Something I Can Count On

Our weather here in California has been unseasonably, if not freakishly warm lately.  In the mornings there is just a hint that cooler times may be ahead, but it doesn't take too long for the sun to warm things up and for it to get quite toasty.  Our friends down the coast in Montecito are having a terrible fire, which has destroyed many beautiful homes in the hills.  Fires are not uncommon here in late summer or early Autumn, when high temperatures, dry conditions and the Santa Ana winds whip up.  We had some bad fires this past August which were scarily near by.  But we are way into November now, and things should be cooling down.  The weather experts predict more moderate temperatures today, and with luck, perhaps the winds will die down and the firefighters can contain the fires.

Losing a home to a fire is an unfathomable loss.  The people, pets and wild animals that are displaced, the valuable real estate and treasured possessions that are lost are enormous tragedies.  There is an additional type of loss that isn't spoken of as much, a loss that takes decades to recover.   I am talking about landscaping.  In a forest fire, nature reasserts itself and before too long and weeds, grass, scrub trees and seedlings take over and the forest grows again.  It takes a long time, but eventually the forest recovers.  The thought and planning that goes into making a garden is huge.  Our gardens shelter us, provide a haven from the world, and give us countless pleasures over the seasons.  A garden is Personal.  It is a unique reflection of who we are and where we go for relaxation, entertainment, privacy and peace.

The tree pictured above is a Japanese maple that lives at the entry to my father's house in Palo Alto.  My mom had it planted years ago as a welcoming accent to their home.  Over the decades, it has settled in and never fails to disappoint us with its seasonal changes.  In the winter its delicate frame of black branches sits reflectively with clumps of pure white cyclamen clustered around its base.  In the spring, the branches become covered with the most delicate pale green leaf buds, looking positively lace like when the sun shines through them.  In summer its lush green cascade is a cooling backdrop to the white geranium, oleander and begonia flowers Mom surrounded it with.  There are fragrant white violets that grow with abandon underneath its protective shade. 

Mom had a passion for her green and white garden.  She adored the contrast of rich green against stark white flowers.  For the most part, her garden reflects her color palette, but I don't think she was looking ahead to what this tree would do to her carefully thought out landscaping plan when we shifted seasons from summer to autumn!  The fall is when this tree asserts its personality and independence and puts on its most glorious show.  For a few weeks in November, it is a waterfall of red, gold and yellow leaves.  If this house ever passes out of our family, I think this tree is the one thing I would miss most.  I just cannot imagine it being replaced.  To lose it in a fire?  Unthinkable.

Something about it soothes and calms me.  It is so Reliable.  No mater what else is going on in the world, I can count on this tree doing precisely what it is meant to do.  If I were a garden gnome, this is where I would live.

My heart goes out to the people and pets who have lost their homes in the fires in Montecito.   And to anyone who has lost a beloved garden.