Hope

Despite the heat, the wind, the intermittent humidity, a trooper Gentiana (septemfida ssp.) grossheimii blooms today in its seed pot.

(Added later: -And continued to bloom {in the form of a single flower} for eight days.  I am humbled.)

FAIL

(Castilleja integra, Agave ovatifolia, the latter being a speicies discovered in Mexico within the past 30 years.)

Yes, I'm going to follow the post "Done" with "Fail."  An epic fail, as we youngsters like to say while we watch videos of skateboarders waving at the camera only to wrap themselves under prior-unseen wires or fences in comical ways.  Done and Fail: Two consecutive evaluations of the same thing- this Desert Crevice Garden.

There were certain mistakes I knew I was making, and decided for one bad reason or another justification, to execute them anyway. Now, I will admit them and regret them as well as document prior-unforeseen problems.

Don't get me wrong- I still like this heap of rocks enough to keep it,  but I don't think it is a shining example of a job well done; it is a shining lesson.

I still feel it looks good form this angle; the rocks agree and seem to be cohesive.

Fail #1 But gah!  from this angle, from the South, angles are not terribly in agreement, and that pale medium-sized rock in the middle has a terrible forty-five degree angle that is the most dissonant of them all.  Rocks in outcroppings in nature were once the same rock, so fissures make lines that repeat, and repeat, and repeat...

Fail #1.5: the above rocks also do not quite harmonise due to the fact that, despite my menteally labelling them all as "sandstone" and assuming they would thus be good bedfellows, they are different kinds of sandstone and are different colours, which immediately proves they did not erode from the same stone.  Epic fail!

(clockwise from top left: Echinocereus trigloch. inermis, Penstemon caespitosus ex Rio Blanco Co, Lepidium nanum, Leptodactylon watsonii, and Echinocereus morricalli x scheeri) 

 Now, the plants don't seem to mind, in fact, I am shocked how well they are thriving and already growing amid days upon days over 100 F (37C), with wind, even.  They are being watered lightly once or twice a week between natural baking cycles. The soil is unamended (no organics added) sandy-loam soil with bits of gravel mixed in here-and-there accidentally.  The surface inch, two, or three become completely dry, while moisture down deep seems to remain solidly.  Having no potting soil near the roots of these new plants seem to remove interference of the passage of this moisture up to the plants.  In driest times, they will wilt rather than outright flash-die like the average recently-planted flower.  This part has been one of the most persuasive observations that has convinced me of the miracles of the bare-root-planting technique. Amen!

Fail #2. And this section- what was I thinking?  I was on a roll to use up all stone I had nearby.  But tho middle section of the garden, with its paver-style sharp-edged stones, looks completely wrong between great moundy wind-scoured looking features and stones that are the rest of the garden.  It might have been fine alone, or within a whole garden with this more sliced-style.

Fail #3 Along the incredibly classy vinyl fence in the picture, the viewer will also see turf.  This is not a good thing.  A running perennial sod-grass with long rhizomes: it invades under the fence from the neighbor's turf. I thought about this problem early on, but all reason was subsumed by my impatience and that foolish tendency to do the fun bits and pretend that the less-fun bits (like installing edging to prevent the delicate and petite garden from being overtaken by horrendous brute hordes) can be conveniently forgotten.

WRONG!

Worse yet, I conveniently forgot there was a colony of bindweed, too.  Nice.

Thank goodness these neighbours are kind folk- for I have permission to install that much-needed edging on their side of the fence. (Since where the edging ought to be is completely inaccessible under tons of rock!)  I shall also have to spray or dig-pull-dig-pull remaining rhizomes that are already at home among the sandstone boulders.

Fail #4.  Washout!  Simple physics.  Certain areas (bear with me now, for verbose conceptualities) that see water-drainage from large rock surfaces get enough water flowing over them to wash the soil away.  It is usually crevices- cracks between rocks- that I see as prime plant real-estate and water sees as fair game to wash away.  Severity of washout exaserbates with the increase in size of "watershed" areas and decrease in size of soil-patch (relative to a soul-patch, and equally awkward) that must endure this tiny flash flood.  Indeed, rain or irrigation will accumulate on these spaces, funneling more water to special plants growing here (while they still enjoy perfect crown drainage keeping their little necks quite dry and free from rot), but before said hypothetical plant's roots can hold the soil, it seems to wash away.

Solutions: 

A. Don't forget smaller stones graduating down form the big ones.  Slivers that fit in to cover more of the ever-shrinking surface area in these crannies. 

B. Gravel mixed into the soil- more on the surface and less down deeper- seems to work.  I don't quite know why.  But in a tiny crack, I can see why: a stone will wedge itself with the steady help of good old gravity, and it is quite like a strong person who pushes his arms out to brace himself in a door jamb and tuhs keeps his followers from passing.

C.  Water tediously slowly.  This is what I did.  Shove a plant, like an 8-year-old-boy into full-sized knight's armour, in a crack and charge it with growing roots and leaf that will physically hold the soil in and physically slow down the passing water rivulet.  Then, water-in said plant with a drip-drip-drip speed.  A slow slow soaking will allow the soil time to soak in the water before it can form sheets which will roll over it and carry things off.  This is mostly what I did, and much to my surprise, steep inclines of loose soil got themselves settled in (the particles must become more locked together, I reckon) and appear to be resisting surface washout.  Perhaps the loam component of the sandy-loam is gluing together a soil "crust," which I have noticed when digging about lately.

What does nature have going on in her washout-prone crevices?  Lots of things, and they all seem to work.  Sometimes nature has permanent washouts.  But observe this one- nature can, in fact, fill up crevices.  Even ones taller than surrounding area.  Usually it is wind that accumulated this debris, and things that can get wedged will get wedged, and gypsy debris finds another spot.  But one fitting pebble stops another pebble, which in turn stops a pinch of sand... Also: Plants, attracted to the moisture or protection of a crevice whose soil has obeyed gravity (has leveled or washed away), will grow there, die there, accumulating particles in life and death. Their wedged-in carcasses will build up the crevice's substrate, whiel dead roots will hold in what is there already to accommodate yet more life down the road.

 This is already happening in  the garden.  The "carcass' part, too.

Done.

(overlook near the San Rafael Swell, Utah)

Well, not really. at all. Far from it. But the stones are in. For now. As a friend points out, rock work, even, is nothing that cannot be taken back. And as fickle as I am, some probably will. But I want to move on to new projects. The bow-tying of a current project enables dreams to be unwrapped into new fun projects.

It's about 21 by 7 feet, skinny going North and South.

I didn't steal the BLM sign- It's a habit to pick up non-natural debris like candy wrappers, water bottles, and even fragments of shattered fibreglass trail-signs from otherwise pristine places.

And perhaps in the worst place aesthetically, but the only place it could be practically. There is no other site sunny enough on my parent's property as here, set off by the garish white of vinyl, and parked next to a dirt driveway. And so, there is no more respectable place to set a prized rockery than in front of where trash cans often majestically stand, and behind a scenic mailbox. Alas- I'd like to think that the more challenges make for the more interesting solutions. I'd like to think.


Anyhow, important things to know are this- the sandstone, like an underpainting is "keyed" to be of similar make and colour- trying to make the rocks not stand out from one another. To keep them low profile, like one burnt-sienna stroke next to another. Nothing too exciting-feeling yet; I want the plants to be the exciting bits. The stone supplies the form (shape in 3-D terms), and plants should supply texture, colour, and yipee. (another technical term).
The goal is to leave the composition unfinished, welcoming the plants as the centrepoints and not distracting from them.


Art point number two: the vinyl fence is not my cup of tea; but it is there. It is a strongly contrasting white shape, almost a line, horizontal- and so I will break up that line with other lines- desert shrubs- growing vertically and effectively bisecting its strength by bisecting its length.


What follows is my natural bibliography- moments in nature this winter from the desert wilderness that are quoted in the rock garden:

(West of Zion National Park, Utah)

(Near the Gunnison River Bluffs, south of Grand Junction, CO)

(Dominguez Canyon: Yucca harrimaniae)

(Zion National Park: Shepherdia rotundifolia, an evergreen desert olive. Glorious....)

Mid-rock Mess

Thinking outside the rocks.

About five tons of sandstone lies there, two yards of sandy loam, and two finished sections looking like book-ends with a hollow middle. For planting purposes, I need more open soil in the middle, but perhaps above all, my back is getting tired of hauling-in 700-pound and more stones. It doesn't fit with my original sketches, which called for nearly solid stone the whole length of this skinny rockery, but perhaps challenges have forced me to think outside the rocks- to embrace and develop that kind of space that is between no-rock and solid-rock. I have favoured the latter for a while, but now I am forced to engage that aesthetic and composition that I've been avoiding. True, it is the kind of partly-stoned space that most rock gardens have (and only that), for one reason or another.

Maybe it's like turning one's nose up at a cliche, but being forced to admit that there are merits and reason the cliche is so alive...

So here's to a moderate spreading of the butter of cliche on the bread of life. Because I really need some room for mesembs.

Personal note: A good day in the canyons this winter convinced be to moved back to the Western Slope of Colorado; where I find myself under the rule of relentless blessings- a sunny Victorian Downtown flat above a 18x40 veg garden, and working for my favourite and the only native specialty in the valley- Chelsea Nursery.

Crawling Creatures of Autumn Delight

This post is about low things or great autumn things, and things that are both.

The fetching Townsendia incana, in the Colorado National Monument, in spring. A low plant needing more attention from dry gardeners. Usually found in a few places here-and-there in the Monument, it is having a field day this year and is growing everywhere, probably to blooming its head off in a favourable year for it to resign to a quiet, invisible presence in the wild seed banks.

I really have got a hobby horse about this native roughneck. Distichlis stricta (aka Distichlis spicata ssp. stricta) It is an agressive underground-running sod former who should be used in places just like this spot above- unirrigated and divided from other cultivated beds. In the right place, it could be one of the most useful groundcovers. Pity it is not available. Note how it is crowding off the Weeds to the bottom right, (perhaps Lamb's Quarter and Puncturevine/Goathead: Atriplex hortensis and Tribulus terrestris respectively). It appears to also be left unmowed. I personally like the blonde look it takes on upon cold weather.

Another sod-former often growing alongside the above Inland Saltgrass and acting much the same, this is scratchgrass, or Muhlenbergia asperifolia. The left side has had a mower take out that pink-ground-cloud-of-glory. Fruita, Colorado.

Some ground-dwelling fauna to spice it up. I caught this fella by cornering him with a watering wand in our growing field at the nursery. It was nice to personally meet the enterprising fellow who will excavate and destroy the roots of a speckling of plants in their containers. I thought he might be our usual suspect, a vole, but he looks more mousy.

Little Bluestem at its most colourful. I invite the reader to count and note how many entirely different and un-subtle colours there are. The plant will all go to a pinky/rusty/ruddy colour in a few weeks, which is how it will remain all winter until new, blue or purple stems grow in late spring.
The same colours in a sunset. Nature has agreed on an autumn palette, I see.

New Desert Crevice Garden

In a brief visit back to Grand Junction, I built a small experimental rockery. Using local stone and inspired by local formations. It is basically a re-build of an accidental miniature rock garden that accidentally succeeded in that location.
This is one of my favourite natural sandstone outcrops near town, halfway up Mt. Garfield. Note the interaction of soil and rock, and location of plants. Naturally artistically composed.

I love this look.
Natural desert Crevice Garden. Hedgehog/Claret Cup Cactus (Echinocereus triglochidiatus) Somewhere near the mouth of Ute Canyon. I think this proves that a desert crevice garden is feasible. Those cactus seem to be liking where they live.
A view from the street. There are extraneous temporary rocks on either end that are intended to keep frequent neighbourhood dogs from trampling surrounding plants when they are young; but they will stand on their own once established. I assumed this was no great place for a rock garden until I realised that flowers had indeed succeeded there, much by accident, as the tree matured and shaded more of the area. It does get full hot south sun in spring and fall, as well as some four-plus hours each afternoon. This was enough to grow some old Veronica, emaciated Zauschneria, a colony of Fritillaria uva-vulpis and a Helianthemum in dry shade in clay. Often, I think that stressful dryness keeps otherwise sun-loving plants from becoming leggy and tender in the shade.

Only one wheelbarrow of soil was added for height, and as one can see, it is rock-intensive; in the style trying to appear as an eroded outcropping. Stones divert water to the cracks between, where it is trapped and cooled under the stones. Young plants are forced to grow deep roots to bypass the stones before they spread out and will likely subtend and embrace the bottoms of said stones.

Artistically, drab sandstone was chosen to reinforce that they are each simply components that form a whole, and are meant to be visually submissive to the interesting and often loudly spiky plants.

It is a small stretch of only some eight feet, and I fancy I shall add a couple outlying and small stones to make more unity between the rock mound and the flat surrounding soil itself. ( I also just picture another nice fat Rosemary just behind to give some taller shrubby mass to relate down to the rock mound...) I know that should the Agaves favour this position and grow into it, they will overwhelm and hide their nearest rocks, and that is just dandy! (note, too, that the blue monster to the left is not, indeed, the beastly noxious Myrtle Spurge, but the Mediterranean stiff spurge, Euphorbia rigida. It was planted in that corner this spring and was luxuriously successful, beckoning the construction of a larger rock feature)

Stay tuned to see how on earth one can relate and reconcile the divergent styles of an ivy-mulched (read: evergreen and lush-looking) dry-shade near-buried basalt-boulder rock-garden swath nearer the house with a grassy, sagey, sandstone rock garden. I myself shall be interested to see how it is done.

This rockery is actually just an outlier itself, and will compliment a larger rock garden across the driveway which is still under construction, which waits for the builder's energy to be enough to handle its several-hundred pound components once again.

And one last picture to justify my design!:

Somewhere near Monument Canyon, Mesa County. Maybe.

"Immature poets imitate, mature poets steal..."

T. S. Elliot, Maybe.

Happy Colorado Day; August First.

August 1

is the 135th Anniversary of Colorado joining the union as a State.

And what a fine state it is. 'Tis a privilege...

Corydalis aurea is a Colorado native yellow bleeding heart. I'm pretty charmed by them. (not too far from Fairplay, Colorado. )

Looking East from partway up the side of Mt. Sheridan, which is shoulder-to-shoulder with the more famous Mt. Sherman (a 14-er) to the North.

At the top of Mt. Sheridan before I did that thing that all mountaineering books spend their introductions warning you about: getting caught on a peak in an afternoon lighting storm. I often hope mother does not read this blog.

The treat of 12 thousand feet elevation: Alpine forget-me-not: Eritrichium aretioides.