The Bulb Maven

Trials of Halloween

It has been a long time since I posted, having been gone every weekend for a dog event or visit with old friends.  In between, I am involved in a frenzy of shipping, trying to get the bulbs taken care of and get a batch of orders shipped before I leave home.  We have only two agility trials each year in the county where I live, so competing means traveling.  Some months it is impossible because of work pressures, other months it is merely difficult.  It is never easy.  This last month there has been a trial within a reasonable distance (five to seven hours of driving), so off we went.  This last weekend was a three day AKC trial in Medford, Oregon, and was one I didn't want to miss, since almost everyone from my dog training group was going, plus, being Halloween, they were having a costume competition for the dogs.  Now, my sewing skills are minimal, and I am not going to dress up my dogs, but I appreciate the ridiculous, so I was looking forward to this event.  After all, aren't most sports absurd?  Devoting your life to hitting a ball over a net, or scaling vertical rocks, or jumping out of planes?  Driving to Medford, the weather was miserable, but we were treated to this Roosevelt elk grazing in a front yard.

I do not enter my male, Willie, in AKC.  It is just too stressful for him, but he went along to soak up the atmosphere and give support.  My dogs know the difference between the trials held by the various agility organizations.  They really don't like AKC, so we do far fewer of those trials.  Why?  I just don't know.  I would have to get inside those little doggie heads to figure it out.  Friends have told me it must be me, and I thought that possible, but I have got over my ringside jitters and feel very relaxed at shows.  The courses this last weekend were very straightforward, and well within our abilities.  Hannah, however, decided that since it was Halloween, the judge (who follows you around while you are running the course) was a werewolf disguised as an AKC judge, and that each time he approached us to see if we were performing the obstacle correctly, he was going to clamp down on her throat.  This did not improve our performance.  We had two very good runs, one quite brilliant, and placed second in those.  They were both on courses where you don't stop or pause, so obviously she ran like the wind to get away from that werewolf and we did really well.  Here we all are walking the course to memorize it and plan our strategies.

The costume contest was at the end of the trial.  The winner is seen here to the left.  Her dog was a squirrel, and she was the tree. Seems a little risky dressing your dog up as a squirrel with all those squirrel-chasing dogs around.  Apparently, they knew the difference. 

On the way home the sun came out and the autumn colors were beautiful, so we stopped for a picnic on the Rogue River and a short hike.  Driving across the Eel River approaching Ferndale, the pale disc of the full moon was rising in the east above the mountains, while, in perfect symmetry, a great orange sun was setting on the western horizon.  A great welcome home.  

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.

www.telosrarebulbs.com

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. 

Heat Wave

I had been trying to get away from nursery work for a day, and decided to go to a beautiful area nearby for a day's hiking with the dogs.  It might seem from reading my posts that I spend all my time training my dogs and going to trials, but actually it's very difficult to get away, and I spend most of the daylight hours tending the bulbs, doing computer work associated with the business and shipping orders.

So, yesterday was supposed to be a break.  I left early, and arrived at our destination, a beautiful mountain ridge, at about 8:30am.  It was, at that time 71F, pretty toasty for our area, but not too bad.  The lupines were magnificent, with great swathes in bloom, giving the air a very intense sweet scent that is hard to describe.  We always have to describe scents like other things: citrusy, honey, spicy, etc.  I can't describe their scent at all, it isn't like anything else, so we'll call it lupiney.  You could see for miles, with the Pacific Ocean to the left in the picture with the dogs.  They thoroughly approved of this outing, tearing around, posing for pictures and eating dried cow pies.  Anyway, by 9:30am it was 87F with no breeze.  Hmmm.  87F on this high ridge.  That would translate into worse at sea level.  So much for our day off.

We headed home, getting there at about 11am, and finding the temperature to be 89F outside.  I had left the fans on in the greenhouses, with them swathed in as much Aluminet as I had, and it was around 105F inside.  All my Bomareas were inside the greenhouses, awaiting Mark the magician (who has transformed my property with his construction skills) to return home and build me a Bomarea house.  Bomareas are not very heat tolerant, although there are so many species and from such a wide range that I am sure there are some that would do fine in very hot temperatures.  The ones I have are largely from Ecuador, and are cloud forest plants, so they do well in Humboldt County outside, but are in the greenhouses because it is so windy here.  Last year we had a similar heat wave, and the ends of the shoots were all burned by the heat.  Since the flower buds form on the end of the shoots, I got no seed last year.  I grow my Bomareas in very large pots, about 24" diameter, and about 20" deep, and there are lots of them, plus some in smaller pots, plus all the seedlings.  So for the next three hours I was hauling them all outside in sweltering heat with sweat pouring down even into my eyes.  See how much fun having a plant nursery is?  This morning they look just fine.

By the way, this lovely ridge we were on yesterday is going to host a wind farm.  Right along the ridge they are planning on at least 50 wind turbines, which will destroy the scenic beauty, murder the migrating birds, and pretty much wipe out any local populations of wildflowers.  The call wind power 'environmentally friendly'.  Tell that to the birds.

SPRING IN THE SIERRA NEVADA, Part 3

This was to be the last day of our ten day trip, and it had to be spent on Table Mountain.  "We" means Hannah, Willie and me, I rarely take trips like this with other people, finding the enthusiastic company of my dogs all I need.  They are in heaven, tearing around, rolling in the cow poo, splashing around the in creeks, and having the best time dogs could have. 

We took one of our favorite hikes, finding patches of flowers, not the massive carpets of previous years. It is always lovely, though.  Table Mountain can never be a disappointment.

Soon it was time to go:

"The sadness in leaving is tempered by the fact that Table Mountain will soon withdraw into itself as the rains stop and the temperatures rise.  Through the searing heat and dryness of summer it will slumber on, the only green being that of the live oaks in the big canyons, their roots anchored deep in the lava cap.  The blue oaks on the slopes will be ashy grey, and the grasses and flowers, along with the creeks, will completely disappear.  But then, in the fall, like a sleeping beauty, the kiss of the autumn rain will slowly awaken it, and Table Mountain will once again be clothed in green and decked in flowers, while, far away, I will dream of the return."   From "Dream of the Return"

Tomorrow: back to bulbs

SPRING IN THE SIERRA NEVADA, Part 2

The north fork of the Feather River runs through a beautiful canyon, with Highway 70 following its course.  You can cross the Sierras this way, coming out into the desert of the eastern side of the range.  Driving up the canyon, there are many wildflowers to see.  Erythronium multiscapoideum is common in the region, and a form that is supposed to be a triploid, which used to be called E. m. cliftonii (not a valid name) grows on cliffs near the Pulga Bridge.  I was too late to see it this year, but the colonies seemed to be thriving.  Redbud (Cercis occidentalis) was in bloom everywhere.

Although Table Mountain had been dry, it seemed that the canyon had done better, and although it was early for some flowers, Fritillaria recurva was everywhere.  It was too early for the rare Lewisia cantelovii, but a lovely little crucifer was blooming in the scree.

On the banks were lots of Calochortus tolmiei, often in places that I hadn't seen before.

On to the snow!!!  The wonderful thing about this region is that you can go (as we did) from temperatures near ninety degrees F. to deep snow and ski the same day!

TIPS FOR GROWING NATIVE BULBS

I get a lot of e-mails asking questions about how to grow native bulbs.  Firstly, for those who do not live in a Mediterranean climate, you have to remember that they naturally grow in the winter, when the rains occur.  Our winters are mild, with some sub-freezing temperatures, but not usually sufficient to freeze the ground to any depth.  There are, of course, exceptions, since alpine species are mostly dormant in the winter, but the majority of California native bulbs grow at low or mid elevations. This means that native bulbs start growing in October to November, when we start getting frequent rain, produce their leaves throughout the winter, then bloom in the spring and go dormant for the summer, when they are totally dry.  So here are some brief tips:

1)  They need cool wet growing conditions in the winter.  They mostly can withstand some degree of frost, but not freezing of the bulb itself.

2)  They must be kept TOTALLY dry in summer, or they will rot.

3)  They are only suitable for gardens that can meet the above requirements.  Otherwise, they can be grown in pots and can be stored in a garage or basement during the summer.

4)  Rodents love them, so you must protect your bulbs from gophers and mice.

5)  If you are trying to grow native bulbs from seed (which I strongly encourage), sow the seed in the fall.  It does NOT need heat to germinate (they are not tomatoes), in fact the seeds need cool temperatures to germinate and grow.  They will grow through the winter, just like the bulbs, and go dormant in spring.  It will take about three to four years to produce a blooming size bulb from seed, depending upon the species.

Tomorrow --- more wildflowers on Table Mountain. 

SPRING IN THE SIERRA NEVADA, Part 1

I used to live in the town of Oroville in the foothills of the Sierra Nevada, a town that once had its economy based on logging and the railroad, both in serious decline.  The location of Oroville, in my mind, is superb, with access to some of the most beautiful mountains, as well as the somewhat unique topography of flat topped buttes that are old lava flows.  Table Mountain, that rises behind the town of Oroville, has been preserved for its wildflowers, and a better display of spring wildflowers is hard to find.

Each spring I go back, my routine as fixed as the migrating geese.  This spring is not spectacular (everyone wants a peak display!), but the beauty of the place itself compensates for any lack of flowers in a dry year.  Where else can you go to hike over thousands of acres with no trails, no rangers, no parking lots, no concessions and very few people?  You can even take your dogs. 

There still were wildflowers, although not in the abundance of previous years.  Bulbs can be found everywhere, the area rich with Alliums, all members of the Brodiaea group, Erythroniums, Lilies, Lewisias, and, of course, Calochortus.

Allium cratericola

Tomorrow --- Flowers of the Feather River Canyon