generated by the first planting. When plants move around, we formulate questions. Why did you prefer it here to there? Pet theories are enjoyed and lightly held.
LUPINUS PROPINQUUS IN THE GARDEN One species that distinguishes the particular series of coastal scrub plants in my area is Lupinus propinquus, purple bush lupine. Leaves of a fine blue gray and showy, often fragrant flowers make this plant attractive, although short-lived, in the garden. I have seen stunningly beautiful stands Lupinus propinquus, with flowers varying from pale purple to pink to white to deep blue to dark purple. Sometimes the fragrance knocks you out; sometimes it is absent. It appears in disturbed areas, where it looks great for two to four years, then may succumb to root maggots. Often nearby seedlings will replace the defunct parent, hardly missing a beat.
I wanted to include this plant in my garden but wasn't sure how, as its unpredictability could create large gaps in the garden. I decided to make a bed where this lupine could freely grow, reseed, and decline, where it was not required as a long-term structural element. Treated as a long-lived (and very tall) annual, we can enjoy the surprising colors and youthful vigor of this species.
Quail eat the seeds, which are often laden with seed weevils, also bird food. Purple bush lupine is worth growing in the garden, once its temporal nature is accepted, as a kind of “quadrennial shrub. ”
At our open houses, I describe plantings that have not worked, and tell what was learned. I describe changes that took place without my consent but have formed the basis for future garden plans, as well as tentative conclusions about this place. Sometimes I am surprised at how many times I hear myself saying that something appeared somewhere, rather than that I intended it to be there. “People might think I have no garden ideas of my own,” I worry. But I sense that there is a place where the seam between my ideas and the ideas of the land gets blurry, a place where I choose to spend my gardening time.
With its tools, herbicides, and air-brushed photographs of perfect gardens, the mainstream thrust of gardening suggests the desirability of total control. I read that a famous garden is being restored to the design of a wellknown landscape architect of the early part of the century. The stated goal is strict adherence to this famous person's design. No random seedings will be allowed. This resolute stance implies that our ideas are better than nature's ideas. To maintain the sense that it is acceptable to be responsive to input from the land, it is helpful to be in conversation with others working in a similar way.
INCLUDE A RANGE OF PLANT-CARE STRATEGIES
One way that the restoration garden is distinguishable from the wild is by the amount of attention individual plants receive. Tricky-to-grow plants may do best closest to the back door, where the attention of the gardener rests on them regularly. A range of “attended-to-ness” can begin with those closest to the house, which are groomed, dead-headed, pruned, mulched, and weeded. Plants at the further reaches may be left more to their own devices. The hazel by the house is pruned to emphasize its horizontal branching structure; long vertical suckers sprouting from the base are removed and handed over to a basket maker. The hazels in the hedge are allowed to sucker and spread.
A continuum of regimens and maintenance strategies, from close attention to benign neglect, will allow the busy gardener to avoid the undesirable state of “overwhelmedness.” This state would deny the condition of pleasurable acceptance of natural occurrences desirable for the garden based on natural relationships. Where a more “gardened” look is desired, many native plants can thrive with garden conditions of watering and pruning. Remember that all newly transplanted plants need care till they are established. Many gardening failures with natives have resulted from the notion that native plants, because they grow in nature, can be planted out and ignored.
The area surrounding my house has developed into what I think of as a native plant cottage garden. Some effort is expended on achieving that well-known horticultural goal of “continuous bloom.” Plants here are more closely attended to than in the further reaches of the garden. A fence creates a private enclave here, the gray-water system spreads water throughout, and flowery species like Douglas iris, tansy-leaf phacelia, hummingbird sage, the white form of the California poppy, coast plantain, tufted poppy, Bolander's phacelia, columbine, coast wallflower, grindelia, and miner's lettuce run rampant. I have been surprised by their vigorous reseeding. This part of the garden demonstrates an intense floriferousness useful for impressing those who look only for bloom. Photographers tend to congregate here.
Surprising combinations appear, for which I am happy to take unjustified credit. In early spring, dark purple Douglas irises bloom, along with deep lemon yellow coastal poppies. After two months of splendid bloom, when the dark purple irises are forming fat green seed capsules, the pale lilac form of the Douglas iris begins its flowering time. Concurrently, deep yellow poppies form long narrow seed capsules just as the cream-colored form we call “Moonglow” makes its welcome appearance. I had no idea that these iris forms were on a different blooming schedule, and maybe next year they won't be.
I make one of those gardening decisions that call for a consistency of which I may not be capable. Early in the spring, I decree, intense colors will break the gloom of the rains; deep yellows, of meadow foam, goldfields, creek monkeyflowers, and coastal poppies, will stunningly contrast with the dark blues of desert bluebells and blue bedder penstemon, rich reds from paintbrush, columbine, and hummingbird sage. When summer comes, pastels, pale, fairy-book colors, will soften the sun's glare.
A pink penstemon intertwines with the pale lilac of Bolander's phacelia by a large ceramic water jar. Orange and yellow columbines are set off by the dark gray fence. Where a tree fell last year, bare soil is filling in with seedlings of yellow-eyed grass, always an opportunist in my garden. Red fescue, luxuriant and green for months, begins slowly to fade. After it goes to seed, we'll cut it to four inches above the ground. Or maybe not. Here and there it is flattened in the shape of a lying-down dog.
In September, the reddish orange form of the California poppy we call “Mahogany Red” contrasts with the dormant fescues, mirrors the fall colors of vine maple and creek dogwood. Seed was sown in four-inch pots in February; plants were put in the ground in August and bloomed to the end of October.
No plant community has been particularly thought of here, and forbs from moist creek and semi-arid grassland and oak savannah demonstrate their adaptability by thriving together. Blue bedder penstemon from dry hillsides is stunning with bleeding heart from the redwoods; I never would have thought that they would “go” together, and they certainly are from different ecosystems, but this particular year, with consistent and extended amounts of rain, the fluidity of plant requirements is amply demonstrated.
As late as August, I shall continue planting annuals and perennials from four-inch pots. There is a chaotic, flowery, surprising aspect to this part of the garden, a jumble from which patterns can be discerned, information gained, interesting surprises enjoyed.
An arching trellis separates this part of the garden from the wilder part. This trellis is planted with a French rose and a native clematis. Once I saw ten quail perched on the top of the arch, and another morning, an antlered buck paused under it, as though to savor its philosophical implications.
INCORPORATE NATIVE PLANTS
THAT ALREADY EXIST ON THE SITE
Coyote bush was almost the only native species to be found on our Scotch broom—infested field. I have learned the garden utility of coyote bush, its versatility, quirkiness, and unpredictability. One elegant specimen, pruned and mulched, is such a perfect rounded mound that many visitors don't recognize it. Other coyote bushes, responding to factors both known and unknown, are uneven in shape, idiosyncratic, as various as oaks. I enjoy working with coyote bush. As I prune, weed, and mulch around it, I ponder its ways.
RESPECT PLANTS AS A CONNECTION
