Sow There

Life is not quite settled at the new abode, but I can already feel that the change will be good.

The paint is fresh. One truckload for donations, another truckload to the dump. I dusted each old household item before it entered the new house. How could this be anything but “cleansing”?

My move was 15 feet to the north, to the one-bedroom house next door to where I have lived for 18 years.

Believe me, mopping up after all those years was a chore, but I wanted to leave it as clean as was Heatherly possible.

A nice person will soon be living in close proximity. I don’t want her shaking her finger in my direction if she discovers a dirty plastic fork at the back of the storage closet.

Sigh.

Letting go of “my garden” was heart-wrenching. I planted that lemon verbena and watched the needle-nosed ivy inch across the cinder block wall. I was the witness as the almond tree grew tired. Many of my best cries were under the shade of the maple.

It’s funny how there can be memories wrapped up in an aged sage plant, which bloomed every spring with light purple flowers. Now the plant is near its end, with a “trunk” as gnarled the base of a seaside cypress tree.

When you move, you are forced to let things go.

Perhaps I could move the roses? Yet, they would never be as vibrant if I tortured their roots.

My best friend gifted me the yellow rose 17 years ago, when I was the birthing coach for my godson. I’ll ask the new tenant if I can take cuttings in the fall.

As life’s plans often turn, I had been planning for a move for the past two years. However, I had hoped to be a homeowner right now.

This just hasn’t panned out.

For those two years I tucked new plants into pots, creating a long line of greenery that began at my (old) front porch and stretched along the side of the (old) house.

Those plants, like me, had been in limbo.

Now that line of plants is waiting to be arranged at the new house.

Shopping list

For some selfish, miserly reason, I had the thought of digging up all the bulbs in my old yard. In fact, when they bloomed last spring I marked each flower with a little plastic flag.

These are daffodils. Daffodils need to be divided. By taking every last bulb from the yard, and leaving mounds of overturned earth, I would actually be doing the daffodils a service.

Alas, after cleaning (her) house, moving my stuff, cleaning my stuff, and partially unpacking my stuff, I ran out of vigor.

Daffodils are sold in bags of 40 at my nearby big-box store. Why not start completely fresh?

Of course, I’ll let the new gal know of my generosity, because I’m going to hit her up for some of (my) purple irises this fall.

New life, new neighbor

I was still a bit nervous about the new neighbor. Will we be friends? Will she get a yappy dog? Or four yappy dogs?

When the Russian dancers break plates at my wild parties, will she call the police?

Somewhere in the middle of these thoughts, I was able to take a deep breath.

My garden is where I let my mind clear, look for hidden insects and allow clarity to seep in.

I decided to take one more tour around the yard that I knew so well.

As I turned the corner I saw that the new neighbor had started her move-in process. There, shaded by (my) old walnut tree were about 70 pots — greenery and flowers, succulents and cuttings from her previous yard. These pots had recently been on her (old) front porch, and overflowing along the side of her (old) house.

She’ll be happy on her new little slice of earth.

I think things will turn out just fine.

By Heather Hacking
07/17/2014

My stashed and saved treasures of 45 years have been sorted and stacked, shifted and shoved.

Last week I spent every non-work hour cleaning the inside of the old house and this week I will focus outside.

This means moving potted plants, tools and half-full bags of special potting soil, useful but empty five-gallon buckets …

They’re heavy, but I transported the cement stepping stones we made with my nephew, then age six, now a senior in high school. His little hand-print and plastic army men are now in my new back yard.

With only a little regret, I ripped an established morning glory vine from the ground to rescue my dragonfly trellis – a birthday gift from a friend.

One night this week I looked at the plants overflowing from my former front porch.

Ficus trees are funny. When you change their environment, even slightly, they react by dropping leaves and acting like they are going to die.

I can really relate right now.

These plants have learned to live with where they were placed. They grew to the point where they were comfortable with each rotation of the sun and change of the season.

Now they are being moved to the nearest empty space in a new yard.

Other really important questions are racing through my head: How did I collect so many ceramic frogs? Is it rude to return to the old house in the fall it divide the lavender? Will the gophers track me down to my new house?

Actually, I’m just moving next door; I’m confident the gophers will track me down.

STATE FAIR ADVENTURES

Last weekend my sister and I were temporary ambassadors for Butte County.

Debra Lucero sent out an email blast that volunteers were needed at the county’s display at the California State Fair. This included a parking pass and an admission ticket.

What a hoot. I was really proud to represent our county for a few hours, and spend some quality time with my sister.

The county’s booth at the fair was extremely well done, and even won a gold ribbon by the judges. A giant Italian waiter is in the middle and rotates in a dizzying circle. Along the edges are all of the products we know and love — many brands of olive oil, wine, Lundberg Rice snacks, Sierra Nevada Beer and nuts, nuts and more nuts.

People had interesting questions. The most common was “what is there to visit in your county?”

Luckily, I write stories about things including the Snowgoose festival, http://www.snowgoosefestival.org/, Oroville Salmon Festival, http://salmonfestoroville.org/ and Sierra Oro Farm Trail, http://www.sierraoro.org.

News of the Paradise Chocolate Festival has spread, and two people were sad they had missed it this year, http://www.chocolatefest.us.

My sister, who lives in Paradise, also had a pitch for Johnny Appleseed Days, Oct. 4-5.

One woman who visited the booth wanted to know about olive oil storage. She had placed the bottle in the fridge, which made it turn cloudy. I told her to put it in the cupboard and to use it within six months.

Another woman wanted to know how rice grew. As the farm reporter, I gave her way too much information.

I’ve never been to the state fair, which continues through July 27. It’s similar to the ones we have locally, only bigger, of course.

The highlight was the California Department of Food and Agriculture farm, which is so robust you wonder if they are somehow cheating. The food is grown for local food pantries.

Author: Heather Hacking hhacking@chicoer.com @HeatherHacking on Twitter
This drought is making garden choices more confusing. From what I’ve read, we don’t know if we’ll get small, medium or no rain this fall and winter. Even if the sky suddenly gushes forth with boatloads of rain, it may be a long while before our overdrawn aquifers rebound.

Will I need to write about drought gardening for another 10 months? Will Sow There ! Need to shift to hydroponic gardening tips?

What about lichen? Would readers relish reading about foliose and fructicose (types of lichen) instead of water-grabbing hydrangea and impatiens?

I was in such a quandary I called my buddy Bob Scoville, at the Master Gardener program over in Glenn County.

Bob has also been dwelling on drought, so much so that we had a short, yet spirited conversation about his dead lawn.

New digs, old drought

This will be the first autumn in my new house, which is 15 feet from the house where I grew a garden for the previous 18 years.

With not much going on in my new yard, I’m getting a bit itchy.

My new yard, by the way, contains weed plants like privet, wild viola and a giant mimosa tree.

The previous tenant also had two pitbulls with mean voices. They ran the perimeter of the yard, barking at passing school children. The dogs also loved to dig holes.

If I was more optimistic, I could view the mostly barren yard as an “empty palette.”

A dozen years of irises

For example, if I look over at my old house, I see at least 100 irises.

I planted six deep-purple bearded irises about 15 years ago.

The thing about irises is that they are designed to be shared. In fact, if you don’t divide irises every 3-5 years, they won’t bloom.

When I look at those 100 iris plants, just over yonder, I see my years of dividing and dividing. Every few years I filled black plastic bags with irises and dumped them in the lunch room at work.

People who don’t have lunch rooms probably drive around town finding random, barren yards in which to dump bags filled with irises.

Clearly, it’s time to divide the irises in my old yard because I clearly need something to fill those dog-beaten spots in my new yard.

Drought questions

I asked Bob at Glenn County Master Gardeners if I have any business planting things in the middle of the drought.

Would I be a bad person for planting something new, something that would inevitably require water?

Bob didn’t have an answer to that.

However, UC Cooperative Extension literature clearly states that irises should be divided in the fall.

Decision on division

Even I am not intimidated by dividing iris plants.

If you look among the pointed leaves, you’ll see the rhizomes at the top of the soil. These look something like carrots.

Under the carrot-type things are roots extending 4-6 inches into the soil.

Sink the shovel into the mass of plants and dig down as deeply as you can.

If you chop off some of the rhizomes with the shovel, don’t fret. There are so many it won’t matter.

Lift gently with the shovel and get down on your hands and knees.

Now you should be able to gently separate the plants, being careful to keep as many of the roots a possible.

Leave enough plants in the ground so you don’t have a giant bald spot.

The recommendation is to space plants 12-24 inches apart, but I rarely follow directions.

Many people trim the leaves of the plant down to about four inches. Tammy Cripe, another helpful Master Gardener who gets to spend time with Bob, said she has personally never trimmed the tops. Yet, people who take the time report that the plants do well, she said.

The link below recommends watering so that three inches of soil is wet after planting, then as needed.

I can’t speak for all iris varieties, but mine are virtually indestructible. When they are watered, they bloom well. When they are neglected, they somehow survive.

For far more helpful cultivation tips, check out the American Iris Society info. here: http://goo.gl/MmBt3h

Heather Hacking
Several weeks ago I was at a potluck/musical jam at the home of a friend. While all the strummers and singers were happily absorbed, I became mesmerized by the homeward journey of tens of thousands of pollinators.

The day was nearly done and the bees appeared from somewhere past the fence line, drifting in half a dozen at a time. As each wave of insects glided toward their shelter, they followed the same path, at almost exactly the same 45 degree angle, expertly landing on painted wood near the entrance to the hive.

I watched the peaceful order of the daily return, thinking of nothing as the muffled music continued inside.

The trance was broken only when our host joined me at the corner of his yard.

“You look just like a British beekeeper,” he said. “Every night at this time they ‘tell the news’ to the bees.”

Dusk does seem like the right time to quietly reflect upon the day, perhaps even to talk out loud — to the bees, to yourself or to God.

I looked it up later and folklore has it that when a beekeeper dies, the family goes to “tell the bees,” hoping that the bees will stay. Other news was shared with bees as well, such as births or marriages.

My host was quite proud of the hive, which sits in a corner of the yard. Perhaps the plants would have been vibrant either way, but they looked brighter now that I knew they had 60,000 pollinating helpers.

Bees have been on my mind since then, mostly because I’ve noticed only a few in my own yard.

I blame the drought for slow start to my tomatoes. The tomato blossoms are ready to be poked and massaged, but the insects responsible for pollinating 30 percent of the crops in the world have left my yard off their flight path.

Once a week I put together a drought tip ( chicoer.com/drought), and due to the advice I’ve gathered, I’ve cut back on buying new plants. This makes my yard fairly unattractive, to me and to bees.

Now the most frequent buzzing insects I see are wasps — the kind that sting and the smaller version that gnaw crescent-shaped bites from leaves.

Perhaps I would get a bee hive, I mused, thinking of my own parties, with musicians tucked away inside and my quiet time watching the bees return home.

I called a bee expert

Richard Jones is one of those guys you call when an unwanted swarm of bees shows up at a coffee shop or in your neighbor’s mimosa tree.

He said I shouldn’t fret too much. Other insects are also useful in pollination, just not as diligent. Butterflies, moths, birds and flies, even crawling insects will do the job, Richard said, even earwigs and beetles. Wasps, however, are not on his list.

(For a boat-load of interesting information about polliantors, here’s a pamphlet by the Natural Resources Conservation Service: http://goo.gl/YJeCf4).

We talked for a long time, Richard and I, waxing about bees and their collective impact on flowers and crops. I told him about the mutterings of Englishmen at dusk.

By the end of the conversation I was so jazzed I was ready to find a box and invite 60,000 new friends to my yard. As far as Richard knew, it’s permissible for residential homeowners to have one hive tucked away.

We also discussed checking with neighbors to make sure none are terribly allergic.

The next phone call was a buzz kill

Just to be sure, I called the city code inspector, and went to the city website to look at bee codes (http://goo.gl/CIYnaJ -City Municipal Code).

Richard was right, one bee hive is allowed, but under such restrictions that they aren’t really allowed for most people, including my gracious musician-host.

Because I was hoping an exception existed for garden columnists or blondes who traveled with rubber chickens, I talked at length with Renee Schreindle, a code enforcement person.

To legally keep that one, flower and vegetable-enhancing hive you need to have a plot of land of at least 10,000 square-feet. Also, the hive needs to be at least 100 feet from the right-of-way of your neighbors’ home. Other rules apply, including registering the hive with the Agricultural Commissioner.

Enforcement of city codes is based upon complaints.

Back to the drawing board for now. Maybe I can do some research on keeping pollinating insects like flies and beetles.

By Heather Hacking

Nope, I haven’t bought a house, but I’ve decided to make a not-so-giant move to the little rental house next door. The house isn’t any bigger, but it’s in a little better condition, and has a tiny shed where I can store some of the overflow of life.

Every move has pros and cons; only I make the choice to be mostly happy.

Fresh paint, a fresh start, maybe even a new life.

The biggest drawback is the mimosa tree in the center of the yard.

Before you cup your hands into a megaphone and holler “cut it down!!!” remember that mimosa trees provide excellent shade.

Mimosas, also known as silk trees, also attract butterflies and bees to the wispy, faded pink pom-pom blooms that look a lot like soft bottle brush.

This tree also litters for a block radius three seasons out of the year.

I haven’t even moved in yet and I’ve already gathered six black plastic bags full of bloom waste. Another few buckets of tree garbage is on my car and billowing along the driveway.

As if this tree does not give enough, it’s prone to webworms that rain down into your hair. Later in the year, there will be thin seed pods exactly the right size to burrow into the crack between the windshield and the hood of the car. I also can look forward to the green, and later brown, spiked fruit. Read more startling info about the joys of mimosa trees here: http://goo.gl/ibLBBw

When I was bagging mimosa gunk recently, I couldn’t help but look over at my “old yard” next door, the little green triangle where I have pulled weeds for 18 years. As I cried I remembered Easter brunches, pumpkin carvings and ongoing battles with snails and slugs.

Yet, a move will do me good. I’ll unload my long-playing LP collection, sort through unmatched shoes and toss away reminders of unfinished projects.

DEVIL TREES

Speaking of “devil trees,” my sister and I visited our friend Debbie who recently bought her first house in the Bay Area.

I thought it was tough shopping for a home in Chico. Debbie bid on 30 houses over a year, and was halfway through escrow when she had the first chance to look at her new house on the inside.

Seven months later, and more than a truck-load of yard waste later, her home is a lovely expression of Debbie’s lovely self.

The one, huge, drawback is ailanthus. Misnamed “the Chinese tree of heaven,” Ailanthus grows by reproductive tree litter as well as shoots sent up from three blocks away.

The tree is such a menace it has even more names, including Chinese sumac.

I suspect this tree is planted by evil gnomes at night.

During our garden tour she pointed out a bush four-feet tall that had grown in six weeks. Another shoot was proudly protruding from the center of the deck.

Scot Wineland, an incredibly helpful and knowledgeable local arborist, recommended cutting the tree of heaven down hard. Next, place rock salt in the wound. If this wasn’t feasible, he suggested placing rock salt in a plastic bag and affixing the baggie to the “stump” with a rubber band. For more ailanthus death tips: http://goo.gl/bZM2b5

In a very sad way, it was good for me to see Debbie’s dilemma. Unwanted trees are not uncommon.

Last week I was lamenting about the lack of bees in my yard.

A backyard beehive would be fun, and perhaps fruitful. But those hopes were dashed after a conversation with the city’s code enforcement officer. Wouldn’t you know it: the property I rent is too small.

I had the fleeting thought of illegally harboring and abetting honey bees, or asking my neighbor Bob to break city code by getting a buzz on.

Then, something strange happened.

Bees appeared.

After careful inspection, I realized the “weeping wall” is in bloom and now attracts bees in droves.

The wall is covered with “needle-nose” ivy, planted by a neighbor Mark circa 2000. His intention was to grow something that would completely cover the cinderblock wall that made the alley look like a barracks.

As ivy is known to do, the vines took. Mark bought a house of his own before the ivy had a chance to cover his eyesore.

One day, years ago, I thought I heard a light rain. It was July, but stranger things are known to happen. The “rain” was actually seed pods gently cracking in the heat, with tiny seeds cascading onto the open, fully green ivy leaves.

It sounded like rain.

I never made the connection that ivy seed pods must be preceded by ivy flowers. The pale green flowers are easily overlooked.

When it is not a drought there are colorful things in my yard that distract my eye.

However, the bees did not overlook the ivy flowers. They’re probably desperate for anything they can find.

This week there have been so many bees I wondered if an actual hive had moved into the cinderblock wall. Stranger things have happened.

Plus, hadn’t I only recently been wishing for bees?

MORE ON BEES FROM SOMEONE IN-THE-KNOW

Last week I chatted with Richard Jones, a local bee keeper (see last week’s column for useful information: http://goo.gl/ymszjb )

When bees forage, they are looking for “three essential nutrients” pollen, nectar and water, which they bring back to the colony, Richard explained.

People who have swimming pools may notice more bees tapping at the water, or drowning, Richard continued. Perhaps I should create a water source, he suggested.

I’ve been doing such a great job NOT using water, there’s no water on leaves or in puddles. In fact, mosquitoes haven’t even tried to devour my tender flesh.

A quick internet search suggested a bird bath or a small fountain to lure bees. Note that any standing water will also soon have mosquito larva swimming like they’re at a day spa.

I think I’ll try a dog bowl, which will mean very little investment.

Ideally, Richard said, I would grow plants that attract bees. But it’s a drought. I’m lucky to be growing a few vegetables in pots.

A single dianthus has survived and a few Vinca rosea are watered wisely near the doorway.

Richard said lavender is a good bet for bees. It was. Those blooms arrived and faded.

For a list of UC Davis recommendations for attracting bees, plus some cool info on native pollinators: http://goo.gl/vZbkBw

Based on beekeeper observation, Richard said red bottlebrush seems to be a bee favorite. Bees are also partial to oleander, he said, which means living near a freeway might not be the worst thing. Star thistle, the bane of any owner of an empty lot, is also a great bee lure.

Richard said bees also love artichoke and other thistle-like plants.

Author: Heather Hacking hhacking@chicoer.com @HeatherHacking on Twitter
For some reason I woke up early one day this week. My long-time friends and family will attest that mornings aren’t exactly my thing.

Somehow I get to work at 8 a.m. most days, but only because I can move quickly without coffee and don’t care much about my appearance.

This particular morning the sky was still black when I looked out the bathroom window. Later the smoggy haze of the valley turned an apricot-pink. Even the messy mimosa tree looked soft and delicate in the silhouette.

Before I knew it, I realized I was running late. In reality, it wasn’t really that early. In reality, the days are getting shorter.

This fact is time for pause. Three more Chico Thursday farmers markets. Two more Friday night concerts in the park. Perhaps eight more weekends with the option of camping. One hundred and ten more shopping days until Christmas.

It’s true. As you get older, time really does start to go by more quickly.

Slow food

Last Saturday my sister and I hit the Saturday farmers market in Oroville. We happened to be in town for the Downtown Oroville Riverfront District’s mile-long yard sale along Montgomery Street.

My sister is funny at a farmers market. She doesn’t go that often and is in awe of all the choices.

She’ll noticed the beautiful plums, and next get into a conversation with the man with the gluten-free naan. When I saw her begin to taste the chutney options, I took a quick stroll and returned. She hadn’t noticed my absence.

While wandering I couldn’t help but hear a vendor bellow that cantaloupe were now $1 off and melons were half price.

Farmers market is a place where late-riser occasionally benefit because nobody wants to haul 400 pounds of perfectly ripe melons back to their farm.

We ended up hauling 30 pounds of melons back to the car.

An hour later, after I had pried her hands away from the 75 percent off sale at a beauty salon, the entire car smelled like ripe fruit.

Drought delays

It’s difficult to be brimming with garden enthusiasm when many of the news articles I write are about drought.

My coworker Laura gave me this great tip about putting a container in the sink. When you rinse your hands or wash carrots, the water can be captured.

The water adds up quickly. More importantly, its a reminder of how fast a running faucet spews water.

I’m finding myself turning on the faucet more carefully, so the tap doesn’t gush unnecessary gallons.

The trick is to empty the water often, and have potted plants strategically located near the front door.

More than once I tried to juggle the doorknob while balancing my container, and ended up needing to mop water off the hardwood floor. I’m sure Laura would think mopping up water was an excellent use of recycled water.

In the meantime, I’m doing my best not to buy more plants. What I mean by “my best” is that I have managed not to buy any new outdoor plants.

In my mind indoor plants don’t count. So far I’ve bought three, which were easily divided into six. If I do this right, I can capture water in the sink and pretend like those plants really aren’t using any water at all.

April 24, 2014
Author: Heather Hacking hhacking@chicoer.com @HeatherHacking on Twitter
Most of us have been around one of “those men,” who loses all focus of the rest of the world when a beautiful woman walks by. The neck cranes, sounds are no longer absorbed, eyes becomes glazed and confused.

You might be talking with your guy pal when you notice they are no longer listening to your eloquent thoughts about yada-yada, and have become lost in visual rapture.

I’m certain this same reflex occurs with women, and to this day my sister and I need only bellow the word “Thor!!!” to bring up a certain, shared, shirtless mental image.

By the time most of us are in our mid-20s, we have been conked over the head enough times by significant others to break the habit. Either that or we wake up one day, gray and single and wonder why life is so cruel.

This week I acted similarly when I saw, from a distance, the rack of one-gallon geraniums at my nearby big-box store.

As I rushed toward the flowers, I failed to notice a woman slowly looking at flowers and temporarily blocking my path with her cart.

“I’m sorry,” I said, without looking at her. “I saw the flowers and suddenly you became invisible.”

She seemed to understand.

One thing that is very satisfying about the ridiculously large plants at Costco is that you can feel smug if you have an equally lovely plant at home that you purchased for $4 three years ago.

“Honey, your Sago palms were $60 at Costco,” I beamed to my boyfriend, who has nurtured those palms for 10 years. I considered selling his plants for $45 each on craigslist, but could not afford replacement if he noticed.

A little snip here, a little snip there

As for the geraniums, I decided not to buy them. Most folks know that the best way to obtain geraniums is to take a cutting from a friend, place the stems in a vase of water, wait for roots to appear, and plant in soil.

An article in the SF Gate Home Guide (http://goo.gl/BnbBYT) says the best time to take cutting for rooting in water is late summer when the plant is growing vigorously. They should be ready in about a month if kept in a sunny windowsill. Of course, a humid greenhouse would be even better.

Other sources said spring will suffice for cuttings if patience is not your strong suit.

Some folks also plant the stem, with the bottom leaves removed, in sterile potting soil with added peat moss and vermiculate.

Eden Makers blog (http://goo.gl/3IEPli) has very detailed instructions, including a video with a woman whose smile is so large it made MY face hurt.

The cuttings should be between three and six inches, several sources confirmed.

Similar to the bud-eye in roses, geraniums have a “node” where leaves and new growth emerge. Make your cutting below this.

If you’re planting into actual soil, there is conflicting advice about dipping the bottom of the stem in rooting hormone. Some says this is unnecessary, others say its preferred. One website even suggested dipping the bottom in honey. I say plant several without buying another bottle of goo, and hope that at least two survive.

Humidity is important at this early stage, so spray the soil fairly frequently, and cover the pot with a plastic bag or two-liter plastic bottle with the bottom chopped off.

Note that geraniums do not fare well through a hard freeze. Yes, I learned this last winter when we had the deathly cold snap.

I’ll try the geraniums in hanging pots, right by the front door. Having plants at the front door is generally a cheerful idea.

Off to a new adventure

This week my family and I will travel, once again, to Baja.

It’s a long, long drive, but I’m curious to see what the Central Valley looks like in the middle of this drought. I’m doubting my dad will make many stops, but I’ll snap some photographs through the window.

Auntie Pat lives in the fishing village of San Felipe, and we always make a point of stopping by the town’s main nursery. Perhaps I’ll gain some new insight on drought tolerant plants and cacti.

On a drought note

After the aforementioned freeze, my idea had been to plant drought-tolerant plants in the bald spots in the yard. However, last weekend I chatted up one of the Master Gardeners at the California Nut Festival. She said drought-tolerant plants are a great idea. Yet, they do take a little extra care,and water at the early stages. A better idea, she advised, is to wait until the drought has come and gone and then make the switch to plants that need very little H2O.

April 10, 2014

If you stay in one place for a long time, really wonderful things can grow all around you.
Kathy Fiscus gave me a jingle recently and asked if I wanted to see her 60-foot rose bush.
Indeed I did.
She lives in north Chico and was kind enough to let me stop by early in the morning.
My expectation was to see a gone-wild espalier, or perhaps a plant where the top had frozen and the rootstock had grown with vigor.
Yet, Kathy pointed to a blooming corner of her yard where white blossoms soared. When I drove up, I had mistaken the rose-covered pine for a flowering tree.
Her son Mike, now age 39, gave her the pale yellow rose bush on Mother’s Day when he was age 13.
The pine tree, back then, was small as well. She had purchased it for two bucks at Lucky’s store in Yuba City.

Today, the two are entwined.
The base of the rose is enormous, and looks something like the bottom of an olive tree.
The color of the flowers has faded over time and the petals are just barely yellow if you look in the right light.
Kathy does almost nothing for care and feeding. Roses tend to like acidic soil, which is provided by the pine needles. The sprinkler manage for watering.

More roses with a long history

While touring the neatly-kept yard, Kathy shared the story of her light pink rose bush, another treasure.
Her grandmother was married in 1916 in Loomis. After the nuptials, Grandma stuck the stems of the bouquet in the ground, where they grew.
The roses are a family tradition now. Kathy snagged a clipping from her relative, who is now 92, and simply stuck the stems in her own yard 12 years ago.
You guessed it. They grew.
Now the bush is about chest high and a testament of her family’s choice in strong, sturdy bouquets.

Stick it to the stink bugs
On a far less alluring topic, a press release passed under my nose reminding me that stink bugs are here, probably to stay.
In October we heard the news of the brown marmorated stink bug, Halyomorpha halys.
I saw one in my kitchen the day before that.
Read the news article here: http://bit.ly/1hEaA4L

If you don’t remember from childhood, the bugs are shaped somewhat like a shield. When you squish them it smells like the dog farted.
Our county Cooperative Extension helper, Navid Khan, said you’re best to seal entry points to the home and check your window screens.
If you spot a bug, catch it and take it outdoors.
(Then I advise you stomp on it with washable garden clogs).
For outside, Navid said to try pyrethrums, and follow the instructions on the label.
The way these critters work is they move indoors during the cold months and hide.
Right about now, they move outdoors and multiply like mad.
By August, the babies are adults and suck life out of your outdoor plants in preparation of moving back inside or under your house.
September and October is when you’ll see them lurking near your front door, trying to find a nesting spot under your furniture.
When I talked to Agricultural Commissioner Richard Price last fall, he sounded resigned that the critters are here to stay.

Several weeks ago I was at a potluck/musical jam at the home of a friend. While all the strummers and singers were happily absorbed, I became mesmerized by the homeward journey of tens of thousands of pollinators.

The day was nearly done and the bees appeared from somewhere past the fence line, drifting in half a dozen at a time. As each wave of insects glided toward their shelter, they followed the same path, at almost exactly the same 45 degree angle, expertly landing on painted wood near the entrance to the hive.

I watched the peaceful order of the daily return, thinking of nothing as the muffled music continued inside.

The trance was broken only when our host joined me at the corner of his yard.

“You look just like a British beekeeper,” he said. “Every night at this time they ‘tell the news’ to the bees.”

Dusk does seem like the right time to quietly reflect upon the day, perhaps even to talk out loud — to the bees, to yourself or to God.

I looked it up later and folklore has it that when a beekeeper dies, the family goes to “tell the bees,” hoping that the bees will stay. Other news was shared with bees as well, such as births or marriages.

My host was quite proud of the hive, which sits in a corner of the yard. Perhaps the plants would have been vibrant either way, but they looked brighter now that I knew they had 60,000 pollinating helpers.

Bees have been on my mind since then, mostly because I’ve noticed only a few in my own yard.

I blame the drought for slow start to my tomatoes. The tomato blossoms are ready to be poked and massaged, but the insects responsible for pollinating 30 percent of the crops in the world have left my yard off their flight path.

Once a week I put together a drought tip (chicoer.com/drought), and due to the advice I’ve gathered, I’ve cut back on buying new plants. This makes my yard fairly unattractive, to me and to bees.

Now the most frequent buzzing insects I see are wasps — the kind that sting and the smaller version that gnaw crescent-shaped bites from leaves.

Perhaps I would get a bee hive, I mused, thinking of my own parties, with musicians tucked away inside and my quiet time watching the bees return home.

Richard Jones is one of those guys you call when an unwanted swarm of bees shows up at a coffee shop or in your neighbor’s mimosa tree.

He said I shouldn’t fret too much. Other insects are also useful in pollination, just not as diligent. Butterflies, moths, birds and flies, even crawling insects will do the job, Richard said, even earwigs and beetles. Wasps, however, are not on his list.

(For a boat-load of interesting information about polliantors, here’s a pamphlet by the Natural Resources Conservation Service: http://goo.gl/YJeCf4).

We talked for a long time, Richard and I, waxing about bees and their collective impact on flowers and crops. I told him about the mutterings of Englishmen at dusk.

By the end of the conversation I was so jazzed I was ready to find a box and invite 60,000 new friends to my yard. As far as Richard knew, it’s permissible for residential homeowners to have one hive tucked away.

We also discussed checking with neighbors to make sure none are terribly allergic.

Just to be sure, I called the city code inspector, and went to the city website to look at bee codes (http://goo.gl/CIYnaJ -City Municipal Code).

Richard was right, one bee hive is allowed, but under such restrictions that they aren’t really allowed for most people, including my gracious musician-host.

Because I was hoping an exception existed for garden columnists or blondes who traveled with rubber chickens, I talked at length with Renee Schreindle, a code enforcement person.

To legally keep that one, flower and vegetable-enhancing hive you need to have a plot of land of at least 10,000 square-feet. Also, the hive needs to be at least 100 feet from the right-of-way of your neighbors’ home. Other rules apply, including registering the hive with the Agricultural Commissioner.

Enforcement of city codes is based upon complaints.

Back to the drawing board for now. Maybe I can do some research on keeping pollinating insects like flies and beetles.