Sow There

 

 

 

Life provides more adventure when you just say yes.
Recently a reader asked if I wanted to smell her dead horse lily.
Indeed.
The guys from Riparia asked to chat about summer vegetables, and would I stop by while shopping at the farmers market.
Yes siree Bruce.
A couple of weeks ago Suzi Draper called to say her cactus was about to bloom any day now.
Call me: I’ll be there.

For several days Suzi and I sent Facebook notes back and forth, the anticipation building.
I can sure use garden inspiration because my plot of earth is a great source of resentment.
Gopher.
I’m saving up for a really long rant about life, gophers and shattered expectations. But this week I had the opportunity to see and smell Trichocereus candicans, AKA Argentine giant.
Suzi bragged that she and her husband Richard had counted 133 buds on the plants.

Some people I know tend to exaggerate, so I didn’t particularly believe her.
But then a call came — this one more urgent — because she did not want me to miss a single bloom.
I didn’t count. But after seeing the sturdy, swollen buds packed onto the prickly, barrel-shaped plants, I can attest Suzi is no braggart.
I’m not sure if I enjoyed the plants more at the eve of their impending bloom, or the next morning when I was invited to sneak into her backyard and take photographs while she was at work.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Suzi and her husband seemed fabulously content in their cozy backyard, filled with flowers and a promising (gopher-free) vegetable garden.
It’s fun to meet a couple who seems so smitten with each other. But it makes sense — they get to garden together and show off a plant with 133 blooms.
Suzi tried to claim that she doesn’t particularly love cactus. Yet, I had to question her sincerity as I scanned her patio and saw at least two dozen cacti in pots.
Perhaps one reason the flowers of cacti are so glamorous is that they are so fleeting: If you know they’ll be gone, you spend the time to appreciate them in detail.
The buds work themselves slowly up to the big moment, opening under moonlight. Their glory lasts the next day and then begins to fade.
I feel so blessed she chose to share it with me. And because I took photos, I can share it with you, http://goo.gl/aMWxf.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

In the center of soft-pink petals, pale yellow filaments and anthers filled the circle. And each bloom had a smaller flower-shaped stigma.
Suzi received the plant from her aunt, who was moving to Oregon, where it is not cactus climate. Suzi bought cactus soil from a big-box store. Over recent years the plant has come into its prime, blooming more each year. Last year there were about 80 flowers — not that anyone is counting.
As to the plant’s success, Suzi could only guess it is the love she and her sweetie share with the plants.
However, it could also have something to do with the capful of “Cactus Juice,” with calcium, added to the pot about every three months.
The Drapers knew they had a great plant, but didn’t have a name to put with it. Last month they were visiting San Diego and came across a newspaper article, which said Trichocereus Candicans is rare in California, and comes from South America.

You can also follow on Facebook and Twitter @HeatherHacking.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

When someone writes you a letter and invites you to check out a plant that smell like a dead, rotting horse, of course you say yes.
Terry called a few weeks ago, her voice filled with anticipation.
Every year, about this time, the lilies bloom outside her living room window in Paradise.
The plants send up giant, deep burgundy flowers that looks much like an Easter lilly, only totally different than Easter lilies.
In the center is a deep purple (almost black) spadix. A spadix is the spike in the center of lily-like flowers.
She and her husband Leonard live on three acres. When this plant is really going strong, they can travel to the far end of their land and still get a whiff.
I’m wondering if plants that smell like rotting flesh are truly rare, or we just rarely encounter them because they were long-ago added to the compost pile?
The Chico State Herbarium, under the careful tutelage of Tim Divine, has a ginormous corpse flower I have had the pleasure of smelling. But that plant blooms so rarely, that when it does it is big news.
Terry’s flowers gross her out year-after-year.

The stench is nature’s way of attracting flies, and other rotten-meat loving insects.
To the best of my ability, I will wager the plant is Dracunculus vulgaris, native to Crete and other pretty places in the Eastern Mediterranean.
For more than you would probably want to know: http://goo.gl/AB9MQ
Its also known as the Dragon arum, Voodoo lily, dragonwort or stinky lily.
Terry also calls it the Dead Horse lily, which seems perfectly acceptable. She learned this name from Anna Davis, who lived in the house next door for half a decade. Before her death late last year, Anna would visit the couple for garden chats and lily whiffing.
The Turners have lived with the annual smell for 22 years, and have had their chance to replace the plants with peonies. But they are a conversation piece, and somehow fit the place.
Often, gardening brings out the kid in us. When Terry and I talked on the phone, we joked about cutting the flowers open to see if there were dead bugs inside.
I was delighted to discover she had carefully placed newspaper on her outdoor table, so we could carve but not cause the dining area to reek like 14-day-old road kill.
A few bugs did crawl out after being freed by the knife. Info. on the Internet states the plant has a slippery center, and when the bugs enter, they are trapped for about a day. This gives the bugs time to do a pollination dance.
Alas, the plant is an acquired taste. Terry heard Mendon’s had a special collection of rare plants, and she offered to give them a Voodoo lily sample. But the popular nursery declined.
My search turned up a few outlets where the plants can be purchased as a gift — maybe for someone you don’t particularly like.

Join the fun on Facebook and Twitter @HeatherHacking

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I wasn’t going to get my hands very dirty this year. I have oodles of very important things to do.
I love gardening, don’t you know? But my perennial flowers are lovely, and will thrive if I simply use the hose.
Yet, that little itch gets me.

Perhaps I could put just a few lettuce plants in the ground.
And what does it hurt to have two tomato plants? Nothing beats a sun-warmed tomato on an August afternoon. Right?
And then, I have all these seed packets … it can’t hurt to put them in the ground. Whoops, I stumbled across the bag of Jerusalem artichokes. A nice lady brought those to me as a gift.
Surely I should plant them.

Now that I’ve planted half of the raised bed, I might as well keep going. Watering one raised bed each week really won’t take that much time away from all the really, really important things I really must do. Right?

This week I found myself at a big-box store.
If you’re a gardener, sometimes you’ll have an hour to spare, get in the car with no particular destination in mind, and find yourself wheeling a shopping cart down a row of colorful potted plants.
It just happens that way.

Suddenly you’re touching things and smelling things, and next thing you know a rubber chicken is in your hand and you’re taking photographs.
There’s always something new, like bi-color petunias, that are mostly apricot with magenta stripes inside.
And purple flash ornamental peppers?
Who would buy purple ornamental “flash” peppers?
I think they market these plants for people like me.
And what’s that? The rubber chicken is in the middle of the row of hot golden cayenne pepper plants. I’ve never grown yellow hot peppers. Those are beautiful.

I am proud to say that I had a moment of clarity, grasping my travel-sized rubber chicken in my hand. My knuckles were white from holding on to the shopping cart, which had no business being in my hands.
My saving grace was that I played through the whole scenario. If I bought more plants, I would run out of room in my raised bed.
Then I would need to dig up a new planting area for the new plants. Then I might as well call my handyman Daniel and have him build a new raised bed.
All of this, and I have really, really important things to do this summer.

I’ll just need to learn to be content with lettuce plants, two tomatoes, Jerusalem artichokes, and whatever grows from the multiple packets of seeds I recently put in the ground.

You can also check me out on Facebook and/or follow on Twitter @HeatherHacking

Most of us have adopted little rules for living: Don’t snack after midnight; don’t take candy from strangers; don’t date musicians; read the instruction manual.
One of my rules is not to put vegetable plants in the ground until my birthday, which is at the end of this month.
The rule corresponds with the probability that Chico will not experience another frost until after this date.
(For a very cool explanation on last frost dates and Chico-specific temperature averages: http://goo.gl/ewqTz).

Like almost all things in my life, I’ve learned caution the hard way.
Some guy with a Ph.D talked me into planting in early April. I ended up running around the yard in my raincoat, putting plastic buckets over tiny tomato plants.
Other years I waited until May, then listened to people like the professor brag about red tomatoes in June.
My solution this year will be to wait longer than some would advise and spend more money on larger plants. Bonus if the tomato branches already have green fruit when I bring them home.
Planting by seed, of course, is always preferable. You can enjoy the plants from seed to compost, and relish in your gardening prowess.

Lettuce rejoice
Several weeks ago, I bought a six-pack at the farmers market that contained three different types of lettuce. I’ve harvested two large bowls of salad, with more on the way.
That same week, I planted two rows of spinach seeds in the same raised bed. As you would guess, there are two spindly spinach plants.
The basil seeds planted two weeks ago are doing much better, with two rows of seedlings that look like green Star Wars fighter planes.
(For basil-growing instructions: http://goo.gl/aA36A).
If these don’t work out, I’ll buy a one-gallon basil plant for less than five bucks.
Another experiment in instant gratification was to buy a package of “live lettuce,” or “living lettuce.” This is sold at a regular grocery store, in a plastic dome, with the root ball attached. The concept is that the lettuce is “alive” and will stay fresh in your fridge.
After eating the greenery down to a stub, I planted the root ball in my raised bed. The plants survived and thrived.

Lunar rules for planting
This week, a friend excitedly asked if I had planted my garden.
I had barely nodded when she explained that she follows the Old Farmer’s Almanac, taking care to plant above-ground vegetables during the waxing phase of the moon.
Root crops, she explained, should be planted after a full moon.
I had not factored this into my last frost/birthday equations. Darn it.
Her method sounded like a delightful rule for gardening, and just as good as any of the rules I currently live by.
Because the full moon was yesterday, I’ll have almost an entire month to plant radish seeds, which are below-ground vegetables.
Also, when I buy my 14-inch tomato plants, I’ll ask the grower if they recall the phase of the moon when the seeds were planted. That should be an interesting conversation.

Cutting hair
For my birthday, my sister has said she will cut my hair. The Old Farmer’s Almanac, http://goo.gl/W5hnR, also has moon rules for cutting your hair.
From now until May 8, a haircut will “retard growth,” and is also a good time to quit smoking, start a diet, and mow your lawn to inhibit growth, the almanac states authoritatively.
It also recommends waiting until May 2 to dig post holes.
Now you know.

You can always get more …. including following me on Twitter @HeatherHacking, or find me on Facebook.

I’ve been spending a lot of time looking over other people’s fences.
Of course, this isn’t entirely new to me, but now I have a purpose.
My search to buy a house has been going on for a while. But recently I started packing boxes. The plan is that when my silverware and pajamas are packed, it will be time to go.

Up until recently, I was reluctant to narrow my search to Paradise.
They have deer in the foothills. Deer eat your plants. The deer pole-vault over eight-foot barricades to eat your plants. The soil is terrible. I’d have to drive 12 miles (or something) to get to work. There’s no downtown to play pinball, have a frozen yogurt and then swim at One-Mile — all within half a mile.
Kara and Elizabeth would never come visit me.
You get the picture: I love Chico and don’t know Paradise at all.
Yet, now that I’m looking around, I’ve found that Mountain Mike’s Pizza has a pinball game, and most houses in Paradise have large yards. I’ve also made the conscious decision that I can be happy wherever I am.
And heck, if I’m bored while living in Paradise, I can walk around the neighborhood and throw pine cones at deer.
My friend Kara asked me recently “why don’t you make a list of your perfect house?”
I was a bit exasperated that day, and didn’t appreciate her cheery suggestion.
“If I waited to find my perfect house, I would be 80 years old and still renting.”
The house itself, of course, will be important. I want a garage so I no longer have camping gear stuffed under my bed. A kitchen large enough to install a dishwasher would be nice. I’d also really prefer neighbors who don’t have dogs trained to bark every time they hear a car door open.
Even if the house is small (which means I might be able to afford it), the yard is the largest extra room in the house.
This week I narrowly missed buying a small house on a busy street with a huge, empty backyard.
To some people this might not sound enticing, but to me it was an empty canvas with full sun.
The first year I would build raised beds and transplant all the daffodils from my Chico house.
Another lonely house under consideration was once well-loved. Little walkways are now covered with pine needles and many of the ornamental bushes are dying.
I asked my real estate agent, Carolyn, if we could turn on the hose while we were there. But sadly, the water had been turned off.
If not me, I hope someone buys that soon.
The more time I adjust my lens to Paradise, the more I see its shady beauty. I know daffodils grow there, and the garden club has planted tens of thousands of daffies to prove it.
Also, I’ve taken the home and garden tour the past few years. Those yards are so outstanding you know it’s possible.
In the meantime, I’m praying that when the right house finds me, I’ll be the first person to call their real estate agent and say “eureka.”

For any important Sow There! messages you might have missed, check out my blog at www.norcalblogs.com. You can also become part of silly banter on Facebook and Twitter @HeatherHacking.

After driving through the Mexican desert and back again on my recent vacation, I was eager to click my ruby slippers and chant “there’s no place like home.”
The sands of the Sonora mountains and beyond are rich with “stark beauty.” But March and April are enchanting in Chico.
Perhaps in contrast to the dry Mexican landscape, it seemed like all the flowers in Chico decided to bloom while I was gone.
This strengthened my resolve to make the annual trek to see the Table Mountain wildflowers.
Unfortunately, the only free time I had this week was in the wee hours; we decided to watch the sunrise on the plateau.
Note to self: Dawn is not the best time to view wildflowers.

Parking was not a problem at 5:30 in the morning. The sun rose and for a moment lingered in one of the giant oak trees on the east side of the road.
The wind, cold and steady, shook the branches until a cloud of small birds took to the air, chattering.
The morning sounds were worth the drive — almost simultaneously the ducks squawked then took off for the day’s adventures; black birds made their sweet little chirps in unison, and other birds chimed in.
Then the sound of the wind rustling the trees was a momentary distraction to the fact that we had dressed for a morning in Mexico.

The colors of the flowers were muted in the long rays of light and the hills were a hushed, lush green.
I wouldn’t trade the experience. Yet, I think next year I’ll bring sunscreen, go during broad daylight and prepare to dodge small children flying kites.

Everyone knows the giant oak tree near the parking lot on Table Mountain. The early sun gave me new appreciation for this landmark, which casts a shadow halfway across the plateau in early light.
Perhaps knowing I will never view wildflowers this early again, I snapped 224 digital photos, at one point becoming so distracted I lost my sneaker in the mud.
At least it was mud and not a cowpie.

Also, we left the house barely awake, and forgot to bring the flower identification book, “Wildflowers of Table Mountain,” by Samantha Mackey and Albin Bills.
(Sixteen copies are still available at Lyon Books, 135 Main St., for $17.95).
The book is divided by color, so you can easily find the flowers you see at your feet.
Last spring we used the book to identify dozens; this year we were able to remember three.

To see my 17 best photos from that day: http://goo.gl/kyGTt
For directions to Table Mountain: http://goo.gl/xfWBl
Cool websites that include local wildflower reports:
— http://goo.gl/cn7Hr
— http://goo.gl/G1nkj
— http://goo.gl/Sxj4G
You can check out previous columns online at www.norcalblogs.com/ sowthere.

You can also follow on Twitter @HeatherHacking and/or Facebook.

I was mesmerized by the power of water last week. Our family vacation began in water-rich Northern California, continued through the entire Central Valley, ending at the arid Sea of Cortez in Baja Mexico.

(Of the 600 photographs taken, 22 of my favorites can be found here: http://goo.gl/M1TcZ).

The trek to the Bay Area is a familiar one, but I still marvel at the pale green of new growth on orchard trees and how the hills of Zamora brighten with just the slightest bit of rain.
The next morning we piled into Dad’s Honda Civic and met up with the Delta-Mendota Canal as the sun rose over the Central Valley. Along Highway 5, you follow the carefully-corralled water through most of the state — with crops on either side including fields, nut orchards, grape vines and citrus groves.

Occasionally we passed lifeless orchards. Yellow, hand-painted signs read: “Congress-created dust bowl.”
Onward we passed Pyramid Lake near Castaic, just up the way from Six Flags Magic Kingdom. Road signs also pointed toward Palmdale, where the County of Butte sells water from Lake Oroville.
After the metropolis of Los Angeles, the land turns again to agriculture, with the Imperial Valley and its water supply.
You can tell when the water begins to diminish, as the green fields are replaced by tidy rows of date palms.
Nearing the California/Mexican border, the land changes again, with dusty towns of Brawley and El Centro looking like all color has been bleached by the sun.

Past the Mexican border at Calexico/Mexicali, another flush of green farms appeared, but soon turned to rough sand as we traveled several hours across the Sonora Desert.
I’ve crossed this road before and learned to appreciate the stark beauty of the rough mountain range, with various tones of gray and black.
Farther south is a remarkable half-hour stretch of road over flat, sun-crusted sand where not a stitch of plant-life can be seen on either side of the road. The monotony is broken only by the almost comical number of tires and discarded glass bottles that glint in the sun.

By the time we reached San Felipe, a little fishing village, the sparse ocotillo trees in bloom and proud cactus were a welcome contrast to the recent nothing-ness.
Lack of fresh water means none of the shade trees and landscaping of home, but water in the sea becomes the central thrust for life.
On the wide-open beaches, we watched sand crabs by the thousands drift in with the tide, and more just below the sand’s surface when we made our hands into shovels.
Mid-week, we traveled by panga boat for about an hour into the sea, stopping at a giant rock painted white with bird dung.

Alex, the boat’s captain, chose the spot because the full moon and strong current meant fish would be more difficult to catch closer to shore.
The rock is where seals multiply and pelicans were so thick you’d have a hard time finding a spot to place a lawn chair.
And then, there are the sunrises over the Gulf of Mexico, which make you forget for a few minutes that there is anything else but you and God.
While it would be easy to compare Mexico to Northern California and find it dry and lifeless, life was thriving in the sea water.

And, of course, no trip would be complete without checking out the horticultural options — at San Felipe Nursery.
My Auntie Pat had been craving a (Mexico-tolerant) bougainvillaea plant for her small front yard. She already has fruit on her tomato plant, neglects an assortment of cacti and has a shaded area for nasturtium.
Bougainvillaea is among the best-sellers at the town’s only nursery, as well as a wildly diverse assortment of cacti, palms, ficus, succulents and miscellaneous plants that are meant to be planted and die before the season changes.
After the very long drive back to Northern California, it was strange to meet the first day with a fresh rain storm.
In Butte County, the land easily returns to green at this time of year, and soon I’ll be enjoying the fleeting flush of wildflowers.

Last weekend I returned home and the boxes had arrived. A ginormous stack of cardboard was piled several feet high.
I don’t know where I’m going or what I’m doing, but the symbol of change had arrived on the dusty driveway where I park my car.
My co-worker heard I have begun the search for a house to buy. Her son recently moved and she asked if I wanted his boxes.
Sure, I’ll need them someday, I hope.

Funny how that heap of tan, sturdy, paper containers felt like the deciding moment.
I have paid off my debts, saved a little money, found an agent, received pre-approval and driven by dozens of lovely homes I can’t afford. Yet, the stack of boxes in my driveway made it all seem real.
I’m going to do this.
I want to do this.
I might just be able to do this.
I’ve lived in my little cottage for a third of my life. The landlord has kept the rent cheap. I have all that I need, primarily a little space to myself, tucked away behind a giant maple tree and privet. Here I grow flowers and vegetables.
I call it Heather’s hovel and it’s strange to imagine waking up somewhere new.
But it’s time to find a new place to grow.
I hope it will be so.

It’s hard to daydream too much, because I know whatever I buy will be less than cosmetically pristine. But that’s part of the fantasy as well, to invest in all those add-ons that make a house an extension of your inner sanctum.
Will it have a porch where I can wave to the neighbors as they push strollers? Will potted plants be safe from theft or pranksters? Would I buy a metal rooster and park it on the roof?
Oh, the things I would grow.
I have a Japanese maple tree in a one-gallon pot that is in survival mode.
The Meyer lemon tree (also contained) is probably dead. I bought it years ago thinking I would have surely moved by now.
Hydrangeas await a permanent home, as do the bulbs also planted in pots these past several years.
Maybe there will soon be a shed to protect my tools; the lawn mower would no longer need to be under a tarp and chained to the walnut tree. Perhaps I’ll get a dog who will stick his nose through the fence when he hears my car in the driveway.
And then there are the favorite plants that will come along for the ride.
My “nephew” is now 16. Umpteen years ago I held his mom’s hand when he was born. As a thank-you, my best friend gave me a yellow rose bush, which is about to bloom.
The yellow rose bush needs to always be in a yard where I live.
Other plants I’d need to entrust to the future resident of my current cottage.
The purple rose bush is planted above my kitty Hollywood, who was so old he couldn’t move away from a car zipping down the alley.
He’ll be left with the cottage, and all other bad memories.
Most other plants are too entrenched to take along. I’d need a second trip in the rental truck to move them all.
I’ll also build a new raised bed at a fresh location. This time I’ll line it with metal mesh that really will keep out the gophers.
And, of course, I’ll miss the towering maple tree that has been witness to so many of my joys and sorrows.
I guess that’s how the person who will be selling me my “new” house must feel.
That homeowner is making plans for a new phase of their life, and probably wondering what parts of their life to bring along in cardboard boxes.

You can also follow on Facebook and Twitter @HeatherHacking

“Your power animal is not the soaring eagle or the shrewd wolf or the brave bear. No, Taurus, it’s the rubber chicken.”

I’m serious. This was my horoscope from Rob Brezsney this week.

You can imagine the sound of my cackle as I read this aloud to friends at the pizza parlor. “With the rubber chicken as your guardian spirit, you might be inspired to commit random acts of goofiness and surrealism. And that would reduce tension in the people around you,” Brezsney continued.

I imagined what his voice might sound like — somewhat whimsical, with maybe a hint of an exotic accent. With the rubber chicken, “it could motivate you to play jokes and pull harmless pranks that influence everyone to take themselves less seriously,” he wrote. ”

Are you willing to risk losing your dignity if it helps make the general mood looser and more generous?” he asked rhetorically.

In fact, I am.

I didn’t need an astrologist to tell me what I already knew.

There are several things in life that make me extremely happy — a roll of quarters and an unoccupied pinball game, the ocean on a slightly blustery day, frozen bananas dipped in dark chocolate, the color purple, the smell of Daphne odora, and a road trip with the rubber chicken.

Someday I’ll write the quintessential “ode to the rubber chicken,” but first there are a few things about gardening that merit discussion.

 

Early garden

The verdict is not yet in, but I’m fairly certain lettuce is growing in my raised bed. Either that or a weed has sprouted in the exact place where I planted lettuce seed two weeks ago. Weed or sprout, I’m inspired to plant a second row before the weather changes to blistering hot.

If I remember correctly, I also planted a row of spinach and carrots.

Meanwhile, some time should probably be spent getting the lawn mower ready. I learned last year that the easiest way to muck up your mower engine is to run it on bad gas.

A good video by a big-box home improvement store can be found here: http://goo.gl/YpQd4. This shows how to drain the old gas, check the blades for sharpness, and shop for all sorts of lawn mower accessories at this particular store. While you’re at it, you can sharpen your garden shears.

Fanno Saw Works on Eighth Avenue is a local store with a long, solid reputation, and can sharpen a thing or two.

If you live in Paradise, now would be the time to beat your head against the barricade you have built to keep away the deer. If it holds firm, you’re good to garden.

Important magnolia question

For several weeks I’ve been walking around my neighborhood in awe of the star and saucer magnolia blooms. Note that I said “magnolia” and not tulip tree. I’ve made this mistake in print, and received reprimands from folks who know better.

Joe Connell, expert on almost everything plant-like, confirmed that we have star magnolia and saucer magnolias in Chico. These are the trees that are bare, and then suddenly “wake up” with waxy, big blossoms.

Chico also has many Southern magnolia trees, which are evergreen, with big, shiny leaves year-round, and white flowers in summer.

The pink blossoms we see now are the tulip magnolia or saucer magnolia, Joe said. I really love these trees — in other people’s yards. Once a good storm blows through, most of the blossoms are a sticky mess on the sidewalk.

 

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Sorry if you missed it, but last weekend was the annual seed swap at the GRUB cooperative.
There’s a lot to be said about having something “new” even if it was already something new to someone else.
To prepare for the event, I rummaged through the wicker picnic basket where I keep my seeds.
A big, sunny room at the GRUB house (www.grubchico.org) was filled with tables where seeds had been arranged by plant type — flower, herbs, vegetables and seed starts.
I snagged some seeds of California poppy, summer saucer squash and alyssum. But what was the most fun was to watch as people picked up the seed packets I had quietly deposited on the tables.
As I watched, with a secret smile on my face, two gardeners amicably divided a package of echinacea roots I had forgotten to plant last year.
My friend Kara had never visited the GRUB house on Dayton Road. We spent about an hour petting the goats and peeking into the greenhouse. Here they grow the plants for the local farmers markets, as well as for their own lush vegetable garden.

We also bought some farm-fresh eggs from the “honor table,” where you put your money into a box and then are trusted to take only the items for which you paid.
Sharing among gardeners seems to come naturally. Maybe it is because we receive so much from the earth that it only feels right to share. There is also a great feeling to know others will enjoy the gifts for years to come.
My friend Aleecia sent a text for advice on deer-resistant plants for her Magalia home. I told her to prepare to grieve, as deer will nibble at things they have no intention of eating.
Yet, I know irises will survive the onslaught of deer diners. I have too many irises in my yard, and gladly offered to dig some up for her new home.
A friend on Facebook named Robin asked recently if I was interested in some Jerusalem artichokes.
You betcha.
Last week Robin delivered a bag of roots to the front desk at work.
I was bummed Robin did not linger so I could meet her in person, but I’ll think of her when I put the tubers in the ground.
Saturday I saw Jerusalem artichokes for sale at Rob’s Natural Produce at the Chico Farmers Market.
The nice young man at the produce stall said I could put the roots in the ground in April. They’ll grow into rather tall plants with flowers resembling sunflowers. He recommended keeping them trimmed to about eye level.
In the fall the plants will flop over and after they die, I can harvest the roots.
The roots, as sold at the market, can also be eaten. The produce guy said he likes them best in a yellow curry/coconut sauce. To add the Jerusalem artichokes, he grates them into the sauce.
You can find some recipes and growing tips in a little file I put together here: http://goo.gl/8AtZa.
If you choose to grow them, you can dig them up and share with someone else. If you’re not willing to share, you can point your friend toward Rob’s produce stand.

Follow on Twitter @HeatherHacking