Signs of Spring

The calendar says it's still winter but I beg to differ. All over Southern California spring is baaaaack!

The California Poppies are blooming:

The Lavender is a purple haze of blooms and bees:

And my favorite succulents--Senecio aka "Blue Chalksticks"--are thriving:

 

Welcome back spring!

A Helping Hand

“Your… ‘garden’ is looking good,” my 86 year-old neighbor said adjusting his glasses.

“Thanks, Harold,” I said smiling while gazing at my blooming Lantana, Lavender and Verbena lilacina.

“Lots of colors.”

“Hmmm,” I said looking at the yellow blooms of the Aloe, the orange California Poppies and the red Salvia.  

“And such weird plants.”

Hmmm?

In Southern California we had a winter with so little rain and so much sun that we rolled from Christmas right into spring—before New Year’s. In my neighborhood, plants and trees have been blooming since Martin Luther King, Jr. Day. So although the calendar has finally declared it officially “spring” this announcement seems rather anti-climactic in our neck of the west. Spring sprang months ago. In fact we’re ready to hop right into summer—yesterday.

This was the first winter of our California native and drought tolerant garden. The plants soaked up moisture from the major rainstorm we got last month. In fact that was the reason they were looking so healthy and lush now. I spent a couple weekends trimming back the overgrowth and some dead from a fluke December freeze but then, my weeding work in the front garden was… finished. There might be more minimal pruning come summer but there won’t be any more planting and as for grass mowing? Zippo! With the hard work done all I had to do now was sit back and enjoy my garden’s beauty.

“Have you seen Harold’s yard?” I asked Mr. Wonderful early one Saturday morning.

“Huh?” Mr. Wonderful said through sleepy eyes.

“It’s a wasteland in the front and overrun with ivy in the back.”

“So?”

“What if we fix it up for him?”

“Who?”

“You and me.”

“Ask me after I’ve had a cup of coffee.”

I was so excited to help Harold remake his yard into the Garden of Eden I forgot it was only 6 AM on a no-work weekend. I prepped the espresso machine then bounded outside for the newspaper where I saw Harold’s spouse sweeping the front walk.

“Hi, Norma!”

“Morning, neighbor,” she said turning her sea blue eyes toward me. “Your garden is so beautiful. We like watching all the… unusual… plants grow.”

“Thanks. Hey, if you need any help with your garden—planting the front or weeding the back—just let me know. I’d love to lend a helping hand.”

“Oh, no thanks.”

“You don’t have to answer now.”

“No, thanks.”

“Think about it.” 

“No, thanks,” she said storing the broom and retreating inside her house.

I returned to the kitchen scratching my head. 

“What’s wrong?” Mr. Wonderful said setting down an empty espresso cup.

“Maybe you should ask Harold if he wants us to help him with caring for their yard.”

“If he wants something, he’ll ask us.”

“Harold is from a different century,” I said explaining how Harold helped everyone else but would rather swim shark-infested waters in Antarctica without a wetsuit than ask us for help. Mr. Wonderful nodded.

“You do have a point.”

Later that day Mr. Wonderful and I were playing a game of Pétanque when Harold moseyed out to collect his flag. 

“Now!” I elbowed my spouse. Together we approached Harold. “Hi, neighbor,” I said smiling.

“Hi?” he said shifting his gaze from me to my spouse then back again. He looked like a mouse cornered by two ferocious tigers.  

“Say, Harold—” Mr. Wonderful began.

“If you want to borrow my green bin, go ahead.”

“We don’t, thank you,” I said then gave my spouse “the look”, which said: speak now or forever hold our peace.

“Harold, you help us all the time so we’d like to return the favor,” Mr. Wonderful said. “If you want us—or just me—to help plant some things in your front yard or weed the backyard, just say the word, we’d be happy to lend a helping hand.”

“Oh, no thanks,” Harold said folding up his flag.

“You don’t have to answer now.”

“No, thanks.”

“Think about it.” 

“No, thanks,” he said escaping to the safety of his house. 

It was so strange. Two people who clearly liked our garden but flat-out refused our help. Why? Were they just being polite? Did they really dislike the idea of depending on us that much? Or did they just say they “liked” our garden but deep down hated the “unusual and weird” looking native plants? I longed to know but they weren’t talking.

Before we could return to our Pétanque game, a car pulled into our neighbors’ driveway. A blond woman rang the doorbell and was greeted with hugs from Harold and Norma. The next day when I retrieved the paper, I saw the blond woman planting pansies in the front flower beds under my 86 year-old neighbor’s watchful gaze. 

“Hey, Harold. You have a helping hand today.” 

“My daughter,” he said. I shook Peggy’s bare hand covered in potting soil. She had a firm grip and friendly smile.

“Your garden is so beautiful,” she said. “I love the Verbena lilacina.” She knew our natives? By name?! I liked her—immediately!

“No lollygagging,” Harold told me. “After this Peggy has to rip out the ivy in the backyard.”

I nodded and left them to their work. Sneaking a look over my shoulder, I saw Harold give his daughter not a helping hand—but a hug.

March in L.A.

Think you know Los Angeles? Here's a Pop Quiz to find out!

You can tell it's March in L.A. because:
1) The sun is shining.
2) There ISN'T a Hollywood awards show.
3) California poppies are blooming.

ANSWERS:
1) WRONG. The sun shines throughout the year, therefore it's not unique to March.
2) WRONG. The Humane Society hands out its Genesis Awards on March 23 to animal-oriented movies and TV shows.
3) CORRECT! California poppies are blooming. Or at least the one in my yard is!

Last winter I planted Eschscholzia californica from seeds purchased from the Theodore Payne Foundation for Wildflowers and Native Plants. This spring fringe-leafed poppy plants have sprouted en masse.

One of the highlights of Los Angeles is seeing entire fields and hillsides blanketed in these golden wildflowers. A great place to see them at their most impressive is at the Antelope Valley California Poppy Reserve. However due to minimal rainfall this winter, Antelope Valley's poppies will only reach full bloom in late April or early May.

Until then I'll enjoy the ones blooming in my yard!

Deleting the Lawn

“Your lawn is so lush,” our nosy neighbor said adjusting the baseball cap on his bald head.

“Thanks, Harold,” I said sweeping the driveway.

“It’s like a putting green.”

“Thanks—”

“You must be proud of it.”

I shrugged.  “We’re ripping it out.”

“What?!”

Before Harold collapsed from shock, I grabbed his 86 year-old elbow and steered him into his lawn chair.  He shooed me away cursing “these days” and “idiot young people.”

I think he meant us.   

As first time homeowners, Mr. Wonderful and I were learning about our suburban neighbors’ fascination with The Lawn.  In a nutshell: 1) Grass ruled and 2) The greener, the better, which was great if you lived in Scotland where it rained 490 days a year.  But we lived in L.A.’s San Fernando Valley best known for its hot, dry, desert-like conditions where people had to morph into snakes to survive.  This climate explained why Hollywood thrived here and nowhere else.  It also explained why green grass was hard to grow and even harder to maintain. 

In retrospect maybe it was this difficulty that made grass so desirable because our neighborhood was full of verdant front lawns fed by sprinkler systems that were more complex than NASA’s Mars Rover Program and dispensed more water on a daily basis than Hoover Dam, most of which flooded the adjacent streets and sidewalks.  If concrete grew with H2O, our street would be as tall as Universal Studios’ Black Tower skyscraper.  Now wouldn’t that be awkward: driving up to the 30^th floor and taking the elevator down to the entrance—

But I digress.

Mr. Wonderful and I could do a lot of things, one of which was doing without the lawn, and its requisite watering, mowing, fertilizing and bragging rights.  With all the work we had to do on the house’s inside, we didn’t need any more work on the outside.  After a few inquiries with the County I learned they were actively encouraging homeowners to rethink the lawn. 

“What do you mean?” Norma said as she handed a glass of water to Harold sprawled prone in his lawn chair.

I shrugged, “They want us to remove our grass.”

“What?!”

As Norma fell over I slid her 85 year-old frame into a lawn chair next to her spouse.  In unison they clutched their hearts.  I was ready to dial 911, ready to follow their ambulance to Burbank Hospital where they’d be treated for dual quadruple heart attacks.  I was ready to explain to their doctor: “All I said was we were removing every blade of grass from our lawn when—boom!—their hearts stopped—” 

Thump!

“Doc?  You’re on the floor clutching your chest.  I’ll call 911!”

Luckily none of this happened because Harold and Norma were vigilant about following a strict vegetarian diet meaning that, with my stress and arteries, I was imminently closer to a suffering a heart attack than either of those octogenarians. 

But I digress.

“Remove your lawn?!” Harold said fanning himself with the newspaper. 

“That’s madness!” Norma said fanning herself with the business section.

“We want low maintenance,” I said.  “So we’re replacing the grass with—”

“Concrete?!” Norma gasped.

“Over my dead body!” Harold said struggling to his feet.

I ordered them to relax or I would give them a heart attack with a free knuckle sandwich.  I proceeded to explain how Mr. Wonderful and I were planning to remove our thirsty green turf and replace it with California native plants indigenous to Los Angeles like: Manzanita, Toyon, Ceoanthus, California Poppies and Cacti.  These natives had spent thousands of years adapting to the unique climate of Southern California, so they were prepared to thrive in our blistering, dry summers right along with Hollywood’s cruelest snakes.

“Sounds nice,” Norma said.

“Thanks—” I smiled.

“It’s… different,” her spouse said.

“...Thanks?”

“These days," Harold said "you never know what idiot young people will do.”

This time I knew he was talking about us.  But I didn’t care.  I did not digress from my water-wise plan for a grass-free yard.  Come summer I’d have a beautiful garden and he’d be watering the street.

Ha!

Next Step: The Inspection

P.S. If you’re interested in deleting your Southern California lawn, click here for more information!