Removing a Tree

Normally, we’re all about planting trees here at Poppy Corners. In the last 20 years, we’ve planted nearly 30 of them on this 7,000 sq ft property, most of them smaller in stature (and pruned to keep them that way). But there were three large trees here when we moved in: A valley oak, a catalpa, and a southern magnolia. I’ve written extensively about the oak (here, and here, and here, among others); we absolutely love it and so does all the wildlife that feed and shelter in its canopy. The catalpa is also lovely, providing bees with a feast when it blooms in late May, and arching gracefully with enormous heart-shaped leaves and foot-long seed pods.

But the magnolia (Magnolia grandiflora)? Seriously mixed feelings.

First, the good. In general, magnolias can be beautiful trees. They have an attractive white bark, and large leathery leaves that are dark green on top and rust-colored on the bottom. The huge white flowers sit like lily pads on top of the dark leaves, making a lovely contrast. The seed pods are interesting, with bright red ‘beads’ set into a corn-shaped husk.

Specifically, our tree is certainly beautiful most of the year (it always looks a little peaked after blooming, but only for about a month or so). Its sturdy branches held a swing when the kids were little and the tree saw a lot of action, as it was also very climbable, limbs conveniently and regularly spaced. It provides good shade and is a good shield from western sun on hot summer afternoons. Its roots are polite, only marginally displacing the sidewalk.

And, it’s old. Historical, even. We are not sure, but since there are many of these trees in the neighborhood, we think they were planted when the houses were built in 1949.

These good things, though, pale next to the long list of not-so-good things about this tree. It’s weak-limbed, and branches fall down in both wind and heavy rain, often taking out cable lines running to our home from the street. No birds ever nested in its branches, and no bees ever foraged for nectar or pollen in its blooms. I never saw anything eat its seeds. Its shade is deep and dark, rather than dappled. It blocks the sun from our solar panels.

It’s also native to the Southeastern United States, and prefers high humidity in summer. Since it doesn’t get that here in arid California, it sucks up a tremendous amount of water from the surrounding landscape. It’s just not climate-appropriate for this area.

And the leaves. Did I mention the leaves? Huge, tough, and leathery, the leaves never break down. And the tree, being evergreen, sheds them all year. There is a constant carpet of them on all the other plants in our landscape. They are buried in them. Once a month we need to hand-pick the leaves off other plants, and rake out the drifted dunes of them under, in, around, and on top of everything within 30 feet of it. The leaves don’t compost (at least not for years), so they have to go in the green bin. To my mind that means it’s wasted material. I can give some of them to the chickens but even their sharp claws and beaks are no match for the un-tearable fabric of these leaves.

Meanwhile, our remaining vegetable-growing area was receiving less and less sun. Especially afternoon sun, which is crucial for the ripening of summer crops like tomatoes and peppers. Our perennial herbs were also suffering, as was one of our main flower beds.

In short, the magnolia doesn’t improve things. It doesn’t provide what we want it to provide, while providing too much of things that are not useful. It’s a water hog. And ‘beauty’ is only one consideration in this garden, and it’s not the most important one.

So, every five years or so, on his annual visit to check out our trees, I’d get a quote from my guy to remove it. And every time, I just couldn’t pull the trigger. Who cuts down a mature tree in this CO2 crisis we’re living in? Who takes away shade when shade is desperately needed in cities?

Apparently we do.

Now, I had all sorts of feelings about this. Some were practical: Everything I had planted underneath this tree was intended for ‘dry shade.’ With the tree gone, would I be needing to re-plant this entire area? How much time would that require, and how much money would it cost? Would our bedroom (which was shaded by the tree) get super-hot in summer? Would we feel the lack of privacy its large leathery leaves had afforded us?

And then other feelings were purely emotional. Before he left for work, Tom put his hand on the bark and thanked it; before the tree guys came, I went out and put my arms around it and cried.

But then the guys arrived and for the next hour I was positively riveted by their expertise and care. Cranes! Ropes! Huge branches going into huge chippers! I mean, I get the trees pruned every year or so, I’m no stranger to a good chipper, but watching enormous pieces of trunk go into that thing was mesmerizing!

I asked the guys to cut me some rounds from the trunk, so I could put them throughout the garden and we’d have part of the tree still with us. They graciously agreed.

The stump grinder got wheeled in; and then it was done.

No more tree.

I was glad I had called the solar-panel cleaners, because it was now painfully obvious that our panels were desperately in need of some care. We wondered what would happen when 1) they got more solar energy because the tree was gone and 2) they got more solar energy because they were cleaned. Let me tell you, our data showed a swift uptake in energy collection.

And now it’s just all about watching the light. How does it move, where does it move, how does the increased amount affect the garden and all my established plants? What needs to be transplanted elsewhere? What could be added? How does the removal affect the house and the temperature within it? What should replace the magnolia, if indeed we decide to replace it?

All of this will become clear over time, and we do intend to take a good amount of time before deciding. But it’s weird to have that hole in the landscape, when it has been here the whole time we have lived here. Removing a tree is not an easy thing.

Nothing Gold Can Stay*

*Thank you to Robert Frost for this line of poetry!

The rain has finally begun. Rain, or the lack of it, marks the seasons for us in California. When the rains arrive, we know that the ‘long dark’ (as Tom likes to call it) is upon us; winter is nearly here. It transforms our dry landscapes into something green and lush, and all the native California plants wake up and start to perform.

But before that happens, the hills still retain the gold of summer, and that color is reflected in the garden. I look around, and suddenly everything is yellow.

The Chinese pistache trees are dropping gold all over the ground.

The gold of the spice bush picks up the gold in the neighbor’s tulip poplar.

A white-crowned sparrow with a beautifully yellow beak complements the yellow in the elderberry leaves.

The nectarines are reflecting the gold fronds of the asparagus behind them.

The Japanese maples are starting to show their signature flaming colors, which mirror the Asian pear, just starting to turn at the edges.

A yellow-rumped warbler shows off its coloring, and is framed by the neighbor’s changing crepe myrtle tree beyond the fence.

The raspberry’s yellowing leaves mirror those of the just-beginning-to-turn Western redbud behind it and the liquidambar tree up the street.

And coming full circle, the mock orange tree’s yellowish-green fruits are highlighted with the Chinese pistache behind.

We even see yellow in abundance while out hiking. The lovely golden grasses of California are set off by a perfect blue sky and a paraglider with a yellow sail floating down from the top of Mount Diablo.

Nature’s colors are lovely, no matter the season, but I’m especially enjoying the warm golds of autumn.

A golden sunset

Rats like Brassicas

This photograph is from the end of September, the day that my Edible Landscaping class took all these seedlings, both in the greenhouse and on shelves and tables outside, and planted them out in our garden. (Did I tell you about the new greenhouse at school? It’s excellent.) There are always so many seedlings that there are extras for the students to take home and plant in their own gardens, and then for a few weeks there are a few stray seedlings in the greenhouse just waiting for a taker - maybe someone from another class, or the garden club. But finally, when I’m sure the ones left are definitely up for grabs, I bring them home. It always yields an interesting assortment of things, some I would have definitely planted on my own (broccoli, cauliflower, turnip) and some I probably wouldn’t have (mustard greens, always there are a ton of mustard greens… not my favorite, but good in small doses, and also for the chickens). I reserved my two 4x4 beds for this purpose, and planted them out the third week of October.

And then, suddenly, they started disappearing. Just the leaves - and not the mustard leaves, no, just the brassica leaves. Very weird. I thought, well, the snails are back (we had one very light rain), or maybe it’s birds. I went to a local nursery and bought a bunch of cabbage seedlings, four different kinds. Tom and I like a leafy salad that also has some crunchy things in it, and cabbage fits the bill. I planted them out and then spread netting over the beds, figuring job done.

But every morning, I’d go out and one or two would be eaten. Pretty soon, not much was left, and I was frustrated. It’s getting towards the time, here in Nor Cal, that the nights are getting very chilly and even though the soil is still warm and the days are sunny and in the 60s, the plants aren’t going to do much growing, or even get their roots firmly established by the time true winter sets in. So I asked Tom to place the wildlife camera IN the bed, at soil level, to see what was eating the greens.

I guess I didn’t know that rats would eat my garden. Or maybe was just naive, or maybe just hopeful. I’ve certainly never had this issue before. I mean, tomatoes, sure. But never the greens. The rats usually stick to the birdseed that has fallen from the feeder, or the scattered chicken food, or the odds and ends in the compost bin.

Anyway, I knew that it was time to change tactics. I planted two kinds of onion in this particular bed instead (“Candy,” and “Cabernet”) and netted it more tightly with the sides clamped down. Rats, of course, can tunnel under beds, just like voles (one of our tough customers at school), but hopefully the combination of alliums and netting will do the trick. Just in case they don’t, Tom has set traps all over the place by the bed in question. Hopefully, we’ll have lots of dead rats in the coming days.

Reminder - the rats we have in our neck of the woods are either roof rats, or Norway rats, both of which are non-native and invasive, and taking a few out of commission won’t even put a dent in the population. Normally I do not encourage killing any kind of wildlife, but this is one species it’s ok to target. However, I would never use poison on rats, because that would then kill their predators (opossums, owls, hawks), and that would upset the balance of the ecosystem. The traps we set are snap traps and kill the rats as quickly and humanely as possible.

Perhaps this is a good time to review Integrated Pest Management (IPM) best practices. I use the definition set by University of California Agricultural and Natural Resources: “IPM is an ecosystem-based strategy that focuses on long-term prevention of pests or their damage through a combination of techniques such as biological control, habitat manipulation, modification of cultural practices, and use of resistant varieties.”

credit: UCANR

Note that chemical control is the absolute last resort, and even then it’s done very carefully and mindfully.

So - we’ll see what happens with these two 4x4 beds where the rats have been feasting. I’m hoping my cultural, physical and mechanical controls (plus any biological control that would like to visit my garden - I’m talking to you, barn owl!) will help keep my crops safe, so we have a winter of good eating.

Pacific Chorus Frogs

A couple of nights ago, I was out watering the garden at dusk. It’s been quite hot here, and I’m finding that I need to water all my containers twice a day when it’s this warm. So there I was, making the rounds, when a little dark shadow popped up behind the seasoning celery/lobelia pot. At first I thought it was another black widow - the light was nearly gone and it was hard to see. I went inside to get my phone so I could take a look. Not a spider - a Pacific Chorus Frog!

Well, I was simply delighted, having never seen a frog in our garden before. We do not have a pond, only a water feature (a bubbling fountain with a large reserve of water underneath it). We do not have any excessively wet places, that I know of. We have found newts in the fountain area, and also under things like rain barrels, but that’s been infrequent. I don’t think of my garden as a good habitat for things that like cool wet places. So this was totally unexpected!

Pacific Chorus Frogs (also known as Pacific Tree Frogs) are found up and down the west coast, from British Columbia to Baja California, as far east as Montana; and from sea level to 10,000 feet, in anything from desert to redwood forests!

In this geographic range, there are two things that distinguish these frogs from other species: The presence of toe pads, and a dark stripe that extends from the nostril, through the eye, and past the ear. No other frogs found within the geographic range of the Pacific Chorus Frog have both of these characteristics. They are quite small, between 1-2 inches, though the females are larger than the males. Females have a smooth white throat while males have a wrinkly dark throat.

It’s hard to tell from my pictures, but I think this one is female. I’ve never heard any of the breeding calls this close to my house, and it’s also not breeding season, which is usually in spring through early summer. We do hear the males down near our creek, about 100 yards away from our house, at that time. They make quite a racket, but it’s a welcome racket!

Here’s the thing that’s really twisting my noodle: How did this frog end up in our garden? A neighbor a few doors down has a pond, but it seems like a long journey for such a little guy. Our water fountain’s water reserve is under 1/4” hardware mesh, so as far as we know, inaccessible. I suppose it’s possible that there’s a hole or something. I don’t know, it’s just a mystery! But I’m thrilled. This means our ecosystem here is healthy - it’s a good place to catch a meal. Lately I’ve been feeling very bummed out about the garden, because I have such little time to spend in it, but having a bit of a mess seems to be a good thing for biodiversity, which is cheering.

Reference: Michael F. Benard, Natural History of the Pacific Chorus Frog, Pseudocris regilla

The Misunderstood Western Black Widow Spider

I found this female and her egg sac about a week ago, nesting behind a large planter made out of wood and gutters. At the moment, this planter is filled with nasturtiums which died in our most recent heatwave, so I won’t be showing you the planter itself. I will say that I’ve tried many a flower (and berry) in these shallow gutters, and the nasturtiums fared the best yet; it’s hard to keep things wet enough here to stay happy. Anyway…. I was inspecting the dead flowers and trying to figure out what to plant next when I came across this beautiful Western Black Widow.

Now, I want to start out by acknowledging that if you do get bitten by a WBW, the bite will be quite painful and you’ll need emergency care. However, death is unlikely. WBWs are the most poisonous American spider and as such, they get a bad rap; but like many insects, they feel no need to sting humans, unless the humans happen to be messing around in their territory. Even then, unless the spider’s body is pinched repeatedly, it will not bite.

Despite knowing this, when I had little kids, I confess I killed many WBWs. They used to nest inside our wooden perimeter fence (they probably still do), and I was worried that a kid (either my own or a neighbor kid) would climb the fence and grab a spider inadvertently. That would have been bad. But I do feel terrible for killing them back then. If I had little kids now, I would explain all about the spiders and get the kids aware of how and where they live, so that we could all live in peace together. Oh well. We all evolve.

In fact, WBWs are described by arachnologists as ‘shy.’ They tend to hide in dark places where they will go unnoticed. They spin a huge, strong, messy, complicated web (not pretty at all), which is very unique to its species. I see far more WBW webs than I do the actual spiders, and it’s the primary way I figure out where they are living. They catch a lot of flies in those webs (as well as other insects and arthropods). They bite their prey in several places, and suck out their insides, leaving the external shell in the web.

The females also put pheromones on their webs to attract males. The male then performs a sort of ‘courtship dance’ on the web to let the female know he’s a potential mate, rather than dinner. Female WBWs don’t always eat the males after mating, either - it just depends on how hungry she is, how fit the male is, and how fast he scurries away.

There are hundreds of baby spiderlings in that egg case you see in the photo. They will hatch inside the sac, and then emerge. Most of them get eaten right away by their siblings. Very few survive, and those eventually (like the spiderlings in Charlotte’s Web) spin a long silk that takes them flying through the air to another part of the garden.

It’s been interesting to watch how the mother spider behind my planter protects her egg sac. Since I water there regularly (the plants don’t need the water anymore, being DEAD, but the bees like to drink from the soil there - wasn’t that spider smart to build her web in such a place???), the spray naturally hits the sac sometimes. She doesn’t love that, and will often move the sac behind a crosspiece to protect it. But spiders aren’t really ‘good’ mothers. Not in the sense we think of, anyway.

I must confess that spiders are not my favorite thing. I really like insects in general, but it’s tough for me to like spiders, and I’m not sure why. The way I combat this is to learn all I can about them. Anytime I see a spider than I’ve never seen before, I take a picture and use iNaturalist to ID it. Then I read about it and learn all about the ecosystem services it provides. This usually helps me to get over my ‘shivery’ feelings about spiders. I will say this is a work in progress for me, and I may never really like spiders. But I appreciate them, and see that they are an integral part of biological processes. We need them. So - every time I walk by this WBW, I crouch down and say hi. I’m actually looking forward to seeing the eggs hatch, and hope I get the privilege to witness it.

EDITED 7/22/24: SHE’S FEASTING Check it out!

Edited August 9, 2024 - the babies have hatched!