The Bulb Maven

Growing California Native Bulbs

The vast majority of bulbs that are native to the western United States come from a Mediterranean climate, where winters are cool and wet, but with only occasional severe frosts, and summers are completely dry.  Other such climates are (obviously) the countries that surround the Mediterranean, the west coast of Chile, western Australia and the western portion of the Cape Province of South Africa. 

Bulbs from all these regions exhibit the same growth patterns.  As the winter rains commence in autumn they come into growth, producing leaves that persist throughout the winter, then blooming in late winter through spring, going dormant in the warm, dry summers, such as the lovely Triteleia hendersonii seen here to the left.  When you grow these species from seed, you must sow the seed in autumn.  Such seed requires cool temperatures to germinate, something that seems to surprise most people, familiar with growing tomatoes or annuals for their gardens.  But seeds know what they are doing, they have built-in mechanisms that tell them when they should germinate, and if they sprouted in the warming temperatures of spring, the rains in these regions would soon stop and that would be the end of it for them.

There are, of course, exceptions to these generalizations, for all these regions have mountain ranges where the climate is different.  Alpine bulbs from Mediterranean climates come into growth as the snow melts in spring.  They grow extremely rapidly, and will bloom and set seed by midsummer, then go dormant in late summer, dropping their seeds to lie under the snow and germinate in early spring.

I only grow a few of the alpine species, for these really need a long cold period to do well, and I can't provide these conditions.  I have been successful with a few, such as Calochortus gunnisoni (seen here to the left), but it is unusual, and I can't fuss with them enough to be successful.

Here are the main requirements of most California native bulbs:

** They need a cool, wet winter with little frost.  They can withstand a few degrees of frost, but not freezing of the bulb itself.  The soil should be well-drained.  Bulbs need to be planted by November, since they will naturally start to sprout at the time the rains would normally commence in the region they come from (October to November in California).

** Most species do better if they are planted fairly deep for their size.  Most are fairly small bulbs, 1.5-2cm in diameter, but they should be planted about 5-7cm deep.  Even 10cm is not too deep.

** They must be kept TOTALLY dry in summer, or they will rot.  The alpine species can take some summer water if temperatures are cool and the soil is extremely well drained.

** They are only suitable for gardens if these requirements can be met.  They can be grown in gardens that have summer rainfall if they are lifted and kept in dry storage for the summer as soon as they go dormant.  All species are very successful in containers, which can be stored in a warm, dry place during the summer.

** Rodents love these bulbs, so they must be protected from gophers and mice.

California native bulbs are well worth growing, and worth any trouble to keep them in your garden.  They range from the lovely starry flowers of Brodiaea, Triteleia and Dichelostemma, to the true lilies and the lily relatives, such as Fritillaria and Erythronium and the enchanting genus Calochortus.  The lovely Lewisia rediviva is seen here to the right, a sort of honorary bulb, for it is certainly not a bulb but behaves like one, going dormant in the hot dry summers of the west.

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The Morning Walkabout

This is the time of year when we are away at dog trials on some weekends, having just returned from Oregon, where we did respectably well.  As soon as we are back, we slip into our routine of an early morning walk around the nursery, usually at sunrise. 

This morning gauzy, low-lying mists enveloped the fields, and as the sun rose they all turned to a brilliant orange hue.  The effect only lasted a few minutes, then the sun rose above the low banks of mist when they changed to opalescent colors before disappearing completely.

Yesterday it was so windy it was hard to work outside, so we all went off to gather seeds about an hour south of here.  There is a steep cliff by the road covered in Calochortus amabilis, and now is the time the seed is ripe.  Here they are to the left, in bloom about six weeks ago. It was a beautiful drive through the redwoods and we found a trail for the dogs to run, chasing each other happily through the poison oak (bath time when we got home).  It takes all my old rock climbing skills to get a few pods of this Calochortus, but I don't have to feel guilty about collecting them, since the seeds would undoubtedly fall on the road below where they would be doomed.

Walking around the nursery a couple of weeks ago, I noticed a little white crowned sparrow dart out from one of my Bomareas.  Usually I trim all the old stems off the Bomareas in about April or May, making room for new growth, but I had left four or five, since seed was still ripening on them.  It happened again the next day, so I investigated, and found the most perfect nest snuggled in the stems.  The eggs soon hatched, but the babies disappeared a couple of days after hatching, probably victims of the raccoons.

In the greenhouse where I grow my tender subtropical bulbs, a few things are blooming.  Bulbs from equatorial regions seem to bloom whenever they feel like it, also going dormant erratically, so my pots of Eucrosias have some dormant bulbs, some with leaves and some in bloom.  Here is Eucrosia aurantiaca, one of the more spectacular bulbs from Ecuador.  Also in bloom is the rather strange Sprekelia formosissima from Mexico, seen here to the right.  There are, I believe, two Sprekelia species, both from Mexico, S. formosissima and S. howardii, a recently described species that I have finally got my hands on, although they haven't bloomed yet.

The powder-puff blossoms of the South African Haemanthus humilis ssp. hirsutus is in bloom, white with pink bracts and very attractive.

I was very thrilled to see emerging buds on my Hymenocallis hawkesii (probably more correctly named as Ismene hawkesii).  I had obtained seedling bulbs some time ago, and now they have matured to bloom size.  This is an extremely rare species from Peru, where it grows at about 6000'. Here it is to the right.  

Work in the nursery continues with seed gathering and unpotting the dormant bulbs.  The native bulbs are the last to go dormant, and can't be harvested until their seed has ripened, so this will continue well into July.  The South African bulbs have mostly been lifted by now, with Oxalis being the first batch to be unpotted, and Oxalis orders already being shipped. 

Summer is upon us, with sunny days preceded by morning fog in our area.  The fields are being mown for hay, the cows all glossy, fat and contented.  The solstice has already passed.  I always feel a touch of sadness at the summer solstice that they days are incrementally shortening, although we will still have daylight beyond 9pm for a while.  I love these long days.  I can work in my garden until dusk or take the dogs to the beach at sunset.  I wish it would last forever. 

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Ixia viridiflora

I usually post on a genus, but since I only grow a couple of Ixias, I could not really say anything very intelligent about the other species. They are from South Africa, and I did grow them at one time when I lived in the interior of California, where they were absolutely wonderful garden plants, producing their tall wands of flowers in a dazzling array of color.  I do see the hybrids in gardens here, and I would strongly recommend that you try some of them, although they need to be kept mostly dry during the summer.  This is an area where the hybridizers have produced varieties that are much showier than most of the species, with tall graceful wands of flowers in almost every shade imaginable.

There is one exception though, where the hybridizers have not been able to improve on nature, and that is one of the Ixias I grow.  It is Ixia viridiflora, one of those rare bulbs that have green flowers, although not grass green, but more of a turquoise hue.  The center is a beautiful purple, contrasting well with the main color of the petals.  It is true that it is a bit fussier than the hybrid Ixias you see in your garden center, but it is well worth cossetting, only needing to be kept dry during it's dormancy, and protected from wind and severe weather in winter.  A one gallon pot suits it well (that would be a pot of about 15cm in diameter, and 20cm deep).  They make lovely and unusual cut flowers.

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Planting for Wildlife

Gardening magazines are encouraging us to plant our flower gardens to attract wildlife, the natural habitats of most wildlife having become much reduced or degraded.  It's true that most gardening magazines are produced by people in New York City or somewhere similar, where wildlife means rats or questionable humans, and when I moved to my present home I, too, felt a need to encourage 'wildlife', with dancing images in my head of butterflies, bluebirds and sweet little roly-poly hedgehogs.  OK, we don't have hedgehogs in the USA, but then some of the articles I read are in English magazines.

I must say I have been successful, although not with the hedgehogs.  My garden abounds in wildlife --deer chomping my trees, shrubs and anything else they want, gophers eating the roots of the same trees, shrubs and anything else (I can't even plant bulbs in my own garden), 'possums eating everything, mice ditto, raccoons -- well, the raccoons are a story in themselves.

I live most of the time in my barn.  A very nice barn, all fixed up, but it came with its own residents who feel they have squatters rights, since they were here first.  My barn cat Annie takes care of the mice, or they take care of her, since she eats them.  The 'possums are a problem off an on, but recently I came downstairs one morning to find the work area a total wreck, things scattered all over the place, bins knocked over, cat food everywhere.  A zippered bag had had the contents removed.  The bag was mostly closed, but there was a gap about three inches wide, and everything inside the bag had been taken out, camping spoons and forks, some small containers of dog food, dog toys, etc.  A raccoon!!  With their human-like little hands they can get into anything.  In addition, the back door to the barn was wide open.  The handle is a lever handle, and the little stinker had figured out how to reach up and pull down on the handle to open the door.

Well, this was too much!  At one time I was charmed by raccoons, feeling that they were like wildlife dressed up for Halloween with their bandit-like appearance, but then I learned that they truly are the bandits of the backyard.  They will steal anything, attack and can kill your pets, destroy your pond and eat your fish, and break into your barn.  I once had a much loved pet chicken called Rosa, and finding her decapitated one morning completely finished off any sentimental feeling I had for raccoons. A fox would have had the decency to eat her for dinner, but a raccoon will kill chickens just for fun.  It was war.

It turned out that there were two raccoons, and they were nesting under my house (I haven't had the nerve to see what damage they have done under there).  The first one was not too difficult to trap, although it was so big I could hardly life the trap myself, so my neighbor Wayne came over and we transported it to the river about a couple of miles off.  The second one was more of a challenge, but after a week of trying several things I finally tricked it into entering the trap, and it, too, was transported to Botany Bay.  I must say I felt a pang of compassion, for when I approached the trap it huddled in one corner and covered its eyes with its little hand.  Such a human gesture.

So, having attracted all this wildlife, I am now busy getting rid of it.  Hmmm.

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Pamianthe peruviana

Pamianthe is a small genus of two species of the most spectacular bulbs from Peru, but also occurring in Ecuador and Bolivia.  I usually post on species when they are blooming, and my bulbs are not blooming this year, having produced so many flowers last year they are a bit exhausted and needing a year off.  I am repotting mine now, and it prompted me to post on them.

Pamianthe peruviana grows as an epiphyte on tree branches in filtered shade.  I grow mine in my office where they seem to enjoy the indirect light and very even temperatures.  I had tried them in the greenhouses, but they were not happy there, probably because the light is too intense and the temperatures swing drastically.  In my conditions, they bloom in late winter. 

The bulbs grow somewhat horizontally, with the arching leaves cascading downward.  I grow them in a loose mix suitable for orchids, since that is what they think they are.  I haven't found them difficult -- the difficulty is obtaining seed or bulbs then providing the conditions they need. 

"Spectacular" is a rather overworked word, but there isn't any other way to describe the flower.  It is huge, the tube is at least 25cm in length and must need a very specialized pollinator.  The flowers measure about 15cm across and are produced in pairs on very short stems and the scent is heavenly.  They are self-compatible, producing large seed pods that take 15 months to mature.  Yes, they do!!  I can vouch for that.  I suppose near the equator, not bound by seasonal variations, plants can take whatever time they need to grow and mature their seed. 

This is a must have for the serious plant collector. 

www.telosrarebulbs.com

Summer Time

 Although the 'official' view is that summer doesn't arrive until June, for me it is most definitely summer, with light until 9pm, swallows nesting and my garden in bloom. It is also the time for unpotting the bulbs, a dirty, strenuous job, so I parcel it out daily, doing other more enjoyable tasks the rest of the day.

I haven't posted on bulbs for a while, and hope to correct that soon. My computer was in the shop for almost two weeks, crashing three times during that period, so much work and blogging came to a screeching halt. It is back, but I don't trust it and will be buying a new computer soon, using the old one as a backup, although right now I am just trying to catch up.

When you work for yourself, you work every day, and the Memorial Day Weekend was no different. This weekend the area hosts the Kinetic Sculpture Race, a race that continues over the three day holiday, ending in Ferndale.  The contestants drive bicycle-powered creations that have to negotiate sand dunes, the water of the Humboldt Bay, and pavement.  It is a crazy combination of athletic prowess and endurance, artistic creativity and engineering know-how, and is great fun.  Usually a friend comes to town and we attend the first day of the race together, but she contacted me to tell me they couldn't come this year.  I decided to work instead, having much to catch up on since my computer went down.  I didn't pay attention to the map of the race.  It ends in Ferndale, and the route they choose can change slightly from year to year.  The weather was lovely on Monday, and I took some time to work on my front yard, weeding and watering, when I looked up and saw a flock of human-sized chickens bicycling past my gate!  The race finished this year down my own street, and although I had a front row seat, when I saw those chickens I couldn't resist going downtown to the finish line.

I took the dogs, thinking it would be good experience for them, since the finish is very noisy and crowded, and I want them to be able to handle the stress of crowded conditions.  Well, I needn't have worried.  They loved it.  Maybe it was the drifting smell of barbecue that permeated the area.  Here they are congratulating one of the winning teams.

Ferndale is fun, small enough to get to know people and feel part of the community, but with plenty of activities going on.  If I were younger I would probably enter the race myself.  The thought of a large bulb bicycling into town is tempting.

www.telosrarebulbs.com 

Crash

My computer crashed about a week ago, therefore a long hiatus from just about everything connected to work and bulbs.  It is amazing how totally dependent we are on our computers, not only for business purposes, but also to search for necessary things, find out about dog shows, get results from the trials, keep in touch with friends, read newspapers, etc.  I spend so much time at the computer for the bulb business that I use it very little for entertainment, but, even so, I am virtually paralyzed without it.  I resent this bitterly.  Ten years ago I had no computer, and, honestly, my life was better without one, but today it is virtually essential to operate in this modern world, and, quite frankly, I wouldn't have a business without the internet. 

I am back on line, but missing many of the programs I have used in the past, and since my life was total chaos for a few years, I do not have the discs.  Hannah has been trying to help, but, as you can see from her forlorn expression, she is as frustrated as I am.  I will be looking for a new computer, since I really need two.  Friends, helpfully, suggest that I get a laptop, saying enthusiastically that I can take it with me everywhere.  Wow!  What a thought!  I could be hiking in some remote and beautiful place sending and receiving e-mails and answering my cell phone.  Ain't technology great! 

Actually, I don't even have a cell phone, something that makes some people either a bit confused or even annoyed.  "You mean, I can't get hold of you any time, any place?" their attitude seems to imply.  Well, that's the whole idea, buddy.

Am I alone in this world, valuing solitude? Wanting to listen to the birds and the sounds of nature?  Wanting to feel cut off from the rest of the world?  When I am in the mountains (not often enough), the feeling that no-one can get in touch with me is truly delectable.  And when I am working in my greenhouses, or training my dogs, I need to concentrate on what I am doing.  A phone ringing would not enhance the experience.

Ah, well.  I am old and clearly belong to another era.  But I do think that technology not only separates us from the natural world, it separates us from true involvement in what we are doing, for our minds are constantly being dragged away elsewhere.  We are mesmerized by screens and images that are not of our creation or of our world, but these images are incredibly seductive.

Willie has just come to remind me it is lunch time.  The dogs have their priorities straight.  They just can't understand why I would be gnashing my teeth while staring at the computer screen.  Why not have fun, play all day, take naps and eat roast turkey.  Not a bad idea.

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Snow Time

The heat continued, with forecasts threatening temperatures to 97F, so off we went to the high mountains.  Usually, this time of year, you can drive to about 4,000' before you are stopped by snow on any roads other than major highways.  I wanted to go to Buck's Lake, a small lake at around 5000' where I used to escape from the heat of the summer when I lived in Oroville.  There is a beautiful trail that skirts one edge of the lake, although I very much doubted that it would be free of snow this time of year.

The road was open all the way from Quincy to the tiny village of Buck's Lake.  This was good for me, but a very serious indication that the snow pack was much below what it needs to be this time of year.  Last year, also a drought year, I couldn't get anywhere near the lake, with snow several feet deep everywhere at that elevation. 

A giant mountain of snow from the snowplough blocked the trailhead, so we started out cross country, picking the trail up after about a quarter of a mile.  It was mostly open, blocked occasionally by drifts in the shady parts.  It was like heaven, and the dogs were in ecstasy, tearing around, rolling in the snow, biting at it, wrestling, running back to me to look up into my face with brilliant smiles.  We walked the shore of the lake for great sections, since it was hard going through the snow.  I had thought I might never hike this trail again, since when I visit the foothills in spring it is usually unreachable, and in the summer I am unable to get away.  In summer there is a section of the trail that is thick with Lilium pardalinum, Camassia, Aconitum and pink Spirea, all growing together in a marshy section.  Calochortus nudus grows in the dry sections, with C. leichtlinii on the higher slopes.  Erythronium purpurascens grows in huge swathes.  This time of year, of course, there is little, but I did find the red saprophytic plant called Snow Plant (Sarcodes sanguinea) just poking through the duff in the fir forest.

In summer, there are jet skis and motor boats on the lake, for it is a popular resort, so although my summer hikes were wonderful, I had never experienced the lake as it is in winter, ringed with snow and with no human sound.  The magical cry of a loon came drifting over the water, while siskins and chickadees flittered through the branches with their sweet little songs.  An osprey was not happy to see us, wheeling up with an alarm cry.  Soon we came to a small inlet where once I had swum, my previous terrier, Simon, not being at all happy about seeing me swimming out into the water away from him.  Most terriers are not water dogs, and will avoid swimming at all costs.  Willie will play in the water (Simon would too) but never get out of depth, while Hannah will not even get one toenail wet.  Here is my cove in winter.

There were small flocks of Canada geese grazing on the grassy flats exposed by the melting snow, and on the trail back to the trailhead we found a mound of feathers from a kill.  Soon after I saw the distinctive tracks of a mountain lion in the snow.  I had never actually seen the prints of a mountain lion, but  instantly recognized the shape; very rounded, no separation between the pads, and no nail prints.  Nothing like a dog print.  Wow!  I wasn't nervous, but actually was thrilled, although on our hike the next day I started worrying about a mountain lion snatching one of the dogs.  There have been a number of attacks in California, one very near where I live.  I don't worry about myself, more about my dogs, since I'm sure a mountain lion would find a small dog just right for lunch.

We had more adventures on our trip, but now that we are home I daydream about that hike while I am taking care of the bulbs.  I wonder if the dogs think about it too.  I can't imagine why they wouldn't, they were in such heaven there.  Our prints are still there in the snow, although we are far away and back to our workaday life.  It was an unexpected gift being there again.

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Spring in the Sierras

 

It is past the time I usually take my annual trip to the foothills of the Sierra Nevada mountains.  Work has been rather intense, and agility trials have also intervened.  Having a trial lined up in Sacramento, I decided to combine it with a trip to Table Mountain in Butte County near the town of Oroville, where I once lived in the hope that I was not too late for the wildflowers.

This is the second or third year of drought for California, and the region around Oroville seemed very dry.  The hills were still green, though, since we were fortunate enough to have some late rain storms.  Rain usually ceases by about mid March, and the best display of annuals is in late March, with the bulbs appearing later up until the end of April.  You can, of course, go higher into the mountains, and as you ascend it is like working backwards as far as seasons are concerned, finding spring at higher elevations when the display in the foothills is over.  Go higher yet, and you come to real winter with deep snow.

Our first day was on Table Mountain, and there were still some flowers, but our hikes had to be curtailed because the little non-native cranesbills were in seed, and the twisty corkscrew-like seeds matted my dogs feet and legs, necessitating frequent stops to pull them out.  We hiked through a beautiful winding canyon, encountering cows along the way.  This must be the best place in the world for a cow, at least during its short life before it becomes you-know-what.  I had wanted to visit the place where I had scattered the ashes of my previous Wire Fox Terrier, Simon, but the dogs were so distressed by the stickers in their feet we had to give up.  Everywhere I look on that mountain I see him, though, dancing along through the flowers and splashing in the creeks.  He is everywhere on Table Mountain.

Our hikes had to be over by noon, for the temperatures reached about 98F by afternoon, more like July than April, and a very sharp reminder of what summer is like in this region.  The unusual heat wave forced a decision to drive to the snow the next day up the beautiful Feather River Canyon.  More to follow. 

The Morning Walkabout

We (the dogs and I) have been away a great deal for the past three weeks at two dog trials, with more coming up.  Here we are on the beautiful Smith River on our way home from Oregon.

Coming home, my first task is to catch up on e-mail and orders, then take care of the bulbs.  I am having a difficult time tearing myself away from my garden these days, since I am trying to renovate parts of my front yard and it is all starting to look the way I would like it.  I had, mistakenly, planted an escallonia hedge along the front of my yard, wanting privacy from the road and wind protection.  My house faces west, and you can almost see the ocean from the upstairs of my house.  You can actually see it during storms when waves can reach 18ft high, and the surf line is visible across the flat fields.  My property is about a mile and a half from the Pacific Ocean with nothing to break the force of the wind, so the hedge seemed a good idea.  It wasn't.  I bought what was supposed to be a dwarf form of escallonia, but in eighteen months they had grown from six inches to seven feet, with no sign of stopping.  With one very large and very long hedge to trim already, and with the escallonias suckering into my small flower borders, I decided they had to go, so I have been slowly digging them out.  It is no easy task, but I have half of them removed, and I am replacing them with a loose mixture of better behaved shrubs.

With most of the catch up work behind me, I can now take my customary strolls around the nursery.  The beautiful Arum creticum is in full bloom.   It has a faint sweetish scent, unlike most Arums, although I do have a clone that I grew from seed that is most definitely not sweetly scented.  Nearby are pots of the hybrid Erythronium 'Pagoda', seen here to the left, and I am thinking that if I can solve the gopher problem I must definitely plant these two in my garden.  They look beautiful together, need similar conditions, and bloom at the same time.  Arums don't seem bothered by slugs, snails or deer, so possibly they wouldn't taste good to gophers, but I am sure they would love the Erythroniums.  Another lovely little Erythronium in bloom now is E. howellii, seen here below. 

Zephyra elegans, seen here to the right, is from Chile, where it grows in very dry conditions.   The usual color is blue, but I have a white flowered one grown from seed.  It has taken five years or more to bloom, and has been difficult to keep happy, so I doubt I will ever be able to offer it on the web site. 

Also from Chile are the Leucocorynes, all in bloom now.  I have posted previously on this genus, but here is the beautiful L. macropetalum.  

I have a small collection of native Alliums, and I am becoming more fond of them as time goes on.  I only grow a few in sufficient quantities to list on the web site, but I do have others that are just for my own enjoyment.  Here is Allium yosemitense, in bloom for me for the first time.   

Yesterday, in my Mediterranean greenhouse, I was amazed to find a small swarm of butterflies.  I am not sure if they hatched in there or all flew in through the opened door.  When I moved to this property I was rather dismayed to find that bees and butterflies were scarce here, but since I have planted my garden this has changed considerably.  Before, there was little here for shelter or nourishment.  I felt pretty certain that my greenhouse wasn't a good environment for a butterfly to prosper, so I spent a large part of the morning capturing them and releasing them outside.

Spring is well established.  The swallows are back, and are swirling around the barn.  The first ones back were the tree swallows, with small flocks arriving a good month ago.  Soon after the barn swallows followed, and they are already investigating nesting places on the house and barn.  I am astonished when people tell me that I should knock their nests down because the 'make a mess'.  Not as bad a mess as we humans, I say.  The geese have mostly departed, with a few stragglers still here, although as I write this I am conscious that I can't hear them, so maybe they have gone too.

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