It also means that I’ll be volunteering again, putting in countless hours writing articles, taking photographs, teaching classes, and answering questions. It means our horticultural agent will be looking over my shoulder, making sure that my advice is solidly based on scientific research.  And it means that I’ll again have access to CSU Extension’s excellent continuing education opportunities, keeping me up-to-date on the latest developments in horticulture.

What is a master gardener?

First and foremost, master gardeners (MGs) are volunteers. The primary focus of the program is educating other people so that they can be successful in their own yards. As the Colorado program states, “Colorado Master Gardener Volunteers assist CSU Extension staff in delivering knowledge-based gardening information to foster successful gardening.”

To that end, we receive extensive training at a university level in all areas horticultural. We have to pass a comprehensive written exam followed by over 40 hours of volunteer time as a MG apprentice before we qualify for our badge. Then there is a minimum level of involvement required each year to stay active in the program. Of course, we benefit personally as we become better gardeners, but the application and interviews required to enter the program actively seek to screen out anyone who is in it only for themselves.

What do master gardeners do?

More than half of all volunteer hours are spent at the county’s MG help desk, assisting clients with gardening questions and diagnosing gardening problems. Satellite help desks (at a garden center or home improvement store, for example) may be staffed for special occassions such as Earth Day. Sometimes MGs take the initiative and offer classes or write articles for the local newspaper. Our county MGs maintain a blog that contains seasonal information specifically written for our local area.

MGs also get involved in the community. They can mentor youth gardening groups, teach gardening classes for the elderly, or provide an educational resource for many community gardening and greening projects. They’re also active in the county fair’s horticulture division.

Note that we don’t normally actually do the digging and planting, we just “supervise”! However, out behind the extension office is a demonstration garden featuring plants specifically selected to do well in our soils and climate. It was designed, planted, and is maintained by MGs.

How can I become a master gardener?

If that sounds like something you’d like to do, you can learn more about the Master Gardener program in your area by searching the web for “master gardener” plus the name of your state and county. For example, type

“master gardener” California “santa clara”

into your search bar. Not all places have master gardeners, but most do, especially in more densely populated regions. I’ve been a MG since 2001, and I hope to continue for many more years to come.

A “few” bags of compost?

I was wasting time doing online research when I came across this delightful gardening blog. Clearly this post was written by a gardener, someone I can definitely relate to. The blogger identifies herself as “Carol,” an eccentric gardener, gardening geek, passionate about plants.

I thought Carol’s commentary on how gardeners count was too fun to keep to myself, so I’m sharing it here. Besides, this way I get to take a  break do more research for future articles. I hope you enjoy it as much as I did! And while you’re at her site, be sure to admire her extensive hoe collection.

May Dreams Gardens: A Gardener’s Guide to “Quantities”

As you enter off Mesa Road (a continuation of W. Cache la Poudre Street) or Glen Avenue in downtown Colorado Springs, the noise of the street fades, replaced by the chirping of birds and the gentle sigh of a cool breeze. Rarely are more than a few other people present.

Roses abound, combined with other romantic blooms such as peonies, Oriental poppies, and bleeding heart. Later in the season other flowers take their place: dianthus, Balloonflower, Monarda. Lamb’s ears, Aegopodium , and dead nettle carpet the ground, their light-colored foliage providing a sun-dappled effect even on overcast days. Hostas and ferns thrive in the sheltered space, providing summer-long beauty, and dwarf evergreens are attractive year round.

The Fragrance Garden occupies the western side of the garden, where both leaves and blossoms delight the nose as well as the eyes. To the north, heirloom vegetables and herbs have their own planting, watched over by an old farmer sculpted in rusty iron.

While most of the demonstration gardens in the area focus on native and/or drought-resistant plantings, this relatively small plot contains more traditional plantings. All need supplemental irrigation during the growing season—about the same amount as a bluegrass lawn. In addition, many of the perennials are particularly well suited for shade.

There is no admission charge (or gate), and the gardens are always open. Parking is usually plentiful. Even a short visit is well worth your time.

If you enjoy this garden, you might also want to visit the Horticultural Art Society’s two other gardens. The Heritage Garden is located a block and a half to the north, and the Pinetum is across the creek from the Heritage Garden.

The calendar may still say summer, but shorebirds consider this time of year to be fall. They’ve finished nesting, and it’s time to head someplace where winters are warmer. Many species breed in the arctic, and Colorado is right on their route south.

The best place to hunt shorebirds, of course, is near water. Different species prefer different depths, largely according to the length of their probing bills and stilt-like legs. Bodies of water with shallow beaches are best, where the birds can wade out as far as they want; they tend to shun abrupt edges. They’re seeking insects, crustaceans, worms, and other invertebrates to fill their crops, so long-established lakes and reservoirs will be more productive.

Of course, the real challenge birders face with non-breeding shorebirds is telling them apart. At first glance, they all appear alike: tan on top and light underneath. You won’t be able to identify these birds by their color.

I still struggle with naming medium-sized sandpipers, but I have learned a few things that help. First, make sure they’re sandpipers. Stilts, avocets, plovers, and phalaropes are all similar in appearance, and occupy the same habitat. Happily, silts and avocets have distinctive plumage, so they’re easy to eliminate. Plovers (like the Wilson’s Plover in the photograph) have much shorter, stubby bills, and the smaller ones look like beach stones on legs. Phalaropes avoid land, and can be spotted by their unique feeding behavior—swimming in tight circles to stir up food from the bottom.

Once you’ve weeded out the other shorebirds, look at the relative size of the sandpipers. Dimensions can be hard to estimate, but if there is more than one species present, you can at least sort them from larger to smaller. Most field guides are arranged that way, with the largest sandpipers first and the petite peeps at the end.

Now look at the bill. Is it straight, or does it go up or down at the end? Is it all one color? How long is it compared to the rest of the bird? For being fairly small birds, Dowitchers have extremely long bills. Whimbrel bills are long and Curlews’ are even longer; both turn down at the end. Godwits, as shown here, have bills that turn slightly upward and are two-toned.

If you can see the birds’ legs, try to determine the color. Yellowlegs aren’t the only sandpipers with yellow legs. Leg color is the easiest way to separate out a Least Sandpaper from the look-alike Semipalmated (photo at top) and Western Sandpipers. Redshanks are named for their red legs,  Willets have legs of steel gray-blue (they look cold to me), and this Ruddy Turnstone sports bright orange legs. Check where the birds are walking so you aren’t misled by a coating of mud.

Hopefully, you’ve narrowed down your choices considerably by this point.

Next, think about where the birds are feeding. Are they on shore, or barely getting their toes wet? Or are they out in deeper water? Some species tend to stick to the shallows, while others venture out farther from shore. Watch them feed for a bit. Dowitchers have been likened to a sewing machine, with their rapid up-and-down head movements.

If you’re lucky, the birds might take to the air, so you can see the patterns on their wings and tails. It’s even better if they say something. The best way to differentiate between short- and long-billed Dowitchers is by their calls. The same holds for Greater and Lesser Yellowlegs.

Finally, consider where you are birding. While any bird can get lost, especially juveniles migrating for the first time, it’s more likely, for example, that you’ll see a Western Sandpiper in California and a Semipalmated Sandpiper in the east.

Be sure to look at every bird in a flock. Species tend to mix. You could be looking at 99 birds of one kind, and the 100^th bird will be something totally different—perhaps even a new lifer.

Don’t get frustrated if you can’t identify every bird you see. Be patient, practice, and hang out with birders who are more experienced. It helps to have more than one field guide handy, as illustrations vary. Kenn Kaufman’s Advanced Birding is very useful as well. Sandpipers are tough birds to learn. Maybe, when you get really good at it, you can help me with some photos I still can’t place with confidence.

We were hiking along a dirt track in Sinks Canyon, Wyoming (a totally gorgeous place, by the way), when we came across a large insect I didn’t recognize. I should have. A bit of research revealed that it was a Mormon Cricket (Anabrus simplex), and not only are they common, but at times they’re so abundant that their voracious appetites consume the landscape!

They do look sort of “cricket-y,” but Mormon crickets are actually shieldbacked katydids, also known as long-horned grasshoppers (family Tettigoniidae, subfamily Decticinae). They are found all over western North America, preferring sagebrush/grass rangeland similar to the place we found this one.

While I have never seen one in my garden (thankfully!), they are a significant agricultural pest. In addition to their usual diet of sagebrush and saltbush, dandilions, milkvetches, and other forbs, they are particularly fond of cultivated crops such as wheat, barley, alfalfa, and garden vegetables. At times populations soar. According to the Wyoming Agricultural Experiment Station Bulletin 912, “… migrating bands of nymphs or adults may completely destroy fields of sugarbeets, small grains, and alfalfa. During the 1937 outbreak, crop damage in Montana amounted to $500,000 and in Wyoming to $383,000.” That was a lot of money in those days.

They’re called Mormon crickets because these are the insects that, in 1848, threatened to decimate the first crops of the early Mormon settlers in Utah. The crops were saved by large flocks of California Gulls who flew in and devoured all the crickets. There is even a statue in Temple Square, Salt Lake City in honor of the gulls.

What caught my attention, along with the sheer size of the insect we happened upon, was that it had inserted a part of its body into the ground. Turns out our cricket was a female, and she was laying eggs. I was fascinated by how these insects reproduce. The male transfers to the female a large spermatophore that not only contains his sperm, but also a great deal of protein—up to a quarter of his body weight. After the sperm have moved into the female’s body, she eats the spermatophore. The protein boost strengthens her for the business of egg laying. This significant reproductive contribution by the male is rare among insects.

The female is easily identified by her huge ovipositor. She inserts this organ into the ground over and over, laying one egg each time. Females lay an average of 86 eggs each. Once the crickets have reproduced, they die.

The eggs incubate in the ground all fall and winter, hatching when temperatures begin to warm in the spring. They young insects pass through a series of instar stages before reaching adulthood during the summer. Unlike caterpillars and butterflies, the immature instars resemble small adults.

While Mormon crickets cannot fly, they are highly mobile. An adult can cover up to 50 miles during its lifetime. I’m just glad they haven’t showed up here among my veggies!

An iconic symbol of the West, tumbleweeds conjure images of cowboys, cattle drives, and barbed wire. They even have their own song—“Tumbling Tumbleweeds” was written by Bob Nolan in the 1930s, and seems to reappear as often as the weeds for which it’s named.

Yes, we’re all familiar with tumbleweeds. But, as a result of my Colorado Master Gardener training, I have insider information that will stun, shock, and astonish you. Tumbleweeds are aliens!

Yes, it’s true. Before the Europeans stumbled across the western hemisphere, there were no tumbleweeds on the plains. Of course, there were no cowboys, either—no horses, no cattle, and no chuckwagon bean dinners. Tumbleweeds arrived, not in flying saucers, but in seed shipments from Europe and Asia.

There are several plant species that dry up, break from their roots, and turn into tumbleweeds. Around the end of the 19^th century, seeds of the genus Salsola (the most widespread of the tumbling plants) arrived as stowaways in bags of flax and other seeds intended for agriculture. It doesn’t take much moisture to germinate a tumbleweed seed, and soon the invaders had spread throughout the arid west.

Amazingly, once the USDA recognized how well adapted the species was, it actively introduced S. tragus across the west in hopes of providing a drought-resistant forage plant for livestock. (Then, upon realizing how incredibly ill-advised this decision was, our government eventually did a complete about-face, and now lists this plant as a noxious weed.)

Salsola iberica (synonyms: S. kali, S. pestifer) is another related plant that forms tumbleweeds. It arrived from Russia in the late 1800s, hence its common name, Russian Thistle.

Plants in the genus Salsola can now be found from the scorched Death Valley desert to altitudes reaching 8,500 feet in the Colorado Rockies. They thrive in dry agricultural fields, on overgrazed rangeland, and can even be found growing on irrigated cropland.

The whole point of a tumbleweed is to spread its seeds as widely as possible. My parents found this out the hard way. Newcomers to California, they struggled to recreate their childhood Christmas memories without the snow and cold of the northeast. One year they got the bright idea to haul some tumbleweeds home from the vacant field at the end of our street. Spray-painted white, stacked, and adorned with hats and scarves, their tumbleweed “snowmen” stood proud in our front yard. Cars slowed as the drivers gawked at the innovative decorations.

After the holidays, the snowmen were bagged, set out with the trash, and forgotten—until spring. That’s when a million baby tumbleweeds sprouted amid the dichondra. (Dichondra is a walk-on groundcover that forms a no-mow lawn substitute in warm climates. It’s generally low maintenance, but because it isn’t grass, you can’t use selective chemical weed killers on it.) My memories of that spring and summer are mostly of my parents on their knees, digging out these tenacious, deep-rooted weeds.

Vast sums have been spent in an effort to eradicate these environmental intruders. It takes repeated applications of the strongest herbicides to bring them to their knees. But consider—one tumbleweed contains approximately 250,000 seeds. Now add in the open landscape and unrelenting winds of the plains, perfect for a plant that spreads by rolling across the ground. Unlike the cattle drives of the Old West, it’s pretty obvious that tumbleweeds are here to stay. They join the long list of other alien species that have made our country their home.

These are long-lived perennials, hardy to zone 5. They grow fairly quickly, reaching full size within three years. Plant in spring in the hottest part of the garden where they will receive full sun. Once established, they thrive on 15 inches of water per year—average rainfall for Colorado Springs. Supplemental irrigation is needed only during the growing season, and only if several weeks go by without rain. Adaptable to any well-drained soil, and tolerating wind, heat, and low humidity, this southwest native is an excellent choice for our climate.

California Fuchsia needs little maintenance. The plants are pest and disease free. Remove last season’s dead foliage before new growth appears in the spring. Deadheading will prevent self-seeding, or allow the plants to propagate naturally.

* The genus was recently changed from Zauschneria.

There are a number of books that tell stories about nature. They describe birds and their behavior in ways that are accurate, but sadly boring. The reader is left thinking, “I guess you had to have been there.”

This book is different. Author Marie Winn writes with a gentle charm, leaving the reader smiling and content, yet yearning for more.

Winn starts with a lengthy prologue that sets the scene. I admit that I’m not overly fond of New York City, and I’ve never been to Central Park. Yet, after reading this book, I find myself eager to go and see for myself. In particular, I’d like to explore that portion of the park known as the Ramble, where one may spot migrating warblers in the elms and oaks and feed the birds at the Azalea Pond.

Then, with vivid yet complimentary descriptions, Winn introduces you to the Regulars, those knowledgeable and stalwart nature-lovers who visit Central Park day after day throughout the year, leaving their tracks in the form of sightings inscribed in the Register. I find I’d very much like to be friends with all of them.

You certainly do not need to be a bird-watcher to follow Winn’s prose. She was a beginner when she was taken under the wing of a veteran birder, and she explains everything as she goes. And birds are not the only topic. Butterflies, plants—in fact, every aspect of nature—combine to create the setting for this story.

The reader has covered over 40 thoroughly enjoyable pages by the time the main character arrives. Pale Male is a very lightly-shaded Red-tail Hawk, and the first to attempt nesting in the Park since its construction began in 1857. He and his successive mates are the focal point of the story—their courting and nesting in the middle of New York City, the impact they have on the city’s normally oblivious residents, and at last, their successfully fledged offspring. Yet I get the feeling that the story was just an excuse to write what is one of the best nature books I’ve ever read.

All is not sweetness and light—there is plenty of drama as well. Pale Male’s first attempt at raising a family, while he was still a brown-tailed youngster, ends in heartbreak. More heartbreak is to follow. Hazards abound. It isn’t easy raising a family in New York City, even if you aren’t a hawk more accustomed to open fields than skyscrapers.

I particularly appreciated Winn’s focus on the impact the hawks had on the city dwellers surrounding them. Some thought of the nest as a nuisance, while others engaged with nature for what was perhaps the first time in their lives. In the end, no one was left unaffected.

By the time you arrive at the Afterward on page 265, you have laughed and cried, gotten angry and rejoiced in relief. You are left with a sense of awe of the adaptability of wildlife to our urban environments. The presence of birds—and birders—in the middle of a sea of concrete and glass is a sign of hope and a tribute to the persistence of nature.

The other day I was out for a walk with one of my kids when we came across a Western Terrestrial Garter Snake in the middle of the (dirt) road. It was stretched out full length, which was all of about 18 inches, basking in the hot sun. (They grow to about three feet, so this was a youngster.)

We should have let sleeping snakes lie, but instead, with a deft move, my nimble offspring had it in hand. Then, seeing my eager expression, he passed it to me. I tenderly carried it all the way home.

At first, it curled around my fingers, seeking escape. Eventually, however, the warmth of my hands lulled it into a state of complacency, and it coiled contentedly, sending its tongue out every so often to check on its surroundings.

My plan was to release it in my garden, where it would eat bugs and hopefully baby mice. (We have a ton of mice, attracted to the chicken feed and birdseed in our yard.) First, however, I wanted photos. We brought it inside, placed it in a large plastic bowl with lid, and I grabbed my camera.

The photo session went well. I put the snake back in the bowl, attached the lid (with a small airspace on one side), and went downstairs to say good-bye to my kids. Then I went back upstairs to collect the snake and set it free.

The bowl was empty.

A quick text exchange established the fact that no one else had taken the snake outside. And a quick search of my office was unfruitful. Somewhere, somehow, we had a garter snake loose in our house.

At this point, I decided to learn a bit more about garter snakes.

While most garter snakes prefer a riparian habitat, the ones we have here in Colorado aren’t so particular. That’s a good thing, since water is scarce in our dry climate. Garter snakes spend the winter curled up with lots of other garter snakes, in a large underground den.

When they emerge in the spring, it’s time to mate. First, they dab on a bit of perfume—pheromones that attract the opposite sex. Then they go on a diet. For several weeks, they don’t eat, allowing any food already in their digestive system to finish digestion. And then comes the orgy. As many as 25 snakes may form a “mating ball”—mostly males surrounding a single female!

When it’s all over, the males head off to smoke a cigarette, while the female wants a snack and some peace and quiet. The fertilized eggs are retained in her body until the young hatch, and she gives birth to live young. Brood sizes averages around 10 – 15 babies, but may be much larger. It’s a good thing all those youngsters don’t need their parents to raise them!

As carnivores, they eat anything they can catch—from slug and grasshoppers to caterpillars and, as I mentioned above, mice . While they also eat “good guys” such as lizards, spiders and earthworms, I’m happy to have them around the garden.

I was shocked to learn that they’re poisonous! Garter snakes? Turns out that yes, they have a mild neurotoxin, but their fangs are located far back in their mouth, where they can’t reach us big humans. They poison their prey slowly, by chewing on them. The one I’d carried for a mile, cupped in my hands, had been totally nonaggressive. We can consider them perfectly safe.

That was reassuring, as we still had no idea where the snake was when we went to bed.

I’m glad to say that our story has a happy ending. The next morning I was walking past our guest room when something brown and striped slithered out from under the door. Without hesitation, I scooped up the snake and immediately carried it outside. I don’t know who was more relieved as it glided under the groundcover by our patio door. I hope it has a long and happy life there.

Our first stop, at Bear Creek county park, took us to a patient Broad-tailed Hummingbird, sitting dutifully on her nest. While the branch was over our heads—too high for a peek into the tiny cup-like nest—we guessed that the eggs hadn’t hatched yet. Perhaps this was a second attempt to reproduce, somewhat late in the season.

While we were careful to use long lenses so as not to disturb our subject while we snapped our photos, the bird ignored us, sitting solidly on her nest with the concentration only a dedicated parent can have. I look forward to checking back soon, to see if anything has changed.

Next, we headed to Starsmore Nature Center in hopes of seeing more hummingbirds. We hadn’t even locked the parked car, however, when we were sidetracked by a loud, insistent chirping coming from a hole high up a cottonwood branch. Sure enough, a black and white, red-beanie-wearing head poked out the hole—a male downy woodpecker nestling demanding dinner. Mom soon appeared, bug in beak. But no sooner had she pushed the beetle into her son’s craw when his protruding head was replaced by his sister’s, equally hungry. It took both parents making trip after trip to the tree to keep their progeny at least partly content.

While we were snapping photos of the woodpeckers, we noticed another, similarly-sized hole further up the branch. We re-aimed our cameras and soon caught a tree sparrow flying off to find food for its hungry brood.

Tree sparrows were also present at our third stop, a friend’s house south of town along Hwy. 115. Instead of a tree cavity, they had build their nest in a bluebird house. The babies must have been a little older, and hungrier, than the ones at Starsmore. They were just as demanding as the woodpeckers had been. Again, it took both parents to provide enough food for their hungry youngsters.

Our friend mentioned that she’d seen Prairie Falcons nesting in the nearby red rocks, so we headed off to see. Sure enough. A well-used nest was precariously positioned on a shallow ledge, protected from the elements by an overhead arch. Two young falcons were waiting for a meal to arrive. They were much more polite, merely standing quietly at the edge of the ledge. The poignant look on their faces was more than enough to convince any parent of their need for food.

When their supper did arrive in the shape of a dead rodent, they lost their gracious ways and aggressively assaulted it, both grabbing and pulling with much flapping of wings, until the prey was first in shreds, then consumed. They would have no problem hunting for their own meals in the months and years ahead.

While we were perched on the opposite canyon wall watching the falcons, we noticed a smaller bird nearby emerge from a similarly-sized hole in the sandstone. It seems the Canyon Wren was also nesting in the red rocks. It must have been the male, because he took time out of his foraging to serenade us with his hauntingly beautiful, cascading song.

We didn’t see any lifers that day, but we didn’t care at all. It was every bit as rewarding to watch these familiar birds go about their lives—finding a home, raising a family, making a living just like the rest of us.