Thought that I’d update a few of the previous posts.
Bee My Honey
Today I found someone to move my pot of bees. He carried them in the pot covered by a book over to the creek. I’m still unsure which yellow and black striped, venomous, flying insect they were–I tried to not get to close to find out. The one I saw flying around looking for its missing home looked like a bee.
The thing is, although it’s nice for them to visit, I just don’t want them to live in my garden.
Pitch In
My friend and fellow gardener, Jim, at first questioned my having a digging fork. Over the past two years he’s been borrowing it. After the handle broke he took it to find a new handle, but instead got a new digging fork which he owns, but it’s residing in my garden.
Peony For Your Thoughts
Of the five buds I got one bloom. The others were just ready to open when the big storm hit last weekend and the rotted. Although disappointed, I had more than last year and look forward to seeing what comes up next year.
In the Henhouse
Boy did I get things wrong–I’m totally in the doghouse over this. I should have checked with my aunt before writing.
- The poultry market was on Market St. near 13th.
- The Goodwin Rescue Mission was on G St. It was a building that my grandfather bought from a madam and it served as a flop house prior to his donating it to the rescue mission. It was torn down during the revitalization near Petco Park. The thing is I knew this.
- According to my aunt, the family got out of the chicken business when her husband, my father’s older brother, went to All Fresh Eggs and Restaurant Supply. This is different from what my father always told us, but Robbie was the last of the boys to work for my grandparents.
- I don’t think that my grandparent’s farm ran all the way to Redwood. I think that it may have ended near Oak Park Elementary.
Those of you who know me know that I’m extremely allergic to bees. My allergist says that I’m one of the worst cases she’s seen and wants me to carry not one, but two Epipens. In the garden I don’t usually worry about them, other than having the Epipen with me at all times, because the bees are far more interested in the flowers than in me. But today was different.
No, I didn’t get stung, but as I was cleaning up the garden and was stacking the plastic pots that my plants came in so I could return them for reuse, I moved one pot that was partially covered by a coreopsis and it was filled with bees and something round like a giant gumball with what looked like honeycomb. As the bees flew out I decided it was time to go home and locked up the garden.
I wanted to photograph it. I wanted to look closely to see what was there. But I didn’t because I knew it was best to not be too close to the bees as I disturbed their home. I want to peacefully coexist.
I still need to removed the starter pots. That will have to wait for another day, after I have someone else check just what’s going on in the pot.
I’m not a good shopper. I have trouble at malls–in fact I’ve left big indoor malls in tears–and at big box stores. I think that it has something to do with the lighting and the closed-in feel. At smaller, open-air malls I’m often good for 80-90 minutes; and then an internal timer goes off letting me know that it’s time to go or sit down with a cup of tea. A few friends are true shoppers and when they go shopping with me they comment on how I just didn’t get the shopping gene.
But this shopping trouble doesn’t occur at small, independent stores and nurseries. In fact, there’s something at a good book, fabric, or housewares store that actually makes me relax. I’m not talking about the big chains–typically the lighting is so poor or the energy so bad that I can’t shop–I’m talking about shops like Stone Mountain and Daughter Fabrics in Berkeley or Peppercorn housewares in Boulder. I like office stores and hardware stores, too (but not Home Depot or Office Depot).
Last week when a gardener friend and I made a pilgrimage to Harmony Supply & Nursery in Graton, outside of Sebastopol in West Sonoma County I felt as relaxed as I do when I go out to my garden. As I stood in the nursery I felt the tension melt. I spent more than 90 minutes there. I could have been there longer, but it was a holiday weekend and we wanted to get back before the heavy traffic started. I have no qualms about shopping when I’m in a “retreat”.
When Cleo isn’t eating the roses, she’s chewing on the geraniums. I think that she actually prefers them. I don’t mind that she eats them. They are so prolific and ever blooming.
I haven’t always been fond of geraniums. When I was a kid we had zonal geraniums planted along the parking strip. Because we lived on two corners, that meant we had lots of them. They were so hardy nothing hurt them. My father let us pick them and do whatever we wanted with them. The only other plants we could touch this way was the Bougainvillea.
With this in mind I always thought of geraniums as weeds. They were so prolific and in the 1950′s and 60′s seemed to be the flower everyone in San Diego planted. (Ice Plant was just as plentiful.)
In 1977, on my Cooperstown Graduate School class trip we were going to a classmate’s parents’ house for dinner and the group I was riding with wanted to stop and get flowers. The flowers they wanted were geraniums. My response was that geraniums were not a good choice–that it was giving weeds. I had no idea that the rest of the country adored geraniums.
In fact, when I moved to Denver I discovered that what I considered the lowly geranium was highly coveted and the local nurseries gave more room to geraniums than to any other flower.
It’s June 4th. I’m in Northern California. It’s raining. For those of you in other parts of the country you may wonder what’s the big deal. This is a big deal. Unlike much of the rest of the country, it’s unusual to have rain in June. Especially when it’s been raining for hours. They’re predicting 1.5″ today–more than typically falls in the whole month of June. More than often falls in one day in the middle of winter.
I’ve been out today. I went to both of the local farmer’s markets–Danville and San Ramon. The markets were pretty quiet, but the fruit selection was great. I got nectarines, peaches, apricots, cherries, and blueberries. I’m trying to enjoy them now since the rains may damage the crops.
I don’t want you to think that I’m blue–I’m really not. The headache I had last night that was caused by the barometric pressure has gone–I prefer the rain than the period leading up to it–so I can see and think clearly. I’m disappointed that I can’t go out to the garden. And I worry that the garden has gotten far too much water this past week.
One thing that’s doing very well are the flowers. I have more blooms on the roses now than I had all of last year. Cleo’s been trying to eat them, but there are far more than she can chew. The other flowers on the balcony that I’ve planted in the past two weeks are growing and happy. The flowers that are doing best are the begonias. They truly are floribunda. the parsley is happy too.
With all the flowers how could I be blue?
My favorite garden tool is my pitchfork. It’s easy to use for soil preparation, planting, and removal. I mistreated my pitchfork. I left it out during the winter storms. Two days ago when I was trying to remove some very large celery plants to make room for the tomato that was planted next to it, the handle snapped.
I’m sorry–I didn’t mean to abuse it. I’m so sad.
There’s a new farmer’s market in town. This year the San Ramon farmer’s market is in Bishop Ranch and run by Bishop Ranch. Because it’s held in an office building parking lot it has a very different feel from the former SRFM held at a historic farm site.
On the plus side are some new vendors, more prepared food, and a nice area for music. (Today was a three-person Zydeco band who had washboards available for children to play along.) The downside was some high prices–$7 a dozen eggs (when I was at the Boulder, CO market two weeks ago I was shocked by the prices, but this beat theirs) and a fish vendor who had nothing under $20 a pound.
But the fruit was great–I got cherries and apricots, and blueberries from my favorite blueberry farm. Yum. Now if I could get myself to stop eating it all.
A couple of the venders did a great job of displaying their offerings–Dirty Girl Farms and Happy Boy Farms had nice looking stands and the women running them were friendly so I wanted to buy from them.
It was also fun to go with a friend and her 3yo daughter who played along with the music and tasted all the fruit. That’s what a good market is all about.
Growing up in San Diego I never saw a peony. The winters are too warm for them–they thrive in cold weather. In fact, I remember knowing about them until I moved to Denver in 1985. Then it became a love affair. I like all colors and all styles.
This winter in the San Ramon Valley was just right for peonies. I planted one in my garden two years ago. They take two years to settle into their new home. Last year my plant was brown and sickly–I didn’t think that it would make it. But it did survive and is full and healthy with five blossoms.
What’s great is that the gophers and voles haven’t done anything to it. I cut the one blossom that’s opened and my cats who love to eat flowers (roses, geraniums, and tulips are their favorites) are ignoring it so I can walk into my kitchen and enjoy it.
Now I’m waiting for the ants to finish eating the shell on the other blossoms so I’ll have other giant fuchsia colored buds to cheer me up.
For months I’ve felt that I lost my creativity. I’ve been wound up with work, feeling angry and cut off. The winter was wet and I couldn’t work in the garden. I felt that there were so many things blocking me. I felt that not only had I lost my creativity, I lost my sense of humor. I think that’s what bothered me the most. After all, people know me by my deep, from the belly laugh.
My Garden, May 9, 2010
But I think that I’m getting through all of this. My garden is planted and although there’s been cold weather since I planted and rain is due on Sunday, there’s been sun and I’m able to get out for what I call my therapy session–an hour or two in the garden.What a difference it makes to my disposition! I’m laughing more. I’m back to writing the blog. I’m enjoying people more. And best of all, what happens with my job just doesn’t matter.
Peonies
Peonies are my favorite flower. Because they need cold weather I never saw them until I moved to Colorado. I planted one two years ago. Last year it wasn’t very healthy. This year because of the cold winter I have five buds. I’m waiting for the ants to finish eating the shells for the flowers to bloom.
When I was a kid we weren’t allowed to eat chicken in restaurants. My father’s family were chicken ranchers and they sold chickens to many of the restaurants in San Diego so he knew the quality of chickens that they purchased.
My grandparents with basket of eggs
My Grandparents got into poultry ranching in the early 1930′s after moving to Phoenix, AZ because my grandfather had Tuberculosis. In the early 1930s Jewish immigrants throughout America began raising chickens as a business that didn’t require much investment. Because my grandfather couldn’t work it was a business my Grandmother could run and raise four young children. (There’s a great oral history on this topic by Kenneth L. Kann Comrades and Chicken Ranchers)
After moving to San Diego in 1939 their business prospered, allowing them to buy a parcel of land in east San Diego that ran from Laurel to Redwood and 54th to 53rd St.
During WWII my father had an agriculture deferment so that he could help his parents while his two brothers enlisted in the Army and the Coast Guard. It was hard work and after my father enlisted in the Navy in 1943 the responsibility rested on my aunt.
After the war my father returned to the chicken business and worked with his parents at their farm and at their store on G St. In the early, after diseases required them to inject the chickens with antibiotics they decided to get out of chicken ranching. They sold the land which was developed into a housing subdivision and kept an acre where my grandparents lived. My aunt developed that acre into four houses in 1992. In the 1960s my grandfather donated the building where they had their market to be a rescue mission.
