Sow There

Author: Heather Hacking
My life is so full that sometimes I get behind schedule.

“Busy” sounds so much better than “procrastinator,” or worse yet, “lazy.” Sometimes being late means being wrongly accused of not caring.

I do care. I just sometimes care at the wrong time.

I’m that friend on Facebook who notices it is someone’s birthday when they are posting a thank-you note to all the friends who wished them a happy birthday.

My electronic note says: “When can I take you to a belated birthday lunch?”

I can’t be unique. Otherwise, marketers would have no need for a “belated” section for greeting cards.

My father knows me pretty well by now. If he ever received a Dad’s Day card on time, it was a mistake.

In fact, this week I was rummaging through last year’s left-over Christmas cards and found several Father’s Day cards. I mailed off his card with a Christmas stamp.

He’ll understand.

A perpetual state of belated can also lead to what appears to be sloth.

For example, my Christmas cards are now in the middle of the living room where they will be more difficult to forget.

Bulbs on time

All this being said (and a bit that went unsaid), I was pretty darn proud of myself for getting bulbs in to the ground before Christmas.

A good time to plant bulbs is at Thanksgiving. In August, you put new bulbs in the crisper drawer of the fridge to chill.

The bulbs are planted because after the Thanksgiving meal you need every inch of the refrigerator to store leftovers.

Factual note: chilling bulbs in this climate is not necessary.

A fact sheet from the Napa County Master Gardeners states that chilling bulbs only provides a slight difference in bloom height, and bulbs will bloom two weeks earlier.

I’m sticking with the chill. How else would I remember to plant them if they weren’t right there in my refrigerator?

If the bulbs go in late, chilling will bring me blooms right on time.

Read full master gardener tips here:

http://goo.gl/5CA7J7

Planting bold drifts

A few weeks ago I put dozens of daffodil bulbs in pots.

However, I bought two jumbo bags of daffodils for dirt cheap at Costco.

Seventy-five bulbs remained.

Did I mention that my new yard is fairly small? I don’t know what I was thinking.

As the neighborhood cat circled around my feet, I scoped out the scant terrain.

Directly outside the front door is a five-by-three-foot planting bed recently populated with wild (weed) viola and a few leftover poppies. These are the drought survivors.

Daffodils do extremely well in Chico, returning year-after-year.

Also, squirrels do not technically eat daffodil bulbs. Squirrels will still dig them up, because that’s what squirrels do.

With 75 bulbs, a cat demanding attention, and the sun drifting down below the mulberry tree, I had to hurry.

The daffodils are not spaced evenly, nor 5 inches apart, nor 6 inches deep.

I was on a mission to simply empty the bags.

The good news is by planting the bulbs, I also destroyed the wild viola and spared the poppies.

Bulbs were also planted in the crevice behind the gate, under the loquat tree and near the compost pile.

Author: Heather Hacking hhacking@chicoer.com @HeatherHacking on Twitter
In college I moved about every six months. Looking back, I can see I had a problem with restlessness. A few times I didn’t like my roommates, or they didn’t pay the bills or they were on drugs. One year I decided on a whim to move to Southern California to learn Italian and late-night coffee shop culture. Next on the agenda was Europe, simply so I could say I had traveled, and partially to justify learning Italian.

Moving could be a spur-of the moment decision when I had my whole life ahead of me.

My home furnishings included a four-inch thick futon that could be shoved behind the car’s passenger seat. My shelving unit was two plastic milk crates and a 2-by-4. When it was time to go, anything that would not fit into my 1975 AMC Gremlin could be placed by the dumpster of a dismal, gray apartment complex.

I moved 13 times in six years, including the two times I went home for the summer. There was no garden, no family keepsakes — just me and my reckless decision-making process.

When I got “a real job” it was time to land. A cat found me, I planted some roses and became a receptacle for things my mother had always wanted me to have.

Two (or has it been three) months have gone by and I’m finally feeling “moved in” to my new house.

I knew it was true last weekend when the cactus project was completed.

Collected cacti

In July Don Rostimo invited me to visit his cactus garden in the Chapman neighborhood. He was fairly giddy to have a guest to thoroughly appreciate his over-the-top collection of prickly plants.

I have a hard time saying no. Strike that, there’s no reason to say no when free plants are offered.

That day I scored a bucket filled with miscellaneous cacti.

Next, I ran an important information-gathering trip to Claude Geffray’s cactus paradise ( http://creativecacti.com), where I received reassurance that putting cactus in a wheelbarrow was a fabulous idea.

Claude sells much better cactus soil, but she aid I could get by with 60 percent “gritty stuff,” and 40 percent rich garden soil.

Folks, let me tell you, sand weighs a lot.

For $6 I bought 120 pounds of “gritty stuff.”

Hoisting a 60-pound bag of sand should be an Olympic sport. I also have a beef with sand bag manufacturers. If I wanted the back of my car to look like I recently visited Hermosa Beach, I would have preferred to have actually visited Hermosa Beach.

The sand sat in a wheelbarrow for several weeks while I contemplated options.

Placement of something that requires brute force is not a decision to be made recklessly.

Luckily, cactus doesn’t die when left in a black plastic bucket for more than a month.

Meanwhile, at least two years ago two readers gave me their rusted, rustic wheelbarrows that were gathering more rust in their backyards.

The one I chose for the cactus project already conveniently had holes drilled into the bottom.

Soil recipe: 60-pound bag of sand and about half a bag of decent compost from a big-box store. I’ll ask Claude later about fertilizing tips.

The wheelbarrow isn’t very deep, so I’m wondering whether the cacti will thrive. For now, one drab corner of the new yard looks lived-in.

If I don’t dally before the rain, I might be able to beat the rain and use the other rusted wheelbarrow leaning against the mimosa tree.

The good thing about gathering plants from local friends is you know the plant is capable of survival in this climate. The plants in Ron’s yard were tall and vibrant.

Perhaps in a few years, when these cacti have overgrown their boundaries, I’ll have a few prickly presents for the next guy

Author: Heather Hacking hhacking@chicoer.com @HeatherHacking on Twitter
Now I am really confused.

For several weeks I had been infatuated with a neighborhood kitty, only to have my heart shattered when she showed up wearing a flea collar.

I would be a bad person if I continued to woo her with wet food; The family that adopted her has children.

The things is, a few days later the cat showed up in my yard without a collar.

In my fantasy, the cat had somehow shimmied out of the flea collar so we could be together.

I imagined that kind-hearted people throughout the neighborhood offer her food. Yet, among those options she felt most comfortable at MY house, under MY mimosa tree. She had found ME from among the many arms willing to hold her.

But the image of her wearing a flea collar lingered in my mind.

Surely the family down the street had strong feelings when they placed their flea-collar claim.

Why is finding a pet partner so complicated?

My boyfriend sent me a curve ball by saying there were at least two, possibly three nearly-identical cats in the neighborhood.

What? I thought he was surely full of kitty litter.

Thinking back, I recall seeing two cats off in the distance when I first moved in. Could my new friend really be two or maybe three different cats? I’ve spent some time looking into those soulful green eyes. The cat I’ve been hanging out with has orange-tinged tabby stripes and lets me know when I’m scratching her favorite spot.

Am I the one who is fickle? Does that make me the type of girl who gets into heavy petting based on appearances?

Unsettled ground

In the meantime, I’m going to do some thinking and hope that some of these cats get to work around the yard.

As loyal readers recall, I moved to the house directly next door to the cottage where I lived for 18 years.

The old house had a ridiculous problem with gophers and moles.

I would complain the clan followed me next door. However, I’m fairly confident all of the moles and gophers in this neighborhood are first cousins.

I hope you’re seeing the connection here. The next cat I fall in love with really needs to love catching gophers and moles.

Facts most evident

The little walk from my car to my new front door is dusty. I put down an industrial-type piece of gray carpet, lined with plastic.

Businesses use this type of carpet to avoid lawsuits.

The first three times I stumbled I thought I was carrying too much baggage home from work. On closer inspection the carpet had turned lumpy.

Under the carpet I discovered intricate, curved tunnels of one busy mole, fully exposed.

Other parts of the yard are equally hazardous to the ankles.

You see now why I really need a cat. Or maybe two cats in the yard. Then everything will be easy.

For the University of California pamphlet all about moles: http://goo.gl/x7pNcx

For more than you need to know about gophers: http://goo.gl/vLxEEW

Author: Heather Hacking
Theoretically, “black Friday” is the official kick-off for the holiday shopping season.

I don’t know who anyone thinks they are kidding. For weeks my Costco shopping experience has included a walk past the $70 ceramic bear holding a candy cane.

In September I bought Christmas slippers.

I could have also purchased a fully-decorated fiber optic Christmas tree. It was conveniently located next to the hanging plastic skeletons in early October.

I know this was not my imagination because I posted a picture on Twitter.

The benefit of having Christmas merchandise on sale after Fourth of July is that it reminds me how much I hate the crowds during the holidays.

My friend Kara and I attended the Christmas Preview in downtown Chico.

Christmas preview is very much like trick-or-treating. The stores are open for shopping and each store offers a treat.

We even wore costumes. Kara looked adorable in a knitted gray cap that with elephant ears and I donned a green and red scarf with matching ornament earrings.

We arrived promptly at four and were among the first to attack the treat tables.

As is always the case with a good thing, more people arrived.

By about 6 p.m. I felt a mild form of claustrophobia.

I know myself in shopping situations. First I turn cynical, which may or may not grow into general disdain for humanity.

A woman pushing twins in a double-wide stroller stopped every five feet to greet friends. Groups blocked my path while taking group photos.

I bumped into several people who were in mid-text.

In addition to having our fill our Christmas cookies, I wanted to shop at Tom Foolery, where I always find something to buy for my dad.

Kara and I were perusing the collection of old fart gag gifts when two teens elbowed their way through the crowd. Their movements were abrupt and I almost lost some of the Lindt chocolates that were stuffed into my pockets.

I’m sorry, I said, as I was slammed into a little girl who was standing behind us.

“That’s OK,” the little girl said. “We knew it was going to be crowded so we’re OK with being patient.”

Yes indeed. If an 8-year-old had learned how to be patient, maybe I could as well.

The rest of the adventure was joyful. If someone stopped in front of me for no apparent reason, I stopped to listen to Christmas carolers. When four people were in line for the cash register at in Zuchinni and Vine, I snacked on yet another chocolate from my pocket.

Shopping local

With reminders of the upcoming winter holiday spanning half the year, I was reminded in August, September and October to stop procrastinating. When we stopped at the Olive Pit in Corning I bought a few jars for my holiday stash. During the Sierra Oro Farm Trail, I found blood orange infused olive oil for my aunt and uncle at http://www.lodestarfarms.com in Oroville. Honey Run Covered Bridge craft fair: two hand-made gourd ornaments made by Ed and Linda Hemsley, of Oroville. Christmas preview: old fart gag gift for dad and two lovely tiles from Art Etc.

A week before Christmas I’ll head to the farmers market and stock up on dried fruit, bags of apples and mandarins, newly-harvested walnuts and flavored almonds.

Drought daffodils

Sometimes our greatest of intentions are no match for our deepest desires.

We’re in the middle of a drought, driving dirty cars and carting buckets from the shower to outdoor plants.

Weeks ago a metal rack of spring-blooming bulbs bumped into my shopping cart. Fifty bulbs for $13.

My hesitation was less than momentary because another woman also found herself with her wheels locked.

“Can you believe these are so cheap?” she said.

“But we’re in a drought, are we supposed to be planting bulbs?”

I must have been mumbling, because she didn’t understand what I was talking about.

After my impulse buy, I sought further affirmation in and article in the Sacramento Bee, http://goo.gl/uQqthh.

“People don’t realize it but bulbs are very drought-tolerant,” an expert states.

In fact, they don’t like to sit in water and prefer to be left dry and dormant all summer.

Last summer I planted a few tomatoes in pots, which were a complete disappointment. Those 10-gallon containers were perfect to refill with fresh potting soil and about a dozen bulbs each. At the surface I planted several handfuls of kale and spinach seeds, which are now sprouting after the recent rains. The pots are conveniently located within walking distance of the back door. If I really do this right I can use the water from rinsing vegetables in the kitchen.

Did I kill my Daphne odoro, my luscious, variegated daphne that has bloomed fragrantly every Valentine’s Day for years?

Hint to whoever loves me: a new Daphne odoro (preferably the kind with variegated leaves) would be a superb choice for a Christmas gift.

The tips of the latest turned black last spring, and I thought that was the end of an era. However, I remembered the advice of John Whittlesley of Canyon Creek Nursery. He said not to water the plant if the high temperature for the day would reach 89 degrees, (something about bacteria in the soil that goes berserk when watered in warm weather). I also put some good bacteria into the soil in the form of really good organic compost.

My Valentine’s Day bloomer survived but did not thrive.

Then I moved to a new house and could not leave this beloved plant behind. Daphne hate to be transplanted or repotted. Apparently they also don’t like to move to a new home.

Probably the final blow for the fussy plant was I used greywater saved from the kitchen sink.

Care with greywater

During the drought, I’ve had fun collecting a little water in my sink. When I rinse my hands or vegetables, sans soap, I let the water flow into a plastic container.

The water adds up, and I feel smug to be saving water that I would normally waste.

Does dish soap sometimes slop over into this grey water container? Probably.

Is that a problem? I didn’t think so.

A few weeks ago I was chatting with my new buddy Bob Scoville, a master gardener in Glenn County. (You can call the Glenn garden gurus 2-4 p.m. Wednesdays at 865-1110).

Bob shared some information on soaps and soil. Suds usually contain chemicals that can make soil alkaline.

For example, some people are setting up their washing machines so the water runs outdoors. Most laundry soaps contain sodium, potassium and calcium.

After time, the soil can become alkaline.

You can test soil after a year or more, then amend to bring things back in balance. I don’t know about you, but there are reasons why I do not have a master’s degree in soil chemistry.

At least for these times of drought, the easiest path is to avoid greywater for acid-loving plants. These also tend to be shade plants.

Here’s some plants that do NOT like greywater: rhododendrons, begonias, bleeding hearts, ferns, foxgloves, hydrangeas, oxalis, azaleas, violets, philodendrons, camellias, impatiens, primroses, crape myrtle, holly, redwoods, star, jasmine, deodar and cedar.

As for things that do well with greywater, many of these are things that seem to do well with no water at all: oleander, bougainvillea, Italian stone pine, oaks, palms, Arizona cypress, purple hopseed bush, olive rose, rosemary, Australian tea tree, juniper, ice plant, Bermuda grass, many native plants, agapanthus, cottonwood and honeysuckle.

I’ve been dumping greywater on some volunteer nandina, and these plants are thriving.

Another rule of thumb might be to avoid dumping grey water on plants you really care about. Annuals will die this winter, for example.

If the soil becomes too alkaline over time, you can neutralize the soil by adding more organic matter.

CLEANER GREYWATER

Another route to take is to avoid icky soaps in your daily life.

Butte County Master Gardener Kay Perkins simply shops for soap that does not contain phosphates.

This doesn’t mean you can use all your dish water in the yard. You still don’t want grease and meat pathogens in your soil outdoors.

Kay said she used Green Works, by Clorox, and buys it by the big jug at Cash and Carry. This works for laundry as well.

LOGICAL LINKS

While on this greywater path, I found a website with some very cool ideas for setting up a greywater system in your home: http://goo.gl/nFBJm9

Author: Heather Hacking hhacking@chicoer.com @HeatherHacking on Twitter
Life is not the way it looks in the magazines. If it was, all women would have flawless skin. Views from hotel rooms would be perpetually backlit by sunsets.

If real life was similar to magazine ads, we could all take medicine to bring soft, soothing feelings, usually experienced while walking on the beach.

In this particular rant, I’m thinking of glossy magazine photographs of drought gardens.

These images are inspirational, yet, the transition to pristine status could not have been as photo-worthy.

Drought adventure

Last May, I talked to Bob Scoville, one of my favorite sources at the Glenn County Master Gardener’s program.

When we last spoke, he was planning to let go of his lawn and visit the UC Davis Arboretum plant sale. His shopping list included drought-tolerant plants.

After all these months of drought, I was excited to check with Bob and find out what he bought that day. More important, I wanted to hear how those plants were doing.

I was surprised to hear that he only bought two types of plants — Australian sage and valley violet.

Selfishly, I had hoped Bob bought so many plants he would have trouble getting them all back to Willows. I hoped he would have a long list of what worked and what did not in the Sacramento Valley.

Yet, Bob was being wise.

Over these three months the plants grew very slowly. Plus, they started out very small.

“I can’t say they really took off,” Bob said.

At maturity the maximum height of each will be about three feet.

Bob took all the classes to become a master gardener, so he learned to do things by the book. Because his soil contains “rocks suspended by sand,” he likes to dig holes about twice the size you would think is needed, and adds incredibly good local compost.

With drought-tolerant plants, the roots are shallow when first purchased. Bob kept the soil moist – watering every other day.

Food for thoughts

While his drought-tolerant plants are not yet something to brag about, Bob bragged about his Fay Alberta peaches.

He planted them last year following every good rule in his books.

He did not want the new trees to be “planted in bowls,” so he dug a doubly-large hole and mixed good soil gradually for a transition zone.

He also measured the output of his drip system, so he could ensure he was giving the prescribed amount of water.

It was even a surprise to Bob that the Fay Alberta trees produced a bounty of peaches this first year.

This was not the case with his Carnival peaches. Those trees produced only 3-4 pieces of fruit.

“I’m talking to them about that,” he said.

Bob’s planting tips

Bob surrounded the immediate area with some porous weed control material. Then he put down the drip irrigation line and added mulch on top.

His experience was that the weed control product did not entirely control weeds. Yet, it helped to keep the soil moist. Also, he can lift it up and add more compost to the soil when needed.

However, Bob said he has Bermuda grass, which is tricky and sneaks up on the exact places he is watering. He yanked and dug out what he could. However, Bermuda grass only needs a small portion of the plant to re-emerge.

Bob’s lawn

As for the lawn, Bob didn’t tear it out, but he has let it die all summer. His plan is to tear it out after it is even more dead. I’ll make a note to check back with him on that.

On Oct. 13, the Glenn County Master Gardeners are planning another gardening workshop at the Country Pumpkins in Orland. The cost is $10. Topics include windowsill gardening, fall landscaping, season extension (greenhouses and hoop houses) and planting a backyard orchard.

One more plug

Hodge’s Nursery, 9681 the Midway in Durham, is hosting a homemade salsa contest, Saturday starting at 10 a.m. Chips will be supplied.

By Heather Hacking, Chico Enterprise-Record

The good ones are usually taken. I wrote a note on a kitty collar, hoping no one would respond. Heather Hacking — Enterprise-Record
My hopes for a new addition to the family have been officially shattered. However, I have gained a new friend with no strings attached.

Last Sunday I had a great time with the neighborhood tabby. We frolicked in my yard, her gentle footsteps following me as I yanked weeds and sifted through containers of soil. Occasionally I gave her a pat and when she wanted more she rolled over on her back inviting me to rub her tummy.

Night fell and she sat outside the screen door expectantly.

This was it. I could no longer contain myself. If the weather was turning cold, surely this creature would prefer to be inside at night. We would sit and watch movies and snuggle when I was sad or lonely …

I had to know: Did she belong to another?

My next move had been plotted over the previous several months.

A cheap plastic collar was purchased at the dollar store, right before they closed at 10 p.m.

“I’m considering adopting this cat,” I wrote with a Sharpie on one side of the neon pink collar. “Does this cat belong to someone?”

I also included my phone number.

The woman who left a voicemail the next morning did not sound pleased.

I can understand. If someone was trying to woo my cat away, I would be firm but fair.

She said she and the cat had been together for 10 years and I should visit the Butte Humane Society.

When I called back, the chat was amicable. I thanked her for giving me a call, and said she was lucky to have such a nice cat.

In some ways, it’s better this way. The cat has returned almost daily. Yet, I won’t need to spend money on cat food, flea control nor to worry about a pet when I go on vacation.

AUTUMN CLEAN-UP

I was a weed-yanking fool last weekend.

Sometime between July and November a robust stand of mallow found its way into dry cracks of earth.

We’re in the middle of a drought and I just moved to this new house in mid-summer.

One day while heading out to the newly-established compost bin I noticed that mallow had taken over.

I might be wrong about the exact name of the weed. The closest I could find on the University of California Integrated Pest Management website is “little mallow,” (http://goo.gl/1SvwG4). The leaves on my plants are not “little,” nor are the roots.

In fact, these roots are prize fighters. Before the rains, I yanked and grunted, but only managed to snap off the top greenery.

After the rains, I filled up a 13-gallon bucket with weeds and roots.

Next, while the kitty circled at my feet, I emptied the five and 10-gallon containers where the tomatoes floundered all summer.

A 10-gallon bucket contains a lot of soil, and good soil is not cheap. When I shoveled out the soil into a wheelbarrow, I scared the cat at my feet by screaming.

I know what a tomato hornworm pupae looks like and still I was caught off guard.

In case you’ve never spotted them before, hornworm pupae are burnt brown/burgundy in color, about an inch and a half long. They look a bit leathery, or what you would imagine a child’s finger would look like if it was slow roasted over a barbecue pit.

By the time I emptied all the soil, four pupae were found. If they had lived, they would have turned into sphinx moth, a lovely moth about four-inches wide. However, these creatures also lay eggs that later turn into hideous, green, gobbling worm machines.

My boyfriend has also warned me never to scream like that unless it’s a real emergency.

Author: Heather Hacking hhacking@chicoer.com @HeatherHacking on Twitter
If I was an entrepreneur instead of a writer, this drought would have me dreaming up new, undeniably necessary products for gardeners who are struggling through dry times.

Perhaps I would open a “drought online store,” filled with new hobbies for wanna-be gardeners.

• Garden statues that look like fruit trees.

• Paint-by-number garden beds. (Watch your garden bloom with each stroke of the brush).

• Macrame clematis vine.

• Latch-hook lawn kits.

An entire product line would be dedicated to nail care products. When gardeners aren’t gardening, we suddenly realize we have fingernails.

“Drought got you down?” the clever web words would query. “Check out our line of lichen. You can grow intriguing, microscopic worlds of lichen while still being a conscientious conserver.”

I would have no problem recruiting a talented workforce. No doubt the lack of water has caused nurseries to cut back on their staff.

I know I’ve cut back on my contributions to the nursery industry.

In a normal year I might have purchased several wheelbarrows full of new plants. I just moved into a new house. I would have gone hog-wild.

However, I have only indulged in one six-pack of portulaca and another six-pack of Vinca major. These are placed right at the entrance to my door.

Home-grown snob

Why would I buy cut flowers when I can watch them grow? That’s been my credo for a long time.

This also makes it that much more exciting when someone buys me flowers as a thank-you or wildly romantic gesture.

Yet, this year is a game-changer.

For five bucks you can buy a ginormous bouquet of flowers at the farmers market.

I think to myself, “I am making a wildly romantic gesture to myself.”

The bundles of color are so large I can usually create five small bouquets to spread throughout the house.

This week I also rediscovered gladiolas.

Trader Joe’s had bundles of six long stems for $2. I wondered why they were so cheap. They were in an empty pail, without water, so maybe they would soon die.

Have you noticed that every person who works at Trader Joe’s seems helpful and happy? I’m guessing this is because they get discounts on important food items including dark chocolate peanut butter cups and pumpkin soup.

The genuinely nice clerk said the gladiolas were intentionally sold from an empty pail. When I got home and added water, the blooms would open, the clerk said with genuine interest in my happiness.

“Unfurl,” is probably a better word choice, but I didn’t want to correct him. He was too nice.

It’s been seven days now, and the flowers are just now coming into their prime.

Let’s face it. Part of the fun of gardening is to watch the progress — from seedling to flower, first fruit to large orb. Tomatoes are a thrill each time I check the plants. When a tomato ripens, I smile each time I check the color change from green to red.

Store-bought gladiolas are certainly nowhere near the same. Yet, I’ll take what I can get.

Moving onward

As I have repeatedly chronicled, I’m still moving in to my new house.

Before handing over the keys to the old house, I needed to make some important decisions. For example, should I dig up the daffodils in the old yard?

I must admit, I tried. The dirt was too hard and I ran out of time.

In a gracious gesture, I left the daffodil bulbs as a gift to the new renter.

Now I can give again, this time to the ailing horticultural industry. For $12 I bought a brand new bag of bulbs, which are now happily stored in the crisper drawer of my refrigerator.

Author: Heather Hacking hhacking@chicoer.com @HeatherHacking on Twitter
If my mother was digitalized by Disney animators, she would be one of the good fairies. They would paint her with rosy cheeks and wearing a billowy skirt in a primary color.

Her body would be suspended two feet off the ground and each movement would be accompanied by a swirl of winged insects.

However, my cartoon mother would be thin, rather than pleasantly plump.

Ostensibly, I asked my mother to lend her expertise in hanging curtains and pictures.

You would think that after a month of sleeping at my new house I would have everything unpacked. My new house is exactly the same size as my old house, but for some reason all my stuff no longer fits inside.

This makes no sense.

Every week, for months, I have taken at least one box of once-treasured items to the Salvation Army. If I itemized my taxes, all of those receipts would be useful for deductions.

Yet, the closet is crammed, the sheets have no home and the dark place under the bed is already full.

Last weekend my mother spun her magic. She flitted about my house for hours.

Never once did she lose her cheery disposition and only twice did it feel like I was 5 years old.

She found new places to stash hair care products and clever ways to camouflage electrical cords. The mass of jewelry, once a mad mess on my dresser, now hangs elegantly on hooks, color coordinated to match my bedspread.

In hindsight, I should have asked her to stay the entire weekend, because we might have been able to fit some of my overflow into the shed.

Rain is a gift

For some reason, flowers seem to grow more vibrant when the water comes from the sky, rather than from my rusted, red water can.

I found my raincoat Tuesday, stashed near the flannel sheets, and dashed out the door.

Uh-oh. Because I have Mondays off, I didn’t check the weather at work. When I thought to return home at lunch, soggy clothes were hanging on the clothesline and several plastic tubs of “stuff” had pools of rain water on top.

A wheelbarrow filled with good compost was now a giant bowl of mud.

Don’t you just hate it when you have no one to blame but yourself?

Rain inspired carwash

Thank you drought. For once in my lifetime I feel fashionable for driving around in a dirty car.

Plus, a car that is really wet is really easy to clean.

Here’s the trick I learned in Mexico:

For several years my family has been traveling to Baja to visit my Auntie Pat. While waiting to cross the border into California, numerous opportunities exist to purchase crafts and warm food items from the comfort of your car. You can also get a really great car “wash.”

The men have rags and sometimes squirt bottles. With a lot of elbow grease, they make the cars shine.

During this drought I’ve found all you need to do is squirt the car once with the hose, then scrub the dirt off. You can rinse one more time and then towel-dry.

The results are as good or better than the “free” car wash I get when I pay 20 cents more per gallon for exactly eight gallons of gas.

With the rain, I was able to simply scrub the rain (and dirt) off the car, then follow up with a dry towel.

Drought awareness has kicked into full gear, and people in my circle have been talking about other people who should not have green lawns, lush landscaping or clean cars.

When my grass turned a bit green from the recent rain, I don’t need to worry about neighbors calling CalWater to complain.

Another neighborly note

Now that the skies are dry, do everyone in your neighborhood a favor and search the yard for the tiniest of puddles.

Mosquito larvae only needs a few tablespoons of water to hatch and hunt you down. They emerge after 4 to 7 days.

Turn over each of the saucers under your plants. Check for spots of water in your garden clogs. I’ll be sure to tip over every plastic tub filled with winter clothes and make sure there is no water trapped on top or inside.

Mosquito larvae can also lurk in your rain gutters, wheelbarrows and in the curved, smooth pink shells you collected from a beach in 2007.

If you live next door to someone who is elderly, do yourself a favor and offer to help out in their yard. Who knows, you might help spread some neighborly love.

Author: Heather Hacking hhacking@chicoer.com @HeatherHacking on Twitter
We’re in a drought. I just moved. My new house has a terrible, messy mimosa tree as a primary feature.

Maybe I’ll focus on cactus gardening.

A reader named Don Rostimo called a while back and invited me use my shovel in his yard.

In May I wrote (http://goo.gl/gNx8tO) about the gift of cacti from Richard and Suzi Draper and noted the blooms smelled like something “that should be captured and smeared on sheets at luxury hotels.”

Don said he had some of these night-bloomers, as well as many other prickly plants. I could visit and take my pick.

Whoo boy! Don doesn’t just have cactus. He has a cactus fence, a cactus hedge and cactus overflowing into the driveway. He’s quite proud of them, as well he should be.

As these things tend to go, Don started out with small plants, which grew and multiplied.

Building prickly fence

Over time the collection of cacti has grown. Each time I visit my Auntie Pat in Baja, Mexico, I bring back a prickly specimen in my suitcase.

If we California was experiencing a “normal” year, I would be gung-ho on creating my own version of “lush landscaping.” Those fun times will need to wait until Gov. Brown lifts the drought emergency.

In the meantime, I have three excellent, rusted wheelbarrows that readers relinquished to my care more than a year ago.

They were fine yard ornaments at the old house, but in the new house I might as well put them to new use.

When in drought

This brings me to Claude Geffray, the cactus king extraordinaire who sells those perpetually blooming small cacti at the Thursday and Saturday farmers markets.

Claude has a strong following among Chico plant-lovers and has been growing plants by the hundreds for 25 years.

Apparently my ideas are nowhere near novel, and many people have turned to cactus during the drought, Claude confirmed.

Some of his customers have torn out their lawns and have purchased the drought-tolerant beauties. Others have created a cactus garden in just a portion of their lawn.

Claude said my wheelbarrow idea was a good one.

Cactus still needs water, but perhaps only every two weeks to shine. They’ll survive with next-to-nothing precipitation, but will look tired and cranky.

Inside they need even less water, perhaps a squirt every 4-5 weeks.

Claude said many of the plants he sells at market need to be brought indoors for the winter, because they can’t tolerate our relatively cold winters.

However, he invited me to the growing grounds where he has several varieties of plants that can, and do, survive outdoors year-round.

His yard is amazingly beautiful, in the stark and beautiful way my father always points out when we travel across the Sonoran Desert.

Cactus are a living contradiction – smooth, succulent flesh dotted with dangerous hair-like daggers. Claude has quite the variety, some with grotesque curvature, others with upright nobility.

As for planting, particularly in a wheelbarrow, Claude suggested mixing about 40 percent rich soil, and 60 percent “gritty stuff,” such as sand, pumice perlite and volcanic rock. The point is to create good drainage.

If in doubt, Claude sells cactus soil he mixes himself.

You can also follow Geffray’s Gardens on Facebook, and check out his website at: http://creativecacti.com

For a short video tour of Don’s yard: http://www.tout.com/m/4i5k7t

To check out Claude’s glorious gardens: