Avocados

We've had two consecutive years of a bumper avocado crop. Unfortunately, they're not my favorite fruit, but these are a good variety and they'll spread like butter across a sandwich. I've been giving them away to anyone who wants some, but they're still way too many and the squirrels are having a fine old feast.

Last year, I gave some to Sparky. He wolfed them down and got diarrhea in the house, so he's not having any more. Some people I used to know moved, with their skinny black lab, to a house with several avocado trees. The next time I saw the dog, he was easily double the size. I think the owners finally resorted to putting a muzzle on him during avo season.

But why do trees make so much fruit when it only takes one successful germination to replace the parent? I found an answer in a 1990 movie called Mindwalk, starring Sam Waterston, John Heard and Liv Ullmann. It's kind of a forerunner to What the #*!$ Do We Know, with just as flimsy a "plot."

Waterston plays a failed presidential candidate who meets up with his poet pal, Heard, at Mont St Michel, off the Brittany coast. The film is all about the conversation they start with Ullmann's character, a Norwegian quantum physicist. It's she who puts forward the hypothesis that the tree -- my avocado -- is part of a much greater system and as such, the abundance of fruit nourishes the system, which in turn protects a new seedling, later to become the replacement tree.

James Lovelock wrapped this up in his Gaia Hypothesis, which has always appealed to me.

The Ramble

Fairchild held its annual Ramble, the weekend before last. I went twice since this year it started on Friday, running through Sunday. The first thing that caught my eye was the Rolls Royce I parked next to.

One improvement over the years is the inclusion of "green" groups, such as Urban Paradise and Urban Oasis, so everyone can learn more about sustainable living. 

Even if you're not into growing things or the environment, there's always great art and food and activities for the kids, not to mention the antiques in the main auditorium.

I spent way too much of my unemployment benefits on a couple of "must-have" unusual plants, including Flame of Jamaica (Euphorbia punicea), a shrub that will put out striking scarlet bracts.

Vultures (with feathers)

A couple of turkey vultures were arguing over a possum carcass in the road a few houses along. There was a lot of commotion and clashing of wings before they sorted it out, and then a car drove one off, leaving the feast to the other. I walked over to what was left of the possum (be glad you didn't smell it), which caused me to wonder whether vultures, like raptors, have exceptional eyesight, or whether they have exceptional smell -- or both. Questions, questions.

If you live in suburban South Florida (and assuming you even notice them), you probably like seeing vultures wheeling around the sky. Vultures, turkey vultures specifically, are harbingers of the fall; they arrive from somewhere in the Midwest or Northeast in the first week of October, bringing with them the blessed promise of cooler weather. Except in the immediate aftermath of a hurricane, I don't think it's ever cooled down before the "buzzards" show up.

The occasion used to be celebrated annually on the steps of the courthouse in downtown Miami, which is where dozens choose to roost at night. As tall buildings went up around the courthouse, the vultures roosted there, too. The Herald wrote a story about very expensive lawyers in very expensive penthouse offices not appreciating vultures resting outside and spoiling their otherwise very expensive view. Oh, the irony!

If you do look up, watch these masters of flight as they ride thermals and glide across the sky with the rarest flap of a wing. On the ground, though, it's another matter. These huge birds, ungainly as they are ugly, are positively comical as they lumber along the ground preparing for takeoff. Sadly, this is when the vultures themselves become road kill.

A tiny owl

Fairchild had its first Bird Day on Sunday, which I deemed to be a success apart from the bird walk that started at the ludicrously early 7 a.m. (I can't do anything at that hour other than sleep.) The wildlife rehab center at Miami's science museum was in attendance with a couple of of permanent residents, a red shouldered hawk and an Eastern screech owl.

I'm sure that like me, many of the day's visitors walked right past the tiny owl assuming it was a stuffed bird. You can see what I mean from the first photo. And what a treat to see the hawk up close and personal.

Our first raised veggie bed

Here's the first of two. It's 4' x 8' and the other will be 4' x 10', and both will be plumbed for drip irrigation. They're made out of pressure-treated lumber, so the insides are lined with black plastic bags (a quick stapling job). Next, I have to line the bottom with something to keep nematodes at bay, probably newspaper, brown paper and old cotton blankets.

The designer and general contractor is Dan the spouse who insists on getting things nigh-on perfect, which is way more than I would do (and I'm a Virgo!). He thought of finishing the bed off with a 2" x 6" board to make it easier to sit or kneel, and it's a brilliant idea, not to mention it looks nice.

Anyway, I'm extremely grateful that he took it on because gardening is not his thing, except that he likes to cook so he does have a vested interest.

Going bananas

We take bananas for granted; they are, after all, only an everyday fruit. But there's a whole bunch (pardon the pun) more to them than that.

I grow a "Brazilian dwarf," which I thought meant that the plants would be dwarf, but it turns out the name refers to the fruit, so they are unexpectedly tall. I also have a true dwarf which produces apple-flavored bananas, and I'm encouraging a struggling plant that supposedly produces bananas with red flesh. I also have ornamentals, meaning the fruit is inedible, with variegated leaves of a stunning red and green.

This photo, which I took at Fairchild earlier in the week, is of another ornamental. The fruit and flowers are simply spectacular. Click on the picture to see the flower's occupant.

Breezy bamboo; sorry Northerners

Those who have grown bamboo in a temperate climate are likely to wish they never did. Once a temperate bamboo gets going it's almost impossible to keep under control, shooting up in all sorts of inconvenient places and doing more damage to lawns than pesky moles.

But for us lucky folks living in a tropical climate, we grow clumping bamboos, which are sooo much easier to maintain.

This is Bambusa malingensis, a particularly thickly-clumping, vigorous species that I really must get round to thinning out. It's about 25' now and can get to around 35'. It's a graceful plant that will bend nearly horizontal in our frequent, strong winds.

It started off as a weedy thing about seven years ago, and now it blocks out the view of (and from) the bridge, which is what is was intended to do.

I got it from Daniel and Martha Holmes of Holmes Bamboo in the Redland. If you're in the market, check out their website.

Halloween fishermen at Fairchild Tropical Botanic Garden

These guys look suspiciously like the fruit of the sausage tree (Kigelia africana). I hope the gators give them a pass...

Devloper makes quick buck with cruelty to trees

This really annoys me: Planting young trees right under utility lines. It's a cheap developer's trick to make a property look nicer. These live oaks will soon reach the overhead lines where they will cause power outages to homes further along and then FPL will hack them back. We all pay for that service.

Little Brown Jobs (and keep your mind out of the toilet, please)

The LBJs, small brown birds -- mostly warblers, are back. The fall migration has been under way for a while, but I've only just started paying attention. The LBJs flit from branch to branch too quickly to figure out the species, but I have seen American redstarts and a male prairie warbler. I may have seen a black-and-white warbler, too, but ...

It's a colorful time of year, birdwise, in the garden. Blue jays and cardinals come to the feeders and the bright yellow spot-breasted orioles are all over the place.