How much did it rain at your place?

The rain continued today. When it slowed briefly early this afternoon, I ran out to the rain gauge to see what tale it could tell me, but the poor thing had overflowed! It holds five inches, but it was completely full and overflowing so I'm not sure how much it had rained since I emptied it yesterday. At that time, it had 3.3 inches in it. Prior to that, the day before, I had dumped 0.8 inch out of it. So, let's see - that's 4.1 inches plus whatever we got overnight and today (at least 5 inches). Altogether, my best guess is well over ten inches total.

That seems to agree with the totals reported in Tomball and Magnolia and other weather stations in the area. What we know for sure is that it was a heckuva lot of rain! And we're told to expect more tomorrow.

So, how much rain did you get?

What a difference a year makes

What we would have given at this time last year for a day like this! A day when rain falls heavily and steadily for perhaps an hour and then continues more lightly throughout the day. In fact, we have had several days of rain recently and the forecast is for more over the next few days.

The rain has made quite a difference in the garden and in the outlook of the gardener. If we don't get a day of sunshine soon, I'll probably be wishing and hoping for it! Oh, the irony.

According to the USDA's Drought Monitor map, our area is still considered to be in abnormally dry conditions to moderate drought, but I don't think they are talking about my garden which seems to have pretty substantially recovered from the terrible drought of a year ago. It's true, though, that the long-term effects of those awful months may still have not completely worked their way through the ecosystem.

It was nice to wake this morning to the sound of rain on the roof, especially knowing that I didn't have to get out and fight traffic in it. And it is nice to have a day when I don't have to feel guilty about not getting outside and doing my garden chores. Much too wet and soggy, don't you see? Guess I'll just have a bit more tea and read some more chapters of my book. Guilt-free, thanks to the rain.  

Dry

It has been two weeks since our last rain and I would not have believed just how fast everything has dried out. We had become spoiled I suppose because we had regular rain over the first three or four months of 2012. Then it began to taper off and now it seems to have stopped altogether.

Looking at the ten-day forecast, there does seem to be a chance for rain this week, but I am not hopeful. Well, that's not quite true. I am certainly hoping, I'm just not counting on it.

The combination of a lack of rain and temperatures in the mid-90s has really done a number on my garden. Everything looks parched. I spent the day today moving the sprinkler around, trying to provide some moisture to the worst-looking areas. The problem is that the entire half-acre yard is quickly becoming the "worst-looking" area.

Running the sprinkler is not good for my water bill, but it certainly makes the birds happy! They flock to the sprinkler's spray to cool off and to take their baths. Every time I go to move it, about twenty or so jays, doves, cardinals, and robins fly up into the trees and wait to see where the spray will appear next.

It is so hot out that it's difficult to do much actual work in the garden. Consequently, the weeds are getting the jump on me again. Isn't it amazing that no matter how hot and dry it gets, it never slows the weeds down?

The dry weather doesn't seem to be affecting the evergreen wisteria either. It is in full bloom now. Perhaps it thinks it is a weed!

An end to drought?

Even though we are still considered to be in a long-term drought, 2012 has begun on a wet note. January and February have brought a good measure of moisture to dry, dry Southeast Texas and to my garden, and, to a lesser degree, to other parts of the parched state. It has been a blessed relief to thirsty plants and to the depleted aquifers and reservoirs.

The meteorologists tell us that we are still under the influence of La Nina which generally brings dry weather and probably does not bode well for our long-term prospects. All the more reason to get those rain barrels and other water collectors in place while the rain is still falling so that we will have water for our plants - water that we don't have to pay for - when the going gets drier.

There is a possibility of rain in the forecast for this week. Already the soil in my garden is beginning to dry out from our last downpour, so another infusion of moisture would be most welcome. Moreover, I am intending to plant some vegetables this week, including putting into the ground the tomato and eggplant plants that I started from seed in January and rain would be very helpful for them.

I feel silly about even considering putting these plants out so early, but I really doubt that we are going to have any more freezing weather, and, if we do, I have plenty of freeze blankets so I can just wrap them up. And I have learned to my sorrow in the last two years just how important it is to get those tomato plants going as soon as possible. Once the temperatures get to be consistently above 90 degrees, the plants begin to shut down production, and 90 degree weather seems to come earlier and earlier every year. My tomato crops in 2010 and 2011 were a bust, but I have high hopes for these plants.

I'm trying five heirloom varieties of tomatoes this spring: 'Black Krim', 'Rutgers', 'Reisentraube', 'Cherokee Purple', and 'Mortgage Lifter'. With any luck at all, I hope to see some good production from these old types. "Luck" would include an end to drought and a continuation of the wet trend that has held through January and February. Time will tell...

Well, we have to have SOMETHING to complain about!

Another rainy day and more on the way this week, I understand. So, is the drought over yet?

I've gotten about half an inch of rain out of this particular weather system so far. The soil in my garden has been well-saturated for days now.

I wonder when we gardeners will get truly grumpy and start complaining about too much rain. It'll happen, I have no doubt, because there's really no way to make gardeners happy with the weather. It will always be either too hot or too cold, too wet or too dry, too much sun or too many clouds. Pity the poor weatherman! (But not too much.)

Lee is a bust

All day long yesterday, I watched the weather radar as Tropical Storm Lee slowly, ever so slowly, moved in my direction.  It was dumping huge amounts of rain all over the Gulf Coast area and it appeared that this might be our best chance in months to actually get rain that amounted to something.

Yesterday was one of our regular watering days on the restricted watering schedule.  Saturday is the day that I usually give a deep soaking to the big live oak trees in our front yard, but yesterday I decided not to water because it looked like Nature would actually do it for me.  And so I waited.

And waited.

And waited.

Nothing.

By the time I went to bed last night, I was sending silent apologies to my trees.  I knew it wasn't going to rain.  Again.

The tropical storm system pushed across Louisiana, into Texas, and right up to my front doorstep and then it just - poof! - vanished.  As far as I know, we didn't get a drop of moisture.    

Native prairie grasses - the dry garden's salvation?

The drought in Texas has gone on so long and become so severe that it is actually capturing attention in the national press.  In this week's New York Times online, for example, there is a long article about the use of prairie grasses in gardens around Austin where they have already had more than seventy days of 100 degree weather this summer and just about as little rain (or maybe less) as we have had.  It's a well-written, well-documented piece and it may hold some of the answers for the future of gardening in an increasingly dry and hot environment as the planet continues to heat up.

I was interested to read in the piece about the bison which escaped from its pasture and high-tailed it over to the Lady Bird Johnson Wildflower Center where it was able to munch on the stands of prairie grasses that grow there.  I'd say that was one smart bison!

There was also a comment in the story about how "shallow-rooted crape myrtles" were suffering in the drought.  I have to say that hasn't really been my experience with the crape myrtles in my yard.  They have withstood the drought very well, but perhaps it is because of the difference between the soils of Austin as opposed to Southeast Texas.

There can be little doubt, however, that the plants that thrive best in our current trying conditions are the native plants that have acclimated to the area through millennia of evolution.  And among those tough plants, some of the very toughest are the prairie grasses.  We could do worse than to find a place for them in our gardens.

Hope is in the air

Late yesterday, my garden was the grateful recipient of one of the afternoon showers that have been teasing our drought-stricken area recently.  There was a lot of sound and bluster associated with the raindrops, but, in the end, we got only three-tenths of an inch of measurable precipitation.

Still, with just that little bit of rain, everything looks remarkably refreshed and green today.  The surface of the soil is still damp.  Today is one of my designated days for watering, but I'll leave the hoses coiled this time.

Almost daily now, we find that some places in Southeast Texas are receiving these very welcome showers.  They haven't been enough to make a significant difference yet, but they do give promise that this long drought may finally be ending.  Hope, along with high humidity, is in the air.

What can we do to save the trees?

Driving into Tomball this morning for our regular Monday breakfast date, I couldn't help noticing that the trees along the way are looking so much worse than they did even a week or ten days ago. They are dying everywhere. It is heartbreaking.

I remember several years ago - don't recall the exact year - we were on a road trip around this time of year when we were in another extended drought, and all along our route we kept seeing individual trees that had died. But this time it's not just isolated individuals, it is clumps, stands of trees that are dying.

Even my non-gardening husband, who generally pays no attention to the garden except for the vegetables and fruits that come from it, has become concerned about our own trees.

We moved here 23 years ago in the summer. The large lot on which our house sat was bare except for a couple of magnolia trees that the former owners had planted and a couple of struggling fruit trees that succumbed within our first years here. Our lot was hot, sunbaked, and brown. We wanted it to be green and shady and inviting, and so the first winter that we were here, we planted several trees - too many, if the truth be told. There were live oaks, red oaks and Mexican sycamores. After more than twenty years of growth, those trees are giants now and most of our yard is green and shady and several degrees cooler than the sunny parts.

The trees are important to us. They grew up with our children. They are part of our family history. They've been through ice storms, droughts, and hurricanes with us. I'll never forget the sound of their groaning through the night when Ike came through almost three years ago. They groaned and bent as the winds tortured them that night, but they did not break. Hubby has now vowed that they must be saved regardless of the cost! That is a strong statement coming from him, especially in view of the fact that we just got our water bill for last month and it was more than twice as much as it had ever been before. (Please don't ask me how much that is - my fingers can't even bear to type the numbers!)

I had not even tried to water the big trees during this long drought. They are so huge and drink so much, how could I possibly give them what they need? But last week I watered my old friends. I know it wasn't as much as they needed, but two grown magnolia trees in my neighbors' yards have already died. I couldn't stand it any longer. I had to do what I could, no matter how inadequate it might be.

I will continue to water them once a week, as much and as long as I can, while this drought drags on. It may mean that I have to cut back on watering elsewhere in the yard, but we all have our priorities, and, looking about my neighborhood as trees turn brown, I realize that, for me, my trees are priority number one.

Disaster!

The U.S. Department of Agriculture has declared all of Texas a natural disaster area because of drought and wildfires. Each of 213 counties out of a total of 254 (edited to reflect number of total counties) in the state has lost as much as 30% of its crops.

This declaration will make farmers in these counties eligible for low-cost loans and other aid, but I have to agree with the reaction of one of those farmers: "I don't need loans. I need rain!"

There's no help for gardeners in this, except for professional, large-scale operations, but I'm happy to see that our brother and sister farmers will be able to tap into additional assistance in coming months. No doubt it will help many of them.

No relief in sight

Last week's wonderful rain is just a dim and distant memory. The sprinklers are out once again and even plants that normally can stand up to a beating by the weather are beginning to show signs of stress. As I was watering today, I noticed that a couple of my 'Radazz' Knockouts are showing several brown leaves and are looking distinctly peaked. I've not spent much time watering the bed they are in just because I was confident in their ability to tough it out. But even the toughest plants must occasionally have a drink and so I watered the bed deeply today in hopes of giving the plants there a boost.

Throughout the yard, plants are shutting down, conserving their energy and their water. In the vegetable garden, just about everything is basically fried. I made zucchini bread for our future breakfasts and fried some yellow squash for lunch today, the last of my squash crop. There are a few more zucchinis on the vines, but they are the size of watermelons. They came on while we were on our trip and nobody picked them. By the time we got home, they were humongous and inedible.

About the only things still producing in the vegetable garden are a few of the herbs and my peppers. I told my husband today that maybe in the future I should just specialize in growing peppers. It's the one thing I can be sure of success with in the summer garden, because they do like it hot! Even the sweet peppers like it hot.

Blooms throughout the garden are in short supply, making the plants that are in bloom doubly important.


Nothing seems to daunt the flame acanthus, and a good thing, too. Today I saw a female Ruby-throated Hummingbird sipping from these blossoms. Bees and butterflies visit often, too.


The butterfly weed seems to be positively enjoying this weather. Every plant I've got is in full bloom now.


Yellow bells (Esperanza) can take the heat and the drought.


And so can yellow cestrum.

A few of the daylilies, the red and the white Texas star hibiscus, as well as a couple of other hibiscus plants and a few other plants continue to bloom. The old crinums carry on as if nothing were amiss. But these are the exceptions. Throughout the garden, some plants have taken just about all the abuse they can stand and I'm likely to lose more of them despite my best efforts to keep them hydrated. Looking ahead, I see no relief in sight.

Fire and rain

We returned from our trip through Louisiana and Mississippi (and flirting with Tennessee) to find our yard even drier than we had left it and wildfires raging in the adjoining counties. And today the hot stuff REALLY begins because this is the first day of summer.

Everywhere that we traveled while visiting family and friends, the countryside looked lush and green compared to what we have become used to seeing here. This was true even though some of those places had been dry recently, too. The difference was that they had received plenty of rain in winter and early spring.

Along our route through Louisiana, the Atchayfalaya Basin and adjacent swamps and streams were full of water giving a jungle appearance to the land. The Mississippi River was still stretching to the top of its banks, as were most of the smaller rivers along the way. In short, we saw plenty of water and it was a wonderful sight.

But it wasn't only rivers, swamps, lakes, and reservoirs. The first night that we spent in North Mississippi, it rained! I cannot even describe what joy it was to hear that sound and see those drops. It rained pretty steadily all night and on until the afternoon of the next day. Area gardeners and farmers could count 1.5 to 2.5 inches of rain, depending on where they were located. Afterward, the countryside looked washed clean in a way that we haven't experienced here at home in Texas in so many months now.

Throughout the roadsides that we traveled, black-eyed Susans, Queen Anne's lace, the native butterfly weed and phlox, as well as the naturalized ditch lilies, bloomed in gay profusion. It was enough to gladden the heart of any passing gardener and it certainly gladdened mine.

Much as we enjoyed our trip, it is always good to come home again, even to a super-dry garden that seems on the edge of disaster. The weather forecasters assure me there is a chance of rain this week. We'll see.

The trees are dying

When we made a trip to Texas A&M a couple of weeks ago, I couldn't help noticing that many trees along our route seemed to be dead or dying. Since then, I've been paying attention whenever I'm out and about and trying to notice if the trees of our area are losing their battle with the drought. After a trip into Houston today, I've reached the firm conclusion that many of them are.

All along the way, I kept seeing trees that had turned brown and appeared dead or were turning brown and seemed to be dying. My observation was that the pines seemed to be the most affected species but other trees were suffering as well.

I've even noticed here, near my home, close to Spring Creek, several trees have already turned brown. One would think that trees near the creek would be able to access water and weather the drought, but evidently one would be wrong in that assumption. Of course, the marshy, swampy, backwater areas that border the creek are completely dry now and the creek itself is a mere shadow of its former self. It's getting quite desperate out there.

In my own yard, I have many large trees and there is no way I can give them the water that they need. No doubt they take some of the water that I occasionally give to the beds near them, but that is a drop in the proverbial bucket compared to what a big tree needs to live. I can only hope that their roots are deep enough to find the water that they need, and, indeed, so far they all seem to be holding their own. Not my apple tree though.

Yesterday, my old apple tree that we planted more than twenty years ago split right down the middle and half of it fell to the ground. I knew that the tree was diseased and I thought that I would probably have to have it taken down next winter, but I was hoping it would make it through this season. It was absolutely loaded with apples as it never had been before. In fact, the weight of the fruit may have been the final straw that contributed to its splitting. I am sure that the lack of water also hastened its demise, even though, as my husband said when he saw it, we knew it was just a matter of time.

All the trees are under stress as they struggle to find water and to diminish the lose of water through their leaves, and it is stressful for the gardener, too, knowing that there just isn't much one can do to help the big guys.

We can help the smaller trees though, and I have several of those, too - fruit trees and shrubs that I added last winter and early spring. I'm working hard to keep them watered and hoping that I will be able to pull them through. Some have a few brown limbs but so far most seem to be coping.

This drought continues to try our nerves and our skills as gardeners as it tries the survival tactics of our trees. Most of my trees are oaks or magnolias - tough guys of the southern landscape. As the drought grinds on, we'll see just how tough they really are.

The heat zone

The American Horticultural Society identifies 86 degrees F. as the temperature at which plants start to suffer damage from high temperatures. When you combine high temperatures with prolonged, unrelieved drought, what do you get? Well, looking around my garden, I can tell you. You get plants that are normally considered "tough" that are being stressed to the limits of their endurance. Some of them aren't going to make it.

I have already lost more plants to the drought and heat than I lost to the cold in our last two winters. As I was hand-watering some plants in my yard a few days ago, I was surprised to notice that my oldest beautyberry shrub had several brown limbs and appeared to be in dire stress. Yet, about ten feet away, another beautyberry - my white-berried shrub - looked perfectly fine and was full of blooms. Thinking about it, I decided that the old shrub's stress is probably caused by the fact that it is between my apple tree and a cherry tree on my neighbor's side of fence. It's having to fight it out with those two trees for water and it is losing the battle.

When temperatures are above 86 and plants are aspirating water through their leaves at a high rate, the battle for water to replenish that moisture can become a fight to the death, and having already hit 100 degrees F. here in early June, that is what I am seeing in my garden.

I went looking for more information about plants' ability to withstand heat and found something that, in my ignorance, I didn't know existed. We are all pretty familiar, I think, with the USDA's plant hardiness zone map. Any gardener worth his/her salt can tell you in which zone he/she resides. But did you know that there is a heat zone map also? You won't usually see it referred to on plant tags, but it does exist, and the zones are based on the average number of days in the year when the temperature is above 86.


There are twelve zones as indicated by this list, and here's what Southeast Texas looks like on the map:


Our entire area is in zone 9, which means that we generally have between 120-150 days in the year that are above 86 degrees. I suspect we are going to hit the higher mark or maybe exceed it this year.

How does this knowledge help us in our gardening plans and practices? Gardeners could be generally divided into two categories: traditional or daring. Traditional gardeners try to choose plants that they know are suited to their zone and will do well there. Daring gardeners love to push the envelope a bit (or sometimes a lot) and grow plants that are really not meant for their area. Considering those two catergories, I suppose I would be considered traditional, (although in other areas of my life, I like to think of myself as a daring rebel!) but at times like these, even a traditional philosophy of gardening will be tested.

I suppose the Anazazi of the arid Southwest, who certainly adhered to a traditional philosophy of farming, must have been tested in much the same way when the long drought that put an end to their blossoming civilization ground on without relief year after dry year. I've been thinking about those Anazazi farmers a lot lately.

We certainly have access to a lot more information and a lot more tools than the Anazazi ever did, and no matter what type of gardener you are, looking around a local nursery can lead you to believe that your choices are endless. But knowing something about your hardiness and heat zones can guide you to make wiser choices. And observing the plants in your current garden, the winners and the losers, can give even more guidance when making your future plans. I know I'm going to have a lot to consider before adding any new plants to my garden.

Rain

It finally happened. We did get some rain on my yard yesterday afternoon.

After teasing us with a few drops here and there all morning, it finally started raining for real in the early afternoon. It came down pretty steadily for more than an hour, sometimes hard, sometimes gently but all of it welcome.

About thirty minutes after the rain tapered off, I went out to look around and to check my rain gauge. I noticed that the surface of the ground already looked pretty dry again, even though it had obviously rained a good amount. The thirsty soil had sucked up every drop. The plants, though, all looked refreshed by their shower.

The rain gauge told me that we had received 1.2 inches of rain. If we could get about ten times that amount - not all at once, please! - over the next two to three weeks, it would go a long way toward breaking our drought.

Meantime, my plants and I are thankful for what we got, especially since we are now in stage one of mandatory water rationing, which means I can only water on Tuesday, Thursday and Saturday. The ten-day weather forecast shows a possibility of rain for us at the end of next week. I'll be keeping my fingers crossed.

Dry

Houston has received only 1.5 inches of rain in the last three months. That is 15 percent of its normal amount and less than some parts of the Sahara Desert get during the same period. In my own yard, we've actually gotten less than that.

The entire state of Texas is now in its driest 7-month span on record. Again, in my own yard, the drought actually started somewhat earlier than that. We've not had significant rainfall since July of last year. July was a wet month but the nine months since then have all been dry. You have to dig deep to find any moisture in the soil at all, unless you are digging in one of the beds for which I regularly provide water.

But that, too, may end soon. Our area is now in "voluntary" water conservation. Patrons of the water district are "encouraged" not to water lawns, trees, and other plants. If we get no relief from Mother Nature soon, that voluntary water rationing will quickly morph into mandatory water rationing.

I have actually cut back some on my watering, although I haven't yet cut it out altogether. I have too much sweat and too many aching muscles invested in my plants to watch them shrivel and die while I can still provide some water. The time may come when I won't be able to do that, but I'll put it off for as long as I can. So I pile on as much mulch as I dare and wet it down and hope for the best.

1951 was the first year of a six-year drought in Texas. The state is now drier than it was then; however, it is not yet as dry as it was in the fifth year of that drought, 1956. I wasn't here then and I wasn't doing any gardening then anyway except for what my mother made me do, but this is certainly the driest time that I have ever experienced. I wouldn't want to experience a drier one.

Meanwhile, the Mississippi River has crested at Memphis and folks in the Mississippi Delta south of there, all the way down to New Orleans, are watching that muddy water rise with some trepidation. Drought on the one hand and flood on the other. Mother Nature sure is a joker, isn't she?

The Friday garden

The drought and the winds continue unabated with the result that my garden on this Friday is looking pretty sad, in spite of my meager efforts to ameliorate the conditions that my poor plants have to deal with.


Here's what I mean - a view of part of my backyard with its crispy brown grass. (Yes, I know the bottle tree is crooked. It's a combination of no moisture and strong winds. I'll get around to straightening it one of these days.)


Maybe it was the drought that made the 'Red Lion' amaryllis so late to bloom this year.


The 'Sunset Yellow' hibiscus has been in bloom for a while now. Its leaves keep turning sunset yellow, too, and falling off, but it just keeps putting on these blooms.


'Radazz' Knockout roses put up a bouquet of blooms at all stages of development. (Those ugly brown tendrils are from the nearby coral honesuckle - another thing I'll get around to pruning someday.)


In the late evening and until the early morning hours, the old-fashioned 4 o'clocks send forth their variegated blooms. They are visited by hummingbirds in daylight hours and moths at night.


Did you ever wonder if native bees will actually use one of these manmade tube nests? The answer is, "Yes, they will!" The mason bees have been very active around this nest in the old apple tree this spring. I find it interesting that they seem to utilize the outer tubes first. I'm sure there is a scientific explanation for that. I just don't happen to know what it is.


'Pink Delight' buddleia has begun its bloom cycle and has been found by this tiny Gray Hairstreak butterfly and a native bee, almost hidden among the florets.


Most of the tropical milkweed plants are in full bloom now. These were passalongs (the best kind of plants!) from my fellow blogger Butterhummer last year.


I love salvias and I grow several all around my garden. This one has an interesting story. It is a tough Texas native Salvia farinacea found by horticulturalist Greg Grant in a cemetery. There were two color variations. This white one was growing on the grave of a woman named Augusta Duelberg and so Greg named it for her - Salvia farinacea 'Augusta Duelberg.'


Next to Augusta's grave was her husband, Henry's, and the salvias growing there were purple. They became Salvia farinacea 'Henry Duelberg.' I grow 'Henry' and 'Augusta' side by side in my garden.


Another tough, drought-tolerant plant is yarrow. This white one was passed along to me by fellow blogger Ursula. It can be invasive, but such pretty, delicate, cooling blossoms are worth a little extra trouble.


And speaking of tough, this is the plant that wrote the book. This is the genuine old tawny orange 'ditch lily.' This is the first bloom of the year from the clump of plants that I dug several years ago from my mother's garden.


This is the time of year when orange starts to become a dominant color in my garden, and they don't come any more "orange" than the canna 'Lucifer.'


The little cigar plant Cuphea joins the orange parade. It has just a few of these tiny cigar-shaped blooms now, but soon it will be covered with them and it will remain covered with them until frost. The hummingbirds love these blossoms.


The little red-orange gerbera raises its head above the variegated artemisia.


The anole sits on a downspout that hasn't had anything significant flowing through it for months. I find that when I water plants now the anoles come out to sip from the leaves.


These horsetail reeds (Equisetum hymale) growing at one end of my little pond are developing these interesting "flowers," except they are not flowers really. The plant reproduces by spores.


Nearby, three of my little goldfishes couldn't care less how horsetail reeds reproduce. They are more interested in how goldfish reproduce.


My ancient 'Caldwell Pink' rose, a Valentine's Day gift from hubby long ago, is now in full bloom. It got a late start this year because I was late in pruning it. (Behind it, you can see still more of my dry brown grass.)


In a bed near the 'Caldwell' another Salvia farinacea, the wonderful 'Indigo spires,' is beginning its long season of blooms.


And on a post of the muscadine trellis, my little furry friend keeps watch over it all. He'll have to wait a long time for those muscadines.

We've almost made it to May and that is when, the climate scientists tell us, the dry La Nina phase of ENSO should begin to wind down and then we may have a better chance for rain. Let us hope it is so.

What some people won't do for a green lawn!

As I may have mentioned here before, my lawn (if one can even call it that) is certainly nothing to write home about - or even to write a blog post about. It is part Bermuda grass, part St. Augustine grass, part broadleaf weeds, with a lot of bare patches of dirt thrown in. Not a particularly lovely sight and much of the reason for that is that it gets practically no care. It gets mowed. That's about it.

I'm not really willing to foot the bill for what it would take to deliver water to the lawn part of my half-acre lot and so, right about now, after several months of virtually non-existent rainfall, my lawn looks pretty crispy brown. I'm fortunate, I guess, in that I live in an old subdivision that was built before Homeowners Associations became de rigeur in this area, so I don't have to worry about getting nasty citations in my mail for failing to keep a green look to my yard.

In many places in the country, though, including the Houston area, HOAs are powerful organizations that can dictate what you can and cannot do with your yard. So, what if you lived in a desert and your HOA insisted that you have a green lawn? Well, the ever-resourceful citizens of Phoenix, Arizona have come up with a unique answer to that question: They paint their grass!

Lawn painting services have sprung up all over the town. They use a vegetable-based dye to color the brown grass and a typical lawn-painting job costs around $200. The paint lasts pretty much for the whole season and doesn't fade, thus it is a fairly economical option if you've just got to have green.

Some HOAs in Phoenix actually recognize the reality that their city is located in the middle of a desert and they allow an option for desert landscaping (xeriscaping), but for those that require grass, it has got to be green or else. No crispy brown or bare spots allowed, so the lawn painting services are doing a thriving business.

If our drought continues, some of those lawn painting businesses may be opening branches in Houston.

Summer came early this year

Is it really only May? Some days it feels more like July. It is hot and dry, with not much hope of relief in sight.

We've had no significant rainfall in my yard since April 18, and prior to that rain of just about an inch, it had been pretty dry for weeks. The grass in my yard already has that parched, pinched look that it normally gets in July and August. Usually, at this time of year, it would still be lush and green.

The plants wilt by mid-morning and, by the end of the day, some look like they are down for the count, but miraculously, overnight they perk up once again. Only to be laid low by the heat of the next day.

In addition to the searing heat of the sun this week, plants have also had to deal with a drying wind that has been blowing from the south. While it helps to cool the sweaty brow of the gardener, it only helps further desiccate the plants.

So, I've started supplemental watering much earlier in the year than I normally do and I look at the ten-day weather forecast every day and hope to see rain clouds on the horizon. The weatherman promises a slight possibility of some rain in the coming week. I do hope he isn't just toying with my affections again.