More recently, my visits there have been in regard to roses. There is a treasure-trove of heritage rose around the town. The biggest plant of Niles Cochet anyone has ever seen is in a private yard in town. A White Maman Cochet is along a driveway near a local park. La Reine grows in an alleyway near downtown. And the cemetery has many roses, some identified, some not. On the fence in front of the Castro-Breen Adobe is a beautiful Musk hybrid, similar to “Secret Garden Musk Climber”, and a small, struggling plant of Bloomfield Courage. In 2007 we didn’t know what rose it was, but State Parks allowed us to take a few cuttings to propagate for the San Jose Heritage Rose Garden. The plant at the adobe was trying to grow back from what had at one time been a large plant- the stump is still there, but the location gets a lot of shade from a nearby tree. The rose there now is no bigger than it was four years ago, but the cuttings grew very well. The one we planted on the toolshed fence has completely covered its part of the fence, and would like to add to its territory at the expense of the other fence roses.

Bloomfield Courage as it looked when I collected cuttings. It looks about the same now.

The Zanetta family played a large part in the rose history of the town. They had a  garden behind their house which included the Rose of Castile. I have a copy of the obituary of the Zanetta’s daughter, Mariquita (Mary), who died in 1942 at the age of 89. As a child, when someone in town died, she and her mother planted a rose on the grave. Her first husband was Patrick Breen, whose family had been in the Donner party, and who lived at the Castro-Breen Adobe. He died soon after, and she later married P.E.G. de Anza (whose mother was a Castro). Both de Anza and Castro are well-known names in this part of California, being descendants of the earliest settlers from Mexico after the establishment of the missions, and owners of much of the Central Coast area land before Americans swindled them out of it. I love this quote about the wedding from the newspaper (San Juan Mission News, Aug 14, 1942):

” During the impressive ceremony, Indians strewed Castilian rose petals, as was the custom in those romantic days, for her to tread on from the Mission across the Plaza to her parential home, the “Zanetta Home.”

By the 1980s, the Zanetta’s garden had deteriorated, and State Parks removed many of the old once-blooming roses. Then they decided to make a new period garden there. Frances Grate was a consultant on this project and made recommendations for roses, and a site plan. It wasn’t strictly followed, but a rose garden was made there, with nice brick pathways and underplantings of herbs and perennials. There are also some very old trees.

Souvenir de Mme Leonnie Viennot on the back porch of Plaza Hall

Elie Beauvillain

Lady Banks, taken sometime when I was there at the right time to catch full bloom. This plant is still very happy.

Frances also consulted on the nearby Spanish era garden, a picnicking area with resident chickens. That area also has large old trees and many heritage roses, many of which were from Frances’ plan.

"San Juan Settler", a rose found growing here and named by Frances Grate. This picture is of the plant at the Heritage. It's thought that it might be the original Rose Edouard, the beginning of the Bourbon rose class.

I wish I could say that the roses of San Juan Bautista were thriving, but sadly, many are not. A State Park with a limited budget can’t afford the best people to care for the gardens. The safety of the more than 40, 000 4th graders a year is a concern in a rose garden- the roses can’t be allowed to grow into the pathways and drape over the fences. Pruning and other care is mainly done by park maintenance workers, and State Parks can’t afford to provide the training for the special care of own-root heritage roses in central California. Most people think all roses are treated the same way, and I wouldn’t expect maintenance workers to know that once bloomers and repeat bloomers or modern roses and heritage roses should be treated differently. But it has been to the detriment of the roses. In the cemetery, maintenance is done as cheaply as possible, resulting in some roses being lost to weed-whackers and mowers. In both areas, people have cut off new canes, thinking they were rootstock suckers. So many roses are on their last legs (or canes) because of such misguided workers.

But don’t lose hope. I was there Tuesday at the invitation of Alan Kemp. He is part of San Juan Bautista Mission Plaza History Association, a 501-c3, a non-profit, cooperating agency. His hope is to restore the garden, get a regular group of trained volunteers to maintain the garden, and make it into a place that can be used as a money-maker for State Parks, such as a wedding and music venue. Frances Grate was also there Tuesday. The rose restoration group is up to 4 people- Alan, Carol- a volunteer gardener who was there Tuesday, and is anxious to learn the proper care of the roses, another member who is described as “a recovering heritage rose addict” and now Alan’s wife has decided to get involved.

Alan and Frances by the two trunks of what was once a glorious mass of Mutabilis. This pruning/hatchet job is very sad to those who remember it as it was.

Alan, Frances, Carol and I spend much of the day discussing the roses in both the Plaza Hall garden and the Spanish era garden, how and when to prune, and providing much needed and much appreciated guidance. Frances often added comments about why certain roses were selected, and reasons for planting certain roses or other plants in certain locations. I really enjoyed hearing those comments.

After lunch, I drove Alan around, pointing to large old roses around town, then to the Cemetery, to introduce him to my rose friends there. First was “La Dama Blanca” as Mel Hulse had named it. I’ve since realized that it is Gloire Lyonnaise. We have propagated it and grow it at the back of the Heritage, where it can get as big as it is in the cemetery.

Mel Hulse standing by the rose he named "La Dama Blanca" in 2007. This rose is still doing well at the cemetery.

Then “Jose A.  Africa”, a light red rose of undetermined class, which we now grow near “La Dama Blanca”. Nearby is Lady Mary Fitzwilliam, which Jeri Jennings reported as doing poorly in the spring, but it’s doing well now. I made sure Alan smelled that one. I looked at where we had once found Harison’s Yellow, but it has given up. Weed-whacked too many times. The Devoniensis is a highlight of the cemetery. It has one cane-turned-tree-trunk and 2 small new canes at the base. It had two small new canes four years ago, but they got cut off. Man I wish I could keep well-meaning people with no knowledge away from old rose plants! They can survive being ignored, but they can’t survive ignorance. Nearby is a small Hermosa, doing very poorly- more deadwood than living at the moment.

Devoniensis

Hermosa back when it was happy.

And finally a visit to “Flagpole” a hybrid perpetual by the Veteran’s Memorial plot. It rusts terribly, but the flower is a beautiful, very double deep pink, and quite fragrant. We also have this at the Heritage, planted just this year with the other found HPs. On the way back to town, I stopped by the lot where “Honeymoon Cottage Purple” should be, but didn’t see it. Jeri said it was large and happy in the spring, so I’m hoping I just missed it in the weeds.

In the two days since my visit, I have sent several emails to Alan and Carol, with pictures of how the garden used to look and a good selection of rose books for the State Parks library (they actually have some money in their budget for books). Anyone interested in joining their efforts should contact me, and I will forward your email address to Alan. A small but dedicated group of trained volunteers can bring back the beauty of these roses.

Dr. Wang and China Roses at the Heritage

After meeting him and hearing him talk about our Chinese roses, I thought it would definitely be worthwhile to go up to Quarry Hill on the 25th to hear his talk there. I’ve been to Quarry Hill a couple times before, and went with my friend Tamara, whose brother lives in Sonoma. I also knew that Tamara would enjoy the talk as much as me. So I emailed Tamara and left a message on her phone. And waited almost a week to hear back. She and her husband had taken a vacation. Yes she wanted to go too. So I emailed Quarry Hill
about tickets, and she tried to get in touch with her brother. We both batted out. No answer on the brother’s cell phone, and they’d sold out of tickets. It was only a few days until the talk by this time. Anita emailed that a friend had a spare ticket. I explained that I needed two, then wrote Quarry Hill and asked if they could squeeze in one more if I couldn’t find another ticket. Yes they could! And then Anita emailed again and had found a second ticket, so we could go. Except that the brother turned out to be hiking near Lake Tahoe and not answering his cell phone, and it was the 24th. So we decided to go regardless, and if she still couldn’t find her brother, we’d drive home after the talk.

The morning of the 25th, Tamara’s husband dropped her off, and she told me she finally got hold of her brother, he was back home and looking forward to us coming and spending the night. Everything had worked out! First stop- the Heritage’s nursery to pick up 5 of our left-over sale plants to give Anita for the Sacramento Cemetery Historic Rose Garden. Second stop Pete’s coffee in El Cerrito. Then straight through to Glen Ellen. I finally know how to find where the entrance to Quarry Hill is. It’s practically across Hwy 12 from the end of the road through Glen Ellen. A left on 12, then a right almost immediately. I’m not
writing that for you readers, but for me to refer to next time I go there. I don’t have a GPS device. Or a smartphone.

For those not familiar with Quarry Hill Botanical Garden, it is full of Chinese species grown from seed collected in China. Wandering through a botanical preserve is always fun. Tamara has a degree in horticulture, so while I’m mainly looking at the rose species, Tamara is looking at EVERYTHING. With a running commentary: “Is this a Beauty Bush? My Emmenopterys isn’t anywhere near this big! Oh my God look at this Idesia- I’ve got to get one of these. Smell that Cercidiphyllum? This looks like a little crabapple. Where’s the tag?” This goes on whether I’m still within earshot or not. (By the way, I just picked out random Latin names from the brochure. I really don’t remember the ones she said.) There are many pathways covering the walls of the old quarry, and we walked them for 3 1/2 hours, occasionally running into friends who had also come for the talk, but mostly we appeared to have the place to ourselves. Here are a few pictures, mainly rose species:

Rosa moyesii hip

Rosa longicuspis

Rosa roxburghii covered in huge yellow hips

Rosa roxburghii hip

Rosa sweginzowii has some of the nastiest looking armature in the rose world.

R. willmottiae has small bottle shaped hips, and needle like prickles.

View overlooking the lower pond at Quarry Hill.

Eventually, we went to the Visitor and Education Center where many friends were gathering, and we found the person with the spare tickets and reimbursed her, then went in and reserved seats. Dr. Wang’s talk was on the ancient roses of the Song Dynasty (1000 years ago). He has found 3000 records of roses from this period, some of which still exist, including White Pearl in Red Dragon’s Mouth. I took several pages of notes. There are paintings in China from this period of roses such as the ones we call Rosa Roxburghii
and Fortune’s Double Yellow. At that time the people enjoyed growing roses in large pots. He has found paintings of gardens showing the large pots with roses in them. I wish he could have talked for several hours. He knows so much about the history of rose growing in China, and here in the West, we know so little.

After the talk there was the exchange of roses- Alice had a “Rustler’s Gold” for me to take to the Heritage. I had grown one from a cutting several years ago, and it was planted at the Heritage, but died after less than a year. I’ll hang onto this one until it’s a good-sized 5-gallon plant before we put it in the ground. And I gave Anita the 5 plants for Sacramento. Many of us then headed into Sonoma, where Katherine offered us Rosegrowers ( a drink started by the Virtual Rose Society, made with cheap vodka and frozen Pink Lemonade) in her motel room. While enjoying this refreshment, we worked out a plan for dinner. Tamara was advocating the Swiss Hotel on the square in Sonoma. Ten of us walked from the motel to the square, and it turned out that the Swiss Hotel just happened to have a table set for 10. The food was great, and I gather the wine was, too, and the prices were reasonable. It’s so much fun to go out to dinner with rose friends from all around, and chat about roses and gardens. Here is a picture of my dessert:

Chocolate cake with vanilla ice cream-YUM!

Eventually Tamara and I made our way to her brother’s house, where we had a nice visit before going to bed. In the morning after coffee and picking figs by his house, we went to the Basque Café for breakfast. It’s on the square, and supplies the bread they serve at the Swiss Hotel. I bought two loaves of sourdough to bring home.

One more stop on the way home- Cactus Jungle in Berkeley. Tamara and her husband love succulents, and so does my younger daughter. They have some rare ones at this nursery which are fun to look at. I pickup up a few oddballs for my daughter as an early Christmas present. Tamara got a few plants, including a nice present for her husband.

I’ve included links for all the places in this blog in the list on the right, in case you want to go to any of these places.

Now, if you are involved with Heritage Roses, you are probably aware that EuroDesert Roses, owned by Cliff Orent, is going out of business. If you’re on his mailing list, you’ve seen many emails with beautiful pictures of roses. There are many I wish I could have ordered. But if you’ve seen the nursery at the Heritage lately, you’re aware that it is absolutely full of plants waiting for rain so we can plant them. Last year it was worse. Many of the volunteers had a number of potted plants in their home yards, waiting for space in the nursery. We got a lot of roses planted last year, and now all those loaned-out roses are back. This year we planned to get all the ones that have been waiting into the ground, and have space in the nursery before ordering any more.

So, out of the blue, I get an email from a woman in Missouri. She bought as many roses from Cliff as her yard can hold. She wanted to give him some financial help in closing out his stock and was looking for a public garden that would order roses from Cliff, if she made a donation to the garden. None in her area were set up to take rose donations. She looked online at gardens in California because that’s where Cliff is, and thought it might be easier for him. She didn’t know that Cliff and I know each other, and that he wanted to get some of his roses in our garden. She didn’t know I wanted his roses. Just picked us because we were in California and she’d heard about us on forums.

They say timing is everything, and it certainly was in this case. Well, timing and the fact that we are set up to do exactly what she wanted to do- give us a donation and have us spend it at the nursery of her choice. Even have it on our website. That’s why the nursery is full- donations to buy from Vintage Gardens. There were a couple of timing issues involved with this donation. The first timing issue was that I had just done my first inventory of the Courtyard Garden miniature roses (it’s just across the trail from the main garden). It had been a major undertaking, as most of the original signs had fallen apart, there was no real map of what rose was where. Just a database of what had been there around 2004. But I’m no expert on minis, so even if I had a sign, I couldn’t tell if it was by the correct rose. I made maps of each bed, made a separate database for the courtyard with a place for a photo of each. I found pictures online and used them to help figure out which roses were there and which weren’t. I was just finishing up the inventory, and knew that about 50 minis and mini-floras had died. So I thought, this donation could help me get replacements for the roses there as part of an overall rehab of that area which would include more effort to control weeds, and getting new better signs. And it happened that Cliff was about to release a list of his remaining mini and mini-floras, and I found 22 suitable roses on his list.

As these roses would soon be arriving bareroot, I decided I would fix up an unused weed-patch of a big vegetable garden in my yard, put the roses in until we had some rain, then plant them at the Heritage.  This bed had weeds two feet tall- clumps of dried grass, with bindweed everywhere. The soil was clay-rich and dry and lumpy, some piled up, some low areas. and the soil was also full of oxalis bulbs. But we’d already started clearing it, because we planned to make it into a winter cold frame for my daughter’s succulent collection. I promised my daughter the roses would be out of there before frost, and proceeded to spend a good part of three days working it over. I tossed out the surface weeds and as many bindweed roots as I could,and some of the larger oxalis bulbs. By the time i had it loosened, watered and cleared of weeds, boxes were arriving from Cliff. I dug trenches in the garden bed and lined up the roses and fill in the dirt. That kept me busy for the next several days. So here’s a picture of me working in the trenches to preserve rare roses:

The author in the trenches with the new roses

The garden bed with 26 roses planted in trenches.

At the time I ordered the minis, I didn’t know just how generous this donor was. It turned out we could also order a large number of older and some rare Hybrid Teas, some Polyanthas, a few old roses. Each list Cliff sent  to me had a number of roses on our ‘want list’, and this was the only chance we were going to have to get them from Cliff. I’d hoped we could postpone getting them till after our event, but timing was not in our favor on this. There was a time limit to getting orders, as Cliff was going out of business. Before our event on Sept. 24. If we were going to accept this kind and generous offer, we were taking on more work at a time when we had enough to do already. I don’t have room for more. I posted about the situation to our garden volunteer forum, and they, as always, stepped up to the plate, making suggestions as to how and where we could pot up these mature roses. Let me add a BIG “Thank You!” to any of our volunteers who might read this.

And there are more- Cliff has some recent imports in pots. Those can wait till after our event, thank goodness. So thank you Cliff for sending the roses and working with me in their selection. And especially, thank you to the donor in Missouri. You are making a big difference for a garden you’ve never seen. I hope you can come visit it someday.

And if anyone reading this lives near San Jose, and is fairly able-bodied, we can sure use your help this fall, because we have to get these roses planted. Use this link to see how to volunteer: http://www.heritageroses.us/VolunteerOpportunities.htm# And Thank You!

Adam Nicolson grew up at Sissinghurst, then left for university, then having his own family. He and his family returned to Sissinghurst 25 years later when his father, Nigel Nicolson, was dying. While caring for his father, he became aware of just how much had changed at Sissinghurst since he had left, and how the sense of Place had changed. During Vita and Harold’s time, the Sissinghurst property was a working farm, as it had been for most of its human history. But during the 80s and 90s, one by one, the animals and crops stopped being part of the farm. The farm buildings became part of the National Trust’s tourist related buildings. So over several months, Adam developed an idea of what he wanted to bring back. In the book, he alternates between the development of this plan over the 5 years between his father’s death and the publication of this book, and the history of this part of England, Sissinghurst Castle, and his family’s history with the property.

I loved reading about the history! Sissinghurst is an ancient Saxon name for the place, and predates any of the existing buildings. One of the fascinating facts was that within 3 miles of Sissinghurst were 74 place names that go back at least 1000 years. Twenty-six of these names end in “den”, which meant, “a pasture for pigs.” Sixteen places end in “hurst”, meaning, “a wood, probably on a hill, perhaps enclosed.” The place names show how the area was settled and used, as small farms and pastures and woodlands. Farming and hunting was the way of life here since early Anglo-Saxon times. Nicolson goes on to trace the history of ownership of the Sissinghurst property through the Middle Ages, when the tower and some other remaining buildings were erected. Then through the Elizabethan period when there was a huge Manor House beyond the tower, which incorporated the medieval house that was contemporaneous with the tower, and a hunting park surrounded by a “pale”. That was a new word for me. I’d heard “beyond the pale”, which has a similar origin. In this case the pale was created building up the boundary of the property with soil dug from a ditch just beyond it. This raised edging was densely planted with oaks. It kept the deer in the park. Much of the raised bank of this park pale can still be traced. The manor house was used as a prisoner of war camp during the Seven Years War, which is what led to its destruction. All this history relates to the “why” of Nicolson’s plans to restore a working farm to the property.

The “how” of restoring farming was almost as complex as the history. The property is owned by the National Trust, with the family having perpetual tenancy. Nicolson had to convince the Trust of the merit of his proposals. Then there were the staff, some of whom had been there for many years. They thought of him as someone who’d just arrived and wanted to change the way they’d always done it. And the number of meetings involved could wear a person down enough to give up. But his timing was good, as the idea of an organic vegetable garden on the property, providing fresh, seasonal food to the tourist lunchroom, fit well with the environmental movement taking hold in both Great Britain and the United States. His persistence was inspiring, and the end result, as of the time the book was written, was pretty good. Not everything he had hoped for was accomplished, but much has been started, and more may come with the success of the first steps.

Of course, you can’t be the descendant of famous people, and not include quite a bit about them in a book about their home. Adam’s father, Nigel Nicolson wrote “Portrait of a Marriage” based on his parents homosexual affairs. That is really all I knew about Vita Sackville-West before I read this book. I also knew she was a famous writer, and about the garden they created at Sissinghurst Castle, but I’ve never read anything she wrote. Adam treats his grandparents affairs (apparently many more of them than his father’s story includes) in a matter-of-fact manner. I can’t quite imagine being able to casually refer to someone as “one of my grandfather’s most devoted lovers.” There were many interesting tidbits about the family. All seem to have been prolific writers of letters and diaries, in addition to their many books. Indeed, Nigel Nicolson seems to have held parties just so he could write about them in his diary the next day.

Perhaps in the next few years, I will find some reason that I need to go to England again. This time, I will get to Sissinghurst. It’s no longer just a rose garden to be seen. It is a thousand years of history to be absorbed.

By the way, if you are now anxious to read this book, it is available here:  http://tinyurl.com/42oag6n

Part 1. Cemetery roses

It’s about a 5½ hour drive to Sue’s house, and I pass many small towns on the way. I’ve tried many slightly different routes, as all are about the same distance. We (my younger daughter came with me) always have to stop at Granzella’s on the way up or back or both, so I take I-505. There are a couple of cemeteries just of few miles off I-505, and I have visited one of them several times. The Heritage Rose Garden has had at least 21 roses collected from this cemetery, at least 2 of which are still in the garden, but no longer at the cemetery. I plan to propagate a plant of each to give bac to them. (For anyone who doesn’t know about collecting roses, we take a few cuttings from a plant in the cemetery, and get them to grow roots, or graft budeyes from the cutting onto a rootstock. The original plant in the cemetery is not harmed by this. If you have not successfully propagated roses
by one of these methods, please don’t take cuttings in cemeteries.) I just wanted to check on a couple rose bushes there this time, and took a few pictures in case I ever want to do a presentation on rose rustling.

A cemetery with lots of roses

The other cemetery was the source of a couple plants at the Heritage, a Mme Plantier and a Mistress Bosanquet. In fact, the Heritage has 7 plants of Mistress Bosanquet. Two were collected by different people at this cemetery, and given different study names. Two were collected at two other cemeteries in California, and another was also a found rose, but we don’t know where the donor found it. We have 2 plants each of two of these sources. It was fairly recently that we realized that the 5 different source roses were all the same. When we need the space, some of these will be removed. Anyway, I hadn’t been to the cemetery before, so I wanted to see it. One of the study names for the rose was Samuel Briggs #2, so I know that must be the name on the headstone, but a foetida rose, a hybrid of Persian Yellow perhaps, has taken up most of the plot, and covers the name on the headstone. The 1893 date is still visible. I took a few cuttings of the foetida. It would be more likely to grow if I dug a rooted sucker, but nobody wants to go under that thorny bush! The temperature was into the 90s, so we didn’t want to spend much time enjoying the scenery, but we saw at least a hundred dragonflies there and stopped to look at them flying about.

The date is about the only thing still visible on Samuel Briggs' headstone

Granzella’s is the main reason to stop in Williams on I-5. Maybe the only reason. There is good food: a resaurant and deli, olive tasting, gelato, coffee frappes, a bar and a gift store. It’s always in the 90s when I go there, and I live for the frappes. Don’t think I could make it the rest of the way to Chico without one. We also get a loaf of sourdough bread. There used to be some nice antique stores on the main street, but they’ve all gone. Now some places are opening kitty-corner from Granzella’s. We checked them out. One was like an Army surplus store plus old stuff that had closed some years back and was reopening with no changes. A gift and antique/collectible store opened next to it, and has lots of nice things I don’t need and can’t afford, but it’s nice to see that sort of thing returning.

After cooling down at Granzella’s it was time to head to the river. From Hwy 45 there are several places to cross the Sacramento River. I’ve used every one of them over the years, including the Princeton Ferry, back when it was still in operation. The Heritage has a couple roses that came from Princeton Cemetery. A couple years ago I stopped to get new cuttings of one that had died, and also collected one I call “Princeton Pink” and one I called “Old Wooden Marker”. I stopped this time to get pictures of “old Wooden Marker”, and “Row of Wooden Markers” if they were in bloom. They weren’t. “Princeton Pink” was in bloom, but the flowers were only about half the size of the plant I have in a pot at home.

"Princeton Pink"

The cemetery is well watered, so perhaps it’s the heat the causes that size difference. The cemetery is still active, so there are also some roses from the 1980s there. (When I got home, “Old Wooden Marker” was in bloom. WHen I saw it just opening the evening I got home, it was a gorgeous velvety red, with purplish outermost petals. By morning when I took this picture, the colors had faded a bit, and I got that sinking feeling that it could be Dr. Huey. But I grabbed a leaf from a plant of Dr. Huey and compared them The stipules are clearly different, so I heaved a sigh of relief.

"Old Wooden Marker"

As we continued to Chico, we spotted a cemetery on one of the farm roads we took. No time to stop then, but we spotted it again on the way home and stopped there. By the gate, there was a rose on each side, Bourbons, I think. The gate had been replaced in 1985, so I don’t know if they are old plants that have been there since the 1800s, or if they bought or transplanted heritage roses in the 80s.

Speckeled Bourbon rose

I got a few cuttings of each. One was a solid pink with lighter reverse, and the other was light pink with darker speckles and streaks. Farther into the cemetery there were two large old bushes of what I’m pretty sure was Hermosa, but the sun and heat had damaged the blooms. I took cutting from them as well. By the other gate were two more roses. I recognized Mlle. Franziska Kruger, and the other was a multiflora, probably a rootstock. I will have to find locations of other area cemeteries
for future trips. There must be some I’ve missed!

Pink Bourbon rose

Buds of the pink Bourbon rose

Part 2 The Adventure

Sue had a pamphlet put out by the local Sierra Club of favorite hikes in the area. One was a hike to the site of Mayaro Lodge near the Feather River. It was at one time, from the 30s to the 50s, a nice resort along a creek, having small cottages, a dining hall, ponds, fountains, rock walls, Adirondack chairs and numerous patios. I know this not from the pamphlet or from seeing the site, but from pictures in the Eastman collection at UC Davis, viewable online when you search for ‘Mayaro Lodge, Calif.’ in Google Images. We did this after the hike, and were quite amazed at how the place looked in the 30s through 50s. Three of us went on this hike. Sue’s neighbor Amy is an archeologist, and Sue thought she’d also like seeing the place. The pamphlet said, “Stroll amongst the curving paths and fountain sites and picture the old lodge and cabins that were nestled amongst the Douglas Firs and Black Oaks.” and “Notice the many surviving exotic plants of the resort gardens such as Hypericum, Wisteria, and Rose.” It certainly sounded inviting, so we set out Saturday morning, first driving to Pulga, a very small town by the railroad tracks next to the Feather River. From here we were to walk 2 1/2 miles along the tracks. This would have been very pleasant except for three things- it was really hot, we mainly had to walk on the railroad ties, which were concrete, but the spacing was not quite a regular walking step, and we had to look at them to keep from tripping on the loose rocks between the ties, so we couldn’t walk and look at the scenery at the same time. And there was some beautiful scenery! Small waterfalls flowing into the river. A shady area with a cascading waterfall. Wildflowers.

Sue and Amy looking at the Feather River by the tracks

A couple of small creeks cascading into the Feather River

Poe Dam on the Feather River

We spotted where we were to start walking on a  trail to the lodge site, and started heading uphill. We knew we were in the right place when we saw coreopsis and lichnis plants.

Coreopsis

Definitely not native. I realized I was huffing and puffing, and couldn’t understand why. It wasn’t a steep climb, and we hadn’t gone very far. Did I mention the temperature was in the 90s? I decided the heat must be getting to me, since I’m not used to doing much in that kind of temperature. In Santa Cruz, it rarely hits 80. A bit farther on, the trail became unclear. We could see where we wanted to get to, but there was a large blackberry patch in the way, and a little creek. We thought it might be better to go uphill, but that turned out to have a lot of poison oak. So we decided to forge ahead through the blackberries. I was armed with clippers and gloves, so we took turns using them to cut away the bushes. Amy discovered a small tree branch she could balance on to get across the wet area, and so we were able to get to the site. As soon as I saw a shady area, I sat on a rock, drank water and
ate my sandwich. That made me feel a bit better. Amy had disappeared. She was the one who’d walked through poison oak, and she wanted to get to the creek and wash off. I was battling biting insects in my shady spot. I re-applied the insect repellant, covering my entire arms and legs with it before they stopped trying to bite. I made a foray to help Sue find Amy, then back to my shady spot.

Lichnis

It occurred to me about this time, that none of the three of us thought to bring ANY first aid supplies. I landed wrong on my left foot a couple of times and the ankle hurt for a minute. Had I actually injured it, we had NOTHING that would have helped. I had my cell phone, so I turned it on, just for fun. No signal, as I expected. So good none of us injured ourselves!

Finally Amy emerged, and showed us how to get to a nice spot by the creek, with some places we could dip in, and nearby rocks in the shade to sit. The water, of course was ice-cold. I stood in it, splashed it on my arms and legs, got my hair and the top of my head wet. Then went back a few minutes later with my shirt, got it wet and put it back on. Had a good rest except for the discovery that the ants bite, too. After the rest and cold water on me, I was feeling normal again, and ready to explore the site. Problem was, that pamphlet was written 18 years ago, a minor detail Sue had failed to mention previously. Things had grown. Hypericum covered most of the ground, so we didn’t know if we were on pathways or just dirt.

A rock wall with a couple of posts

A rock wall covered by hypericum

No sign of any fountains. We saw a few pits behind rock walls, but couldn’t tell if they had been ponds or outhouse holes.

Hypericum

Also, there had been horrendous fires in that part of the state a few years back, and there were signs of fire damage to trees and large bushes. I realized if there were any roses, they would have to have grown back from the roots after the fire. Sue kept quoting the words, “Wander amongst the pathways…”, then saying, “Well, I said it would be an Adventure.” We continued breaking dead branches off trees so we could get past them, or pushing small branches out of our way.

Foxglove growing on top of a rock wall.

The pamphlet said to wander up through the site and find a place to cross the creek to connect with a road on the other side, follow it up and around, then back to Pulga. We got about as far as we could, and realized we were never going to find a place to cross that creek with all the water flowing in it this year (one of those Eastman pictures shows it quite well). We’d have to turn around and go back the way we came on the tracks. So we explored a bit more. There was a huge Mullein plant that I had Amy and Sue stand next to for scale.

Amy and Sue behind giant mullein

Foxgloves were everywhere. There was a large area of marjoram/oregano. A huge oleander bush, showing burn scars on the bigger canes. There was an orange-flowered plant I didn’t recognize. And some native iris.

I've been told this is silene, a California native wildflower.

This iris is probably a native.

Then as we were trying to figure out how we’d gotten through some hanging branches, Sue was bending low to try to get under one and said, “ROSE!” Sure enough, there was a rose we’d walked right by on the way up, and came close to missing on the way down. I’m 100% sure it’s Odorata Understock, but I took some cuttings anyway. Besides the rock walls, we had seen some foundations, and broken bottles, an old Coke bottle, and white and blue glass. No souvenirs- archeologists like you to leave things as you find them.

Wild penstemon

We made it past the blackberries with no serious mishaps, and were back on the tracks a few minutes later. We took a look at out lower legs- we had all gotten lots of scratches between the blackberries and crashing through branches. They looked terrible! (Mine looked even worse after I walked into a raised faucet at the cemetery the next day and got a bruise on half of my shin.)

My scratched up legs, taken the next day.

It was still VERY HOT! I was low on water, but Sue and Amy had plenty and shared with me. My backpack for this hike is not very ergonomic- it’s designed for travel and commuting, with a nice padded pouch in it for carrying a laptop. It also attaches well to my rolling suitcase. But it’s a bit heavy, and it gives me a serious neck and and back ache when worn for hours, something that had never happened until this hike. I tried slinging it over one shoulder for awhile, then the other, until both shoulders ached as much as my back and neck. For the last half a mile, I carried it like a bag of groceries. Also my feet were tripping on rocks a lot more on the way back because they were tired, so it was lucky I never lost by balance. We rested at the cascading waterfall again, and Sue found a way down to the creek and came back with a wet t-shirt. I gave her a big hug.

Large cascading waterfall

Later there was a dammed side creek with water shooting out of a pipe. I couldn’t get to the water, but I took off my shirt and flung it back and forth till it was wet again. That felt good.

Once we finally got back to the car, it was quickly agreed that we needed Margaritas. First we stopped at a small store for cold drinks, then drove to Chico, where one restaurant has a Margarita specialty. Sue had mentioned making dinner when we got back. I couldn’t imagine having that kind of energy. Fortunately, when she called her husband, he suggested we stop at Papa Murphy’s Take n Bake pizza. The baking gave us time for showers with Tegu, which is supposed to prevent getting poison oak. I don’t think I touched any, but used it, just in case.

Still wondering what this white wildflower is.

This is a sort of diary from the trip:

I quickly made it through security at San Jose airport Tuesday morning, got a cup of Pete’s and sat down to wait for an hour. Played solitaire on my PDA. Got on the plane, row 35, seat A. No one else was in my little 3-seat group, so the guy in the row behind with his wife and son decided to move to seat C. We took off and I watched out the window as we circled to gain height. The plane must have gone right over the Rose Garden, because I couldn’t see it, although I could see the airport and some other landmarks. For all the planes I see from the Rose Garden, it would only be fair for me to be able to see the garden from the air, but not this trip. When I fly back, I land at night, so it won’t happen then either. I can look out at the scenery from the plane window all day long. I create geologic maps in my mind as I fly over the Great Basin and Canyonlands. We flew right over the part of the Sierra Nevada foothills where Frank and I had just spent our anniversary last month. Less snow now. But the guy in seat C was a talker, so I had to keep turning around to be polite and not ignore him altogether. Now, I have worked hard at creating a look that says, “I’m really not interested in what you are talking to me about” because I try to discourage my family members from telling me all about a radio talk show one listened to or the minutest details of a baseball game another watched, but that look was not working on this guy. Oh well, it hasn’t worked that well on my family, either. So by the time we were flying over the West Texas hill country, I had learned far more about this man than any stranger ought to know, including some things about his early love life, and that his son was named Sebastian after the crab in the Little Mermaid. Eventually, we landed in Houston where I changed planes. As I got up to get ready to leave the plane, he introduced me to his wife (“She can cook in twelve languages” which he had written down to show me an hour earlier) and his son (no, I didn’t make a comment about the crab, although I was tempted.)

In Houston I had to walk from the far end of terminal E to the far end of terminal C.  It took 20 minutes. Fortunately, I had an hour. The next flight was SOOO much better. The woman next to me was returning to Boynton Beach from Bali, via Moscow and Houston. She promptly fell asleep for the entire 2 ½ hours. As we were flying over western Florida, we flew around a huge thunderhead. There was near constant lightning going on within the cloud. I tried a bit of video out the plane window, but it turned out much darker than the event appeared to view. So, finally in West Palm. Jimmy greets me with, “Welcome to Swampville.” Need I say more about the weather?

Wednesday, one of my North Carolina cousins and his kids were also visiting. I hadn’t met the kids, now about 12 and 15, so it was great to see them and catch up with Jeff. We talked about some of our early memories growing up in New Jersey. I’d forgotten that I still had a relative with some of those same memories. As we grow older, there are fewer and fewer people who share certain memories. Nanny, our great-grandmother, is probably only still remembered by my Dad, my cousin and me.  I also spent much of the day getting computers working right. They were worried about Dad’s hard drive on the tower, but the problem turned out to be a bad monitor. My brother found one on Craigslist at a good price and Dad’s back in business Well, as much as you can be with 8-year-old XP). Set up the laptop to work with the webcam and printer, so that’s in business, too. Both my Dad’s cameras had full memory cards with pictures going back several years. I found the cords (finding one required a tour of all Dad’s old cameras and stories about the Leica) and uploaded all the pictures to a folder on the computer and deleted them from the cameras, so all technology is now functional. Yeah! At night we had dinner at Dad’s favorite restaurant. They gave Dad a piece of very chocolate cake with a candle for him to blow out, and sang Happy Birthday to him. Nice people at that restaurant. They know Dad well enough that they start making his drink as he walks in the door.

Thursday afternoon, I decided to take a walk before dinner, as it had cooled down a bit and I hadn’t gotten any exercise since I left Houston airport. The plants and animals in Florida are mostly different from the ones I’m used to. Mockingbirds are about the only ones in common. They have Blue Jays that don’t sound at all like our Stellar Jays and Scrub Jays- even less pleasant to listen to.

I don't know what kind of butterfly this is.

They have a lot of imported trees, like the Flame Trees. The houses at the Aero Club are mostly very similar- tan or white stucco with tile roofs. In California, most houses built like that have some amount of Spanish Colonial Revival to the design, but not these. And most of the landscaping is lawn- Bermuda Grass, at that. There’s a dog park near Dad. In fact, it’s about the only thing near Dad if you don’t fly. I walked over there and petted a lot of dogs. Their owners pretty much ignored me, not making any effort to include me in their conversation. In California, people talk to strangers in public settings, but I remember growing up in New Jersey, people are more reserved in the east.

Flocks of white ibis walk through the neighborhood all the time.

Brown anole. I also got video of him showing an orange throat skin flap.

Friday we had weather conditions I’d never experienced before. Rolling thunder that lasted for an hour and a half, nonstop, no lightning. I sat on the screened in patio and watched a young anole on the screen.  (If you aren’t familiar with anoles, there’s a picture of one on this webpage, partway down: http://floridainvasiveanimals.pbworks.com/w/page/494755/Brown-Anole ). On my last day there, I was able to catch the young anole in a container and release it back into some hibiscus plants.

Later, we had a nice birthday dinner for Dad, with cheesecake for dessert.

Dragonfly resting on a branch of the mango tree.

Saturday- another storm with nonstop rolling thunder. Between storms, I took another walk to the dog park. This time some of the same people were there and we talked together for about half an hour. When I left, one said, “Come again, we’re here every day about this time.” Of course I wasn’t a stranger anymore. But I didn’t get beck there due to rain most days. They really needed a lot of rain!, and were getting a fair amount.

Sunday was Dad’s wife’s birthday. For my brother, this was three birthdays in as row, because his girlfriend had a birthday Saturday. We went back to the favorite restaurant. Dad got a surprise- my brother-in-law had sent a gift certificate to the restaurant for him, so they surprised him with that, then the manager said if anyone could guess the first year he actually voted, that person’s dinner would be free. He’s a year older than me, and I first voted in 72. So I guessed 2008. I was right, so I decided to get something more extravagant than I had originally planned. So Dad bought dinner and drinks for 5 people for $30. So he was pretty happy, too.

Tuesday, my brother took me to Morikami Gardens (http://www.morikami.org/), which we both really enjoyed. Some large, 30 or more years old and very interesting bonsai. Every tree in the place had its branches trained. Some tied to pieces of bamboo, some weighted down with rocks. We felt quite feng-shuied after a while.

This large iguana climbed to the top of this small island

They have a nice loop trail with smaller side loops, rock sculpture, ponds, trees trained into arches.

Me in the gardens

Really nice place to walk and relax. Had lunch there too.

Covered archway made of trained trees.

Also quite nice.

The view from our table at the Morikami Restaurant

Highly recommended if you’re near Boca Raton. Every place in South Florida got rain during the day, but we just got a sprinkling that didn’t make it down through the trees. Timing.

Wednesday, I was supposed to leave for the airport about 4:30. Had packed and printed out my boarding passes. Then I checked that the plane would be leaving on time. Nope. The incoming plane was delayed in Houston. My plane would be first 1½ hours late, then 1¾  hours. I wasn’t going to make my connection in Houston. So I got on the phone and called Continental. After 5 minutes, a very nice man came on and agreed that I didn’t want to spend the night in Houston airport. No, he couldn’t reroute me, at least not today. Thursday, he could get me on at 11:53 am or 3 pm, and either way I’d be on the same plane out of Houston to San Jose. Of course the 3 pm would be better, but my Dad’s got a couple of appointments tomorrow and so does my brother, but they plan to give someone else a ride to the airport for an 11:45am flight, so that was the more convenient choice. If something goes wrong with that, I can probably reschedule for the later one, but not the other way around. So I made arrangements with my son-in-law who was planning to pick me up at the San Jose end, and called my husband to let him know. Then I had a couple of glasses of wine, and started some laundry. I only brought as much underwear as I was going to need. Now I’m going to need one more. Later we went out to Applebee’s where I tried their new “Perfect Margarita” which was pretty good (their regular one I had 6 or 7 years ago was awful, and the waiter implied that the description I gave him of it was still pretty accurate.) So, well drunk by the time we left, I settled in for one more night in Florida.

Things started out well on Thursday, but my plane to Houston had one stop first, and while on the taxi-way to leave that stop, a plane a couple in front of us had smoke in the cabin. We were stuck on the taxi-way for an hour.

View out my plane window of the other plane and passengers

This was going to make for a tight connection in Houston. All my luggage is with me in the cabin, so if I make it the bag will, too. Glad I didn’t need to check it for this flight.

I am eternally grateful to the flight attendant on that US Air flight for getting me and my bag and pack to the front of the plane just before we landed. No way would I have made the connection if I had to wait for the entire plane in people in front of me to exit. I was then at one end of Houston airport and the plane I needed to get on was at the other end. I had 22 minutes to get there. With my pack on my back, pulling the rolling case, and my jacket over the other arm, I ran as much as I could to the monorail- 5 minutes. Rode the monorail- 8 minutes. Run through terminal D, past the International terminal around the corner and I could see the gate. Got to it with 4 minutes to spare, huffing and puffing. (Later, I was describing this race to my son-in-law. He said I must have been a sight.) But actually they were still loading the plane for another 10 minutes, so they might have let me on even if I got there after the so-called departure time. The reason it was taking so long to load the plane is that it costs $25 to check a bag. So everybody has all carry on luggage, including me. The overhead compartments can’t hold everybody’s bags. People are wandering around the plane looking for places in overhead compartments. So they do a lot of bag checking at the door to the plane. It’s free when they run out of room in the overheads. (After I got home, I sent an email to US Air commending the flight attendant who saved me from a night in Houston Airport.)

I wish I’d had the window seat on the way back. It was cloudy for a while, but cleared around Arizona. I could see fairly well if the man in seat A was sitting back, but sometimes he was leaning forward. I didn’t recognize as much looking south as I’d seen looking north on the way east. Usually, I’ve flown over the Sierra Nevada, but this time we came around the south end, and, looking to the south, the first place I recognized was the Pacific Ocean. I was looking toward Santa Barbara and the Transverse Ranges. Then I could see Morro Rock as we turned northward. I could see my neighborhood in Santa Cruz a little before we got to San Jose. Alas, I still couldn’t see the Rose Garden in San Jose. It might have been visible if I could have looked out the other side of the plane from that window seat, but we probably flew right over the center.

I was pretty tired and sore Friday from the running, lifting and sitting on the plane for hours (such uncomfortable seats after a while). Not much time for relaxing at home- Fourth of July weekend has two birthdays at our home, one reason I don’t make it to my Dad’s birthdays. My mother-in-law is just 8 days younger than my Dad, and one daughter was born on the 4th. Anyway, nice to see my garden. Nothing died in my absence, and my tomato plants doubled in size. Leaving again the 5th on a shorter trip to Chico area. Next blog.

“In Greek mythology, a Charis is one of several Charites: goddesses of charm, beauty, nature, human creativity and fertility. They ordinarily numbered three, from youngest to oldest: Aglaea (“Splendor”), Euphrosyne (“Mirth”), and Thalia (“Good Cheer”). In Roman mythology they were known as the Gratiae, the “Graces”.”

'The Three Graces' at Hearst Castle

What I’m really getting to here is a rose story. Aglaïa, the rose, is a pale yellow hybrid multiflora, and as Aglaïa means Splendor, it was aptly named. It was created from Rosa multiflora and Rêve d’Or by someone named Schmitt in Alsace and introduced in Germany by Peter Lambert in 1896.  (Schmitt also bred the ramblers Euphrosne and Thalia). Despite being a wonderful rose, Aglaïa is mainly known as the parent of Trier (bred by Peter Lambert), the main ancestor of the hybrid musk group of roses developed by Pemberton. Being the offspring of two climbing roses, it’s not surprising that it is a rampant climber. Its foliage is completely healthy and it doesn’t have many thorns. It still amazes me that, according to helpmefind.com, it has well over 2000 descendants. Amazing because the rose is not well-known anymore, and seldom seen. In the whole of North America, only two California nurseries sell it.

Full bloom on my fence

So, what’s the story? A few blogs back I told the story of the Harris Flat Ayrshire. We’re going back to that general location. Barbara McCrary’s mother-in-law, Agnes McCrary, lived in a cute stone and wood cottage a couple of miles south of Harris Flat, in northern Santa Cruz County. According to Barbara, a rose came with Agnes’ family in a wagon train and was still growing on the fence in front of the house where she had lived. So, after leaving Harris Flat, Tamara, Barbara and I drove to the house. Tamara and I took one look at the rose on the fence, which wasn’t even in bloom, and said, “Dorothy Perkins”. That makes twice, for me, that someone has mixed up a pioneer rose with this ubiquitous rambler. However, we could see, closer to the creek, behind the house, a pale yellow rose climbing into a small fruit tree. At the time I didn’t recognize it, and neither did Tamara. But I took cuttings, and grew the plant, hoping it might be the Pioneer rose. There aren’t that many pale yellow multiflora hybrids to choose from, so by the time it was ready to plant, I knew it was Aglaïa. Agnes’ father and grandparents came there in the 1860s, so the Pioneer rose is definitely gone. Agnes would have been a young child when her parents acquired both Dorothy Perkins and Aglaïa, so one can’t blame her for not knowing which rose her grandparents brought in the wagon.

Closeup of a cluster

I planted Aglaïa and the Harris Flat Ayrshire next to each other on the fence behind our house. Neither require any effort on my part- no summer water or any fertilizer or mulch. They do require some pruning to keep them from attacking people trying to walk between the fence and the house. My real problem at the moment is that the fence post by Aglaïa has rotted and the fence leans a bit toward the neighbor’s driveway. My husband put another post a couple of feet from it and boards to tie the rotted post to the new one, but now that one is also rotting. Last year my husband tied a rope from the porch post to the newer fence post. This spring, a strong wind blew Aglaïa toward the house. This was actually good for the fence, but bad for the pathway. While the rose was in full bloom, I had to cut off enough to allow access to the rear of the house, and so it wasn’t pulling down on the rope.

View from my back door two years ago

View after the wind. Note the rope on the post.

BUT sooner or later we need to fix the fence! Aglaïa, now a glorious huge plant, will need a severe cutting back.

Another view, after the wind

Altaville Pernetiana

This is probably Talisman. It grows near Angel’s Camp, and we stopped to take pictures.

Sierra Railroad Engine #3

If you’ve ever seen an old train in a movie or TV show, this was the engine. Hollywood has used it for decades. It’s at the Sierra Railroad State Park in Jamestown. We took a ride on one of the other trains there.

Calaveras Big Trees State Park

There was still snow on the ground, but we walked around where it wasn’t too slippery for our shoes. This is a composite of several photos, as you can’t get a whole Sierra Redwood in one picture.

Back at home, here are some plants by my tiny pond. The rose is a volunteer. It’s a seedling of Francis E. Lester, but has larger flowers, and not nearly as many of them. There’s also a volunteer Euphorbia, known as ‘gopher purge’, but in my experience, it doesn’t. The mass of long narrow leaves behind is some bulb that multiplies a lot, but never blooms. I put it around the pond to help keep raccoons out. During the spring, most days when the sun was shining, tree frogs could be seen sitting on the leaves. I was hoping for pollywogs in the pond, but haven’t seen any yet.

Pond area plants

A cluster of flowers

That section was added to the barn in the 1960s as a studio and sales room for the wooden toys that my husband’s parents used to make. Rosa banksia is thornless (I know roses have prickles, not thorns, but prickleless just sounds silly), yet manages to climb with very little support needed. The first couple years, we put a few hooks on the front wall and tied the canes to it so they didn’t flop over the driveway and get in the way of the cars. Once it reached the top of the wall, it found that the trim wood wasn’t well attached to the corrugated metal roofing, and little canes could get through between them. Once through, they produced many small canes arching over the edge of the roof. One cane went along the side of the studio, and has worked its way through one of the battens as well as part of the roof trim.

Close-up of a flower

A few years ago, my husband got on the roof and cut off the canes at the roofline, but never got under the roof to cut them off there, so they just sprouted back the next year. People say banksia roses are house eaters. You’ve been warned. Someday we’ll probably have to do major surgery on this rose, and several repairs to the studio walls and roof.

Rosa banksiae var. normalis on the barn

Canes under the corner of the barn roof

There are four varieties of the banksiae roses. They are said to smell like violets, but I can’t smell them or violets, so I guess I have a genetic defect there. A bit frustrating when people say how marvelous it smells. The normalis grows wild in Sichuan Province, China, where it is known as Qi Li Xiang. The first western descriptions date to 1796. It was introduced to Europe about 1877.

Cane growing behind batten.

In Sacramento last weekend, the banksiae roses were wonderful. Usually, they are about done by the date of the Open Garden at the Old City Cemetery Historic Rose Garden, but our wet late winter-early spring has delayed peak bloom dates. They have the normalis up a huge Pine tree. It was past its peak bloom, but still pretty spectacular:

Rosa banksiae normalis climbing a tall Pine tree

Janelle took at picture of it a few years ago at peak bloom, and posted it on HelpMeFind, which you can see here:  Janelle’s Photo

Here is their Rosa banksiae var. banksiae, the double sport of the normalis. This is the one known as the Lady Banks Rose, and was introduced to the United Kingdom in 1807.

The double white Rosa banksiae banksiae growing into trees

The double yellow form, Rosa banksiae lutea was introduced in the UK in 1824, and is the most popular around here. At a local park, the landscapers have shaped it into “gumdrops”- 3 foot high rounded bushes. Of course it looks ridiculous, but there is a positive effect- it has some bloom on it most of the season. Normally it is a once bloomer with scattered later flowers. In Sacramento, it is climbing a tall tree:

Rosa banksiae lutea climbing a tree

The fourth variety is the single yellow, Rosa banksiae lutescens. It’s the least common around here, and I don’t have any pictures to show. Instead, I’ll share other pictures I took during the Open Garden weekend. I’m not writing about the Open Garden this year, as the events were pretty similar to last year, and you can read about that in my older posts.

A group of us learning about Pseudomonas infection in rose canes from Baldo

A beautiful found rose "Coulterville Red"

An unidentified Tea rose. Anybody know what it is?

The sales table after the big rush. There were a few irises, too.

One of the prettiest memorials

For those who don’t live where they can hear this bird, my husband made a recording of the birds in our hedge:
Audio file