casa coniglio

For my last shot of the year, Neostylus Lou Sneary 'Bluebird' has conveniently opened its flowers. I don't mean to make my blog about orchids, but that's what is blooming now, when there's nothing in the garden. Neostylus is a intergeneric cross between my favorite Neofinetia falcata and Rhynochostylus coelestis. It's a cross of two fragrant species. I've blogged about Neo previously, since I've been growing it for a dozen years or so. I rave about it's ease of growth, graceful flowers and delicious scent.

I've never grown Rhyncostylus since it grows too large for my space. It has a similar monopodial growth habit, but I've always thought that it was finicky since the plants I've seen always seem to have wrinkled leaves, and few roots. It is fragrant, some say of grapes, which is a close enough description. The flowers have some color, blue to pink.

Neostylus Lou Sneary 'Bluebird' has characteristics of both, being larger than Neofinetia, and smaller than Rhyncostylus. The flowers are easily double the size of my Neo's. I've had my 'Bluebird' almost a year, and it seems almost as easy to grow as Neo, although without daily misting, the leaves wrinkle like its Rhycho parent. I've heard it said that the cross doesn't have much in the way of fragrance, however, and that 'Bluebird' is an exception. A wonderful exception it is, with the creamy vanilla fragrance from Neo and a hint of grape from the Rhynco. It is also mouth-wateringly fragrant both day and night.

Brassavola Little Stars has obligingly opened its flowers precisely on Christmas day. I wasn't sure if I had lost all my Little Stars during my move last year, as I had had to throw out all my big plants and only saved a few tiny divisions. The two cross-country moves were not good for my plants and Little Stars was not an exception. All the plants sat for months, with no growth. I placed them in my orchidarium, and all the plants started to grow roots, and flower buds. They are late, though, usually opening for Thanksgiving, and the plants are not looking as strong as previous years. I'm wondering if I should remove the flowers so that the plants can save energy for growth in the coming year.

If I had to choose one orchid to grow and was not able to grow any others, it would be a tough choice between Brassavola  Little Stars and Neofinetia falcata. Both are tough, easy-to-grow orchids, with white flowers and an intoxicating fragrance. Fortunately I don't have to choose, and Little Stars blooms in the winter, and the Neo's bloom in the summer. Unfortunately, I don't see Little Stars for sale much any more.

Happy Winter's Solstice! As a plant person, I've always felt the significance of Winter's Solstice, the shortest day of the year. Although it's the beginning of winter, it is also the beginning of the return to spring, with the promise of lengthening days. Today is a reminder that winter is really here, with a winter storm blasting its way through. Driving home from work, the visibility was about 5 feet in spots. The car in front of me was nearly blown off the road, but managed to hang on at the last second. So this photo was about all I was willing to do, and appears misleadingly calm. Rosemary 'Frimley Blue' has survived the cold of winter without much trouble, but the thin sparse branches don't hold up to the snow very well. Here it is lit by the landscape lighting.

It's much nicer being indoors, where my tree is finally decorated. After sitting undecorated for weeks, we finally stayed up late last night to do some tree trimming. It's not done yet (the glass icicles aren't up, the tree skirt needs to be placed, and I wish I had more polar bear ornaments), but the madness has to stop somewhere. Since the evergreen tree is a pagan symbol, it had to be done enough by today. I've felt guilty about killing trees (and still do) but tree farms are supposed to be a good thing for the environment. Even though they are monocultures, I've read that they are long term projects that provide habitat, erosion control.

I caught myself this morning feeling sorry for the rest of my family who live in California and who don't get to have wintry scenes like I get from my bathroom window.

I'm buying a new house. Again. Not this house. This is the house that I almost bought, but the sale fell through for a strange reason at the last moment. It's been very trying and part of the reason why I haven't been posting much lately (the other reason, is simply the season and being very busy at work). But comparing the first house to the one that I am now expecting to buy, has me thinking. As much of a plant person and a garden person as I am, I still say that I am buying a house (gasp!).  I don't say that I am buying a garden. It is a strange and unsettling realization that even I put the house first.

I'm certain that there are plant people who look at the garden first, and yes, when looking at houses, the first thing I do when I enter the property for the first time is make a beeline for the garden, and if that passes muster, then I look at the rest of the house. I'm not necessarily looking for a perfect garden, but a garden that has the right potential for what I want to do (grow lots of plants).

So it is a bit of a shock to me, that I am buying a house. The house that I'm expecting to buy has very little in the way of garden despite being on more than half an acre, which is a bit of a disappointment (the garden, not the lot size), given that the first house had three gardens (and a smaller lot size). I'm buying a house. I'm not buying a garden. It's freaking me out. Maybe I'm not such a garden person as I think I am. But of course, I'll make a garden. I always do.

Snow Spider

"If it has to be cold, at least we can have snow." That's what we used to say when I lived in Philadelphia. The snow makes everything beautiful. Plants I might have overlooked now take on a fresh look and catch my eye again. In Philly, we had to deal with snow shoveling, slippery ice, and gloomy days. Here, the snow lasts a day or two (or even just a few hours), then it is gone and the sunshine is back.

My eye was surprised to catch out of the corner of my eye, this shock of pink in a landscape of gray and brown when I was out the other day. What was blooming now, at the end of November, after freezing temperatures?


I quickly realized that what I was seeing was the dried flowers of an Eriogonum. I've called it Eriogonum wrightii (Wright's buckwheat) although I could be wrong. The white autumn flowers fade to pink and orange  (like Eriogonum umbellatum, the sulfur buckwheat, which begins chrome yellow then fades to red/russet) and hold most of the winter.


I tried getting some from Agua Fria nursery a year or two ago, but somehow ended up getting E. jamesii (Antelope buckwheat) instead, which has cream flowers fading to brown.

I've become a bit obsessed with the cute seeds and curlicue tails of the local mountain mahogany (Cercocarpus breviflorus).

 There are other mountain mahoganies which are grown here, C. montanus (I see it on the web referred to as alder leaf mountain mahogany, and "true" mountain mahogany, which I think is ridiculous, as if the other mountain mahoganies are "false") and C. ledifolius (curl-leaf mountain mahogany), but the local variety is just as beautiful. C. montanus has rather broad deciduous leaves, and seems to be bushier.  C. ledifolius has leaves that curl under and are evergreen on a more upright plant.

They all have these curly seed tails, though. Plants seem to be dioecious, although I wonder if some are bisexual. The plant I have grown from seed looks to be unfortunately male, having flowers, but no seeds.


The plants when young are bushy and upright when growing in the wild, but with irrigation are more lanky.


With age, they are spreading and gnarly, with a strong character that speaks of the southwest.

There are still a few blossoms on the Salvia pachyphylla.

And a few on the Scutellaria resinosa.

 I planted this viola last March, I believe, and it is still blooming (and seeding).

I have never really noticed that some apache plumes (Fallugia paradoxa) had colorful fall leaves until this year. Maybe it's been the weather. It seems to be mostly the youngsters and doesn't occur much on the older larger plants.

Salvia chamaedryoides (germander sage) still has a few flowers on it, which is nice, given that it is nearing the end of November. Ain't that the truth.

Three-leaf sumac (Rhus trilobata) has made many appearances on Casa Coniglio. In fact, my very first post was about this plant. Why not? It is a beautiful native shrub that does well with no irrigation (once established). It is rabbit-proof (which is very important here at Casa Coniglio). I have a few gripes about it though.


 It does have stinky sap, which while not particularly unpleasant, is very strong, and clings to anything. Fortunately I only come into contact with it when I am pruning.


Its size seems a bit unpredictable. The books I have read says that it is 3-5 feet tall and wide, but in my yard, it seems to be 5-7 feet tall and wants to be about 8-10 feet wide. Those growing in the wild seem quite variable in size.


It also doesn't look good pruned, and after pruning, usually produces long unbranching water sprouts that look rather ungainly.



I think of the three-leaf sumac as like the maple on the east coast. It is found everywhere here in the foothills, and the fall leaves turn a variety of colors. Maple trees also don't look good when pruned too much.


The leaves turn a variety of colors, not only between different plants, but on the same plant, and even in the same leaf. Some of this variation can be due to sun exposure.


The overall effect is some range of orange, but the leaves can turn anywhere from yellow to red.


The leaves can also range from flat to cupped, from fuzzy to shiny (almost looking like poison oak), from a half inch in diameter to several inches. Those in the nurseries tend to be yellow to orange with large flat smooth leaves. If you want a particular type, you'll have to take cuttings. Don't forget to get permission from the owner, and don't take cuttings from National Forest - it's illegal.

The Dittany of Crete (Origanum dictamnus) is blooming among the fading leaves of the spuria iris 'Belize'. The dittany smells like it would be so tasty, but I can't bear to cut any of the leaves for cooking. I almost didn't notice the green leaves of Ipheion 'Wisely Blue' peeking through. Like grape hyacinths, the leaves appear in the fall.


It's actually been quite a wonderful fall, and many of the trees and shrubs are holding onto their colorful leaves longer than usual.

It snowed yesterday, although the snow didn't stick. It was pretty frosty this morning, and my water bucket had a layer of ice on it. Artemesia versicolor always has this frosty blue look to it, but the fallen leaves had a glimmer of ice.

The sky in New Mexico is what I consider the most significant thing about the landscape. Most of the time you see photos of the puffy clouds that dot the sky during monsoon season, but these are the blue skies that you see during many other times of the year. I'm fascinated by the many shades of blue, from the shades of pale, such as the above view to Mt. Taylor in the west at 3:30 pm, or the deeper blues in the view to the east, below. The color, of course, changes during the day, so that there are specific colors at different times of the day, changing depending upon cloud cover, nearby fires, air quality, and who knows what else.

Someone once told me that they missed the east coast autumns because there the trees turned color. Here in New Mexico they said, there are not only no trees of consequential size, and they don't have the glorious color that occurs in the east. Well, on the way to Ojo Caliente, we saw these stands of cottonwoods. I'd say they rival an east coast autumn.

 It's been a busy time with work and the house deal falling through. I was expecting to be planting the new garden with my favorite plants, but now I get to appreciate the ones in the old garden. Crocus speciosus is always one of my favorite fall flowers, if not my most favorite. Here it is, poking through the new growth of the 'Grosso' lavender, the luminous bowls of bluish lavender catching the sun.

 The Cyclamen hederifolium put on much more of a show than I expected. Perhaps my decision to give it more water through last winter had helped it in the way that I hoped.

 The 'Sweet 100' tomato has produced a number of tomatoes, even if not "100".

 Scutellaria resinosa has continued to bloom with a few flowers through the rainy season until now.

Salvia 'Indigo Spires' is still blooming, and it will continue to bloom until a serious frost. My mother visited last month, and commented on how small my plant is compared to the cutting of it that I gave her last year. Hers has grown huge, to 3 feet tall and 4 feet across. There, on the California coast, it blooms year-round. Mine blooms only after several months of growth from a late spring emergence from the ground, then freezes to the ground in the winter.