leaf peeping?

Back in Marina, California, I participated in developing a landscape plan for a new California State University - Monterey Bay. In initial discussions, we talked of remedies for the very flat landscape of dunes on the former Fort Ord, which was our campus. Since there were a number of giant eucalyptus in a couple of places on campus, I suggested we plant some more. The look of horror on everone else's face told me that I had just stepped in a major mudhole.

California has major issues with plants imported from Australia to stop erosion - ice plant, and to bring some shade - eucalyptus. When I asked what was wrong with eucalyptus - because I still think they smell really good -, I was told that they were "messy" trees.

When I asked what made them "messy," I was told that they dropped they leaves.

I was rendered speechless, while everyone else stared at me. I sputtered, and finally managed to croak that most trees in the East drop their leaves each year, and we love them. What's wrong with that? Nope, there was little comprehension of the magnitude of the gulf that separated us. Later, I came to realize that eucalyptus don't just shed leaves, they also shed bark which is quite beautiful, and drop round, golf ball sized seed pods, which really are a pain as you walk along.

I lost the battle to plant eucalyptus on the new campus. Perhaps time will allow more flexibility in the plan, but for now, the campus has gone - mostly - "native." In the meantime, back East, I find myself in another difference of opinion over trees. The whole world, I think, believes that the only thing that happens in the fall in New England is that the leaves of maples trees and oaks, birches and poplars, turn colors. Well, my favorite thing that happens in the fall in New England occurs when the pine needles drop. It is actually the needles of the white pine that fall in October and carpet the forest floor with orange; leaves fall off and turn brown. But when the needles drop, the world turns orange - a time when walking in the woods is most rewarding.

But it is also hunting season, so often we do not dare to venture out, and that's a shame. Between the politics of the season, and hunting, we are kept inside, holding our ears, unable to see the spectacular orange carpet under the pine trees.

the barn est fini!

Most of this summer, I have spent designing the new barn, watching the old barn come down piece by piece, and the new barn go up. And here it is. I am very pleased; - it is a long term dream realized.

The left hand side is obviously a garage, but big enough for a work bench at the rear, and to hold my canoe, too.

The right hand side is a studio - a place for me to make a mess and not have to clean up, a place that is heated with a very green, propane fired, efficient boiler feeding the plastic tubing underneath the concrete slab floor. It is quite toasty.

Upstairs is completely undeveloped, and everyone but me seems to have grand dreams for it. So far, no one has contributed any money though, so nothing will be done for now.

Some memorable parts of the barn, however, are inside. I could find no one who would say that they could save the old barn, but my contractor Bill Dighton was good enough to take it down piece by piece, saving what he could of posts, beams, and planking. In the end, not many of the posts and beams were worth much, though there is one that was 20 feet tall which we used in the stair well. Others were used at corners, under sinks, and for general support here and there.

The real treasure that we found was in the haymow, where the floor was just rough sawn boards that had been laid down perpendicular to each other, in two layers. These were all mostly 18-23 feet long, and had no nail holes. They had never been nailed down - virginal if you will. We used these to create the ceiling in the studio, and to line the stair well. They are gorgeous and make me very happy.

Another memorable thing are the stair treads. The old barn was in large part supported by a large white birch. Not thinking everything through very well, I had the tree taken down and sawn into boards - beautiful ones, too. But taking the tree down, and then pulling out the stump had the effect of removing one quarter of the sill of the old barn. The tree had grown into, around and through the sills of the barn, and the barn started to tilt. So it had to come down. But I still had the birch boards, and now they have been made into the stair treads of the new barn. They, too, make me quite happy.

But the most memorable part of the barn, really, is the weathervane - the subject of a prior blog. It was my father's, and now resides on my barn. Who knows where it will go next? Or where I will? Mostly though, for now, I am happy to stay right here, working in my barn, and staying warm!