant of this species, the red form that’s been given the clonal name ‘Rosea,’ and is commonly known as “sticks of fire.” It’s supposed to be a lot less vigorous. It’s not supposed to get much over six feet tall. It’s supposed to lack the same amount of chlorophyll and have less of that life force than its green big brother. But I’m skeptical. That plant isn’t going to get to live outside of its pot. Ever.

Talking to one of the members of the local cactus and succulent society, he thought that was for the best. The red variant hasn’t been around for more than a few years. No one knows its possible eventual size. As far as its eventual supposed six foot height? “I’d be very skeptical,” he said.

Behind him, planted in the ground just a few dozen yards away, was one of the red forms of the plant. It was already five feet tall.

art, my garden, photography, plant profiles

beautiful decay

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Here’s another recently completed image in my Destructive Testing series, “Comparative Wilt Test.”

James SOE NYUN: Comparative Wilt Test


James SOE NYUN: Comparative Wilt Test: Oenothera, Osteospermum, Oxalis. Digital pigment print, 16 x 20 inches.

The original photos were taken in the late 90s, and my original intention was to print them sequentially so that you could see the wilting in process. I tried that, but then decided it wasn’t interesting enough. Recently I decided to revisit some of the negatives using Photoshop. I ended up superimposing five of the original images and used different kinds and degrees of transparency for each layer. I like this result much better, though I could also see this turning into a stop-motion video at some point.

The image memorializes a pseudo-science experiment I conducted to see how three different flowering plants would behave when cut off the mother plant, lashed to some supports, then allowed to wilt over the course of several days. The victims in this case are three plants in the garden I was having some ill feelings towards: Mexican evening primrose (Oenothera speciosa), freeway daisy (Osteospermum fruticosum), and Bermuda buttercup (Oxalis pes-caprae).

My primrose problems went back to a packet of “wildflower seed” that I’d purchased as a souvenir at the Grand Canyon in the early 1990s. The picture on the packet was appealing: delicate pink flowers on a dainty plant. And they were wildflowers! At first I was thrilled that the sprinkling of seed I applied to some desolate ground in the front yard started to germinate. I was even happier when there was that first extravagant first flowering, with dozens to hundreds of the papery, soft pink flowers covering the plants so you couldn’t see the barren ground anymore.

Okay, if you know the plant, I can tell you’re laughing and know where this is headed… But as I soon found out, as pretty as it is, this is one aggressive plant, reseeding tenaciously and spreading quickly by putting out dense webs of underground runners. More than ten years later, I’m still pulling at the stems that continue to come up in that bed. And even though they’re wildflowers, they’re not native to San Diego. Fortunately for the local ecosystem, they haven’t escaped from the bed where I naively gave them the gift of life.

Plant number two, the freeway daisy, had similar issues. It started out life as a tiny plant in a four-inch pot but soon spread like a demon, swallowing up a number of little annuals that stood in its way. At least the plant didn’t reseed much, and the stems, though they can sometimes set down root, were easy enough to control.

The final plant, the Bermuda buttercup, is a common and obnoxious weed over much of coastal Southern California. During its peak bloom in the middle of spring the perky yellow flowers over the attractive clover-ish leaves are a nice sight. But once you have it, you’ll probably have it forever.

gardening, my garden

sage as a cut flower

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In the past I’ve occasionally cut flowers from the garden, only to have them wilt immediately and disintegrate into a pile of organic matter on top of a table I wanted to look nice for company. Last weekend I was trimming back the ivy-leaved sage, Salvia cacaliaefolia. At first the stems went into the greens recycling can. But they looked too pretty there and I wondered how well they’d do as cut flowers. So into the house they came, making a big, informal bouquet/science experiment for the dining table.

Cut flowers of ive-leaved sageThe verdict? The flowers looked great through day three, with only the occasional flower falling off the stem. Then after that the ends of the stems where the flowers live started to droop. By day five, although the leaves still looked perfectly presentable, the flower ends were totally wilted, blooms had dropped off the stems, and there was a dry, black, granular something or another (pollen? seeds?) littering the table surface. Time for the greens recycle bin.

That was no worse than the lifespan of many of the more classic cut flowers, so I’ll be treating myself to vase-fulls of ivy-leaved sage the next time I cut it back.

gardening, my garden

near pandemonium

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Outside the plant sale
Earlier today John and I headed over to Balboa Park to the plant sale that was being held to benefit the local Master Gardener program. We got there 20 minutes before the door opened and there were already dozens of people there. To avert a dangerous rush at opening time–you know how rabid and out of control some of those plant people can get when faced with interesting plants at wholesale prices!–they were lining everyone up and handing out numbers.


Once the doors parted it was every gardener for him- or herself. There were tables of herbs, native plants, perennials, drought-tolerant plants, orchids, “unusual plants,” succulents, trees, all of them donated by the Master Gardeners themselves as well as a number of local growers.

Inside the plant sale

We walked out the door with half a flat of various green critters, some fairly common (a couple more gauras to supplement those in the garden) as well as some we hadn’t seen before. John scored what was probably the oddest-looking plant in our little instant collection, a little plant of the paper spine cactus, Tephrocactus articulatus var. paprycanthus. In the end I guess it’s not that uncommon a plant to the local succulent specialists, but for us it’ll be that new weird wonder in the pots of succulents out back.

Plant sale treasure