I was looking for this page comparing Anya seedling characteristics vs their fruit and somehow ended up instead at the gardening forum page that had the link that I’d originally found it from. For a heartbeat I was disappointed. Then I decided to re-read it anyway.

Only, this time, while recognizing that familiar thread, I did a sudden doubletake because, wait, if that internet name is the guy’s initials and his unusual last name–!!! and I squinted at the tiny photo–it IS! That’s Cassie’s husband!

Yay for photos on Facebook, because I’ve never met the man, only my friend who married him after she moved away from here a dozen years or so ago.

So I sent her a note. I said, He wrote that two years ago but that has to be him and I have no idea if both of you have any interest whatsoever but if you seriously do, I’ve got some seeds and you’re welcome to a few.

She wrote back quoting her stunned husband: “Those are like GOLD!” He’d so wanted to try, but the four hour drive each way to Andy’s to buy apricots while raising kids and running a small business, there was just no way, he’d finally given up on the idea because it was never going to happen.

And then Google gave me a page that was not the page I was looking for but was the one where he needed me to be to find him and actually see him this time. I don’t have a lot of kernels, because Anya season overlapped with our going out of town, but a few are coming their way.

If I gave you some for this growing season and they didn’t make it, you’re not the only one and it’s okay and let me know so you can have a do-over if you want it.

From Drew51, writing on a garden forum six years ago:

“Reminds me of the fact that Bamboo flower about every 120 years. 95% die after flowering. About 10 years ago a very popular bamboo hit that 120 mark, and thousands of clones throughout the United states flowered and died. Young plants, small plants, big plants, old plants. All the clones flowered, the wood knew its age!”

Me: Given that bamboo requires solid concrete poured 18″x24″ wide and deep to keep it from punching through, say, the floor of your garage if it’s growing next to the house, maybe a do-over on the landscaping like that is not so bad.

Meantime, I found a spot on my scalp a bit forward of my skin cancer scar and got it seen today. The doctor declared it early enough and not a problem enough that she simply froze it.

My head has gone cryogenic.

I put two tiny squash seedlings to a 15″ pot when none of them were growing at all, figuring it was better to give them a chance than tossing them all straight out, and a month later two plants suddenly finally took off–both in the same pot, of course.

The one that’s dominant is (finally a female flower today after all the males, showing that it’s almost certainly) a zucchini; the smaller one at bottom has yet to announce itself and may get yanked out because you only need one zucchini plant and you’re not supposed to have them that mushed together, are you?

And then there’s this other pot. A squash sown at the same time, transplanted at the same time, treated the same way. Might be a butternut, might be my sister’s Italian white zucchini, might be another green zucchini. All carefully labeled, once upon a time. But it is definitely a bit silly, and I continue to debate trying to somehow get the littler guy in that other pot over into this one before it gets crowded out entirely.

Clearly, planting them inside in the winter did not get any of them the least bit ahead and they got so root bound in their 4″ squares that they couldn’t cope. Or at least I think that’s why.

Anyway. At 23″, apricot 2021 seedling #1 has grown an inch and a half since Friday. I understand now why that other guy said he was able to harvest his first fruit off his tall ones on the third year. Nice.

And on a random note, just because it’s so strange: white-tailed deer caught on camera. (link deleted later due to spamming)

Eating birds. And eggs.

Deer. I’m trying to grok this. Eating the adult nesting birds, their young, and their eggs. They tested by putting out quail eggs and the deer said why thank you very much! It says elk have been caught eating endangered sage grouse and whatever’s in their nests, too.

Foxes, raccoons, and–deer. Who knew?

Another possible way of tackling covid-19: a novel application of an older treatment for something entirely different that looks like it will decrease covid sickness markedly. That would be great.

We attended church today, noting that there were fewer people there in person than our last time and more on Zoom and I didn’t see any small children at all–and the majority of adults were not wearing masks. I don’t know what they announced last week while we were out of town but clearly others got the message. It felt so strange.

And then someone said to me, I see you’re still wearing a mask.

I explained that someone in my lupus group had been fully vaccinated and then tested–and her antibody level to the virus was a flat zero. I’m not on the chemo drug she’s on but even fully vaccinated, I can’t risk transmitting anything.

My friend certainly understood that, leaving me thinking, so then why aren’t you… I mean, you live in the world that has such people too and did you know there was a cancer patient on that side of the room? She hasn’t lost her hair yet (and you’d likely never know if she did because that’s one person who’d get a wig no matter what the heat waves say.)

I mentioned it to Richard and his immediate response was the obvious, “When everyone under twelve is vaccinated I’ll take my mask off but not before.”

Yes. Exactly.

Now, if that new treatment that has so few side effects turns out to work for covid illness, that would be wonderful.

But nobody’s been absolved of responsibility towards their fellow man. We’re not done with this virus yet.

Better photos: 2020’s plant, above, started slow and pale and short like that little one and one side branch and the top of the original trunk died by the end of the summer. And yet it survived my overwatering and look at it now.

Two from 2021, below. The taller one grew over half an inch in today’s heat. It’s going to outgrow the cage I have over it when I’m not taking pictures and it’s too fragile for the birds to perch on it yet so let me figure that one out.

I had a trio of mockingbirds, probably newly fledged teenagers, horsing around on the apricot and tomato cages today and over on that peach tree when I wasn’t looking.

By the way, if anyone wants some, I have some new Anya kernels now. They of course haven’t gone through the necessary three months of refrigeration yet before they can germinate.

Five got promised to someone today. I have some set aside for my sister, and the rest I’ll either try to sprout or if anyone reading this wants to try (or try again) let me know and I’m happy to share.

Meantime, a still-cute-sized August Pride peach got rescued from the mockingbirds. And then I zapped the ground around the trunk with an update of the grape Koolaid solution to say hey no guys those are mine.

Anya apricot seedling planted in January, 21.5″ high now. Picture taken when it was too bright for the upper side branches to show up well but they’re there. It’s taller than the one on its second year and much much taller than the others planted this year, one of which is still stuck at about 5″ high. Clearly, planting this one in a mix that was mostly that Quoddy blend of composted lobster shells was successful; it’s the only one that was, but then, I chose the best-looking specimen for that in the first place. I wanted to try something totally different from what last year’s baby tree got.

Clearly, the older one should be repotted in the good stuff too come the winter.

Today this one got voted most likely to end up planted permanently in the yard. Helped by the fact that someone else said the fastest and tallest of his was the one whose fruit came out most like the hoped-for Anya parent.

(Don’t mind me, I’m trying to keep a record of what worked where I’ll know where to find it.)

Meantime, this woman was a kick to read about. I’d never heard this WWII story from the Channel Islands. It was the upper-crust Germans who were sent to that post during her island’s occupation, and because they were who they were it was they who were able to be cowed again and again before someone who so outranked them socially–a weapon she was happy to put to use at a time when there was no other available to her.

The rent for her fief to the Queen has not been updated since, apparently, 1565, at 1.79 pounds. I assume there were no late fees for any interruption caused by the war.

There’s a warning out that the Pacific Northwest is about to have another extreme heat wave.

Eve the (formerly) super fluffy longhaired grandcat is ready for that one, too. Continuing chin scritches welcomed.

(p.s. That 5.9 quake on the CA/Nevada border today? Didn’t feel a thing. With the Californian in me wanting to add,  …Yet…)

Mathias working on a puzzle with his mom.

Meantime, the toddler anthem of “Mine!” and the adult sized (that was a mistake) airplane-knit hat went on Lillian’s head because I’d just made one for her brother and had run out of time to finish the one she didn’t know was going to be hers so it only seemed fair.

She danced around with her new toy–what toddler doesn’t love a hat (unless you’re trying to make them wear one) and it went back on her head a number of times. Sometimes she could even see with it on, if someone helped her. And helped her again after she tugged on it. Or after she put Mathias’s hat on top of it.

The tree fairy ring out back, with a smaller one behind it and a smaller one behind that.

A chance to read a book with Grammy.

And we are home from Washington State and the first visit with grandkids since Covid hit. The flight was late, we’re tired, but I wanted to check in. We are so glad we got to go.

Dani, whose cheerleading enticed the planting of my mango tree, grew up with two Alphonsos in his yard in India.

They died a few years ago and he told me his mother was devastated.

When I said in a conversation yesterday that we had to get her a new one he said an unseen seed had survived and is now growing back and she was quite happy about that–and I am, too.

That got me to go look. Here’s what you get when you do that. Mangoes come in two types, monoembryonic and polyembryonic. Polyembryonic seeds produce multiple seedlings out of one seed and all will be clones of the parent–except one, and it will be visibly weaker or stronger than the others depending on whose experiences you’re reading on the ‘net. But mostly you get to straight-up replant what you’ve already got and experiment with the outlier. Turns out citrus do that, too.

Alphonsos are monoembryonic. You know what one of the parents is, you know how good it is, but there are no guarantees.

The nearest mango tree to mine that I know of is in Fremont and I’m sure there are no bees making that grand leap across the San Francisco Bay to my yard way over here–I’m pretty darn sure my sweet little Alphonso is a virgin. Still, it apparently means that whatever could sprout from its single-plant seeds could be anything from the tree’s genetic history.

His mom’s seedling is almost old enough now to fruit and soon she’ll find out. I’m really hoping she gets a great one.

Mine tried to fruit in December, lost them to the cold, but bloomed some more and persevered and now it’s covered with them. It takes months longer for them to ripen here than in their native climate but they’re getting there.

But darn if I’m not sitting here after all these back and forth emails wondering what kind of seedlings I might get, too. To find out, I could grow one in a pot, on the patio, on wheels to pull it out from under the awning to full-on sun and back again against the house at night, you know, what I’d originally envisioned as a way of managing a tropical here before Dani insisted I must, must let it grow in the ground and allow it to become what it’s meant to be.

We were both right. It’s much more of a tree and far more prolific that way. Mangoes are deep-taproot types.

So–if I kept and planted an Alphonso seed (space-wise, one would be enough) I could do it planter-on-wheels style, and then gift the tree away once I know the fruit is good. Because by then I’ll be more than happy to give away the impossible amount of excess from my own tree as it is. Hopefully.

Since our rainy/dry seasons are reversed, I asked Dani about watering it, I mean, I’d been doing it once a week all this time so I must be doing something right? He asked his mom.

Oh okay. Twice a week for the summer it is, then. Maybe that’s part of why it took them so long to ripen.

Did you remember that there was a Flintstones spin-off that had a saber-toothed tiger named Fang?

I did not.

Some may remember my fandom of the Flintstone house in Hillsborough. It was created in the 1970s with I believe air balloons and rebar and cement and whimsy. Over time, the hillside it was built into was eroding and when it went on the market, nobody wanted to buy it, hot market or no.

It was a fun landmark to all who drive the 280 freeway.

Including the woman who not only bought it but had the means to shore up that quarter million dollar hillside.

She initially thought she would plant flowering cherries, but it just didn’t fit in with the theme of the place. And so–she went to town. She Flintstoned that Flintstone house: she added bright mushrooms, dinosaurs, a giraffe–because everybody loves giraffes–and put Yabba Dabba Do! in rocks by her entryway.

Annnnd… The upscale town sued. Said it was an eyesore.

They’d had no problem with anything the previous owners had done.

The end result after several years is, they just paid her lawyers’ fees and she is suddenly free to do as she wishes.

So now there’s a Bigfoot. She is having so much fun!

And a friendly saber-tooth tiger over the door for the wonderful Florence Fang.

(Picture courtesy of SCPBRG)

She was fine last week when they banded her and for days after.

There were two peregrine falcon chicks in San Jose this year, a male and a female, hatched after the original nesting attempt failed.

This week, the female started having seizures. Over several hours, she made it out of the nest box into the middle of the runway.

And at last she was gone.

There is a possibility that rat poison had made its way up the food chain and that being larger than her brother she had eaten more of it, but we’ll never know for sure. Please never, ever use the stuff outside.

He seems to be fine.

Her mother stood sentry on the ledge above for hours, keeping her safe. But the young one did not move. Grace came down beside her and stretched her wing wide over her daughter’s lifeless body, and again today. The male eyas tried to nudge his sister.

And then he stood on the lower ledge below his mother, taking in the world he will soon fly off into on his own.

And now he has a name. Phoenix.

Holly was in the area and dropped by this morning. I was expecting to offer her some cherries. I was not expecting a gift of her cross-stitching and stood there quite agape before she even got past the entryway. A photo will be added when it comes through but none could possibly do it justice. So much talent and love in that piece!

Then Chris the contractor came. He found damage the previous people hadn’t–he’s thorough. I mentioned needing the roof replaced and that I hadn’t heard back from the company that I know he’s worked with previously: because they not only did our roof 27 years ago, but when we needed someone to fix the mistakes our remodeling contractor had left behind, that big roofing company had recommended we hire Chris. And we were very glad we did, and wished we’d known about him the first time around.

I asked him, Will they do a job for me a lot faster if you’re the one asking? (Because the roofers around here all have long waiting lists right now.)

Oh yes. And then he detailed how their working together would mean the sealing around the edges wouldn’t have to be done twice and he could lower his bid by that amount.

Then he left, and after lunch my friend Nina showed up. She had never gotten around to trying out Andy’s Orchard herself, though she’d certainly enjoyed what I’d brought her, but at long last it felt like it was time and she had time and let’s go! She called in an order for a case of Blenheim apricots, picked me up, and I showed her the way.

They had Anyas. They had Anyas!!

Friday, the young employees at the farm store thought they were over for the season, but no, they’d still had more to pick. I didn’t miss out for a whole year after all! Thank you Nina for getting me back there!

And I saw my old friend who’s worked there for the past two seasons for the first time this year.

I bought three pounds and almost, almost bought a whole case, too, except, that’s a lot of apricots. I’m wishing now I had, just so I could go around to a bunch of friends and say, This is what I’ve been talking about!

I did a taste-testing: Friday’s (second) Yuliya apricot box (most of which went home with Holly) vs the Anya. Both of them John Driver varieties from Silk Road areas of the world. I’d never seen both at the same time before.

The Yuliyas are sweet and quite juicy, although with a skin that is surprisingly a bit tough. The Anya I tried could have used another day but it still totally beat the other hands down with its spicy complexity, not just sweetness, and definitely a thinner skin, one that didn’t distract from the rest of the experience. I swooned and fell in love with my favorite all over again.

Now what do I do with those Yuliya kernels I saved from the first box. Probably let them go so they don’t get mixed up with the Anyas. I’m told Yuliyas need pollinators and the Anya row is next to the Yuliya row at Andy’s, so… If anyone wants to rescue them let me know.

A couple we know called and asked if they could drop by; they’d been baking and had some snickerdoodles to share.

Sure!

So as we were visiting, I mentioned having this rootstock-regrowth Yellow Transparent tree whose apples were ripe and needed to be processed into apple butter or applesauce; they’re great for those and mushy and terrible for eating out of hand.

They would love to!

And so the four of us found ourselves outside picking apples as the sun headed down. They said how many should we take and I said, the whole tree–please? (It isn’t very big.)They laughed. They got all but the smallest that just weren’t ready to go.

Apple butter needs apple cider–so much better than mass-bottled juice. We had some, thank you Trader Joe’s.

They went home happy to have a tasty project to work on with their boys and we got to be done with that tree for the year. They’ll have four sets of hands coring those apples, and you don’t even need to peel them for apple butter, especially not those super-thin skins that give the variety its name.

And the snickerdoodles were delicious.

Afterwards I baked this recipe with some of Andy’s Yuliya apricots after all that talking about fruit and desserts. Why not, it’s our you-crazy-kids day from when we were 21 and 22. One more year till we get to be Life, The Universe, and Everything!

Our longtime arborist came yesterday to give me a quote on cutting back where the trees had grown over the house again.

Chris remembered when the mostly-dead olive his men had taken out had been over in that one spot and it just wasn’t that long ago. He kept exclaiming: Look at all the cherries!

His eyes got wide when I said, Yes, and I’ve picked them twice already.

It is one prolific tree. I offered him some, but he said another client had actually already gifted him some. Beat me to it.

I showed him all the fruits on the mango, and he marveled, It was just a little stick! Look at it!

The first time he’d come, he and his wife had had a babysitting crunch and he’d brought his little boy with him. Remember that hat you gave him? he asked me. He loved it!

That six year old is a teenager now and his baby sister is–She’s HOW old?! I asked.

It was not lost on either of us in that moment that kids and trees tend to change before your very eyes, so slow you almost don’t see it and so fast you marvel in awe.

I told him my oldest grandson was ten now. He laughed and proclaimed, You win!

I later asked my friend Nina if she’d like some just-picked sour cherries. She was thrilled. Since we’re all vaccinated, that was the excuse for her and her husband to invite me and mine over for the evening. (Out of curiosity, I weighed the Rubbermaid container before we left: it was over three pounds and even now, the tree is loaded.)

Man did it feel good to sit and catch up as if life had never changed so drastically for so long. We met Calvin and Hobbes for the first time at their house thirty-something years ago, and we have made so many memories since. It felt great to be making new ones.

Holly’s coming by Monday. A bunch of cherries darkened nicely today but I think they can make it till then.