Blue too

Jacarandas are in bloom in West Los Angeles. Here they are in Santa Monica's Clover Park.

We have a jacaranda tree at home in Topanga, some 1200 feet higher in elevation. Our tree doesn't even have bud spikes yet. It usually blooms in June, although this year has been weird with the drought.

Jacarandas are South American natives trees, although their beauty has inspired gardeners and city planners all around the world to import them. Some cities, such as Pretoria in South Africa and Ipswich in Australia, are known for their avenues lined with jacaranda trees. Here in the US, southern cities like Tampa, Florida are graced with them. San Diego's Balboa Park is also full of these beautiful trees.

San Diego's trees are credited to horticulturalist and landscape architect Kate O. Sessions, who imported them for Balboa Park, and because of her they have become popular throughout Southern California.

Beautiful as they are, jacarandas are  thought by some people to be nuisance trees because their blooms drop and make a mess on the ground. They fall so thickly they can be a slip hazard on sidewalks.

But who could complain about something so beautiful? This hummingbird appreciates the jacarandas!

Pines

The weather is very mercurial here in Southern California. The weekend was crystal clear and cool, but by Tuesday, the clouds blew in, speckling the sky with piebald shreds like a torn-apart blanket. Yesterday on my commute home, big fat drops of rain spattered on my windshield as I drove along the coast.

Today, the Santa Ana winds are up, hot fierce wind from the deserts pouring through our canyon to the ocean, a harbinger of record heat that's expected by Sunday. When I went out this morning to walk Jack, it tossed my hair into my eyes. Walking on the street, I could hear the wind rush through the trees, high overhead.

Pinus sabiniana, also called the gray pine or the digger pine, are tall open trees with long needles and large cones that, when they drop onto our flat rooftop, you can hear them fall. The seeds were once prized as food by the Native people who lived here. My neighbor has three tall pine trees, growing in the strip between his driveway and ours. When the wind is high, it rushes through the pine boughs and sounds like ocean waves.

Here in Topanga, though our hills are thickly forested with coast live oaks, and volatile, non-native eucalyptus, it's the pine trees that speak the wind to us.

Tree trimmers

 

Perched, like bright birds, green weskits and orange hats flashing, they call and respond in high pitched staccato Spanish. Bright yellow ropes hang and loop like vine tendrils over the oak's twisting branches, and clip back to belt harnesses as, scabbards strapped to leg, the climbers straddle the tree’s limbs.

Tethered orange chainsaws dangle when idle, bar-down, like jagged plumb bobs. The men brandish long-handled pruners to lop and snip, pulling, pushing, sweeping. Another shout, and the saw growls, pulsing low then howling out in exultation. Cut green wood tweaks the nose like menthol, and a leafy branch jangles down. The tracery opens and sunlight pours in.

Lacebark elms

My office window looks out on a park's picnic area, a quiet shaded place in a grove of trees. It's a tranquil place, and it's nice during the work day to stop, turn away from the computer monitor and look at the park and the trees.

The trees are Ulmus parvilfolia, common name Chinese elm; but they're also sometimes called lacebark elms, which is, I think, a nicer name, and refers to the pretty mottled cinnamon and grey mottled texture of the bark.

Click to "embiggen"

One of the reasons I like to look out the window is to see the way the sun plays through the elms' leaves. Lacebark elms have slender, graceful branches that twine sinuously, making a wide canopy over the picnic area, and their leaves are small, pointed ovals that grow in clusters on delicate branches, slightly weeping so they dangle almost like fringe overhead.

I read that they color red, purple or gold in the fall, but this is Southern California, and even though it's almost November, the trees out my window are still leafed green, although when the sun filters through them, it turns a lovely greeny-gold that glows beyond the brown branches.

Beyond the picnic area, the smooth grass knolls of the park also glow green with sunlight. This tranquil scene changes as the day goes on and the sun turns overhead.

Morning trees

In the morning, the park is quiet. There may be a mower or tractor on the lawns, and here under the elms there's often an exercise or T'ai Chi class taking place - I like these second the best, because the instructor's boom box plays soothing Chinese music, all plinking lute strings and reedy flutes. The sun is low but bright in the sky over the parking lot, and its rays filter through the delicate leaves into my window to splash my office walls.

The playground goes into action mid-morning, kids running and squealing. Little boys on little bikes zoom by on the paths. Nannies roll strollers by. Later in the afternoon, older kids come to the park after school, and skateboard on the concrete walkways and sometimes on the wheelchair ramp that goes up to our office door. Basketballs thunk and ring as instructors teach the pee-wee classes how to dribble.


By evening the sun has made its arc overhead, and the light comes in from the west now, throwing long shadows from the trees' trunks. It's warmer gold in the evening.  There's something wonderful about being able to watch the full cycle of the day, as it revolves around the slender trunk of a tree.

Resilience

It stood perhaps 200 feet high. Its trunk was huge, too big to put your arms around. Like other Eucalyptus globosa, or Tasmanian blue gum trees, its bark shredded off in ragged tatters, littering the ground beneath, falling on the road, and tangled in the utility wires.

Invasive, shading out native plants, and with so much highly flammable litter, resinous leaves, eucalyptus trees are undesirable in the Santa Monica Mountains.

So they cut it down. It took a crew, a massive crane, and three days to do it, but when it was over, there was nothing but a massive stump.

Ah, but eucalyptus trees are resilient. Just a few months later, I walked by and there, springing up green from the bare stump - life.

I touched the waxy, firm leaves, and the mentholated scent of eucalyptus filled the air.

Yes, it's a junk tree. But you have to admire its resilience.

Wood work

Before

Well the first installment of the tree trimming has been done. A liability of living here in an riparian forest, our oak trees require a lot of work. There are eight large oaks on our property, not to mention some smaller trees in the creek bed bordering our property.

We split the work up into two installments - one yesterday to fulfill the Fire Department's requirement on deadline, with a second job scheduled in July to further the health of the trees. So yesterday there was a crew of four or more guys climbing on our roof and through the trees.

After - can you see a difference?

But Yikes! Installment One was a lot more work than we thought!

They took out this dead limb yesterday. But there's still a lot more to do.

There's still a lot of dead wood up in the crown of this tree.

Savor the sweet times

Mexican candy at the Grand Central Market

Only two more weeks until we lift off for Europe! Meanwhile, on Monday I took the final exam for my French II class. I think I did pretty well, but I won't find out for a week or so.

We hosted the annual barbecue for [The Man I Love]'s office, which was great fun, great food, and gave us the opportunity to brighten up our decks and patios for the summer.

We received our annual visit by the county Fire Department, with recommendations for tree pruning and brush clearance. Living in a fire-prone area on property with protected trees is tricky. We have to prune the trees, but first we need to get someone to give us a permit to do so. Then we could get a quote from an arborist. We have a lot of trees and it turns out that there's a lot of dead wood up in the crown of one of our trees. It's going to cost a lot - we have to schedule it for two visits.

I'm finishing a complicated project at work, and have to spend a lot of time checking for details, continuity, consistency and proof-reading.

I will definitely be ready to climb to cruising altitude, lower the seat back, and sip a glass of champagne!

Thematic Photographic - Got the blues

Carmi, at Written, Inc., posts a weekly photo challenge called Thematic Photographic. This week, the theme is GOT THE BLUES. Take a picture that supports this week's theme, then share it on your blog or website.

I've got the blues because we've entered our annual season of June Gloom - chill summer fogs for those of us on the coastal side of the Santa Monica mountains.

But the blues I'm anticipating are the exquisite lilac-blue flowers of my jacaranda tree - which, in my yard, blooms right in the middle of June Gloom.  Here in Southern California, there are some residential streets that are lined with jacaranda trees on both sides that, when in bloom, arch like a celestial canopy over the streets and yards.

Mine has only just begun - but there are many clusters of buds, anticipating the moment this tree will be covered with blue, blue flowers.

She liked trees

Our native coast live oaks drop acorns that sprout and develop into amazingly strong seedlings.Once they get established they are really hard to uproot. They survive brush fire and drought and flood and earthquake, and endure throughout any human troubles. When they mature, their branches spread out and embrace all that fall within their shade.

My friend Laurie passed on tonight at 9:00 pm. I'm planting a coast live oak in her name.

Elderberries

The Elderberry is a pretty little tree with pinnate leaves and clusters of white flowers. It's a nice tree for a small urban garden, because it doesn't get too big and because the pretty flowers of spring are followed by autumn berries. Nurseries have selected several cultivars of elderberries for their elegantly cut leaves, or striking foliage in bright gold or deep purple-black.



In Europe, the native elderberry is Sambucus nigra. In folklore, it's said to ward off evil and protect you from witches. That may be due to its use in folk medicine. It's prized for its flowers and fruit, both of which are traditionally made into cordials, syrup, or wine. The berries are said to help combat flu symptoms, containing antioxidants called flavanoids, which stimulate the immune system, and anthocyanins, which have an anti-inflammatory effect. The berries are also loved by birds, so if you grow an elder tree in your garden, you will be doing your part to support wildlife in your neighborhood.



Here in California, our native elderberry is Sambucus mexicana, and it grows throughout the Santa Monica mountains. Like its relatives, its a smallish tree with pretty corymbs of white flowers, followed by clusters of small dark berries, their skin touched with a frosty bloom like that on plums and blueberries.



The berries are smaller than the size of a pea.

This summer I saw so many of them I decided to pick some and experiment with making a syrup.



It takes a lot of elderberries even to fill a cup.

It was kind of a pain separating the tiny berries from the stems and twigs, but since the woody parts of the plant are said to be (mildly) toxic, I was pretty diligent about it. I used a recipe from David Lebovitz's site (scroll to the bottom for the recipe), and ended up with enough syrup to fill a leftover mustard jar.



I wasn't quite sure what to do with it, but then I thought of something.



Vodka martinis with a squeeze of lemon and a droplet of elderberry syrup? How about using a stalk of lavender as a stir-stick? Not too bad.

Elderflowers are also made into concoctions, and during a spring trip to New York City, we noticed that several trendy restaurants had summer cocktails featuring a liqueur made from elderflowers.

St. Germain is a hot new item on the backbar in the fancy cocktail lounges of New York and Hollywood. It's said to be made from wild elderberry flowers gathered in the French Alps by old men who deliver them on bicycle to the markets, where they are processed with eau de vie and cane sugar. The resulting liqueur is a delicate, fragrant thing, pale gold in color and packaged in an ornate and heavy bottle costing $39.99 at our local fine wine emporium.


I think I might wait for next spring's blooms and see if I can gather enough blossoms to make my own elderflower cordial. Here's a recipe worth trying if you don't want to spend $39.99.

On the other hand, there's nothing like a French gimlet made with flowers picked by old French men on bicycles.

If you want to know more about elderberries, visit this site Here.

Plum blossoms

The plum tree in my backyard is beginning to bloom!

Cedar roses

I was walking Jack one morning, and down at one end of my street, I noticed that in a clearing beneath a tree, the ground was littered with needles and fan-shaped brown bits, and some things that looked like wooden rosettes.


I put some in my pocket and brought them home. Here's how they look, close up:

They look like roses. Charming shapes, you could use them in crafts.

Next time I walked out there, I looked up at the tree. There were cones up in the branches, but they were bigger, barrel-shaped; not like the roses. What was the story? I took pictures of the needles and bark, and started to research.

This is a Deodar Cedar tree - native to the Himalaya, while its cousins the Atlas Cedar, the Lebanon Cedar, and several others are native to the Mediterranean region. There are at least three growing on my street. These are true cedars, prized for their fragrant and insect-repelling wood. They are magnificent and beautiful trees, regaled in the Bible and in Greek and Arab lore
The Lebanon Cedar is a powerful symbol of nationalism, and appears on the flag of Lebanon.

Like their kin, Deodar Cedars have clusters of short needles, glaucous blue or bright green. Their branches droop gracefully at the ends. They have two kinds of cones - male cones which produce pollen, and female cones, which produce seeds.


The female cones of the Deodar Cedar are barrel-shaped, like the ones I saw up in the branches, but after a year, they disintegrate, falling apart to release the wing-shaped seeds. What remains at the end, falling to the ground, are these last seeds clinging together, like a wooden rose.

The specific epithet and English vernacular name derive from the Sanskrit devadāru, "wood of the gods", a compound of deva (god) and dāru (wood). The Deodar is worshiped as a sacred tree by those of the Hindu faith, and is the national tree of Pakistan.


The Deodar is prized for its aromatic wood, which is used to make incense, and essential oils derived from its wood and resin. Indian Ayurvedic medicine uses it as a curative for digestive disorders and also for curing skin diseases. Its fresh scent is important in aromatherapy.

They're beautiful trees here in Topanga, and they seem to thrive in our Mediterranean-type climate - and leave us their little cedar roses.

Green woods

All it takes is one autumn rainfall, here in the Santa Monica Mountains, and the annual grasses that set seed this past spring sprout up, a tender new green in the shady areas beneath the coast live oaks. This fresh grass will grow through the winter's rains, until the rangy weeds of spring lengthen and flower and, finally, set seed and die again.

The hills, which have been dry and brown since May, are now vibrant with new growth. Here is a shady oak grove we pass each morning on our walk. There's a stone bench set beneath the trees. A nice place to sit and contemplate the changing of the seasons.

Acacia

This time of year, in Southern California, there's a tree you see around that suddenly bursts out with a golden yellow brilliance of bloom.


The genus Acacia has over 1300 species, and is native to Australian, Africa, Asia and the Americas. They have yellow or cream flowers, and - as fits member of the legume family - they produce pea-like pods of seeds. They don't have pea-like flowers, however, but fuzzy little yellow balls of fluff. They are related to mimosas. Acacia wood is quite hard, and prized by woodworkers for its beautiful grain and its strength. Many acacias have large and fierce thorns growing on their trunks or on the branches among the leaves.

You can roughly divide them into two groups - one with long, narrow individual leaves, and the other with ferny leaves divided into compound pinnates.


Just south of the traffic light in the middle of the Canyon, there's a huge tree growing that is in spectacular bloom right now. I pulled over in the morning fog Friday to take its picture. Its wide canopy arches over the small cottage behind the fence.


On my street there are several acacias - this Acacia longifolia grows in my neighbor's yard and arches over my driveway. This type of acacia grows fast and gets leggy, and when it blooms sometimes the blossoms hold the weight of dew and spring rains, and bend it so low it sweeps my windshield.


Down the road from my house, this Acacia tree is probably Acacia dealbata, also called the Silver wattle. It's native to Australia, like a similar tree, Acacia baileyana, called the cootamundra wattle.

If you like these cheerful blooms, and think you might want to plant one, you should think twice. Consult your local horticulturalist.

Here in Southern California, acacias are beautiful nuisances. The California Invasive Plant Council advises that certain acacias species, including dealbata and longifolia, are invasive, spreading by seed and by root suckers.

That's probably how this pretty specimen came to be found in the wild mountain parkland, on the boulevard's "S" curves.

There are some acacias species native to California and the Southwest. If you want a bit of spring gold, but don't want to bring invasive species into your garden, check out the Theodore Payne Foundation nursery for the Catclaw Acacia, a California native.

East Texas scenes

Here are some scenes of the East Texas town that my Mom recently left, after living there for almost twenty years. I took some photos during this month's visit.

During the day, when Mom was settled in with her books or her crosswords or her Sudoko, I would go out and take a walk around her neighborhood.

The street where Mom lived is in a wooded area, and the houses are pretty far apart. Although most of the native vegetation on the lots was cleared when the houses were built, there are some vacant lots in between houses, and they are thick with tall trees and foliage that feels primordial. You can really understand why this part of Texas is called the Piney Woods.

In this part of Texas the native trees are loblolly pine, longleaf pine, hickory, dogwood, and redbud. Nineteen oak species grow here, having adapted to the acid soils and high rainfall. Pines are commercially harvested here, and you often encounter logging trucks on the two-lane back roads.

Outside of town, there are farms. One of Mom's friends farms cattle south of town, and there are many chicken farms that contract for some of the country's largest chicken producers. This pasture with horses, goats, and a few cows is on the road to Mom's old neighborhood.

The town itself is home to one of Texas's state universities, and the campus dominates the northern part of town. The main road through town is lined with the usual fast food and chain restaurants, along with supermarkets, big pharmacies, liquor stores and other retail.

What I like is the small original downtown, which, like many Texas towns, is built around a central square. The streets are paved in red brick, and the buildings date from the mid 19th century. I've posted about it before here, here and also here. There are lots of antique shops here. This small mercantile store is an example of how the town values its history.

North of the town square is an historic residential neighborhood, with well-kept houses that range from magnificent to modest. This Victorian with amazing fretwork and gingerbread is a landmark.

This 1920's bungalow sits next door to its twin. I love the low lines.

The railroad tracks take a curve south of the town square, and when you go to the other side of the tracks, you find some of the older industrial establishments, like this plant for Lone Star Feeds, whose tower and sign is a distinct landmark in this neighborhood of small, sometimes shabby cottages.

Although I'm so thankful we've been able to make a change that will improve Mom's life, I'll miss being able to visit this beautiful little town.

Three Things - not today

I'm visiting family in East Texas, so "Three Things to Check Out" is suspended again this week. Instead, here is a photo of some foliage in the Piney Woods - the American Sweetgum tree, or Liquidamber styraciflua, which is native to these parts. Isn't "Liquidamber" a great word?