what a heat index of 110 looks like

In one particular backyard in Austin.

One flower bed of parched and brown-leafed zinnias.

One evaporated and moldy bird bath.

Three forgotten and forlorn koozies.

AKA huggies, if you are blonde and live in south Jersey.

One empty and discarded beer can.

Too hot to pick it up.

Don't judge.

It's that hot.

And south Austin's official sign of a heat index of 110?

One downed pink flamingo.

Flamingo's have been known to revive when provided a bucket of ice and Corona Light. Or, I'm pretty sure that's what international flamingo expert, Debbie, told us. But only when there's a zesty lime wedge balanced on the rim of a long neck, I think were her exact instructions. Or was that for the revival of a heat-zapped landowner? I can't remember.

I do know one full-proof method for beating the heat:

Add more heat.

when tree hugging goes too far

Budding trees are a sure sign of spring. There's a Redbud growing in the entrance to my neighborhood. I love it's shimmery, spring-has-sprung pinkness.

Trees in general are especially appreciated in my city. With so many Texas regions deprived of trees, we Austinites are glad we have as many as we do. Some of us moved here expressly for the trees. So it's understandable there are so many tree huggers in Austin who want to save the trees.

But all trees? Any trees?

I consider myself a tree hugger, yes. But not an uber-hugger. I have some sanity my limits.

And my limit is reached when people insist on saving nuisance trees. When they judge those of us who cut down nuisance trees. Trash trees, my husband Sam calls them.

I'm talking about the kind of soft wooded trees that rot easily -- Chinaberry (Melia azedarach L.) and Hackberry (Celtis occidentalis). Trees that harm nearby plant life -- Cedar trees ( Juniperus ashei) and Ligustrum (Ligustrum recurvifolium).

Here's an example of what I mean by uber. City employees come onto a residential property ready to trim or cut down trees interfering with power lines. Uber-tree-huggers raise ten kinds of hell. That's a tree! Don't cut down that tree! The city employees run for their lives cave and leave the trees alone.

Come a big windy rain storm? The preserved trees crash down onto the homeowners house and neighboring houses. They crash powerlines. Entire blocks are out of power.

The ubers then raise twenty kinds of hell. Tree trimmers can't get there fast enough. Restore my power!

City workers paid triple overtime to restore power and clean up fallen trees that should have been cut down in the first place. Homeowner claims are filed and insurance premiums go up. Now you and I are paying for treexuberance.

A drive by reveals most of these fallen trees are Chinaberries and Hackberries.

Could have been avoided with some homework. An understanding of the pros and cons of treedom.

Hackberries make excellent habitat for birds and insects, yes. But they are weak and craggy looking and will fall easily in a storm. Keep the Hackberry if it's on a remote part of your property. Cut it down if it is in danger of falling onto houses and power lines.

But here's the most important part: Replace the cut trees with better trees. Or look for saplings of stronger trees. Cut away nuisance trees to make room for strong hardwoods that grow into beautiful shade trees, fun climbing trees, and yes, excellent habitat for birds and insects.

By cutting down Hackberries and overgrowth of Ligustrum in our yard, for example, we have found fledgling Post Oaks that might not have otherwise made it, especially as there are no other Post Oaks in our yard.

Here's another example. Cedar trees grow wild here. Besides causing terrible seasonal allergies, aka, "cedar fever," they also suck up a lot of water. Cedar trees have dense, sticky foliage that catches and holds rainwater, preventing it from ever reaching the ground. Cedars haven't learned to share.

Some experts have estimated 70-80% is hogged by cedars. Hence, less water for the surrounding trees, shrubs, and ground cover. Cedar trees also emit a chemical noxious to many neighboring plants.

The net result is healthy cedar but parched surrounding area.

Bamburger Ranch in the Hill Country of Central Texas is a living example of the power of cutting down Cedar in favor of allowing natural grasses and friendlier varieties of trees to thrive. The result? Natural springs are flowing again after years and years of bone dry.

So be kind to trees but also be smart about trees. Learn what trees are worth saving and which ones are worth cutting in order to make room for a more diverse, lush landscape. And while you're at it, you're helping keep our homeowner's insurance affordable.

fall colors texas style

This beautiful flower is called the Mexican Bird of Paradise. It grows in a flower bed planted by my husband, SAM.

It's more than just a pretty plant, however. It's a political statement. An inside joke between us, between my native born husband and this yankee born wife. We don't see much in the way of fall foliage here in central Texas. The one disadvantage of living here, he'll concede. And not very often. Ok, maybe he has never actually said those words. In fact, I'm sure he's never issued such a statement disloyal to his native state.

But it is true there is little in the way of fall colors on the trees here. And on a larger scale, no true fall. Just one long, never-ending-summer followed by a quickie of a winter. This makes September the longest, slowest month, followed closely by October. The summer heat that refuses to bend to the will of a traditional autumn plus the green to faded-green to brown change of colors. It's more than a little depressing for this Jersey girl.

In fact, I feel a serious stab of envy everytime I open blogs which shamelessly display the fall colors of other regions -- Mama Milton's beautiful new header, for example. Man, its so beautiful, it hurts. Even Minnesota Matron with her picture of trees losing their leaves. I see those bright yellows and oranges hiding on the underside of the brown leaves. And I can feel that cool, crisp breeze that blew those leaves to the ground. A ground made of lush, green grass. These fill me with a longing for my East Coast roots. Every year I feel it. Every year I distract myself with, um, what? Food binges? Alcohol? Prickly pear cactus juice? Well, that's a post for later day.

Knowing that I yearn for the colors of fall (some color, any color) my husband has made it his solemn marital vow to bring me as much color as his green thumb can muster. He knows which side of the bed his libido is buttered on, afterall. But mostly he just loves to garden. And hold his hose. He spends hours holding his hose.

In honor of SAM's efforts, and his upcoming birthday, I've put together a display of a few splashes of color that are now in the landscape around our house. Photos are courtesy of our son. I appreciate his efforts, too.

Texas Red Sage or Red Chihuahuan sage.

Blue plumbago.

Not sure what these are called but I love the papery texture of the tiny petals.

This cluster of red flowers comes from a Father's Day gift to SAM. None of us can remember the name of the plant, though. A few days ago we gave one to a friend who lost a parent. We read the long, Latin name, repeated it, said it out loud, all in an attempt to etch it into our brains. We still can't remember what it's called. But SAM did learn that this is the plant that is used most often for the making of biofuel. Its a tropical plant that is, apparently, very oily.

Yellow Bulbine.

The spectacular Spider Lilly.

Pretty purple Mexican Heather.

Morning glory. One of my favorites. I get to take a little bit of credit for these. I water and fertilize them occasionally. I also built a slip shod trellis out of coat hanger wire and ligustrum branches. Not very pretty nekkid, but when covered in vine, I'm happy.

Deep pink Swamp Hibiscus or Swamp Mallows. A perennial hibiscus.

These are called Oxblood Lillies. Or Schoolhouse Lillies, as my mother-in-law calls them, because they only bloom during the early fall.

Lantana. A staple that surrounds our house. There's the pink and yellow variety called Confetti Lantana.

And the orange and yellow variety. They begin yellow and turn orange with age. Lantana grows wild in the fields behind our house. It requires little to no watering and maintenance.

Less hose holding, in other words. Which spells more hand holding with me. And I like hand holding even more than I like his gift of fall colors. A big thank you to SAM. A big happy birthday. And a big wish for happy gardening.

UPDATE: The red father's day gift flower is called, Compact Jatropha. My neighbor just phoned it in.

And in case any of you want to start your own biofuel farm: