casa coniglio

Phragmipedium Grande hasn't reached the ultimate length of its petals yet, but soon.

Neofinetia falcata is also known as the Japanese Wind Orchid. I've had two plants for about 12 years (wow, has it been that long?). They have been performing somewhat lackadaisically under lights, growing well, but blooming rarely to occasionally. This plant has bloomed perhaps 3-4 times in those 12 years. Recently I moved the Orchidarium to a brighter window - it cuts the view, but sacrifices have to be made. Both plants have burst into bloom, the most prolific ever. I'm loving the graceful flowers, and the vanilla creamsicle fragrance transports me into childish reverie.

Grosso indeed, but also scuro. Lavandula x intermedia 'Grosso' not only has fat spikes of flowers, but also one of the darkest of the intermedia hybrids. The intermedia cultivars are sterile hybrids of L. angustifolia (English lavender) crossed with L. latifolia (spike lavender). Supposedly, this cross was made in order to produce plants that had plenty of flowers for essential oil production (although less sweet than pure angustifolia), and long stems for crafts. Although there are dozens of intermedia hybrids, two are most commonly grown: 'Provence' and 'Grosso'. Some sources say that 'Provence' is the one grown in France's perfume fields, others say that they are mistaken, and that it is 'Grosso'. In either case, both plants have their attractions in the garden.

Initially I planted them in a mixed bunch, hoping to duplicate the color gradation of a seed-grown lot, but I discovered that their forms and characters differed too markedly to blend well. 'Provence' does have a sweeter fragrance. Of the two, it has a paler purple flower, longer peduncles (stems) which are quite upright, less abundant initial production, but tends to put out stems throughout the season. Last year, mine continued to produce new peduncles until frost. It is the better plant for culinary use, such as lavender lemonade and lavender shortbread (be aware that ingesting lavender tends to be soporific - which is a great way end a party).

'Grosso' is, to my eye, not significantly fatter than 'Provence' although the flowers are denser, and much darker. It is this dark color that makes it more of an impact in the garden, since the calyx is purple as well as the corolla. Where 'Provence' has an overall grey-green appearance with a haze of lavender flowers, 'Grosso' says purple when in bloom (though not as bright as L. angustifolia 'Hidcote'). Peduncles are nearly as long as 'Provence' though not quite, and tend to splay out rather than the upright form of 'Provence'. Flowers have a distinct tone of camphor to them, which is not overwhelming but not as sweet. Rebloom is not as prolific as 'Provence'. Bees love both plants, but seem to like 'Provence' a bit more.

Lavender is another plant that I'd consider turning my entire garden over to. Why not? I love the color, not only of bloom, but of foliage. It is evergreen with substantial form. It grows extraordinarily easily and quickly. It is edible. It is fragrant. There are so many to choose from, even if I stuck with the intermedia hybrids and didn't venture into the pure angustifolia, or the lanata (wooly lavender) hybrids, or the flamboyant Spanish lavenders (Lavandula stoechas). Too bad French lavender (Lavandula dentata) isn't hardy here, but the dentata hybrid 'Goodwin Creek Grey' may be.

The excitement begins as Phragmipedium Grande begins to open a flower. This orchid is a cross between Phragmipedium longifolium and P. caudatum. P. longifolium comes from Costa Rica and Panama, and from western Columbia and western Ecuador, and is usually found growing with its roots in a gravel stream bed. It is aptly named, with leaves to 3 feet long. It has flowers about 7 cm in diameter and has outstretched side petals. The spikes bloom sequentially over a long period, sometimes years. P. caudatum comes from Columbia to Bolivia. The side petals are pendant and reach extreme lengths, to 50 cm long. All flowers open at once, lasting a week or two and blooming every two to three years. The petals grow until they touch the ground (or until they reach their maximum ability), providing a runway for the ants that serve as pollinators. It grows in forest duff rather than streamside. Phragmipedium Grande inherits a (relatively) faster and easier growing habit (if you happen to possess a tropical stream or can simulate one) from parent P. longifolium, and has the simultaneous blooming quality from P. caudatum. Petal length is intermediate between the two, varying with the grex. The flowers of mine will have petals to about 15 inches. Petals will continue to stretch for about a week until it reaches its max.

These New Mexico sunsets always make me pause in awe. This day-after-solstice sunset was a perfect way to mark the season. It sure is nice to sit in the still warm early evening air, watching the sun go down from my rooftop.

Truth be told, I’m a little afraid to go out in the garden lately. It’s not that I live in a particularly dangerous part of town. Although bears and coyotes (and rarely a mountain lion) have been known to visit the neighborhood, I’m not particularly afraid of one suddenly appearing in my yard. No, it’s something much smaller. On my return home one day, I noticed a dead mouse in my back yard. Then a dead rabbit in my front yard, a full grown rabbit, that looked otherwise healthy. Three dead birds. I went back into the house, picked a flea or two off me. Will said to me something like, “Uh, shouldn’t you be worried?” I hadn’t thought of it much, but you are probably thinking, “DUH!”



If you aren’t thinking that, or if you are thinking, “Oh, puleeze, why be afraid of a few small dead animals or a few fleas?” then you don’t live in the desert southwest, where ever so often, they find pockets of plague. As in Black Plague. Or Bubonic Plague. Or Pneumonic Plague. As in “spread by fleas from rodents to humans” plague. Last year, tularemia wiped out the rabbit population, and luckily, no one got sick, even my neighbor who puts carrots out for them every day.

But before jumping to conclusions, I talked to my neighbors. Yes, the next door neighbor had a large dead rat in their yard. The neighbor two doors down had mouse poison in the house, but no one was exterminating. So lately I’ve been feeling like I could be putting my life at risk by spending a lot of time in the garden, being nibbled on by fleas. Never did I think that taking the garden photos would seem like such a brave thing to do. But here are a couple. I feel as tough as Indiana Jones.

Karl (Calamogrostis x acutiflora 'Karl Foerster') is putting out its fluffy plumes which will soon narrow to the readily recognized spikes. As much as Karl is overused these days, I can't help but love the way the plants move in the breeze. I'm thinking of making a whole swoosh of them crossing the entire back yard so that I can watch the wind move across them. Then again, I wonder if I could do the same effect with less water with Indian Grass (Sorghastrum nutans)?


Some self-sown Penstemon barbatus started blooming. They are about 6 feet tall, a close contender for height with P. palmeri.


Eriogonum jamesii hasn't done much most years, when it gets eaten down by rabbits. This year, with less rabbits, it is a cloud of near-white, tougher in drought than the Blackfoot daisy surrounding it.

This is what I did today instead. Two solstice parties to go to in one day. Whew. But that's not the reason I haven't been in the garden. The other reason I'll discuss later.


yumm, falafel.
click to embiggen.

I’ve just spent a week in Las Vegas, at a resort of all places. For work, not play. During this time I came to the realization that I'm not a "golf guy."

There are people who love golf courses. Many of them. They pay extra to live on the edge of a golf course. They pay lots of money to spend time on the golf course hitting a little ball across a carpet of lawn to a little hole. Clearly, I’m not one of them, although there was a time where I lived in a condo on the edge of a golf course, finding balls in my front yard from time to time. I’ve heard people wax ecstatic about golf, how they love the time they spend in nature, on the beautiful manicured course, being outdoors, swinging a club. Golf, it seems to me is an excuse for some to spend time out of doors, and a chance to be social. It is something to do, and to talk about. I have no problem with that.

The golf course, on the other hand, I find horrific. It is a sterile representation of nature, a environmental toxic dump of chemicals and artificiality. You could argue that it is no different from any other garden, where someone carves out a space of their own to create their own version of paradise. In this sense, any garden is artificiality, a destruction of what is naturally there, where someone can put their own energy into the space. In this sense, no garden is sustainable. A garden requires the constant input of energy to maintain its state. Nature will, quickly or slowly, take back the space once it is ignored.

"Andalusian Garden" at the Loews Lake Las Vegas Resort


But in contrast to the pleasure gardens of the resort that I stayed at in Las Vegas last week, the golf course takes much more acreage, has a much lower range of species that inhabit each unit space, and utilizes more water, chemicals, petroleum products than a garden, and may be enjoyed by fewer people at a time than a garden. There are those that would argue with the last few points. A display at The Springs Preserve, essentially Las Vegas’ version of a botanic garden reported that that golf courses were not water wasteful: they used only 10% of the city’s water. But when we’re talking billions of gallons of water, that’s a lot of water. How many people utilize the golf courses? I’d bet that the average middle class person rarely or never uses the golf courses, never mind 10% of the population.

Even if water use was insignificant, I’d find the golf course to be downright ugly. In a sense, there is some relation to the Japanese garden, in its intense management, constant attention, constant pruning, and being an abstraction of nature. I suppose you could consider the space to be a spare meditative space, on the grand scale of America rather than the tight spaces of Japan. But in contrast to those Japanese gardens such as Ryoan-ji, the golf course has nothing to hold my attention. There is no reason for me to spend time in the space, other than passing through. It’s a good thing that there is a game of golf, for it gives someone something to do in the space, something to focus upon. But now I’m just getting ornery. There are plenty of people who enjoy the space of a golf course. I’m just not one of them.

Garden at The Springs Preserve, Las Vegas

Just some quick photos.

Acantholimon hohenackeri has much darker flowers than I expected. This is the first bloom in the four years since planting. It receives almost not water. Cute bracts are left after the flowers fade. Click to embiggen.


Teucrium orientalis is putting on a better show now, than in my previous post. It still shows no sign of fragrance. I'm not impressed.



Eriogonum umbellatum is developing some nice rusty red colors on the flowers as they slowly fade. This is one of the few flowers that I think get even better as as the show ends.

The tale of the Philly Foxtail continues. This is the plant (labelled Eremurus 'Cleopatra') that I bought at the Philadelphia Flower Show in 2003. It produced nothing the first year and I assumed it was dead. But the next year, it produced one leaf, the next year three leaves, and the following year five leaves. This year, it produced a tuft of leaves, but no sign of bloom when the rest of my Eremurus were well into spiking. I assumed that I would have to wait another year. Then, after I had given up hope, there was a spike. It began blooming just as the others were finishing (you can see the faded 'Cleopatra' behind it), and even in spike, it was clearly not 'Cleopatra'. Cleo has orange flowers, this one is deep yellow, fading to orange. It's probably E. stenophyllus. As much as I dislike yellows, I'm enjoying this one.

In case yesterday's post hasn't convinced you about Eremurus, here's a bit more convincing. If this doesn't do it for you, you're hopeless.
Click to embiggen.

I have been enjoying watching Eremurus 'Cleopatra' as it burst from the ground, as the spikes appeared and stretched to bloom, as the flowers faded. There is still the ripening of the seeds and the fading of the leaves to come. The time of glory always seems to go by so quickly, and looking at my photos I realize it does indeed go by quickly. When plants bloom on a spike such as this, the peak of bloom only lasts for a few days before the bottom flowers start to fade. I suppose the show lasts as long or longer than most spring bulbs and many perennials, longer than the show of such plants as Oriental poppies and irises. But with flowers as beautiful as this, it's easy to want more. There will be next year.

This photographic progression is all of the same plant in a grouping of 'Cleopatra'.

March 12, 2008


April 3, 2008


April 24, 2008


May 14, 2008


May 17, 2008


May 20, 2008


May 28, 2008


May 31, 2008


June 5, 2008

It is said that here in Albuquerque we have two seasons: day and night. There is some credence to this saying, for here the temperature differential is 30 to 40 degrees. Check out this weeks temperatures: Today’s high of 91, low 55. Thursday: 82/50. Friday 29/53. Saturday 95/53. Some days there will be a 50 degree differential, such as some days in the winter where days are near 60 but a cold front comes in and the night drops into the teens. Right now, the days are hot enough to blister your hands on the steering wheel, and the nights are cool enough to need a sweater or an extra layer if you are spending time outdoors. There are days when the heat comes on in the morning and the air conditioning comes on in the afternoon. It makes “dressing in layers” a way of life.

The cool of the early morning before the sun comes up is for me the most enjoyable time of the day, those few precious minutes when it is light enough to see the landscape, and cool enough to walk around the garden. But soon the sun arrives like the fierce god that the ancients described, the rays gliding over the mountains in an inexorable progression. It is like the slow motion nuclear blasts that you see in the movies. I see the shockingly intense brightness first hitting the hills in the distance and feel like screaming madly, “IT’S C-O-M-I-N-G!” in the long drawn out wail of a character in an Indiana Jones movie when the wave of bugs are coming to overcome and devour any stragglers. I think about the science fiction movies where people have colonized the planet Mercury, and live constantly moving, in the inhabitable zone between the deep cold of the night and the molten inferno of the day.

The evenings are pleasant as well, with the warm walls of the buildings and a cool breeze. But temperatures don’t moderate until well after the sun has gone down, and I’m not fond of outdoor lighting. In the winter, there is the opposite effect of my summer mornings, where the afternoons are the most pleasant, but the doom of night lies ahead. In those moments, I dread the dark night of Moria.

But the description of Albuquerque as a land with two seasons is not apt for the gardener in me. I define seasons by the times when I can plant, and grow things, particularly when plants are actively growing and blooming. Given this criteria, Albuquerque has four seasons: two growing seasons, and two non-growing seasons, alternating. There is the spring growing season, and following this, the summer doldrums when it is too hot to plant, too hot to grow much (except peppers, eggplant and melons), too hot to spend a lot of time in the garden, and too hot for many blooms. With the onset of the heat, the flowers of many plants wither and drop, the plants entering a semi-dormancy to conserve water, waiting until the cooler days of fall, or at least the moisture from the late summer monsoons.

My penstemon linarioides is like this, the flowers appearing fairly reliably during the last week of moderate temperatures, but withering when that first day over 90 degrees hits, and in the last few days I’ve sadly watched the once enthusiastic blue being sapped of strength, the shriveling. Watering helps, but that ruins the point of my no-water garden. Although the desert willow (Chilopsis linearis) leafs out late (in late May this year), it blooms off and on the rest of the summer with irrigation or supplemental water such as being sited in a swale. Without, it too comes to a halt awaiting monsoon rains. Agastache too, can bloom through the heat, though it only blooms lackadaisically without adequate irrigation. Without an even amount of water, my plants tend to die out or produce blind stems.

Lavender blooms when the heat first hits, the growing stems drooping in the heat, springing back to life once the sun is off the stems. With a bit of irrigation, some varieties such as ‘Provence’ bloom continuously the rest of the summer in my garden, needing some meticulous dead-heading to keep the plant looking fresh.

Chocolate flower (Berlandiera lyrata) blooms, with its deliciously scented yellow flowers, throughout the summer and manages the heat by closing its flowers when the day’s heat begins, and reopening as the temperatures drop in the evening. The hawk moths love the flowers on the Salvia pachyphylla which appear in early summer, and continue on some plants through to fall.

These flowers are bright spots in the garden, which has to hold its own primarily by the structure of plants and textures of leaves. It is a wise thing to have such structure, to provide pleasure and have some sense of life not only through the summer, but through the winter, which lacks even a few spots of bloom, and which always seems too long.

Just as Cistus x aguilarii has finished blooming, Cistus Ann Baker has begun. Although the flowers are not large by Cistus standards, they are charming at 2-1/4" across. This plant came from Digging Dog nursery. As with all Cistus, the flowers will wither in the late afternoon, although there are buds for tomorrow. Veronica tauricula decided to put out a few late blooms this year and is seen below Ms. Baker.

It seems like there are a lot of plants blooming now with a similar color. Of course that could be because I have chosen a lot of plants in this color scheme for the garden. I do love this color.

Salvia daghestanica is blooming its head off, and I'm loving it. It makes a nice combination with the darker Salvia coahuilensis. The lavender is starting to make its spikes, and even not in bloom, the texture is fantastic. Click to embiggen. I hate to say it, but I must admit that S. daghestanica's sheer gorgeousness is more impressive than the similarly colored Penstemon linarioides which has been a favorite of mine. This is especially so this year when P.lin has had a short blooming season and less blue color. P. lin has a smaller stature of only 6-8 inches tall (in bloom), and flowers on some plants face outwards, so not as to relate to humans very readily whereas S. daghestanica is taller, to 16-18 inches (in bloom). P. linarioides has better winter color and form however, silver to red leaves, whereas S. daghestanica turns to shriveled grey-brown mush. Both need very little water.


Penstemon grandiflorus is a penstemon from the plains. It was a bit of a challenge to get started. The first year, I bought a packet of seed from Plants of the Southwest, planted them in a pot, stratified them by keeping the pot in the refrigerator for four months. Germination was prompt with warmer temperatures, with a high percentage. They clearly needed bright sunlight, and were placed outside. By evening, the birds had eaten every seedling. Not one was left. I tried again the next year, being careful to protect the seedlings from birds. The resulting plants were planted in my no-irrigation garden. Results were spotty over the next few years, with the plants seeming to want more water than they received (the plains states get more water than Albuquerque does), and the rabbits liked the stems, making for great disappointment as stems appeared and almost reached blooming when they were mowed down by the rabbits. This winter, I transplanted the two survivors into my blue garden and they seem much happier. They'll need another year to settle before I'll really tell. Plants produced several stems but aborted all but one on each plant. I think it's just because the root system isn't yet large enough to support many flower stems. FLowers are 1-1/2" long by 1-3/8" wide at the face.


This is a plant that I would consider a failure rather than the successes that I'm happier posting. But the failures are just as important to acknowledge. It's just not as much fun to do. This is Geranium 'Johnson's Blue'. It is supposedly a vigorous plant, and I love the blue flowers. Planted last year, this year it is a scraggly, floppy plant, and although the flowers are nice, they certainly aren't as abundant as I'd hoped. I'd planted this in partial shade due to the heat we get, but I think this plant would like more sun and cooler temperatures to be really happy.


I was convinced to purchase Teucrium orientalis since 1) it is a blue teucrium and I longed to grow the shrubby grey-leafed Teucrium fruticans but T. fruticans has turned out not to be hardy enough for my garden, 2) it had a nice fragrance blooming in the pot at the nursery. I decided to give one a try last year. The lack of vigor did not impress me and several times I thought it was a goner. But some plants just need some time to settle in. This spring it slowly but steadily grew. It just started blooming a few days ago, and so far the show is not very impressive, nor is there any hint of a scent. Hopefully as the season progresses, things will improve.



One of the Salvia pachyphylla just started blooming, while the others are just barely showing stem lengthening that is a sign of bracts and blooms to come. This is quite a variable species in my yard, prone to suddenly dying with or without provocation (sensitive to moisture levels and soil quality - a little too much water is bad, too much organic material around its roots is bad). The flowers on seedlings from the same plant can have quite different form, and the seedlings vary considerably in vigor. Predominantly, the variability in flower production is the size of the flower heads (vary from golf-ball sized to baseball sized), but also in the intensity of bract color. Some seedlings grow very slowly, while others in the same batch grow at least three times as fast.

Still, as a species for the garden, it has a lot going for it. The plant form is a nice rounded subshrub, the leaves are an attractive silver, and the pungency of them makes them unattractive to rabbits (just be aware that brushing against them will leave the herbal scent on your clothes or skin). The leaves densely cover the frame of the plant, and the plant is evergreen, providing winter structure. The plants tolerate receiving no water at all throughout the summer (once well established) although some water helps plants look better (not too much or you'll run the risk of rot).

The bracts and blooms (and the attractive leaves) never fail to attract comment from visitors. Although I am not particularly fond of that particular red-violet shade of the bracts, it does match quite nicely the pads of 'Santa Rita' prickly pear and the red-violet blooms of cholla. The bloom begins now (late May-June) and the show will continue with flowers and bracts for the next four months (!). It self sows very modestly in my yard, and I suspect that with time, the plants most adapted to my conditions will predominate.


Salvia chamaedryoides is a borderline plant for me. My plants were planted last year, and all three survived the winter by growing from the base. The above-ground portions predominantly did not survive (only a few stems). This makes the plant much smaller in my yard than in lower elevations around town, and blooms later and less densely. The color is an amazing deep blue, and it will bloom steadily from now until frost. Despite being borderline, these qualities make it a keeper.