It was a consolation, though, to find a marker on the very top dated 1935. Living as we were on “ground zero” for earthquakes, it was good to know that the hill had survived in one piece.

An odd thing started happening. Where the trees I planted died or just hung on, the squirrels planted new trees. These flourished.

I had bought a small mimosa. When I thought it had died, I put it in the compost pile. Somehow, it wound up in the dirt area adjacent to the front walkway, and grew and grew until it towered over the house.

The most amazing volunteer plant was from the invading root of a plum tree planted by my neighbor. The shoot was from the rootstock, not the grafted on fruiting stock. There were actually two shoots, and since they were pretty and green, and seemed able to care for themselves, I left them. As they grew, they intertwined into a knot, sending out branches in opposite directions.

My daughters were now women and had homes of their own. I tore up the lawn with great glee and replaced everything with a huge herb and flower garden. It rapidly took on a personality of its own and now runs the place.