Now lie in it

The bed is made. Although planting things in it made me happy, I mostly found myself consumed with the kind of self-doubt that plagues the gardener -- or at least this gardener. Too much organic matter for the Calochortus? Gan the Agave attentuata and Leucospermum live together? And why did I buy that agave anyway? It would probably look better in a pot. Why do I so stubbornly refuse to chill the Tulipa linifolia? Ad naus.

Bulbs by their nature inspire these doubts, a leap of faith buried 6 inches under ground (of possibly incorrect composition), although I should probably worry more about seeds. I'll deal with that problem some other day.

[Not to burden with too much information, but the bed is divided into an acidic/sandy half, for the Proteaceae, and a neutral clayey half, for bulbs.

I also was able to remove the last patch of grass, grade out the lawn area, and -- against everyone's better judgment -- reseed it with fescue. It's probably too late to germinate, and even if it does the fear is that it will be overrun with bermuda, but I just didn't have the energy to deal with sod. Especially after an Orwellian trip to the stone yard, where I was informed that it was impossible to buy the pavers that I already bought for the path, and that therefore I can't buy any more of them to finish it.

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I don't know what it says about me, but I was almost more excited to realize, when reading a book, that the agavaceous plant below, which I have long admired, is probably a Furcraea roezlii (= F. bedinghausii?). The internets make me less sure, though, so if there are any Agavaceae experts out there I'd appreciate confirmation/conjectures. The leaves are distinctly ensiform and minutely toothed, and this one is maybe 12' tall. It gets almost no direct sun.

Sleep like a champion today

The beauty of flickr is that even if you are a shitty photographer you can just find someone else's picture of a Fatsia japonica flower that doesn't suck. Thanks jam343!

These are the kind of flowers that garden books call insignificant, but that's wrong: the inflorescence, which may have dozens of these Nelson-clock umbels, is quite striking (even if the individual flowers are indeed insignificant). What they mean is that the point of the plant is the foliage, which is true in the case of F. japonica only insofar as one does not fancy Nelson clocks -- which I don't particularly. But I do like the leaves.

Anyway, I haven't had much to say mostly because of the endless construction projects, which exhaust me. (I am weak). The other day, a yard and a half of various fill was finally delivered, and I nearly killed myself getting it from the driveway into the raised bed. Miraculously, I felt only moderately crapulent the next day, an outcome I can only attribute to my rigorous sleeping schedule, leavened with a high dosage of non-pharmaceutical grade resveratrol, of course.

I actually get to plant things this weekend. I'm starting to get excited.

The Waste Land

I was working on a long post about California's "second spring" [we were laughing the other day about recent immigrants and their sad, predictable complaints about "seasons"], as well as the various failures this year [this list will have to be updated], but I don't have the energy. I spent the weekend excavating and building the raised bed, which gave me ample time to gauge the progress of my physical decrepitude, and also turn most of the yard into a desolate mud pit (punctuated with bermuda grass stolons). The end is finally near, but it hardly seems like it right now.

These flowers would have encouraged me, if there were more than two of them, and if the color had actually been "blood red" (The alleged "common" name of Distictis buccinatoria is blood red trumpet vine). A bit finer, perhaps, than common trumpet vine, and supposedly less "vigorous" (= weedy), but not long for the garden if it remains so stingy with the flowering.