Tuesday, March 16, 2010
Man vs. Oleander
We've done it going on seven years. I snip, saw, stomp and kick. The Oleanders twist and tangle, poke and cut. Every year, I knock 'em down. Every year they come back, bigger and stronger than ever. They're relentless.
I've learned a few things over the years. Early on all I had were a pair of just snips and a small tree saw. Now I bring loppers and a chainsaw. Still it is a battle.
But, this year was different. I came with a shovel and ax. This year I came to take the Oleanders out -- all the way out.
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There are a lot of Oleanders around. Though not native to southern California, Oleanders have been described as iconic to southern California landscape. They grow quite dense and make great screens. In California, Oleanders grow in an estimated 20% of home gardens. And the folks at Caltrans love 'em. They maintain Oleanders in more than 2,100 miles of freeway medians.
So, with such great references, what's not to like?
For openers, the entire Oleander plant is poisonous, from the sap, to the bark, right down to the leaves. The Wikipedia entry says, "Oleander is one of the most poisonous plants in the world and contains numerous toxic compounds, many of which can be deadly to people, especially young children."
Then there is Oleander leaf scorch, an incurable disease that has been claiming Oleanders for years. The disease is so widespread and unstoppable that some estimate it will kill 90% of Oleanders in the next few years.
Yellow and brown edges on Oleander leaves are a sign of leaf scorch. Oleanders with leaf scorch will not improve. They will wither over the next few years then die.
If you've got Oleanders with leaf scorch, the uniform advice is to take them out.
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So, four Saturdays ago, there I was standing in front of the Oleanders. Ax, loppers, chainsaw all ready to go. I really didn't know what it would take to get these things out. But I was ready.
Each Oleander was a fight. After cutting away the branches and doing some digging, I was surprised at how big the stumps were. Then I had to dig around and under each stump to cut out the roots. One a weekend was my limit.
Last Saturday I finished. Four weekends. Four Oleanders gone. Victory.
You know, it's a very satisfying feeling -- to look out and see mounds of dirt and stumps where diseased and poisonous Oleanders used to be.
I won't miss the Oleanders. Not even a little.
Oleander Stumps
Saturday, March 13, 2010
Garden/Wine Making Updates
Monday, February 8, 2010
Giant Butterfly Over Hamilton Park
I've been enjoying the sky and cloud photography in many of the local blogs I follow. Yesterday's effort at Pasadena Daily Photo was incredible. Avenue to the Sky has a great piece up showcasing Mt. Wilson and the tower cam.
Sunday, February 7, 2010
Dogs and Chickens
"We have chickens," we told her.
"This dog is a Shepherd mix," she said. "The Shepherd part of him should be protective of the chickens and even like to herd them around. He should be very good with the chickens."
That was what I expected. Our old dog had been a Shepherd mix. She would post herself just a few feet away from the flock, laying on her stomach with front legs forward ready to go. When a chicken wandered away from the flock, she would go get the bird and gently herd her back to the others. It was really something to see.
The counsellor continued.
"You have to be careful, though. This dog is also part Akita. They were bred to hunt."
"The Akita part of him might like to eat your chickens."
EAT OUR CHICKENS? The news should have made us bolt upright and run out of the office.
But, you have to remember the scene. We are in a small office -- my wife, two kids and I and this playful orange and white ball of fur. We are taking turns holding the little guy, his white-tipped tail going a mile a minute. But for the formalities, it's done. He's part of the family. And the thought that this little guy would eat Flopsy, Mopsy, Sparky or any of our hens ... well, it just didn't compute.
Plus, it was hard to know how to take the counsellor's warnings. She wasn't giving us the red light. She said it was impossible to know for sure what kind of mix this dog was or how the dog would react when grown. The little guy looked part Shepherd and we'd had a great experience with our old dog. But, the counsellor was definitely giving us a flashing yellow ... caution ahead.
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So, how has it gone over the past year?
Well, the dog has been great. Named "Bear," his claim to fame is that last year he actually treed a real bear. It is hard to know what kind of mix he is, but he's more powerful than any dog I've ever had. He's a part of the family and is always near one of us. It has been a joy to see him race and wrestle with the kids.
But, if you asked the chickens, their reviews would not be so glowing. Bear likes to play. That's good if you're a human or another dog. But, if you're a chicken, 70 pounds of dog-puppy barrelling after you with slobbering tongue flying ... it's got to be terrifying.
Bear hasn't eaten any chickens. And, I don't think he's going to. But, he loves to play chase and, given the opportunity, will chase the chickens all over the yard. We've had some scary moments with Bear tearing over the the yard and chickens literally flying about. But, in the end, calm has been restored. No hens have been harmed.
We've learned that Bear needs to be on leash whenever the chickens are loose in the yard. We try not to give him the opportunity to play chase with the chickens.
I am sure the chickens do not appreciate that Bear is a magnificent watch dog. On more than a few occasions, he's alerted us to coyotes near the chicken coop.
We still hope Bear's Shepherd lineage will kick in and he'll be a model brother to our hens. But, in the meantime, he'll be on leash whenever the chickens are out in the yard.
Sunday, January 31, 2010
In-N-Out -- Historic Sign, Legendary Burgers
This In-N-Out Burger sign is on the City of Pasadena's list of historic properties. The neon and bulb rooftop sign is a designated as a Historic Sign.
Pasadena has only one In-N-Out and this is it. Seems this place is always jammed. It is not uncommon for half a dozen cars to line up in the right lane of Foothill waiting to pull into the drive-up. Where else can you get a fantastic hamburger for a buck sixty-nine?
I saw in LA Observed that Huell Howser has an hour special on In-N-Out tonight at 7 pm on KCET. Should be an interesting story about a phenomenon that is part of San Gabriel Valley history and certainly (insert Tennessee accent) a fine example of California's Gold.
Saturday, January 30, 2010
My Mom's Kitchen Window
The house I grew up in had the good fortune of being the last house on a street that dead-ended into acres and acres of fields. My mom's kitchen window was on the north side of the house and overlooked an expanse of fields capped by the San Gabriel Mountains. The view was kind of like the photo, only without the buildings. The fields and the San Gabriel Mountains -- they were just there for the taking. At least that's how it seemed. And we appropriated it all. The kitchen window and the mountain views were my mom's. I remember her standing over the sink looking out her window. I often heard her talk about her window and her magnificent view. The field belonged to the kids. When not in corn, the field was inhabited by kids from our neighborhood. There were kites, football games, forts and any of a million things kids conjure up. It was our field. At least that's how it seemed. In truth, my mom owned the kitchen window and that's about all we could lay claim to. The field belonged to a farmer named Homer who lived in the rock house behind us. Homer had been there long before we arrived, with his horse, Dot. And my mom's mountain view? Well, who really owns a mountain view? In time, a swath of Homer's field was acquired by the state or Caltrans or whoever takes land for freeways. A phalanx of bulldozers dug a giant trench at the north end of the field that became the Pomona Freeway. The familiar southern California story followed. Homer's barn came down and Dot went away. The dead-end sign in front of our house was removed. New streets were paved across the field. Driveways and foundations were poured, houses framed, stuccoed and sold. All too soon, our field was gone.
And, my mom's kitchen window, which had for a time framed such a glorious mountain view, now looked north upon the stucco side of the house next door. Her extraordinary window was now forever ordinary.