Mid-month I aim to cover exotic, alien, commonorgarden plants blooming in our garden. Especially the roses. Yes, well. It has been a long hot summer, about 10 weeks with no rain. And each time I look, another plant has waved goodbye. Apparently the roses have thrips, tiny creatures who come from the hot dry Out There to lovely luscious, fed and watered, yummy roses. Today I fed the roses and watered them to encourage the autumn flush, which should be their best time of year. There are buds, both flowers, and leaves coming up from the base. We’ll see. If this autumn weather holds kind, and does not hammer us with an unseasonal heat wave, as it did last year. Then, we lost many of our optimistic newly planted olive trees.
March lilies are Proudly South African.
When the Ungardener is Ungardening on the roof – you know, leaves out of the gutters, resealing the chimney. So you walk down the driveway past the olives, and our greener neighbours, around the curved wall of the rose garden, which I call Paradise. Perhaps I should call it the And Roses garden.
|Paradise, the rose garden|
|The rose garden, Plum Creek, Ungardening Pond|
and greener neighbours on this side
From the And Roses garden you cross the bridge at Plum Creek and walk around Ungardening Pond which has been half filled again. Behind the waterfall, along the Woodland Walk. Pause at Rest and Be Thankful.
|Ungardening Pond, with Black Stork Island and Rest and Be Thankful|
|Pond, ash tree, and unhappy borders|
Between the ash trees, looking at planters with some sad Clivia. Cymbidium pots in the shade. Glance at the Folie de MIIX, where my spring bulbs wait, with Eucomis and Merwillea, some bright pink Oxalis, and spotted leaf Drimiopsis. Agapanthus in large terracotta pots. Ignore the pink border and the blue and purple border. We do have Plumbago and Tulbaghia there. The path beaten while repairing the pond, is also a project for new ideas.
|Ash tree, another view of the unsuccessful bits|
In the shade of the ash tree is our Karoo Koppie. Then Apple Creek, some green relief on this side. Elephant’s Eye Light Railway. Also hidden in the shade is the Mediterranean Sun Circle – which catches the sun in winter, when it is more welcome.
|In the shade, the Karoo Koppie|
This neighbour has an invasive NZ manitoka
and a row of really nasty invasive beefwood trees
Around to the washing lines, compost bins, the fig trees, the Swiss stacked wood for winter.
|We have fig trees|
they have Agent Orange.
If it is green they nuke it, again and again
Just leaving a lemon tree and some grape vines.
Ending back where we started at the (invasive) giant or Spanish reeds. Those for which the French town of Cannes was once named. From this bird’s eye view, we see not how high they grow, but what a wide area they cover.
|Invasive giant or Spanish reeds|
where our weavers build their nests
Come the April walk, I hope and wish for roses, worth picking. When I look at the New Zealand bush, it is hard to believe I once picked a dozen of its blooms for my mother’s birthday!?
Watching the earthquake and the tsunami in Japan, looking at the Pacific Ring of Fire, the here and now of my garden seems irrelevant. Thinking of islands, where, if you can see the tsunami coming, it is too late to run. The wall of water approaches with the speed of a Boeing.
Pictures by Jurg,
words by Diana of Elephant's Eye
(If you mouse over brown text, it turns shriek pink.
Those are my links)