Quick Like a Bunny
I am getting in the habit (does two or three days constitute a habit yet?) of writing tomorrow’s story in the morning hours out here in the garden on my throughly described garden desk. I think what I like best about the view are my little stand of resurgent bonsai redwood trees. When they arrived and I placed them in the rock garden over a month ago they were immediately shedding needles and looking less and less viable by the day. They, like our transplanted ocotillo cactus by the front gate, seemed in shock from their redomestication, and seemed to be giving up the ghost. I even went so far as to call the nursery on the somewhat expensive ocotillo (my new cactus expert tells me I paid exactly what anyone shares for an ocotillo, which have to be shipped in from Arizona) and ask that they replace it. Naturally, on the day when they came with the new plant the damn thing was starting to bud and the nursery guy showed me that my plant was actually healthier looking than the one he had on the truck and was prepared to replace. I left the plant where it was and, sure enough, it is flourishing now since it seems to dig the hot and dry weather in a perverse cactus-like manner.
When I had Andre, my irrigation guy, over to put in the new watering zone for my garden, this drought-tolerant expert (he has spent twenty years serving clients in SoCal, Utah, Nevada and Arizona) told me my redwoods were not likely to survive since they prefer dark, dank and moist conditions that were hard to replicate on this hilltop. I had recently gone into the Redwood National Forest and seen those primeval conditions for myself and agreed that I had nothing like that going on here in Escondido. Those bonsai redwoods (which I think cost $175) ended up being the genesis of my desire to have a morning shade tree installed and led to my purchase of the Irish Strawberry tree which cost a small fortune to plant in the garden with a thirty-foot articulated forklift. Now that I have a daily drip-feed going to them and have clipped out all the dead needles, my little bonsais redwood forrest if flourishing with new growth. It inspires me to think that I might stand a chance with this gardening thing I’m getting into.
But before I get too cocky, I have to remind myself that I have spent several hundred dollars on several other bonsais that are now no more than sticks in the dirt and I have purchased a half dozen flowering plants (not high-end, but the best Home Depot has on offer) that have simply disappeared, leaving barren pots with stubs sticking up. At first I thought I was not watering enough. Then I thought I might be watering too much. Then I noticed that some plants and flowers were getting eradicated while others were flourishing or at least staying intact. When I looked more closely what I saw was gnawed-off stems and completely missing leaves and flowers. This was clearly a case of my ornamental plants and flowers being eaten by the local bunnies.
We have always seen bunnies in our neighborhood, usually at night when we drive up the road and pass what we have affectionately been calling the Bunny House. It was so designated because the existence of a proper lawn caused the bunnies to congregate on the greenery and then be forced to scattered in the oncoming headlights as we drove past. It all seemed so cute to see scattering bunnies and we gave not a thought to the poor homeowner that was working hard to maintain his greenery. I figured it served him right for trying to grow an Eastern Lawn where rocks and cacti should have been. But now I suspect that we are the new Bunny House for several reasons. First of all, Kim’s affection for the quail and birdies has her regular trips to the feed store keeping three or four areas of our property well-stocked with seed and those millet and molasses blocks that hold seed for a yummy bird treat. As we all know, yummy bird treats are usually equally yummy for squirrels and my guess is that bunnies are not far behind in that pecking order (how’s that for a visualization!). Add to all that the fact that we have decided to add a water-thirsty garden the built upon a half-dozen citrus trees and added bonsais, a Strawberry tree, potted flowers, and clinging vines (bougainvillea and acanthacea). What we are left with is the equivalent of a bunny food court.
These bunnies are finding all this so enticing that it has dulled their natural instincts of wariness. Even as I sit here writing there is a bunny happily munching under the shade of an agave plant. He is not near the flowering plants (the most delectable of which are now mere stubs in their pots) and he is not near the feed trough. He is over by the bonsai and I have a sneaking suspicion I know why. It seems that evergreens are not edible for bunnies. That means my Rock Juniper, Mugo Pine, Redwoods, and Chinese Elm are all safe. My Japanese Willow and Fringe also seem immune, as does my stand of maple. The Asparagus Fern sounds and looks awful deli table, but it must have something about it that bunnies don’t like because it is never touched. But I have this one struggling azalea that keeps sprouting buds only to be left as a stick in the pot. I suspect that bunny lets the buds sprout and then has a bunny version of Beaujolais Nouveau every few days.
I am torn. Who doesn’t like little cute bunnies? I am not a farmer protecting food crops. I am a horticulturalist (there’s a stretch for you) who is trying to enjoy nature. And bunnies are one of the cuter things in nature on this hilltop. We like humming birds. We like skittish quail (even when they spook and fly right into my face as one did the other day). Both are proliferating. We will soon be putting up an owl box compliments of brother-in-law Jeff. We even like seeing predatory hawks floating on the afternoon hot air currents. I simply refuse to let bunnies get my goat. I will keep looking for naturally bunny-proof plants, not through deep online research, but by trial and error, thereby feeding the bunnies something as I ween them off my greenest shoots.
I always use the expressing “quick like a bunny” because I think it is both descriptive and cute, especially when attributed to some human activity. But I see little about our fattening little bunnies that make them so quick. Now roadrunners are another thing altogether. They are so lightning fast that that their movements almost seem Matrix-like. Now they are here and next thing they are three hundred yards over there with one quick hop. I will be working on my next version of “quick like a roadrunner”, which sounds like it still needs some work. Meanwhile, my bunnies are likely to proliferate like….bunnies.