Up From the Ashes : A journal of destruction and rebirth of a garden.
The Hortense Miller Garden, a 2.5-acre hillside paradise in Laguna Beach, was spared in last week’s blaze, to the relief of its founder, 85-year-old Hortense Miller. But that was not the case in 1979, when the garden was engulfed in flames. Miller, who has lovingly tended the garden since 1959, has written an account of the earlier fire and the garden’s subsequent rebirth. Here are excerpts from her writings: NATURE’S DESTRUCTION
* Dec. 11, 1979
“After dark, a roistering wind from the north came down Boat Canyon. Gravel bounded over the roof, a limb twisted and fell from a lemon gum. Fire flickered at the head of the canyon, energetic and well-fed. . . . Soon it stretched out luxuriously and showed in the reflection of the north windows as a long line of leaping orange light, erupting in a great swirl of flame wherever it put an arm around yet another stand of sagebrush scrub.
“Such exuberance, such flinging itself about joyously, the fire seemed to be fairly swooning with pleasure. After years of growing sagebrush scrub by earth and water, now air and fire were having a turn at it--the Elemental Foursome joining in a dance. Fire ran along the top of Boat Canyon and ate slowly downward. Behind the flames the burned scrub looked like a city at night from an airplane, but hotter, more alive.
“Suddenly, in one windborne flight, it was here--the lemonade berry 50 feet north of the house instantly rose up in one great wall of orange light, billions of golden sparks whirling high in it. The stars themselves looked down, not competing, but small, quiet, and unconcerned.
“Fire had taken the sagebrush scrub as it had before, time out of mind, before people appeared--and it was apparently not interested in our works. True, it breathed hot breath at the house in passing, bubbled some paint, cracked some glass, but it left the little gazebo down below untouched as it did the 4-by-4 post where tools hang.
“Until 2:30 a.m. the fire ran in little runnels searching out the bits and pieces of the scrub it wanted. . . . Never before were we half so clean: we are bare earth and stones with the bones of lemonade berry branches, and limited in color to black, grays and beige. Where has everything gone? The baroque and impenetrable sage, monkey flower, buckwheat and sagebrush, and all their attendants have disappeared. A hundred ravens come, black birds, their black shadows moving over the ashy earth. A few turkey vultures soar and settle. Days later, hawks and coyotes move in for the easy pickup up of creatures still alive but without food or shelter.
AND REBIRTH
* Dec. 13, 1979
“The first green shoots appeared.”
* Dec. 30, 1979
“Forty-five different sorts of plants begin to be green. We are on our way.”
* April, 1980
“Two months after Boat Canyon was filled with fire, it is filled with the rush and rustle of Boat Canyon Creek and its five tributaries coming down from the hills at the head of the canyon. . . . Water from the first rains was dark gray with cinder and ash from the denuded land; later it became tan with the earth it carried, but there were no mudslides, no disasters. Ground covered with grass before the fire is covered with fresh green again. Grass can hardly wait. . . . Blacks, grays, and this fresh, unused bright, bright green again-- a song sparrow calls. There is the rustle of the creeklets mingling. The air is soft and fresh after rain. Every leaf is newborn. There are no old, dry, decaying or dead leaves. The fire saw to that. . . . ‘In faeryland, even the old are young.’ ”
* May, 1980
“We may never again have so wonderful a display of wildflowers. We have calochortus, blue-eyed grass, phacelia, beach evening primrose, whispering bells, brodeae, annual monkey flower, ground phlox, amole, lupines of several species. . . . Since we have been trying for 21 years to have wildflowers and not succeeding . . . this is a great victory . . . thanks to the fire.”
* July, 1980
“Seeds not seeded by us or by anyone else, seeds that have been waiting for many years for fire . . . these plants have never been found here before: martynia, laurel sumac . . . milk thistle, little bush daisies . . .
“The coastal sagebrush shrubs, buckwheat, black sage and California artemesia have grown by the end of June from seed to two or three feet and will soon cover the land as before.”
* May, 1981
“Nature has had fires in Boat Canyon before for millions of years, so we suppose she knows how to revive the plants again, and since it is too much for us, we leave it to her. The revival of the garden has been fascinating to watch. . . . It seems to desire the fire.”
* July, 1985
Now that it is five years since the fire, we note that the fire gave us gifts of new plants now old enough to bloom. They are all out in the wild areas of the garden, mostly to the north of the cultivated garden. They are out where we do not interfere--we, who know so much. If we wonder how nature will ever get along without us when we are gone, it’s interesting to look at the newcomers.”
Source: The Garden Writings of Hortense Miller , Published in 1989 by the Friends of the Hortense Miller Garden; researched by JANICE L. JONES / Los Angeles Times
And observations on the recent fire:
“The fire surrounded us on both sides, and the canyon is completely denuded. I had forgotten how big and steep it was. No wonder I never went gamboling over these hills. In the spring, we will have a carpet of purple and gold wildflowers. Someday, the canyon will be completely covered by houses. But I hope I die before that happens. Its beauty just can’t be improved upon.”
--Hortense Miller, whose native plant garden was featured in Stanley Schuler’s “America’s Great Private Gardens,” a pictorial display of the 36 best botanical collections in the United States.
