Time for Gold, Dead Man's Creek

Seasons are changing. Time for a new standard of measurement. An invitation for a personal weigh in if you will. Because if gold implies wealth, then we are rich beyond all measure. All of us, all the time. But you must be present to win. And you can't win if you won't play...

Change of seasons. When did you last go outside and just stand still for a moment? Eyes closed, nostrils, ears and heart flung wide open ? Sometimes I forget too. Now open your eyes. Only a soft gaze is necessary for the micro-wonders and macro-amazements of our own backyard.

Or an ugly rest stop. Nothing like a high sierra walk to greet the Fall. At September's end I wandered a path just off I80. Chipmunks were frantic with activity. The air was sharp with chill and pungent pine. The aspens were gilding and the mountain spiraea shone golden in the late afternoon sun.

On the desert side of the Sierra Nevadas gold is more subtle. Look for buff grasses and rabbitbrush to turn angelic gold as the sun makes a dramatic exit from the valleys. Dead Man's Creek is my favorite haunt for magnificent views, wildcrafting and hawk watching... Something about all grey sagebrush and red rock against cottonwoods makes them glow like candles. More on that later...

I want to know: How do you play? Where is your gold? Your riches? Can you change your standard of wealth with a few breaths and a new outlook? Please write and share about your abundance when you are present to win...

Sustainable Gardens, No-Mo Lawn 4 me?

Last weekend I toured some inspirational gardens in Davis, CA designed by my friend Bernadette. Upon viewing her first garden I got really excited, because this is what my newest projects look like! It’s a match!!! Gone are the rolls of traditional thirsty sodgrasses, fresh concrete walks and lollipop shrubs to frame suburbia. The new valley landscape is a thoughtful, cohesive package of drought resistant plants woven into pervious surfaces and rich in texture, color and recycling creativity.

We’re now entering the Sustainable Zone. Time to get practical. Water is tight, people! There is no end in sight for our water woes in the West. More people, less snowpack, climate shifts and a new appreciation of our impact on the ecosystems we dwell in prime us for a new consciousness. Time for Reality. And a whole lot of creative fun as we rethink lawns, gardens and how we build the ‘Yard.’

It’s easier than you think. People like Bernadette have been designing sustainably for years, even while I struggled through a traditional horticulture program which to this day still teaches water guzzler plants, easy pour patios, and nitrogen sucking swaths of chemlawn. But the design pioneers are out there creating sustainable gardens, and they are changing the look of valley gardens. It’s catching on slowly. As our eco-sophistication grows there’s a desire for more conscious choices. Who doesn’t want freedom from the tyranny of watering, mowing, fertilizing and constant maintenance?

So where are my hoards of clients begging for a no mow lawn, a chemical free garden, pervious patios and recycled concrete pathways? Where are the pet owners who worry about Fluffy and Fi-Fi padding around on grass chems? The new mommies who are going organic for the sake of their brood? Well, here’s the thing. Just this week, with my fabulous photos from Davis I finally sold my husband on the idea of ‘no-mo’ front lawn. Yes, I’ve only been studying sustainable landscape for 10 years. It appears that FINALLY I won, and that our grass is going, going gone. I had a giant party in my head when I realized I was now free to design the front yard that matched my personal, social and professional beliefs. Hah! I can now walk my professional talk.

But Wait. Not so fast there Garden Geek! When it came time to start collecting cardboard and mulch to squelch the grass, he balked. Mr. Recycle, the guy who, in a holey tie die shirt picks through our trash looking for stray bits of glass, plastic, paper, and, gasp, metal.

‘It’s going to look ugly’ he says.

Uhhhhm, What?

‘Well, yeah’ he muses. ‘What will the neighbors think?’

I have to silently regroup here. Thinking of the oxidized red truck sitting in our driveway, visors and rear view mirror jerry-rigged with rubberbands. Of the weeds overflowing onto the sidewalk. The crumbling fence… And so on.

Ok, I think, so maybe we do care. After all, we’ll fit right in with the cranky pink truck cruising around behind the stores for giant cardboard treasure. And mulch has GOT to be an improvement over the dandelions, crabgrass and god-knows-what-else composes our so called ‘lawn’.

So it’s a stalemate. The fence waves gracefully in the wind, cheerful dandelions bloom and happily seed the neighborhood. My finger itches to call the arborist for that giant mulch dump of my dreams.

Stay tuned. I suspect Husband is much like many of my clients, only more difficult. Afraid of change, suspicious of the new. Unable to visualize the end result. Perhaps my biggest career challenge ever. Watch me!

Now is the Time! Cranes...

Wednesday march 4: The ladies and I are walking at Laguna Creek. The storms have given us a small break of brilliant sunshine and bright skies for a short while. Our usual trail East has flooded, so we head Northwest across the soggy greens of Camden. The grasses are brilliant green and from all directions it seems we hear the sound of water rushing towards towards creek and sea. The breeze is gentle and moist, wafting from the water it is spiked with the heady aroma of soil. It's one of those jubilant spring days, when being outside invigorates body and spirit.


I hear a flock of cranes calling to one another in their thin reedy voices which carry so well on the winds. We stop in our tracks and try to find them in the sky to the South. Suddenly the sound and the flock match up, and we watch in amazement as 20 or so elegant grey birds fly purposefully over our heads, exchanging places in the 'V' pattern of their flight.


Exhilarating! Moments after this group disappears to the north, we hear another, larger flock to the south. These birds, perhaps 40 reach our area and begin circling and calling, waiting for yet another wave of birds behind them. They disappear into the sun, and appear again to the East and West on their revolutions. Their bodies are silvery grey, wings darker, and the wingtips almost black. By this time, we cannot speak, standing mute as the sound of hundreds of Sandhill Cranes gathering above us greet each other and head off to their Summer grounds in the North. The traffic din of Bond & Elk-Grove Florin Road cannot deny this beautiful seasonal symphony. Now we give up counting the waves of winged migrants passing overhead. Hundreds at a time are leaving on a long journey, threading their way between the storms and we are on hand to receive this gift. In units of 'V's they head almost due North with an intent and purpose that I truly envy. I am feeling heavy and earthbound in the presence of such magnificence. They know where they are going, when to leave, and they travel together, as families and tribes. The beauty of this moment still awes me.