I could hardly believe it when, a few months ago, Vernon and I both tested positive for Covid, essentially three years after the pandemic struck. We had been careful. We had been vaccinated and boosted. Sure, wearing masks was no fun, but we had worn them. And now, we were sequestered in the house, not so we wouldn’t get Covid, but so we wouldn’t give it to anyone else. If it had to happen, though, it was good that it happened to both of us at the same time. I didn’t think that isolating from each other would work at all. So, we were home alone for over a week. Our son brought us groceries (just as he had earlier for nearly two years) and our prescriptions of Paxlovid.
There was a wonderful break in our routine, however, a single outing. Our daughter called to tell us the poppies were out around Lake Matthews . . . so we took a drive. When you’ve been no further than the yard—for even a few days–the freedom of a drive is exhilarating. It was a bright, sunny day and, because of recent rains, the hills were still green. The lake was deep blue, lower than I expected because of all the rain we’ve had. The poppies weren’t exceptionally widespread, but there were lovely little pockets here and there, and a few areas that were beautiful (the “true California Gold” people often say in the spring) because the poppies were widespread, stretching up and over the low hills around the lake. However, I also discovered that fiddleneck was present and definitely not limited to pockets. This plant was one of the banes of my Central California childhood, along with puncturevine and sandburs.
The first two or three years of school, I walked from home to school and back unless it was raining, when my mother delivered me and usually picked me up. When I walked, I had the choice of two routes. The longer one was on paved streets and on the side of the highway. There was never anything new to see, just houses all the way. If I chose to walk the shorter way home, I walked across the school’s playing field with the baseball backstop, and where we played dare base, dodgeball, capture the flag, and the perennial favorite, circle dare base. Then I had to cross the canal. It was not a large canal and there was hardly ever any water in it. The bridge across it, however, was a concrete beam that was probably about eight inches wide. I know this is nothing to those of you who have done flips on a four-inch balance beam, but keep in mind that I have always been, I guess I’ll say, balance challenged.
After crossing the canal successfully, I passed through a large field, sometimes planted to alfalfa, but usually left to weeds and wildflowers. Many foxtails were present, of course, but also vetch, popcorn flower, filaree, portulaca, and even Jimson weed. But at some point during Spring, the field was often completely taken over by fiddleneck. If I walked through the fiddleneck, my bare legs would quickly be covered with a rash, and itchy welts. I couldn’t help scratching, but that made it even worse; I don’t remember how long the rash lasted. Many people think fiddleneck is a pretty wildflower—the bright yellow flowers are cheery and not everyone is allergic to them. But I noticed last week that fiddleneck covered far more areas than the poppies—it was everywhere I still hate fiddleneck! I’ll stick to the fields and hills that are covered with California Gold.
Note: My picture of fiddleneck did not show the hairs that cause the rash. The picture here is taken from “Fiddleneck – What Good Is It?” published in The Granada Native Garden Newsletter (February 7, 2016).
