I was a neophyte gardener on a cramped San Diego corner lot when a heartbroken widower offered me his thirty-year-old glasshouse and a collection of orchids (Cattleya) that he had tended with his wife. In accepting that offer, I became convinced of something I had already suspected: my soul needed more gardening space. That yearning was satisfied in 1979, when my wife Elizabeth and I bought a 1920s-era Spanish-style house that sat on approximately three-quarters of an acre. It was known locally as “The Enchanted Hacienda” from the years it had served as a board-and-care home for the elderly. Located a few blocks from the beach in Encinitas, California, our land sloped gently west, with 180° ocean views. The upper garden had a manicured lawn, sapote (Pouteria), Ficus, Metrosideros, and Podocarpus trees, plus roses, camellias, hibiscus, bird-of-paradise (Strelitzia), and three queen palms (Syagrus romanzoffianum). Below were a few aged avocado trees near a new swimming pool, surrounded by young Washingtonia, Syagrus, and Brahea palms. The lower yard was, with the exception of a loquat (Eriobotrya japonica) and an old bouganvilla, a tangle of shoulder-high weeds.
We were bu...
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Voices of the West; New Science on Life in the Garden by Frederique Lavoipierre
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