The grass is actually browner

Gardeners always imagine that some other place is better. "One (or ten) zones warmer and I could grow x..." I grew up in zone 6 (in a good year), so I very much understand the impulse, even though I never paid much attention to gardening there.

But even here, there is always a plant that makes you wish you lived somewhere else. Many tropicals make me dream of Hawai'i; more frequently, I hesitate over plants that are a little too marginal here, and think: if only we lived in Santa Barbara, or San Diego... but this last week has reminded us what the drawbacks are.

Of course, we must pay for the "idyllic" climate. We get a bit more rainfall than SD here, and the winds are a little less dramatic, so our burn cycle is every hundred years, not every ten. But make no mistake: what just happened there will happen here; we're overdue. This is not something that can be controlled by human intervention.

This is not photoshopped

South Escondido Boulevard by prgibbs

On a shorter cycle, try to imagine 6 months without rain. In a good year. Last year we got about 12 inches, total, spread over 6 months. Less than average, but not "abnormal." This is not a drought, it's a Mediterranean climate, which also specifies that the rain disappears in summer, when plants need it most. Fly into to SFO -- or any major airport in California -- from May to October, and you will see how brown the grass is on the outher side.

So yes, we can grow many plants here that would not survive in the northeast, either because of our mild winter, or because of our dry summers. We can also grow many of the plants that do well on the east coast if we water the hell out of them all summer. This is just as unnatural (and presumably, equally pleasurable) as growing exotics in a greenhouse, though most people don't realize this yet.

But they will. The latest Pacific Horticulture (they have a shiny new website) brings word of a drought in Adelaide so sever that there is no watering of the yard, period. It won't be long until this happens in San Diego. This news helped me to appreciate the philosophy of one extreme gardener in Colorado who reported heavy losses to an email list recently because he doesn't water his garden:

The only way you can determine what's drought tolerant in your garden is not to water it during drought. I understand that this is a radical statement that makes some people go completely crazy, but I think it's true. In 2002 we had one inch of precipitation in eleven months. I did nothing, and lots of plants died.

I'm not smart enough to garden like this yet, but soon I'll have to.

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I should mention one decidedly less catastrophic limitation of gardening here that is seldom appreciated by outsiders: chill hours. It does not get cold enough to grow, among other things, lilac, peonies, and many fruit trees. Conversely, at least where I live, thank god, it doesn't really get hot either, which a whole other class of plants find unpleasant... all I can think of right now are tomatoes and gardenia. I know this seems like a small price to pay -- boo hoo, your gardenia is chlorotic! -- but the limitations are exactly analogous to wherever you live. Just, perhaps, less oppressive, until the fire comes.

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.