Canyon Prince Native California Grass

Then.
Canyon Prince leymus condensatus in January 2006.

Now.

Saint Catherine's Lace

Erigogonum giganteum in bloom, proudly spectacular. A California coastal scrub indigenous to Santa Catalina Island but quite happy at Camp Ramshackle.

Bee in Matilija Poppy

I caught this bee working in a Matilija poppy (Romneya coulteri) on a hike in the Arroyo Seco. Check out those legs laden with nectar.

Eric and I planted a Matilija poppy at the Ramshackle compound in fall. Despite it's resilient and aggressive reputation, the young poppy plant was no match for the construction crew next door who repeatedly beat the plant with rocks, moved dirt and water bottles. I love these plants--the bright color, the crepe paper petals, and long leafy stems. I hope the next one we plant takes hold.

Blooming Bush Anemone

Bush anemone, Carpenteria californica, in bloom at the Ramshackle compound.

Planting Seeds

Camp Ramshackle had a bountiful oak acorn season this year. Eric harvested bags of them, shelled, ground, and leached out the tanic acid from them. His hard work yielded a delicious pancake breakfast. We hope for another one soon.


Even with the copious acorn harvest, many volunteers found a spot, shot out roots and set to grow up. Perhaps to become like their parent tree, which can grow up to 85 feet in height. Quercus agrifolia is beautiful.

We start so small, like the majestic oak, we grow bit by bit.

With small steps, stitch by stitch.

Pictures of Spring

Spring is a beautiful time in a California native garden. The bulk of our garden is just over three years old. Here is the verdant Yankee Point ceanothus from the California lilac family, beloved by bees and little children.


Heuchera maxima 'Opal' also known as choral bells.

A festuca 'Siskiyou Blue' volunteer. One of many this year. I look forward to replanting some of these throughout the yard.

Slow Events of the Day

Household chores have gotten easier thanks to my eldest son's efforts to do his own laundry. "Mom I just washed my pajamas," he said as he dropped the dripping wet pants into the dirt.

"That's great. Is there a good place to hang them to dry?" I asked.

The balance beam proved the best solution for the day.


Then a little time spent enjoying the California poppies.

And time to give the pozo blue sage a sip of water. The olive blossoms volunteered to swim.


The youngest works hard to pull himself up. Not quite there. Soon.

Hedgehog Art from a Manroot Seedpod

Marah fabaceus (a.k.a. mountain cucumber or manroot) is a pernicious California native vine which grows like kudzu here in the winter and spring. It smothers nearby plants, then produces potato sized thorny seed pods. If it is not removed promptly, it dies back when the weather warms up, creating a tangled, tinder-box-like fire hazard which breaks apart at the slightest tug, making it a royal pain to clean up. You cannot kill the plant; the only way to remove it permanently is to dig up the root which can weigh up to 100 lbs (hence the name manroot).

Imagine my surprise to see my garden nemesis transformed by my son (with help from my wife) into an ephemeral hedgehog tribute to Mrs. Tiggy-winkle. Media: manroot seedpod, pepper corns, salt, pasta o's

Retrieving the honeycomb

As soon as the ladder was set our eldest son (three and a half) was up the tree reaching for the honeycomb. We had decided to postpone taking it down until after we got back from the Wisteria Festival in Sierra Madre on Sunday. At some point during the festival he had said "Dad, I wanna go home and take down the honeycomb." When he gets an idea, he becomes extremely focused.


Once retrieved, we saw that it contained no honey and probably never had. We think the honey colored sections were actually eggs but aren't sure. The ants had already been there for some time making it difficult to identify exactly what we were looking at.


The idea of melting it down also gave way to curio value of the object. It is really remarkable to handle. It is extremely light and delicate. A stick is encased, running diagonally through it and it has a really beautiful translucent quality when held to the light. So much for cakes and candles.

The Swarm

Last week we had a swarm of bees appear in our cherry tree. They stayed for several days, which was very exciting since we thought this might kick-start our impending adventure in apiculture.

On easter sunday when we went to show the swarm to our guests we were disappointed to find that they had just finished packing and for the most part had moved on, leaving behind the beginnings of a hive. Tomorrow I hope to take it down for a detailed examination, rendering whatever wax and (fingers crossed) honey I can into candles and cakes.

Sprouting Acorn

We have two California Coastal Live Oaks in our yard. This year they produced a bumper crop of acorns - enough to make several breakfasts of acorn pancakes. I knew that there would have to be many sprouts if we got enough rain but I was really astounded by the number. They have sprouted like weeds. A. This one isn't even covered by mulch and it has sprouted and shot out a tap root. It is really cool how the meat of the nut is actually photosynthesizing.

Where to start?

You have to start somewhere, so the beginning is as good a place as any.

Sometime about May, 2002 my wife Julia and I, for the 10th time, placed a bid on a house we hoped to buy. This was the last chance, the wedding was approaching and we had decided that we could no longer handle the stress of signing an over-asking-price offer on the trunk of our realtor's car moments after having walked through a house for the first time.

This time was different. We were on a routine MLS drive-by when we called our realtor from the chain link fence in front of lucky number 10 without having been inside. "We want to make an offer on a house." The offer was exactly the asking price this time. There were no competing bids where previously there had been up to 20 or more and there was a certain sense of resolve: either we would get the house or we wouldn't. The one thing that was certain was that we would no longer be in the market for a house.



To try to make the start of a long story short, we got the house - 1000 square feet of ramshackle loveliness set on 23,000 square feet of a former olive orchard, moderately sloped and slightly terraced with a view to the six or so mile distant downtown Los Angeles skyline.

We have been slowly working to transform the property and our lifestyle into something that makes sense for us. We hope to document that transformation and it's lessons through this blog. We hope to connect with others who share some of our interests (urban homesteading, organic gardening, native plants) and values (DIY, creativity, simplicity) exchange ideas, and, if all goes well, find a sense of community.