The Bulb Maven

Picking up the Pieces

We are all slowly recovering from the recent earthquake, although it still dominates conversation in town.  I have been walking my dogs with my neighbors, since my dog trainer advised me to get my dogs out more into different situations, hopefully to help with their shyness.  Willie is the most timid of my two, so walking with Wayne and Rashell and a bunch of other dogs is very good for him.  In the immediate aftermath of the earthquake I was afraid to leave the property in case of a major aftershock, but now I am resuming the morning walk, and our walk this morning gave us a chance to see some of the damage.   Merchandise has mostly been put back on the shelves, although store fronts are still boarded up awaiting repairs.  My dogs have also returned to normal, although any loud noise seems to affect them more than usual.  A sign in a shop window says it quite appropriately.   After all, what else can you do?

The day after the earthquake was spent bolting all my big pieces of furniture to the wall, something that should have been done long ago. We were very lucky, all of us.  The damage was only moderate, and there were only a few major injuries.  

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A New Year Dawns

The year always ends at Telos with an overwhelming amount of work, racing against time to repot the bulbs and trying to fill those last minute orders.  Complicating matters were some health issues, not life threatening, but certainly incapacitating for a while, so blogging came to a screeching halt during that period.

With the New Year, things now settle down to that blessed time in the nursery when things start sprouting and blooming, and my main tasks are to keep pots watered and fertilized, while gradually repotting the Amaryllids, a task that has no real deadline, so it is relaxed and spread out over the next three months.  Many Oxalis are in bloom now, and I am very excited about my new benches, which improve drainage and air circulation and make work much easier.

While working in the Mediterranean greenhouse two days ago, I heard loud screaming bird cries and ran to the door to see two bald eagles locked together tumbling out of the sky, to fall in the pasture about fifteen feet away from me.  Those are big birds!  The combat/play continued, and they flew away flapping their huge wings and locking talons to tumble through the air again.  What a sight!

I have posted before on earthquakes in Ferndale, and yesterday we had a very serious 6.5 earthquake that caused some damage to the town.  I was in the kitchen of my main house about to bake a cake when the earthquake struck.  All those things they say about earthquakes, like getting under a doorway, or getting outside, or whatever else you are supposed to do, go completely out the window.  It is so overwhelming you just go on instinct, and all I could do was safeguard my dogs and try to stop my china cabinet, full of antique crystal and china, from toppling over, amid the sound of crashing furniture and breaking glass.  It seemed to go on forever with several huge jolts, then ending with wave like motion that gradually subsided.  My dogs were terrified, with Willie acting dazed and unresponsive, while Hannah was hiding trembling under the coffee table.  I have a tranquillizer for Willie, since he is terrified of fire works, so I had just got it refilled for New Year's, and I stuffed one down both dogs.  I am fond of antique china and glass, and have many antique dishes displayed around the house.  Amazingly, not a one was broken.  All of the breakages were of ordinary household dishes and some picture glass, plus a plant pedestal outside.  I have a large fountain in the herb garden.  It was full of water when the quake struck, but empty afterwards.  My neighbor Wayne came over right away to see if we were all right, and warned me that aftershocks could be as big or bigger than the one we had just experienced, so after sweeping up the debris I left everything down on the ground, and put some things down that hadn't fallen.  I didn't sleep much last night, still full of adrenalin and worrying about aftershocks.

Life goes on.  The nursery was unaffected by the earthquake, with only a few pots being shaken off the benches.  I will be happy when the next week has passed and with it the threat of major aftershocks.

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After the Fair

The Fair has ended.  On Sunday, the last day, the ferris wheel was all lit up at 10pm when I looked out of my bedroom window.  The following morning at 6am it was gone.  The crews must work all night dismantling the rides, and packing them up to go on to their next assignment.  The field opposite my house, filled with cars and trucks over the weekend, is completely empty, the grass trampled, and bits of paper drifting here and there.

The most striking thing is the almost palpable quiet.  The sense of peace that has descended is complete, and has a feeling of expansion to it, as though the bustle and noise of the Fair overwhelmed the senses, and now that it is gone, one can again see the views, hear the surf and allow the mind to wander wherever it wants.

Now that we are edging towards September, there is a slight chill in the air in the morning.  Asters and Sedum are in bloom in the garden, reminding me to plant more next year.  The birds' nests are empty, and there are flocks of birds gathering, ready to make their migrations, their family life behind them.  Each season has its flavor, and autumn, to me, has a rosy golden glow, even though in this cool foggy part of the world we don't have much in the way of fall colors.  When I was a child in England I loved the autumn best of all, even better than summer.  I think I liked the changes, from leafy green, through all the tints of autumn to the bareness of winter, and I loved the crispness of the mornings.  It was also the start of fox hunting season, a passion of my blood-thirsty youth, and one of those strange contradictions that humans are comfortable with, for I was also a passionate animal lover.

I still have that feeling of excitement in autumn, as though it is a beginning, not an ending.  Maybe that's why I became a bulb grower, for this is the start of so many things - the blooming of the members of the Family Amaryllidaceae, the start of seed sowing, the stirring of the bulbs into growth.  There is no visible sign yet on most of the dormant bulbs, but the dropping temperatures at night are nudging them awake, and soon they will produce shoots, and, with the autumn rains, they will burst into growth.  We are promised an El Nino winter, something to be dreaded in this very wet, soggy valley, so preparations are being taken to protect the bulbs.  We have been through it before.  Here is a picture of the Ferndale Valley taken by my friend, Susan, about three or four winters ago.  Telos Rare Bulbs is out there somewhere in the watery waste. 

We survived.

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The County Fair

When I bough my property, I was a little concerned that it lies only about a half block from the County Fairgrounds, worrying about traffic and noise on my country road.  Now, five years later, I can only say how fortunate I feel, for there are many wonderful events going on there, and I can walk down to stroll around or join in.  One time there was a blacksmiths' convention, with forges set up all over the fairgrounds, making everything from sculpture and jewellery to beautiful gates.  Another time a llama convention was in progress, and I was amazed to see llamas all clipped like poodles, with some of them pulling dainty little carriages likes surreys.  It was delightful.

August is the time of the County Fair, which lasts ten days.  In a world where too much changes too fast, the Fair hearkens back to a different era.  One feels it probably has changed very little since it began.  Virtually all of the local children participate in 4H projects, raising a sheep, pig, calf or goat that will be auctioned at the Fair.  There are art projects and amateur photography displays, with children as young as three entering their creations.   The carnival is mobbed with children (and adults!), and there is always some kind of stunt.  Last year it was a man shot out of a cannon, this year two motorcyclists riding their bikes around inside a metal mesh sphere, missing each other by inches.

The craft hall is wonderful, with beautiful quilts, all kinds of preserves, a spinning and weaving demonstration and much more.

For me, though, the animals are the best feature, with barns full of cows, goats, sheep and pigs, all shampooed and clipped to look beautiful.   I love the goats especially.  My next door neighbor's children raised a goat for their 4H project, and Zoe was there in a pen, ready to be auctioned to become a dairy goat.  I will miss her sweet little bleating, but the farms here are small, and goats like to be with other goats, so she will undoubtedly be treated well and be happy she isn't alone any more.  Browsing down the goat pens I am so tempted to get one for myself, but with my hands very full with the bulbs, the garden and my dogs, I really have to resist.   This year there were many different breeds of rabbits, posing another temptation.  I kept rabbits as a child, and have always had a fondness for them.  They seem the epitome of gentleness, and to this day I will not eat rabbit.

The Fair ends this weekend, and with my favorite dog trial having come and gone the previous weekend, this, for me, marks the winding down from summer. Summer is still here, to be sure, but the garden has a somewhat faded look to it, and Amaryllids are starting to show their buds, presaging their big fall display.  Amaryllis belladonna is so abundant here locally that many people think it is native to this area.  It is commonly seen in huge swathes on abandoned property, its familiarity, unfortunately, leading to a lack of appreciation.  When my accountant gestured to a huge pile of bulbs that he was throwing out, I eagerly took them home and planted them outside my gate. 

We have had a splendid summer, one sunny day after another, with only fog in the early morning and late evening, and sometimes not even then.  My new fans in the greenhouses have been put to the test, and I am very happy to say that the temperatures this year have not exceeded 90F, in spite of clear and sunny days.  Shipping continues apace, but my thoughts are moving on to the fall seed sowing season, and I am already reorganizing parts of my greenhouses in preparation.  The world turns.

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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.

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Geese

We are now in a very wet spell, and have had no dry days for two or three weeks.  We are still behind as far as average rainfall for the season, but the recent storms have filled the rivers and creeks in the Ferndale Valley, and all the pastures have pools and standing water in them, including my own.  This valley drains poorly, there being no 'downhill' for the water to drain, plus the creeks have silted up over the last century adding to the problem.  It is something you simply adjust to, there being no easy solution, so sloshing around in rubber boots is the norm this time of year.

The wetness of the valley has some compensations, it being home in winter to thousands upon thousands of geese and swans.  The most common species is the Aleutian goose, and this morning when I was trekking back and forth between the barn and greenhouses, they were coming over my property in great flocks, strung out like beads, two to three hundred to a flock.  There would be a short pause, then another flock would come over, and the procession lasted for over an hour, the air filled with their cries.  These are Aleutian geese, looking like a scaled down Canada goose. 

A few mornings ago, when leaving my house, I noticed something bright white in the grasses.  It disappeared for a few seconds, then reappeared, and I was very excited to see it was a Bald Eagle, apparently feasting on something.  When I lived in Oroville, in the Sierra foothills, Bald Eagles were common in winter, as were Golden Eagles.  Once when hiking along the flat top of Table Mountain near the sheer escarpment, I saw a flock of large birds moving north using the updraft of air from the sheer cliffs.  I thought they were Turkey Vultures, then, as they turned, saw the white of tails flash.  I had binoculars, and it was a flock of eagles, twelve Bald Eagles and two Golden Eagles.  There is a huge lake near Oroville, a large reservoir actually, and I was told that on one arm of the lake you could see flocks of mixed Bald and Golden Eagles roosting on dead trees that stand in the water.

The valley here is also home to millions of frogs, and at night the air pulses with their calls.  It is encouraging to see such healthy populations of geese and frogs, when all you read about is how they are declining elsewhere.  There is virtually no pesticide use in this valley, being dairy farming country, and with almost all the farms being farmed organically now.  I imagine this makes some difference, although this is only a very tiny microcosm of the larger world.

As I sit here at the computer, another flock of geese is passing over, a flock of thousands of geese, their lines and formations crossing over each other in an almost never ending parade.  More are coming, I can hear them before they cross over the barn, and this will go on for most of the morning.  I don't think I will ever complain about the flooding problems here again.

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Moonlight, Bats, Bomareas etc.

The moon was full five days ago, and is now on the wane.  The picture above is a little bit of a cheat, since at full moon it was foggy, and I couldn't actually see it, but even so the fog was illuminated by its light, and it was bright enough to clearly see my path from the house to the barn.  The past three days, however, have been beautifully bright and clear, with moonlight bright enough to show faint color and cast shadows.

When I lived in Oroville, in the Sierra foothills, the moon was a constant presence, partly because of the clear skies in summer, and partly because the evenings were so warm you could sit outside at night.  It was our evening ritual to eat dinner outside, then sit and watch as dusk fell and the first stars became visible, watching for the bats to make their appearance.  Then the moon would rise over the mountains, bathing the garden in its silvery light. I always knew what phase the moon was in then, and I miss its nightly presence in my life.

One of my treasured memories is lying in my hammock part way up El Capitan in Yosemite Valley and watching a full moon rise over Sentinel Rock across the valley.  The cracks on El Capitan are full of bats, and at dusk you can actually hear the pinging of their sonar as it bounces off the rock.  It is so intense it is almost like muffled machine gun fire.  And if anyone says that is impossible, that you can't hear it, I challenge them to climb halfway up El Capitan to test it.

Most of my Bomareas are in bloom.  To the left is an unnamed species from Ecuador, and to the right is the beautiful yellow Bomarea that came from the Berkeley Botanical Garden.  It has never set seed, so I mangled it horribly this spring to get some divisions, although I didn't have enough to put them on the web site, but I have been selling them to Bomarea collectors.  It seems to have bounced back, and I will try dividing it again next spring.  When you divide Bomareas, you must get big chunks.  The shoots will not root, and you need a crown for the division to succeed, so you don't get many even from a big plant.  The tubers are only root tubers for food storage, and have no ability to sprout.

Below is another hybrid Nerine, probably the last of the season.  It is called Taffeta. The lovely Crocus goulimyi is seen to the right. 

The repotting is continuing, and will go on for about another month, and the greenhouses are starting to look very clean and organized.  Seed sowing is interspersed with the potting and will continue throughout the winter.

I can't imagine how I would feel with winter approaching if I didn't have my bulbs.  For me, autumn is like a second spring with shoots emerging and buds unfolding, and I feel the same excitement and anticipation that spring brings.

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More Earthquake Thoughts

My neighbor, Wayne, came over to mow my agility area, and, of course, we got chatting about the earthquake.  He didn't feel it, since he was sound asleep, but he told me some very interesting stuff.  Apparently, the valley sits on a layer of silt about two miles deep.  When there is an earthquake, the shock travels through the silt literally in waves.  In the big earthquake of 1992 he was outside when it struck, and, feeling the first shocks, he bent over to pick up their little dog.  As he did he saw a wave coming, only this was not water, but the actual ground heaving up about three feet or so, advancing toward him.  He said he could hear all the things crashing in the house. 

His advice was not to clean up after a big quake, since the aftershocks can be as bad as the original one.  There were several aftershocks last night, but I didn't feel any of them, although a couple were magnitude 2.9, big enough to feel.  I was probably in the house, pushing heavy furniture up against my china cabinet, which is full of antique crystal and china.  Time to anchor it to the wall.

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Earthquake!

It has been my habit since childhood to read in bed before I turn the lights out and fall asleep, and as I was engrossed in my book, my dog Willie suddenly jumped off the loveseat in a very agitated manner.  Then the whole barn started shaking and swaying back and forth -- an earthquake.  He clearly felt the shock before I did, and was very frightened, although Hannah didn't seem at all perturbed.

The region I live in is the most seismically active in the country, excluding Hawai'i and Alaska.  Earthquakes are common.  We had two about two weeks ago that were greater magnitutude than the one last night.  When I checked this morning, I found it was 'only' a 4.4 magnitude earthquake, but in the hayloft of the barn I really feel it.  The epicenter was about 25 miles away off Cape Mendocino, a region where four tectonic plates come together, the North American plate, the Pacific plate, the Gorda plate and the Juan de Fuca plate.

In 1992 there was a magnitude 7.2 earthquake in the same location, and it did extensive damage to the village of Ferndale.  Within 24 hours it was followed by two 6.6 aftershocks.  Friends who live about 25 miles inland from here tell me that after the third quake there was not a single piece of intact glass in their house.

Like many Californians I took earthquakes lightly, even thinking the small ones were rather fun.  Then came the Loma Prieta earthquake in the San Francisco Bay Area.  It was a 6.9 earthquake, causing the collapse of a tiered freeway that I had driven on many dozens of times.  I had just left San Francisco two hours previously and was in my car heading home to Oroville, having driven over the Bay Bridge, the one where part of the upper level collapsed.  Since then, when the shaking starts, I get a surge of adrenalin.  Not fun any more.

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Ferndale

The nights are much colder, and there is a sharpness in the air in the morning that is new.  We have, by now, lost about two hours of daylight, and the bulbs are responding to the cool night temperatures, with members of the Family Amaryllidaceae sending up buds, and some bulbs in storage starting to show small shoots.  I am trying to get my backlog of orders shipped before things start growing, so the pace of shipping has picked up, but most of my dog trials are over for now, and I won't be leaving town until October for another one.

Ferndale is set in a lovely valley with the Eel River running through it.  It is dairy farming country, and almost all the dairy farms are now organic.  In the old days when the valley was settled (or, rather wrested from the local Indian tribes), the timber industry was the driving force of the region, and all the older houses in Ferndale, including my own, are from the Victorian era, and are built entirely of old growth redwood.  Ferndale is known as the "Victorian Village" because of its architecture. Here is an example of one of the more elaborate houses, now an inn.   For a town of only 1700 inhabitants, there are a lot of things going on, every weekend having some different event.  This weekend it is "Bargain Lover's Weekend", when the whole town participates in a yard sale.  People flood into town, and I have bought many great bargains myself, including furniture and a much needed wheelbarrow ($10 !!).  It is very festive, and even if you don't need anything, worth a walk around the village.

In town I am known as the 'bulb lady', and although I have only lived here for five years, the town has welcomed me, and I feel part of it.  Apparently people here accept my rather eccentric life.

Today I will, as usual, pack up bulbs with a trip into Eureka to have three international orders inspected by my agricultural agent, Jeff.  They have to be specially cleaned for overseas shipment, then inspected and certified free of disease before I can send them.  I ship all over the world, to England, Azerbaijan, Taiwan, Japan, and almost everywhere except Australia and New Zealand, two countries that have such restrictive laws about importing bulbs it is almost impossible to send anything there.

We had a very cold, late spring, and a very cold foggy summer, and I had thought I would feel a bit desperate at the end of summer, dreading the onset of autumn, then winter.  But, when you grow bulbs, it isn't like that.  You have so much to look forward to, now with the Nerines starting to bloom, then (the best!!) Oxalis.  Oxalis will bloom from about October onward.  Just a few bloom that early, but there will be an incredible display almost all winter.  I will post extensively on Oxalis this winter, be assured.  A few Lachenalias bloom in time for Christmas, as do some Gladioli.  And, needless to say, Ferndale goes all out for Christmas.

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