Florida Paradise

On Halloween night of 1961 our family arrived at our new home in Plantation Florida, a fast growing suburb of Fort Lauderdale. To keep up with the growing population and demand for air conditioning, Florida Power and Light was building what was at the time the largest power plant in the world at the Port of the Everglades and my father would be the general construction manager.
Our House in Florida 
This was the first new house that anyone in my family had ever lived in. Due to devastating hurricanes in the 1950s, building codes were very strict. All outside walls of the house were made of reinforced concrete block. The roof was heavy ceramic tile that required a conveyor belt to lift the tile to the roof. To keep from being blown in, all doors and windows opened out. The house had no air conditioning and everything was painted white to reflect the heat of the tropical sun. There was no landscaping and the yard and neighborhood was entirely sand. We were in paradise.
Tradescantia pallida purpurea 
Most of the lawn was “sprigged” with Saint Augustine grass, Stenotaphrum secundatum. Tiny plugs of grass were placed every foot or so and runners from the plugs would fill in the open areas. But before it could fill in, Cenchrus echinatus (common name southern sandspur but we would come to know it as stickers) invaded and almost took over the yard. Stickers produce a seed pod that has a row or burrs about the size of a caper. When the seeds are dry the burrs stick in clothing, shoes, bare feet, socks and just about anything else and are difficult and painful to remove. My parents paid my brothers and me a penny for each sticker plant we pulled and we quickly had more spending money than we knew what to do with.
Unusual for my parents, they had the front part of the house professionally landscaped. I still remember all of the plants and how they were placed to create a tropical garden. In the corner where the driveway and front walkway formed a right angle, a coconut palm was planted and leaned out from the house. On either side were placed smaller, more tropical looking palms. Where the curved planting bed met the front lawn a neat row of Mondo Grass, Ophiopogon japonicas, bordered the garden. Behind was a groundcover area of bronze and burgundy Ajuga reptans. Behind the ajuga was the slightly taller Tradescantia pallida purpurea, commonly called Wandering Jew. (After a 40 year hiatus of growing Tradescantia, I recently added it and a few deep burgundy bromeliads to a planting bed of mostly succulents. I associated this plant with tropical Florida and thought it required generous water. I was pleasantly surprised to discover it grows well with succulents.) Taller still and towards the back came 2 clumps of oyster plants, Tradescantia spathacea. Under the overhang from the house and lining the walkway from the carport to the front door were planted various types of crotons and between the 2 front windows was planted what my mother called an umbrella tree, Schefflera actinophylla. Mother would add in Elephant Ear, Colocasia and caladium bulbs in the open spots between the shrubs.

Along the back wall of the house, my mother planted some poinsettias leftover from Christmas. They quickly grew to be taller than the house. Mother would line me and my 2 brothers up in our scout outfits and take the annual Christmas Card photo in front of the blooming plants.

To screen the carport from the neighbors, a row of small flowered pink hibiscus was planted. Dad liked to tease my mom by calling them hot biscuits. In front of the house, as a foundation planting under the windows, was a dense row of some sort of bushy vine that had very fragrant white flowers and dark green leaves. Besides being plants that I was unfamiliar with, this was the first professional landscape I’d ever known. I would spend hours looking at the different plants and how they would grew and changed and occasionally bloomed; trying to understand why this are looked so neat and tidy and organized compared to the rest of our landscape. The front garden was the first garden I’d ever seen composed mostly of foliage plants that used colored foliage and textures to create a landscape. The design of this garden would influence my design style many decades later. The curve of the front bed, the massing of plants, a variety of leaf shapes and textures, taller accent plants and using plants with a similar tone are garden design elements that I frequently use today when creating a garden.

Standing in front of a trumpet vine that covered out house
Me on the right, my brother Billy on the right
and Bobby in the back 
The back and side yards were planted by my mother with plants that intrigued her, were given to her or she had seen in other gardens. I suppose you could generously describe my mother’s gardening style as “early sustainability”. However, it could probably more realistically be described as “Darwinian”, as in survival of the fittest. Luckily, most of the year around 3PM we had tropical showers blow in from the Everglades, resulting in an average rainfall of over 60 inches and over 140 days per year with rain. Watering was seldom the problem.

The backyard was a large grass rectangle. The neighbor on one side installed a chain link fence. The neighbors behind us and on the other side planted hibiscus hedges. There was a screened-in patio off the living room. Mother laid a path of square concrete pavers from the carport around the side of the house to the back screen door. The walkway soon would be overgrown and almost impassable. The master bedroom stuck out from the back of the house. Along the bedroom wall mother planted trumpet vines, Bignonia campsis, which quickly covered the wall and grew up onto the roof. At the corner of the house she planted leftover Christmas poinsettias. These too quickly grew taller than the house and bloomed each fall and winter, looking nothing like the short greenhouse-grown plants. Across the back of the lot there were several 18-inch squares cut into the lawn. In these mother planted fruiting plants: strawberry, raspberry, orange and grapefruit. To my young designer eye, it seemed strange that the squares didn’t all have trees the same size and type of plant.
Me and a Poinsettia 
Against the screened patio and along the back and side of the house, mother grew an assortment of plants. There were small palms, begonias, sweet potatoes, crotons, pineapples, bromeliads, firecracker plant (Russelia equisetiformis), sansevieria, mother of thousands (Kalanchoe daigremontiana), coleus, white and lavender periwinkle (Madagascar vinca) bougainvillea, Euphorbia milii, bananas, tomatoes, papaya, chrysanthemums, and just about anything else that grew easily in South Florida. Mother’s favorite was the Swiss cheese plant (Monstera deliciosa) which climbed the wall under the kitchen window. While the garden wouldn’t win any garden design competitions, it was definitely a great place to learn a lot about many different plants.
I didn’t much care for the plants with thorns or serrated edges. The bougainvillea quickly outgrew its space, making it impossible to get out the screen door without getting stabbed. The pineapples and bromeliads grew too big to be able to safely navigate around them to the hose faucet. The banana would bloom, which we found fascinating, but then produce undersized bananas. By observation and trial and error, I learned to propagate many of these plants from cuttings or seeds. Things rooted quickly in the wet sand. My favorite was putting coleus cuttings in a cup of water and checking daily for new roots…and mosquito larvae. I also loved looking at the leaves of Kalanchoe daigremontiana lined with little baby plantlets and seeing how the ones that landed on the ground sent out new roots.

Inside the screened patio, mother would grow “air plants” that she found on the golf course and other places. She attached them to wire coat hangers or electrical wire and hung them from the framing of the screened ceiling. I really didn’t like the way these looked, especially the way they were mounted and didn’t understand why anyone would grow these odd things. Decades later, I would realize that these were tillandsias. From looking at pictures online I suspect they were either Tillandsia fasciculata or Catopsis floribunda, both are now endangered by collecting, habitat loss and the Mexican bromeliad weevil. Who knew that I would collect tillandsias myself one day? (I only grow nursery raised plants).
In the middle of the lawn, mother planted a coconut palm from seed. She didn’t know how to plant it but figured that like most seeds it should be planted in a hole 3 times its size. So she dug a 3 foot deep hole and planted it. Later, she would learn that you plant them on the surface of the soil. We forgot about it, but several years later when we returned home from vacation we found a 2 foot tall coconut tree growing in the middle of the lawn.




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Wichita and the Cold War

In 1960, my father was transferred from Houston, Texas to Wichita, Kansas.  Our house had junipers and other evergreen foundation plantings with a Bermuda grass lawn and no trees.  We planted portulaca seeds saved from Houston in the small garden bed along the front walkway.  The neighbor two doors away grew giant brilliantly-colored zinnias on the south side of their house.

I do, however, have memories of the Cold War.  On a clear night, my parents would get my brothers and me out of bed to watch the bright glow of sputnik as it passed over. Mom didn’t allow us to eat the snow or hailstones for fear that they were ‘radioactive’ from nuclear tests being conducted in Nevada and Utah. And mother said that should the Russians waste a nuclear bomb on Kansas, there is no doubt that the Bermuda grass would survive…and it would still be a very brown place.
Our House in Wichita

From Wichita, we were close enough to Colorado to go camping in the Rockies on my father’s two week vacation. More than the mountains though, I remember the endless fields of corn in western Kansas -  that were in fact - as high as elephant’s eye. We stopped beside the road to take photos of zinnia fields that grew as far as you could see, and wonder, why doesn’t anyone grow sunflowers in the Sunflower State? For lunch we’d stop at roadside parks usually alongside a creek. I recall the load noise made by the leaves shaking in the hot breeze, and the fuzz from cottonwoods falling on everything and thinking what a strange tree and how tall they were compared to everything else on the high plains.

That summer my grandmother fell off a ladder and broke her back. My mother returned to her family home in Pittsburgh with my younger brother and me to help her father in his veterinarian business.  My Aunt Betty showed me all the plants on the property.  We picked fresh mulberries for breakfast.  In the back, grandpa raised rabbits for food and fertilizer. Mixed into the flower beds was a strange plant called rhubarb with poisonous leaves, but you could eat the stems in early spring. My younger brother would stay on with mom in Pittsburgh while I was sent to spend the summer with my Aunt Mary and her family in Akron, Ohio. Their entire backyard was a large vegetable garden where they would grow all of their fresh produce. Aunt Mary would can fruit and vegetables in mason jars and store them in the basement for winter use. Though it would still be several decades before I would be willing eat them, it was here that I saw my first vegetables that didn’t come from the freezer or a can. On the front porch, between hands of bridge, my aunt would show me how to prepare fresh snap beans for cooking.  In the garden, she’d explain how to grow beans, tomatoes, corn and strawberries.  The different shapes and varieties of the plants were very surprising and fascinating to me.  I was very confused that mulberries came from trees, strawberries came from plants that crawled on the ground and raspberries came from bushes.  On Sundays, we’d go on long drives in the country and stop occasionally at roadside stands looking for good prices on seasonal produce.  At one stand I remember seeing the strange looking orange and white turban squash.  I wondered how you would eat anything so hard and strange looking.  I wanted one even though my aunt assured me that a picky eater like me would never eat it.

Our stay in Wichita would be short and we’d soon be off to the tropical paradise of South Florida where my interest in plants would really take off.

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Collecting Seeds

In 1959, we were transferred from Monahans, Texas, to Houston. Though both are very flat with spring thunderstorms and long hot summers, they have drastically different climates. Houston annually receives over 50 inches of rain compared to Monahans’ meager thirteen. The result in Houston is steamy tropical weather for nine or more months a year. The difference in flora was remarkable. Most of Houston is under a forest of native loblolly pines, oaks, sweetgums and southern magnolias. Houston had been a lumber town long before oil was discovered in east Texas. We had azaleas growing in the front yard and my mother tried growing bananas in the back. The neighbors down the street had pine trees over 75 feet tall.

On one pleasant spring day, mother would put our play table on the back patio and cover it with an embroidered tablecloth. My younger brother and I would pick a vase of dandelions and serve Kool-Aid and homemade cookies to the twin girls next door. Was this the pre-cursor of our popular Coffee-in-the-Gardens?

As a result of moving every 12 to 18 months, mother had developed impressive skills painting, sewing drapes and curtains, and reupholstering furniture. As soon as possible, she would plant a flower garden from seeds saved from the previous home. I remember the petunias, rose moss (Portulaca grandiflora), marigolds, touch-me-nots (Impatiens balsamina), and bread poppies (Papaver somniferum) that grew so well in Houston’s wet springs and summers. Helping collect seeds and put them in paper envelopes was my first hands-on gardening experience. As a 4 year old, I found gathering seeds strange and fascinating. It became my first plant obsession.

The different way each plant produced seed was amazing to me. Gathering petunia seeds required looking down each plant stem for a dried flower. Underneath there would be a small brown dried dome surrounded by the sepals. Squeeze the dome to crack it and seeds poured out.

I loved the bright flower colors, plump leaves and red stems of rose moss. It was my favorite plant and also my first succulent. It has a semi-spherical dome that covers the seeds. The top easily pops off when the seeds are ripe. Turn over the little cup that remains on the plant and out drop the seeds.

When I first collected seeds from marigolds, I would put the entire dried flower in the envelope. Over time, I learned to break open the dried flower. Inside would be straw-like material and things that looked like black grains of rice. You could see where the tiny true flower was attached to the top of each grain. These were fertile seeds and the rest could be thrown away.

Marigold Seeds

The favorite for collecting seeds, as well as for the other kids in the neighborhood, were the touch-me-nots, or as my mother called them Lady Slippers (Impatiens balsamina). After each flower fell off a juicy green and fuzzy pod would form at the end of a little stem. Squeezing the ripe pod results in the sides splitting open and curling up around your finger and the seeds inside shooting out in all directions. These were lots of fun to explode, but difficult to actually collect the seed. I still remember the smell of the pod and the feeling of being pelted by seeds.

The oddest of all were the bread poppies. My mother grew large hot pink double and semi-double “carnation flowered” poppies. After the petals fall off, a one inch diameter spherical shaped container with a flat top is left behind. When the seed inside ripens, it spills out of holes at the top like salt out of shaker. I thought this was really cool…and next to impossible to catch all of the seeds. When I bought my first house in 1983, mother mailed me some of the poppy seeds she was still collecting. They didn’t flourish in my crowded Encinitas garden, but did well enough that I was able to collect and bring some of the seeds to our current house in Mission Hills. I scattered the seed on the hill behind the house just before the first fall rain like mom did 50 years ago in Houston. They’ve been coming up annually - alas, mostly in the gravel pathways.





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My First Plant Memories

The first plant that I remember wasn't beautiful, anything that you would ever want grow in your garden, or even alive. It was an invasive weed brought to the U.S. by accident in a shipment of Ukrainian flax seed to South Dakota in 1877, or at least that is the story you often hear. I'm talking about the plant that by the mid-1950's had become emblematic of the high plains, the tumbleweed. It was 1958 we were living in Monahans, Texas. We moved every 2 years or so as my father, a civil engineer,  constructed electrical power plants that was occurring across the nation - trying to keep up with the rapid growth in electricity demand in post-World War II
baby-boom America. My parents would have preferred to have lived in Midland (where oil company executives lived) or even Odessa (where oil roughnecks lived) but there was housing shortage and we weren't staying long, so they had to settle for shotgun shack in less attractive Monahans. Years later in high school I'd have a friend that was also from the area. She described the area as so barren that people often mistook the 3 trees in their front yard as a roadside park and they would regularly chaise away the picnickers. My mother would recollect that if it didn't have thorn on it, it wouldn't grow in Monahans.

Our House in Monahans, Texas


Tumbleweeds piled against a wall
Anyway back to tumbleweeds and my first plant memory. In the fall, when the winds from the northwest would blow, dead tumbleweeds break free of their roots and roll across the high plains to spread their seeds. They invariably ended up coming to rest against anything that stopped them, such as fence or the side of a house. So one of my earliest memories was my father setting the tumbleweeds 'free' to continue rolling before they dropped all of their seeds against the side of the house.


Me and my brother
inside the Shasta camper
Fortunately, my parents (neither from Texas) knew there was more to be seen in the southwest than endless horizons, frightening hail storms and oil wells. They bought a Shasta trailer-camper and on long weekends and our annual two-week car vacation we’d head off to see the sights. The only trip that I remember was to Yosemite. We visited the Mariposa grove and like everyone else drove through the Wawona Tree - a giant Sequoia that had a tunnel cut through the middle back in 1881. The trailer got stuck and dad deflated the tires on the trailer to fit it through the tree. Sadly, the Wawona tree fell in a 1969 storm.
Wawona Tree in the 1950s



So, my first two plants memories represent polar opposites in the world of Horticulture. One became the emblem of how “civilization” forever changed the high plains; the other became the emblem of the Sierra Club and America’s attempt to save natural landscapes for future generations.

Luckily, our stay in west Texas was short lived and my encounters with plants would improve dramatically over the years; until today being fortunate enough to live in wonderfully horticulturally diverse Southern California. My horticultural experiences will get better than tumbleweeds.
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