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Redbuds

Early in March the Redbud is ready to burst into bloom; the beautiful zig-zagging tracery of its branches soon to be disguised in a cloud of pink flowers. I’ve planted several redbuds in different areas on our property, but the most spectacular is a well developed small tree, now about 15 feet tall, in my front border. As it happens, it is an eastern Redbud (Cercis canadensis); a beautiful case of a mistaken identity!

About eighteen years ago I was enrolled in a Nursery Management class at the College of Marin and our instructor always had plant propagules to share with his students. One day he took a bag of moist perlite full of stratified, and germinating redbud seeds from the refrigerator to share with the class. I took a dozen or so to grow on; but it wasn’t until several years later that I noticed some minor differences in the leaves of certain specimens: some were fully rounded, or with a slightly indented notch, others showed a delicate little tip to the rounded form; making the leaf almost a heart shape.  

Micro-Habitats; Knowing Your Land

My husband and I live on a south facing hillside situated above the Novato Creek floodplains; it’s a beautiful, warm, and sunny spot with a great vantage point. Our hill, called Cherry Hill on some maps, is a part of one of the ridges extending from Mt. Burdell, the 3rd highest peak in Marin County, and we’re directly facing Big Rock Ridge, the 2nd highest spot in Marin. When the skies are clear, we can actually see just a little tip of Mt. Tamalpais, the highest peak in Marin! To the east, we can see the twin peaks of Mt. Diablo, which is the highest peak of all in our area and therefore the base meridian of much of northern California.

The views are wonderful here on our land, but the rainfall is sometimes disappointing; while other places in Marin are measuring and inch or so, we might get ¼ of an inch of rain! We’re in a rain shadow; I can see all the rain falling on the north side of Big Rock Ridge and in Indian Valley, but the clouds are often blown east. If they do get to our side, there’s not much moisture left. 

Even so, with not much more than an inch of rain, I’m witnessing an almost instantaneous re-greening of the landscape! Within days thousands of seeds are germinating; lots of grasses, and a great variety of weeds and wildflowers. This is where the fun begins. I love the challenge of identifying these minute plantlets. Sometimes I’m already so familiar with the plant that I know it from the cotyledons, but very often I need to see the first true leaves before I really know what they are.

Thinking About Weeds

Annual grass seeds are amongst the first to germinate, and of course wild oats (Avena species) are well represented. Wild oats, very different looking than the native Oatgrass (Danthonia californica) were introduced from Europe and brought to California, most likely with the very first Spanish settlers who brought livestock, and with them the seeds of these grasses. In Europe, during the olden times, the leafy new spring growth of one wild oat species (Avena sativa) was used as a medicinal to treat various conditions, including diminished sex drive. This is where the term "sowing one’s wild oats" originates from!

Along with the annual grasses come lots of thistle seedlings; their cotyledons are large and somewhat spoon-shaped. I can identify Italian thistles (Carduus pycnocephalus) easily when the first set of small and somewhat spiky, medium-green true leaves have developed. Some of the non-native weeds, including thistles, that plague wild areas in Marin, are thought to have been brought to the county by Samuel P. Taylor in raw materials for his paper mill. At first there was plenty of wood pulp locally available, but as those sources dwindled, and while the demand for paper kept going up, he also made paper using rags that were imported from Europe. It’s within these supplies that the seeds of some European weeds are thought to have "hitched a ride".

Here’s where my thoughts about weeds differ from those of many others; weeds are not all bad! 

Elderberries and Other Native Fruits of Summer

California native plants provided a rich and varied diet for the native peoples; this is a flora of plentitude, and I really like to partake of it. I recently picked and cleaned the fruits of Lemonade Berry (Rhus integrifolia) and in removing the flesh from seed within, discovered that, true to its common name, these fruits make a wonderful pink, Indian lemonade!

Every summer I pick large quantities of Blue Elderberries; I have several shrubs in my own garden, and also have access to established shrubs in the gardens of several friends. Blue Elderberry (Sambucus nigra ssp.caerulea) is edible and full of healthy nutrients, with a long history of human uses both in Europe and North America. The raw berries should not be eaten in quantity because they can cause stomach upset. Other parts of the plants; roots, bark and leaves, are poisonous, and should not be eaten, though when prepared, and taken in small doses, they have been used as an emetic.

I’m experiencing a love-hate relationship with the rains as they continue, with so few dry days in between for the outdoor activities that are such a big part of my life. I’ve measured more than 30 inches here on our Novato hillside since January first!  

The scarcity of truly dry days in between poses all sorts of frustrations for the dedicated gardener; it’s great to have the rains, and this is the time of year to plant, but it’s not good to work the soil when it’s totally soggy.

Propagating from Seeds

As a plant propagator, I’m also tied into a certain timeline in dealing with seedlings. There is the optimal moment for transplanting; too soon and the roots to shoots aren’t well balanced, but if you wait too long, the roots get congested and the shoots start to suffer. 

Even if it’s just for an hour or two, I make time to do some work in my garden every single day, and my favorite time to be outside is at dusk when all sorts of creatures are stirring. Since my tasks, like weeding or potting up seedlings, are often simple and somewhat repetitive, I’m in a meditative state and absorbing all that goes on around me.

The last of the bees, usually bumblebees, are still buzzing about; Nuthatches sound like little tin horns as they fly to another tree to forage; and the Goldfinches gather in groups in the redbud, whistling to each other. A Scrub Jay swoops down to retrieve a seed stashed in the mulch months ago, but I pretend not to notice. I hear the sharp click of the male Anna’s Hummingbird downward display drop to proclaim his authority over these resources; and realize that in many ways this is his garden, not mine!

I also notice all the shadows of creatures flying by; the gigantic shadow of a Turkey Vulture coming to the snag tree to roost; the distinctive flap, flap, glide of a California Sister butterfly patrolling the canopies of the oaks; and the more casual flitting about of the Painted Ladies.

I was lucky enough to be outside at just the right time about a week ago when I noticed a lot of activity around a Toyon - the most spectacular Toyon I’ve ever seen, and it lives on the top side of the meadow next to my house and garden. This Toyon (Heteromeles arbutifolia) is a tree, about 30 feet tall, with a trunk that looks to be about 7 to 9 inches in diameter. Several smaller Toyons that are more shrub-sized also grow close by.

The large clusters of bright red berries were the beacon that attracted a flock of Robins and Cedar Waxwings to come in for a feast! Many fruit-eating birds will join large multi-species flocks to better search out patchy resources like fruit-bearing plants. Robins are noisy and active feeders, while the Cedar Waxwings are more reserved; they forage and then they rest. While taking a break from berry-eating the flock of Waxwings were a beautiful sight, perched in a bare Blue Oak, pale yellow bellies a soft golden glow as they all faced directly into the morning sun.

Seeds so clearly represent the end of one cycle of life and the beginning of another: And the start of the Rainy Season also heralds the beginning of a new year for native plant gardeners. Here in California we really have only three seasons; the rainy season, the wildflower season, and the dry season. We’ve had a mere sprinkling at the beginning of October, and it won’t be long before our hills turn green again. I’ve already noticed annual wildflowers germinating in areas where I hand-water. All are species that grew and flowered and set seed in my garden this year; and as much as possible, I will let them grow on exactly where they seed themselves in.

The only species that I’m still collecting seeds from is the lovely little yellow flowered tarweed (Hemizonia congesta ssp. lutescens). As long as the weather is dry, I’ll be collecting seeds almost daily from various plants in various areas; that’s the best way to insure genetic diversity. Once the weather is cool and consistently moist, it’s no longer a good idea to gather seed.