drainage - this should have been my thesis.

Erosion is the natural state of New Mexico’s watersheds. Although this may be said of any watershed in the world, it is particularly appropriate on a relevant time-scale in the desert. Erosion in some areas of the world may take generations to be noticeable. Here, the conditions are such that rapid erosion is the natural and normal state of things. In Craig Childs’ book The Secret Knowledge of Water, he experiences incredible changes in topography over a period of hours or even minutes in the southwest. The dry barren landscape can be exposed to a sudden deluge of rain, and the resulting flash flood can carve the landscape quickly.


Precipitation is so infrequent that many watersheds do not have constant moisture, and moisture levels are not adequate to support dense plant cover that would hold back soil. There are riparian areas with dense plant cover, but these areas areas are usually relatively small areas, that are surrounded by low density vegetation. When water flows, it flows in a devastating torrent.


The substrate in this part of the world can hardly be called soil; a more accurate description would be sand, or gravel. The larger sizes don’t have enough surface area for water to adhere them together, even if there was water. The finer sands don’t have moisture or organic matter to bind them, and the winds easily blow them around.

This is what is considered "soil" here:

My daily walks frequently take me past areas where designed drainage systems are not functioning well. This landscape was installed just a few years ago. See what it looks like today. Keep in mind that all of these photos (except for the few noted below) are on the same short stretch of road in my neighborhood.

Erosion eats at roads, foundations.
This has cut down more than a foot.

Can you find the drainage grate? It's under there.

I bet they thought that if they buried the PVC pipe 15 inches down, that it would be plenty.


Roadsides are particularly vulnerable, especially on a slope. There is all the run-off from the impermeable and large surface area of the road, and the slope increases the rate of flow.
Here's another drainage grate. See how the water flow from the road is cutting under the concrete?

This is the roadside off a dirt road getting to a hiking trail. Runoff does things, doesn't it?

Another view of the same cut:

In this area, they've tried to stabilize the roadside with cinder block. See how well it works. Isn't it beautiful?
Here are some "solutions" along the same stretch of road in my neighborhood as first photos. Shall we vote on which is most attractive? Most effective?

Volcanic rock:

Graded river rock:

Naturally planted swale (i.e. "weeds"):

Half-buried stone on half the swale:

Chain link fencing:

Stone lined swale (installed last year):


Double asphalt (installed last year):
Riprap swale (installed about 4 months ago). You can see what happens to this type of swale when it rains - the water moves faster at the edges than over the rocks, cutting down the soil. The water-borne sand falls out of the slower moving water over the rocks. In another few months, this will be an elevated rockway, and during rains, the water will be flowing only on the cutdown sides. You see this all over Albuquerque.

Another view of the ineffective riprap swale, with downcutting on edges, and filling with sand. Keep in mind, that this is only 4 months later.

The riprap drains into this loveliness:

Which drains here. Note how well the edges are holding up (again, 4 months later), around the concrete.

So how to design better drainage systems?

If we remember how natural water drainage systems work, we remember that it is a constant state of erosion. Through these systems, rock, in the form of sand and gravel, is constantly flowing down off our young steep mountains. To stop that is impossible.

There are a few techniques that are now used, as you see above:

1. Facilitate flow. This is done by creating drainage lined with concrete or asphalt, to sluice away any water/gravel. Problems: no ground water infiltration, systems fail, usually at one end or another, but also along the route. Environmentally/ecologically it is a mess.

2. Allow flow with ground infiltration by creating a static channel. This is often done by bank stabilization using rock or concrete block. Problems: you see what happens in the photos above. Not pretty, and frequently not effective.

3. Allow flow using creating a more dynamic system to stabilize the channel: done using plantings. Problems: still allows some downcutting, and the channel is not predictable in a tight area. Can plantings be established in time for effectiveness? What plants are best suited? If the natural landscape does not support dense enough plants, will a roadside swale support dense enough plantings?

The first method is clearly the worst. The second method doesn’t work well at all. The third method is questionable as well.

Can we propose a new method? Whatever the method, it needs to be dynamic enough to allow natural processes to occur, and static enough to allow for road construction...or, do we have to have roads? It would be cost prohibitive to built raised roadways that allow natural erosion beneath. Maybe we need non-polluting hovercraft. I've seen new drainage designs mimicking natural flows in my classes. It's the latest thought on roadside drainage.I wonder how they would work here? It's too late to implement those in this neighborhood though.

penstemon ramaleyi

The is one of the Penstemon ramaleyi that I purchased from Agua Fria nursery, and blogged about previously. I had dark blue flowers then and was a scraggly little plant. Since then, it has grown surprisingly quickly, and even more surprising, has put out a bunch of flowers. Although the flowers are a bit paler than previously, they are still quite a nice blue. A second bloom and its rapid grown makes this even better than the P. linarioides that has so charmed me. We'll see how it lasts through the winter.

snakeweed

The blooming of snakeweed (Gutierrezia sarothrae) is an indication that summer is drawing to a close. On one hand it is sad to reach the end of a growing season, and on the other hand it will be a relief from summer's heat.

tomatoes2

One lonely piece of bruschetta left from the party last night. Hmm, snack.

everyone else is doing it

so why can't I grow tomatoes? Fortunately everyone is giving me some. Yum. Here are a few, peeled and ready for making bruschetta.

blue observations

It's no secret that I love blue flowers. Here's another S. azurea (or S. pitcheri or S. grandiflora or whatever you want to call it), but of a form with darker blue flowers, and with no white center blaze. Here, against the dark green foliage of Penstemon pseudospectabilis, and in close focus, the flowers stand out, but I'm noticing that it doesn't catch the eye as much as the paler blue flowers with the white blaze (see my earlier post).

Salvia chamaedryoides (the blue oak sage - below), has been blooming off and on since May, more when there is a bit of rain, since I do not irrigate these plants. I find it extremely disappointing that despite the rich blue color of the flowers in close-up photos, the flowers disappear when viewed at any distance. Part of this has to do with the background. The plant naturally has gray leaves, and dark blue does not stand out against the gray at distance - they just look like shadows.


You can see how different this plant looks with the stones and brown stucco of my neighbor's house behind it.

And you can see the difference with a background of Penstemon clutei.

Here you can see at just a bit of distance, how the flowers disappear!

I had lusted for the blue flowers of Ceanothus for years, and have eagerly tried this hardier variety 'Gloire de Versailles.' Alas, the flowers are a washed out color, and in the New Mexico light, just look dirty. By the way, after the fantastic spring bloom, my Ceanothus caeruleus has not rebloomed. This is a lesson: for spring blooms, let it alone. For August blooms, prune it back hard.

eriogonum ericifolia

This is my latest favorite plant, Eriogonum ericifolia (translated as heath-leafed buckwheat I think). It is a compact plant that grows slowly, forming a nicely rounded 8-10 inch (so far) bun. About this time of year, it blooms with clean white heads of flowers. In my garden, I find that after the first year, it requires no water at all. It's main problem is a tendency to die back in branches if it gets too much water.

note to self:

A pecan shell mulch will kill Salvia daghestanica flat out. No questions asked.

a blue by any other name

I can never figure out whether this sage is Salvia azurea or if it is Salvia pitcheri. The pictures that I have seen look the same, but that could be said about several other pale blue salvias as well, since the flowers look similar up close, but plant form can be very different. Tropicos lists both S. azurea, and S. pitcheri, separately, and to make it more confusing, there is also a S. azurea var. pitcheri. Distribution information is only available for S. azurea. Betsy Clebsh, in her book The New Book of Salvias, lists S. azurea, but makes no mention of S. pitcheri in either the listings, or under the S. azurea entry. Plant catalogs are notorious for misidentifying plants, but the High Country Gardens catalog lists both S. azurea and S. pitcheri. The Plant Delights catalog lists Salvia azurea and S. pitcheri as synonymous names. I may have to ask Dave at the ABQ Botanic Garden. He knows everything.

Whatever the case may be, this salvia blooms from late July or August on for a few weeks. It is one of the most impressively blue flowers that I have seen here in New Mexico, and you know how much I like blue flowers. It is a color that echos the color of the big New Mexico sky, and blooms at a most fortuitous time. My plants survive on very little or even no water at all, though I'm tempted to irrigate them just so that I can get more of those deliciously colored flowers. The plants are often described as tall and rangy, even weedy looking, and although I'm usually one to disagree with these kinds of statements, in this case I have to agree. All is forgiven once the plants start blooming, and then instead of gangly, the plants look willowy and graceful. The duck becomes a swan.

milkweed

I love the details on milkweed flowers. This one, Asclepias subverticillata, has tiny flowers less than 1/4 inch wide, whose flowers have spurs that look like a cat paw with the claw extended.

indoors

This time of year is the summer doldrums, or what I call Albuquerque's second winter. Although there are some things blooming outdoors, most of the native plants have gone dormant in the heat and dry. Occasionally the monsoons moisten things, and plants such as Penstemon ambiguus (sand penstemon) burst into bloom. Some designer has planted Leucophyllum in some of the medians, and that is covered with bloom after the rains. But even so, it is only comfortable to go out in the heat in the early morning. I shouldn't complain. It's not too bad in the shade, and this is downright cool compared to Phoenix or Palm Springs. Like the main winter, it is a good time to have indoor plants, and for me, indoor plants mean orchids.

Doritis pulcherrima (above) is a close relative to the Phalaenopsis (moth orchid) that you see in the grocery store. In fact, is is interbred with Phalaenopsis to impart deeper colors. The flowers are only an inch across, however, and are produced sparely at the ends of long spindly stems. The delicacy of the flowering stems is contrasted with the sturdy thick broad leaves, making the plant look somewhat incongruous and awkward. Still, it is a pleasure to grow, and performs much more admirably in this climate than Phalaenopsis hybrids.

Brassavola nodosa (below) is called the Lady-of-the-night orchid, because it becomes fragrant at night. Last year, mine was pollinated by a night moth, though I removed the seed capsule.

patience

There are some plants, in fact many plants, that should not be moved until the right time. Try to transplant them at another time, and they will languish or die. The most famous of these is the peony, which should be moved in the fall. In my yard, most of the native plants will not survive a summer move. Their roots have spread in an almost nerve-like fragile invisible network extending far from the plant and deeper than a shovel, so that digging them up breaks this essential network. Combine this with the dry heat of this time of year, and the plant is doomed, even if it seems a large rootball is obtained, and care is taken to cut back, gently replant, shade and water. In fact, too much water, and the dryland plant whose roots are not adapted to wet soil, will rot, while the leaves wither and dry.

This is also true for non-native dryland plants, as I discovered with Origanum 'Kent Beauty' whose luxurious roots seemed adequate to support the few waxy leaves (which should hold moisture) that quickly turned crispy even with the plant potted and held in my air-conditioned house. It also occurred with Salvia daghestanica, whose tuberous roots and water-retaining fuzzy leaves seemed made for enduring abuse. Salvia coahuilensis, who has a garden performance of over-agggressive stolons, has not survived a transplanting.

Note that I say "transplanting" and not "planting." Planting from pots, such as those purchased from a nursery, may succeed, since all those tiny roots are contained and retained. But even those, at this time of year, moved from the shaded nursery holding areas, and planted in the blazing sun, will need careful shading/protection, and delicate watering to survive a move at this time of year (as I have discovered on numerous occasions).

firebird

Every year I say that I am going to take out Agastache 'Firebird'. Each year, 'Firebird' ends up staying. It's been easy enough to take out the other agastaches. They don't bloom, or they are scraggly, or the brittle stems tear off the plant in the gusts of wind leaving ragged holes in the plant, or they just randomly decide to die. They are no-brainers.

'Firebird' has its challenges as well. First of all, it dies to the ground in winter in a very visually prominent place in my garden, so I've been thinking about replacing it with something with more winter interest. It has been getting bigger each year, so that although when I first planted it, the several plants were a uniform 16 inches tall, now it is about three feet tall and not in balance with the other plants surrounding it. The color is a bit problematic as well, on hot days the flowers fade to a nondescript pale orange/tan.

This year, with a number of hot weeks without rain, 'Firebird' had few flowers and were of that faded color. The lower leaves turned yellow and dropped, leaving a stemmy-looking plant, rather than a mass.

But then it rained, and rained quite a bit. Gradually, over a week or so, so that I hardly noticed at first, more flowers appeared on the spikes, until the plants are veritable flower factories (as you can see above). The hummingbirds and nectar sipping insects are ecstatic. From inside the house, the color now stronger, works again.

Truth be told, 'Firebird' is my most reliable agastache. Despite the lack of irrigation, the plants survive, and I probably should be impressed that it had any flowers at all, rather than being disappointed. It comes back every year without fail, unlike the other agastaches which sometimes suddenly collapse and die in the middle of the growing season, for unknown reasons. It always produces flowers, unlike the other agastaches that have put out some weird blind bracts instead. The stems stay firmly attached despite fierce winds. It is a hybrid of native A. rupestris (with A. coccinea). It barely self-seeds at all, unlike the prolific seedlings of other agastache. It blooms for almost 4 months, during the late summer and into fall, perhaps the most difficult time of year to get blooms here.

It looks like I'm keeping it.