The Greens of Spring

Bowl of Home Grown Color

...And so it begins. My favorite garden season followed by my most treasured garden season. Spring and summer are a delight for gardeners like myself. These seasons bring a bounty of delectable, mouthwatering, homegrown produce like what you see pictured to your right.

Every last morsel in that bright yellow bowl came straight from the raised beds in the Bird Back 40. It hasn't been amended with anything purchased at a Farmer's Market, or our nearby Safeway or Raleys/Bel-Air. Not that I'm a critic of our local produce suppliers. It's just that -- well -- when's the last time you purchased a purple radish the size of a golf ball or larger at your local store?

Selection of Radishes and Asparagus Spears

I'm fortunate in that the wife that is Venus can grow one mean and mighty radish. She can turn an ordinary French Breakfast radish into a French Breakfast, Lunch and Dinner. One might think a radish this size would have the fine taste of wood. Nope....

This is prime fresh greens season in the Bird Back 40 -- though if this blast of heat keeps up it will probably end as quickly as it started. Lettuce tends to bolt -- and quickly -- when our famous Sacramento furnace heats up. So -- enjoy it while you can because the season will be gone before you know it.

2012 Lettuce Crop-Bird Back 40

We're fortunate this year in that the starter plants were delivered to use courtesy of the Department of Plant Sciences at UC Davis. These starters were unlike anything I've seen before or since and have grown rapidly since Venus set them into the ground a little over a month ago. They have grown to the point where we can enjoy fresh greens and radishes nearly every night of the week.

The only thing that's missing? Why! Fresh, vine-ripened tomatoes of course!

Of all the varieties that we have growing in the Bird Back 40 this year -- I suppose I'm partial to the red leaf. It's unlike any red leaf lettuce I've ever seen before. Most lettuce varieties that are billed as "red leaf" have a touch of green in them -- usually at the base of each leaf. But not this variety. It's a straight, dark, wine-red, glossy color from start to finish.

Developing Head of Lettuce

I'm not sure if I'm sold on the look or taste, but both are darn good.

Home grown lettuce is unlike anything you're going to find in local stores. It's not packed with water like the standard, iceberg lettuce heads (my favorite for taco salad dishes). It's a little more dense. It's a little more dry. And it's a lot more tasty. You didn't think lettuce had a taste? Try home-grown lettuce. It's incredible.

I suppose the same is true with the radishes that are now spring from the soil with abundance. That round, red globe in the market produce section does indeed look like a radish. Unfortunately, it doesn't have the kind of snap-to-attention taste that a purple, pink or yellow Easter Egg radish has.

Venus' Used and Abused Salad Spinner

I suppose what I'm trying to tell you here is that this isn't just a salad. You can find an ordinary salad just about anywhere. Nope, this is better described as an experience. And our spring experience is just getting started, provided the blast-furnace of summer doesn't snap on a little too early.

It's spring. Time for a salad or two.

Heaven Is

Vine Ripened Tomatoes in Winter

With all due respects to Kevin Costner -- Heaven is not located in a corn field in Iowa. I know this to be true because I have found Heaven. Heaven is right out my back door.

Heaven is located just off the main campus at the University of California (UC), Davis -- just a short drive west on Hutchison Drive. Turn left onto the gravel road where you spot the sign that reads "Vegetable Crops" and you have arrived at Heaven's front door.

Greenhouse Heaven: UC Davis

There are 152 Greenhouses located on the campus of UC Davis. Not all of them are located in the same area, but in the row of greenhouses harboring vegetable crops, if you are a passionate fan of all things gardening, you will find Heaven on Earth. It just doesn't get any better than this.

The wife that is Venus and I -- plus gardening friend Nels Christensen -- lucked into a private tour of this greenhouse facility thanks to the kindness and generosity of Garry Pearson, who goes by the official title of Lead Greenhouse Manager for the Department Plant Sciences at UC Davis.

But, in all truth, he just directs things in Paradise.

Starter Crops for Field Research

I have been longing for all things greenhouse in the Bird Back 40 ever since the wife and I way overpaid for little slice of heaven some five years ago. It remains on my "to do" list, with about 100 projects that I would like to accomplish before I pass from this Earth.

But -- now -- for the first time -- I can understand what a greenhouse allows a gardener to do. There is quite a bit of magic that takes place behind these windows of glass and wonders of the vegetable world that will probably never find its way into any home garden.

Wolf Peach-Look But Don't Touch!

This is pure research, baby. Research can be hazardous indeed. If you are tempted by these tiny cherry tomatoes as I was, best not touch. This is very close to an original strain of the "wolf peach." In Latin, they call it Lycoperscion. In other words? It's poisonous. One bite of that tempting berry, or several, could result in rash of bad things like headaches, a really bad stomach cramp or something even worse.

This is the original tomato. For many years, people believed tomatoes to be poisonous. They weren't all that far off the mark. Tomatoes were once used as decorative plants for a summer garden. Nobody really gave any serious thought about using it as a food crop until only just recently in historical terms. It wasn't until a legendary Ohio seedsman by the name of Alexander Livingston develop the first commercially successful variety of tomato, did anyone give it much credence as a food source.

Climate Controlled Seed Vault

For his work in this field, Livingston is often referred to as the "Father of the Modern Tomato." Can you imagine a world without tomatoes now? A world without salsa? Scary thought!

Pearson's tour eventually took us into a cold vault -- almost like a meat locker. It would be the perfect place to hang out on a hot summer day, but not so much in the winter. I had heard about this room before, but never thought I'd get a chance to see it. This is one important place. This is the seed vault. This is where seeds for every known tomato and vegetable variety are kept, documented and stored for clinical research.

To put things into perspective? A backyard gardener could spend a lifetime growing different varieties every single year and still not come close to approaching half of the varieties that are stored in this climate controlled area. Just being inside it makes you feel a tad humble.

Flat of Shady Lady Tomato Starter Plants

And -- of course -- there are the tomatoes. Starter plants are grown by the thousands here -- mostly for field research. But one or two of them -- uh -- just might find a way into our summer garden this year. It was on this tour that I learned the variety called "Shady Lady" was the replacement for another variety called "Celebrity." Venus and I have grown both in our garden. But little did we know that one was the replacement for another.

In this Heaven, the ingredients for a tasty summer salad are grown year round. From red leaf lettuce to a splash of Romaine -- you'll find everything here except the croutons. Most of what Pearson told us during our short tour of Heaven flew a good mile over my head. Some of it I understood -- but most I did not. It's a humbling moment for gardener who gets taken to school. As much as I've learned through the years, I ain't seen nothing yet.

Starter Plants for Our Spring Garden!

However, thanks to the tour, I do have some pretty good ideas about where to go next. Gardening is an experiment with nature. Always move forward. Don't get stuck in the same old routine. Always be open to trying something new.

Heaven? In an Iowa corn field? I don't think so. Heaven is right out the back door.

Turn Out the Lights!!!!

Bird Back 40 Asparagus Patch

As Dandy Don Meredith of ABC's Monday Night Football would croon at the end of games (especially blowouts):

"Turn Out the Lights...

The Party's Over...

They Say That...

All Good Things Must End...

Call it Tonight...

The Party's Over...

And Tomorrow Starts...

The Same Old Thing Again..."

Willie Nelson wrote those amazing lyrics and sings that amazing song. But I don't know if it would be quite as popular today, had not one of the best Color Commentators in all of football crooned that same, signature song again and again and again.

It's the song that comes to mind when looking at the asparagus patch pictured above. Venus and I planted asparagus crowns just last spring, really not knowing what to expect. After all, we'd never grown asparagus before. Have you? Was it supposed to erupt in a tangled mass of ferns like it did last summer? Because it most certainly did.

Asparagus Spears Allowed to Flower and Fern

Hidden most of the summer by the Bird Back 40 corn crop, those tiny root systems for Jersey Knight and Purple Passion bolted into a cacophany of fern growth that promptly grew straight up and then flopped over on the ground after reaching a height of three to four feet. Any fern that flopped was immediately replaced by another spear -- which also proceeded to fern and flop.

There were many times during the summer, I might add, where Bill Bird was more than just a tad tempted to cut that fat green or purple spear literally jumping out of the raised bed that holds the Bird asparagus patch. So was the wife that is Venus. But we managed to resist that urge -- knowing all the while -- that each fern would most likely result in a multitude of fat asparagus spears next spring.

That's the hope anywho. Like I mentioned earlier, we've never attempted anything like this before.

We had plenty of questions -- but very little in the way of answers. Was this fern growth normal? Should we be doing anything special to the asparagus patch during the ferning and flopping process -- rather than fawning over it every third day? Should we allow the ferns to flop? Stake them up? So many questions -- so little answers.

Asparagus Ferns

Normally -- in times of need like this -- I turn to one or more gardening mentors like Farmer Fred Hoffman, Don Shor of Redwood Barn Nursery fame or former Sacramento Bee Home and Garden Editor Dan Vierra. But, to be brutally honest, I really do bug these people too much with incessant questioning. It was time to do some searching on my own, and as a very wise man once taught me, "Google is your friend."

Indeed!

The most helpful "how too" articles that I came across were "Growing ASPARAGUS in the Garden" from the UC Davis Vegetable Research and Information Station and "Growing Asparagus in the Home Garden" from the University of Ohio Horticulture and Crop Science Extension service. Both were loaded with tips (asparagus tips I might add) -- and both confirmed that Venus and I were off to a rather rousing start.

In fact -- the best bit of advice came from Carl J. Cantaluppi (University of Ohio) when he wrote: "The year after planting, asparagus can be harvested several times throughout a three-week period, depending on air temperatures. Research shows there is no need to wait two years after planting before harvesting. In fact, harvesting the year after planting will stimulate more bud production on the crown and provide greater yields in future years, as compared with waiting two years before harvesting.

This was indeed -- tremendous news. Venus and I had been under the belief that it would be at least two seasons before we could harvest our first spears. Yet here was plain advice from a crop scientist advocating to pick, pick and pick away after just one year of fern growth. Do you know what this means?

Asparagus Ferns Removed (Cut Back)

It means that the bed that has now been cut back of dead fern growth will be throwing out delicious spears of asparagus this spring, just in time for Easter Supper at the Bird Ranch. Nothing -- I mean absolutely NOTHING -- is better than what you can grow in your own little patch of yard. This is a rule that applies to all produce -- and I can only begin to imagine what kind of taste surprise will result from our own home-grown asparagus.

These same articles (links are above) -- while confirming that we were indeed on the right path -- also contained tips that I never would have crossed my mind (unless someone told me to do it). Those ferns that had erupted from the asparagus crowns (roots) that we planted last spring were actually quite beneficial. They were sending all kinds of important nutrients into the crowns (root systems) below. The more fern activity -- the better. More ferns result in more spears -- bigger and better spears I might add.

But there also comes a time when enough is enough. Those ferns don't last. In fact, as you can tell from the photos, many of them have turned brown. Some -- much to my surprise -- completely withered away. I discovered this as I hacked the fern growth back to ground level. The instructions that I encountered online advised a "haircut and close shave," as those former spears that erupted into ferns will become quite woody and quite *sharp* during the overwintering process.

We don't want to be slicing up fingers when slicing tender shoots of asparagus next spring, now do we?

Asparagus Hidden by Ferns

That "shave and a haircut (two bits)" is now complete. What's more surprising, although the thought did cross my mind, is that the removal of the dead and dying ferns revealed the growth of ASPARAGUS SPEARS! Sure enough -- what may be the first tender shoots of spring-time growth were popping just above the soil line.

Now -- it's entirely possible that this growth will also result in additional ferns -- which will be cut back later this winter. Then again, the growth rate might be so slow that these spears may be the first we actually harvest during our short, three week, asparagus season. This season, by the way, will expand with time and additional years of growth. But, for the first year? Three weeks is all you get.

That's fine by us. As the wife that is Venus says -- three weeks is better than no weeks. We're looking forward to a rather tasty backyard harvest. See you in the spring!

The Fruits of My Labor . . . Have Flavor!

Tree Ripened Flavortop Nectarine

Isn't that just a clever little title? I thought of it all by myself. Are you impressed? Please, stop laughing.

I mean it, please stop laughing.

Now that we have proper introductions out of the way - may I introduce you to my latest "sweetheart" in the kitchen? No, the wife that is Venus has not been replaced. She has not taken a sabbatical (she'd better not!). She did not "fly the coop."

That sweetness -- pictured top right -- is none other than the Flavortop Nectarine. It is now coming ripe by the dozens in the Front Yard of Bird and is one of three varieties that I have stuck right next to one another in a crazy madness known as Backyard Orchard Culture (BOC).

Three nectarine trees instead of one!

But -- in this case? The plantings are in the front yard. Nevertheless -- it's still crazy. A fruit lover must be slightly off his or her rocker to try something like this. But the proof is in the Nectarine Pudding. The close planting of fruit trees does work -- and I have the lip-smacking, juicy, tree-ripened Flavortop Nectarines to prove it.

This is the second year for our nectarine plantings. These trees really aren't supposed to produce a large amount of fruit until the third year and successive years after that. But who am I to argue with a nectarine tree like Flavortop? If it wants to produce two or three dozen nectarines in just it's second year of growth? You won't get any arguments from Bill and Venus Bird.

Not hardly.

Flavortop Nectarines ready for slicing!

This is also just the start of fresh nectarine season? Still to come? The best tasting white nectarine on the market I'm told -- the Arctic Jay White nectarine. It's absolutely loaded with second year production. And as for the largest tree in the bunch? The Fantasia nectarine? It didn't produce so much as a single piece of fruit.

Go figure.

The Arctic Jay nectarines are still a good 5-7 days from that "soft to the touch" kind of ripeness that orchard culture freakniks like myself crave. And that is the method to the Backyard Orchard Culture (BOC) madness. The goal isn't to produce a boatload of fruit from every single tree. The goal is to produce just enough to keep you  in nectarine flavor heaven, until the next variety ripens up.

Sliced Flavortop Nectarines

As for the Arctic Jay? It is a tried and true Taste Test Winner: best of all fruits at the Dave Wilson Nursery blind fruit tasting held July 5th, 1996. The variety gets an enthusiastic two thumbs up from none other than Farmer Fred Hoffman, and others who have this treasured tree as part of a backyard planting. This is truly one productive variety.

The three nectarine trees pictured below are all in need of a "haircut." That's the beauty of BOC. You never allow these trees to reach a height of more than six or seven feet. Constant pruning is a must. But I've come to find that fruit trees react and react well to constant pruning. It's not difficult -- and the fun part is -- you get to choose the size and shape. Does tall and thin work for you? Round and large? A nectarine hedge perchance? The decision is yours.

A little off the top barber!

But not everything is wine and roses either. The nectarine trees -- much like the peach trees planted in the Bird Back 40 -- suffered from a bout of peach leaf curl thanks to a wetter than normal spring. The new growth and shoots that would later emerge from the trees were covered with a shade of white -- which is not a good thing children. That's powdery mildew and it can and did affect fruit production.

Some of the nectarines were covered with a frosting of white that would not wash off, no matter how hard I tried or whatever method I employed. While the trees did eventually recover from the mildew attack, some of the fruit did not and there was considerable damage to the nectarine skin. UC Davis documents powdery mildew here, and another excellent resource for home growers comes from West Virginia University.

Powdery Mildew damage on fruit skin

Fortunately? The mildew did not penetrate any of the fruit itself. The flesh literally glistened with sweet juices. The taste? Hard to describe. You're not going to find nectarines that taste like this in your local grocery store. Nectarines at Farmer's Markets are allowed to sit on the tree a little while longer, but still cannot compare to the sweet, tree-ripened fruit that comes from your own fruit tree.

I will never forget the steps I took two winters ago to plant these bare root fruit trees. An ugly hedge stood in my way during the NFL playoffs. But rather than watch the Saints, who would go on to win the Big Enchilada that year, Bill and Venus Bird were outside in a light rain, setting up the first BOC "experiment."

After one taste of a tree-ripened Flavortop Nectarine? Consider this a wise step in a wonderful experiment for home fruit production.

In other words, I don't miss that hedge.

The Bag Man!

Marquitos and Celina Show Off the Flower Pouch

Bill Bird is the bag man -- and so is nephew Marquitos -- pictured here with his flower bag creation. It's rare when the new dog teaches an old dog some new tricks -- but that's exactly what happened this past weekend in the Bird Back 40.

I suppose a (short) explanation is needed.

I had never considered using bags to grow flowers or produce before until I spotted a photo of a bag in use some years ago while thumbing through one of the gazillions of gardening magazines we have strewn about the house (these things never get tossed -- they just get shoved into unused corners). This particular bag was covered with ripe strawberries -- and the particular advertisement was aimed at growers who had limited space.

I don't necessarily have limited space (though I am filling it up fast) -- but the thought of growing strawberries or flowers along the fence line did intrigue me.

Gaviota Strawberry Crowns

I have a lot of fence. My drip irrigation lines are already bolted to the fence. Possibilities abound.

Although the creators of the "Topsy Turvey" tomato creation offer a similar creation (strawberry grow bags) -- I wasn't about to blow $5 to $10 for just one bag. Bill Bird isn't just frugal. He's CHEAP! Ask the wife that is Venus -- and the rather ingenious plan to stick her diamond wedding ring in a box of Kentucky Fried Chicken (she didn't find it until she had consumed the mashed potatoes. Hey, priorities are priorities!).

Secondly -- I didn't want to plant the kind of strawberries that you find at your local nursery. Those are fine I suppose -- but I wanted something special. I wanted the varieties that you see in those one or two acre strawberry farms strewn across the Sacramento and San Joaquin Valleys. Know what I'm talking about? They are the plants that yield big, fat, juicy, lip-smacking strawberries that fresh fruit lovers dream about over the winter months.

Lip-Smacking Albion Strawberries

There's just one problem: Those varieties are "protected." Specifically developed by UC Davis, cultivars with legendary names like Chandler, Albion and Gaviota are NOT easy to find. The growers who maintain those one or two acre strawberry farms will be happy to sell you a flat of strawberries. But they stop short at selling a plant. I should know -- I tried -- and I failed -- MISERABLY.

Help would come in the form of a co-worker by the name of Nghia (Nee-Ah) Demovic (I call her DemoNvic because she takes great pleasure in making me look like a fool). Born in Saigon before the fall of Vietnam, Nghia immigrated to the United States when she was still a child. Despite the challenges that these children faced, Nghia easily transitioned from Eastern to Western Culture and is one of the top communications professionals working in California's State Capitol today.

But she also still has a firm command of the Vietnamese language -- which I put to good use. She could talk to the Vietnamese and Hmong farmers in ways that I could not. And -- in the space of an hour -- she managed to find what I could not discover over the space of six months: a source for the UC Cultivars.

Albion Strawberry Crowns Planted Beneath Apple Trees

I was like a kid at Christmas as I browsed through the Sakuma Brothers Strawberry Farm website. There they were -- the UC cultivars I had been looking for. And -- at a price of $5 or $6 for ten crowns (plants)? The price was right down Bill Bird's Alley of Cheapness. I couldn't order them fast enough.

As for the grow bags? Google is your friend. Once I started googling the terms of "grow bags" and "strawberries" and weeding through multiple advertisements for the Topsy Turvey strawberry bag and its inflated price -- I spotted something familiar. It was the bag that I had spotted in that gardening magazine years earlier.

The bag in question is called Original Al's Flower Pouch. And -- at a price of a buck a bag -- it was well within my price range. There are many outlets for the Flower Pouch, and some sellers will attempt to charge you more than a buck a bag, but keep looking. That's the nice thing about free market competition. Someone is always going to undercut the other guy.

Original Al's Flower Pouch-10 slots

Original Al's Flower Pouch contains anywhere from five, six or ten different slits or holes. These are very small. The first problem I would run into is, how do I fit that fat bundle of flower roots through that tiny hole? Should I fill the bag with dirt first and then plant? Or should I find a way to shove the plants into those tiny openings first -- then fill it with dirt?

The bag could not tell me. It was just a bag. Bags don't talk. And the bag did not come with instructions.

My first inclination was to rip the root ball of the petunia starter plants I'd purchased into two different pieces. But that wasn't easy. I nearly destroyed the first plant I tried this "trick" with. As a matter of fact, it's still trying to recover.

Petunia Starter Plants

It would take the advice of a seven-year old nephew to crack this nut. "Why not squeeze them," he asked in an innocent voice. I initially waved him off with a "no, that won't work" type of adult response when I discovered, to my horror, that he had already squeezed one root ball into the shape of a popsicle. I watched this boy -- in wonder -- as he slid that starter plant effortlessly inside that small hole. The base of the plant anchored itself to the outside of the bag, and the root ball, once inside, expanded to the point where it could not slip back out.

The kid is a genius.

In no time at all -- the kid who had all the answers managed to fill up all ten slots -- fill the flower pouch with dirt and hang it against a fence.

More Strawberries!

Venus and I would repeat the same kind of trick the next day with Albion Strawberry crowns. This was a bit trickier as we had to fill the bag half full with dirt first -- before planting the crowns -- then praying that they wouldn't fall out as we turned the bag up after planting and proceeded to fill it to the top with additional planter mix..

The crowns didn't move.

And so my good gardening friends -- there you have it. Bill & Venus Bird have graduated to "bag man" and "bag lady" status. There are eight more flower pouches to fill. What should we try next?

We are taking suggestions!

Death of an Avocado (Salesman)

OK -- this isn't going to work. So -- I'm going to put a stop to this right now. I was trying to be a little silly -- you see -- with the pun based on the Pulitzer Prize winning play "Death of a Salesman," when I realized this just wasn't going to work.

Besides -- my Avocado tree isn't named "Willy." It's a "Bacon." How do you reconcile "Willy" with "Bacon?"

Short answer: You can't.

The only thing the two items have in common is that playwright Arthur Miller kills off character Willy Loman at the end of the play. And I have managed to kill a Bacon Avocado tree. My story doesn't have nearly the drama. But it does have a rather sad ending.

This blog posting is to let other gardeners know that Bill Bird isn't perfect. His wife -- however -- is. She made me write that. Seriously.

No -- in all honesty -- all I ever do is blog about my gardening successes. I haven't told you about my NUMEROUS and EPIC gardening failures (except maybe that time when I hacked into the wrong PVC pipe...) -- and trust me -- I've had my fair share of FLOPS.

The Bacon Avocado tree -- sadly -- falls into the category of FLOP. I haven't dug it up yet. But it's a goner -- much to Venus' chagrin. She's the one that's just wild about Avocados. She can't get enough of them.

I will be honest. The wife does make a killer guacamole. And this is from a gardener who really isn't wild about guaca-anything. However -- my lovely wife was inspired by a recent trip to Rosarito Beach in Baja, California. That is where she discovered a guacamole caused her eyeballs to literally roll back into her skull.

She had to have the recipe -- and after getting a few tips from a restaurant owner in nearby Primo Tapia -- she managed to reproduce a pretty good facsimile of what we had dined on south of the border. The next step? A tree. Venus wanted her own Avocado tree -- so she could pick tree-ripened avocados for her special guacamole creation during the Super Bowl and other family gatherings.

To be honest? I didn't know much about growing Avocados. In fact, I don't think I'd ever even noticed an Avocado tree. Did they grow this far north? I had no clue. But thanks to some rather great friends at the California Rare Fruit Growers (CRFG) Association -- I not only discovered that Avocados grew well here -- but what varieties did the best.

Yes -- Virginia -- there is more than just the standard Haas Avocado that you find in your local grocery store. There are more varieties than you can shake an avocado pit at. There are Mexican varieties and there are Guatemalan varieties. There are avocados for warm weather climates and there are varieties for cold weather climates.

So -- after some research and some good advice from those "in the know," I felt rather confident when I purchased my Bacon Avocado tree at Home Depot a year ago last summer. I didn't pay much attention to the knot that developed at the base of tree a few months later. I even ignored the light black streaks that developed on some of the lower branches last fall.

The first indication that something really wasn't right was when the tree failed to grow a single inch this summer. Oh -- it grew a new crop of leaves sure enough. It leafed out just fine. It just didn't grow much -- if at all. But as light black streaks on the bottom branches of the tree grew darker and slowly moved up toward the top -- I knew something was wrong.

Then -- the other day -- I noticed this. This is the very top of the Bacon Avocado tree. Notice the lack of leaves? Notice the black color of the tip top of the tree? That ain't normal folks. There should be some leaf cover there. That tip should be green in color. It's not. It's not going to turn green either. The top of the tree is dying. In another week or four it will be dead -- and that black death will slowly envelop the rest of the tree if I allow it to stay in ground.

Don't worry -- it won't stay in the ground. It has an impending date with the Green Waste Can.

If the slowly blackening tip of the tree isn't enough proof of impending Bacon Avocado DEATH -- then this branch just below the tip should serve as the kicker. This is a month or two of the ahead of the top of the tree -- which means it's DEAD. Yup. And like a dead twig -- it snaps in two with relative ease.

So -- what went wrong? What is this BLACK DEATH infecting the wife's Bacon Avocado tree? As for the answer to the first question -- I don't know. I honestly cannot tell you what went wrong. I can tell you that the tree got the best soil. It received the best fertilzer. It never once sat in standing water. It received regular irrigation of fresh, clean Sacramento and American River water.

What then, is this Black Death? The answers arrived in the form of a helpful information page from UC Davis. Venus' poor Bacon Avocado tree is infected with not just one nasty disease but two! The names of both are just as nasty as the pictures -- Dothiorella Canker and Phytophthora Canker and Crown Rot.

Yeah -- the Bacon is cooked. It's a goner. It's not going to get any better.

I'm off to Green Acres nursery now to roam around in the dark for a Zutano. Wish me luck!