Creepy Crawlies

I’m writing I’ve written a book about gardening. It’s more about what not to do. I have a chapter on Creepy Crawlies. Climbers are the bane of my life. This is the growth of ONE WEEK. The Akebia (Chocolate Vine) is tendrilling up the back steps so quickly that I must fight my way past to take out the washing basket. As soon as I turn my back, it’s winding up the veranda and draping all over the lovely Star Jasmine as a second layer. I’m not quite sure what to do. I nip it in the bud as fast as I can to stop it taking over but it seems to have a mind of its own, suckering profusely. Visitors admire the lush growth, reassuring me that they quite like the effect after I apologise for my lack of keeping it in check. I do have a soft spot for rambling scrambling plants – climbing roses, snail creeper, honeysuckle, cup-and-saucer vine, jasmine, and the delicate, civilised Clematis. Did I mention roses? Arbours and arches laden with scented sweet roses and roses clinging to old stone walls. It sounds so idyllic - until you need to prune them. Please kick me in the shins if I mention I’d like to plant any more, otherwise I shall be swamped in a tangle.

Then there are happy outcomes like this. The Cherokee Rose – Senica Alba - doing its thing robustly where it belongs. This hardy specimen is in the right spot to shine, draping happily over this timber fence. It’s thorny branches are out of the way and look spectacular with an abundance of large single flowers and glossy greenery.

Working for myself

I turned my back for 16 days and the garden has turned into Wild McGee from Hoolahoo. It was very dry when I left, and the spring annuals were on their last legs. I’ve come back to a jungle after 50 mm of much needed rain. The vines have gone berserk, climbing on top of each other, up trees and over the veranda. Dead poppy stems and lanky spent foxgloves need reefing out and a proliferation of weeds must be promptly extricated before they set seed. I need to roll up my sleeves and work for myself right here in my own backyard! The reward will be tucking in new little plants I collected from down south. I found more self-seeding and low spreading perennials to cover the bare ground so I don’t have to weed so much. That’s the theory. I bought a couple I really want to persevere with and nurture in a shady spot with diligent watering. Try try again. Dicentra and Astrantia. We shall see how they go. 

The crazy Akebia vine scrambling up and over the veranda

The reward will be to relax in this favourite spot surrounded by the scent of Star Jasmine

Welcome Home

 Sometimes it is more restful for my soul to simply stay home than go out to church. 

To sweep the floor and tidy the kitchen thoroughly helps me get back into my own skin and think straight.

I’ve just been away on a road trip for more than two weeks. 

Toodling around back roads en route to visiting family and friends, wandering open gardens and out-of-the-way nurseries that stock unusual treasures I discover to bring back.

That’s the advantage of driving. You’d be surprised how many plants I can manage to cram into the back (and front seat) of my little red Mazda. I go away more than my husband these days. When our children were little, he would often have to travel for work. His agricultural consulting business still means long days of driving. A drive in the country now is not his idea of a good time and his work is as busy as ever. So if I don’t go on my own – I wouldn’t go anywhere. Solo adventures can be fun. I’m used to it. I enjoyed the children’s company before, so it is strange venturing out on my ownsome with their recommendations for podcasts and music. Our eldest daughter is all the way down in Canberra with her husband and three children, so it was nice to visit and slot into their busy household during term time in contrast to being in holiday mode. To see their new home and the grandchildren living their daily lives.

It was a long drive home. My hubby and I missed each other, and I was keen to get back to my own garden after more than 50mm of much needed rain.

It is delicious to wake up in my own bed and look out the window at the beautiful jacaranda tree in full flower. Jacarandas are such a unique purple. It is a tricky colour to mix in a watercolour painting.

It’s been a two-cups-of-tea kind of morning. Slowing time to ponder and write. To be back in my own space where I seem to hear the Lord’s whispers more clearly and think more deeply.

I’ve wandered the garden in my pyjamas, savouring the scent of mock orange and the sweet surprise of my favourite little crabapple still flowering. Appreciating all the changes in only 16 days. The Dias and Cape Chestnut trees frothy with pink petals and the Oak Leaf Hydrangea covered in an abundance of creamy blooms which were barely budding when I left. 

It feels more spiritual to walk outside to worship and appreciate the peace of this place I get to call home. 

I never take safe travel for granted. I am humbly grateful to be back safely after driving almost 3000kms.

To reap the blessing of a sweet welcome home note on the blackboard after a daughter popped in to collect flowers from the garden for her own home. My heart is full. Thank – full.

 

  

The Secret Garden beckons me to explore

The lush view from my bedroom window

Pink bracts of Cape Chestnut

The lovely old rose Mrs Reynolds Hole droopy with raindrops

Sweet scented Mock Orange blossoms still blooming

The Dias tree is covered in pink pompoms

The Dias at the cubby steps

My favourite Ionises Plena Crabapple still flowering

Summertime...and the livin' ain't easy

The cicadas have been particularly strident this season. 

The noise exacerbates how hot & bothered I feel - the sound of summer at the peak of the heat. 

I am surprised again by my January emotions. The sky shines bright blue and yet, a black cloud hovers above my shoulders. 

Heavy. 

I want to run away from home.

The sight of happy summer holiday photos all over social media doesn’t help. All cool in the pools and the clear blue sea. Relaxing and having fun. It seems the whole world is on holidays except us. We’re slogging away - it’s my husband’s busiest time of year and for gardeners - we’re flat out keeping up with watering and weeding.

The weeds always get away from me. By February I want to throw in the trowel.

Moving to a suburban block with synthetic grass sounds appealing.

I remember now - it’s like this every year.

SAD - Seasonal Affective Disorder. 

It’s a thing for me in Summer - not Winter like the Northern Hemisphere. I wilt and wither - especially in the humidity. I am in awe of women on the land, tradies and farmers who have no choice but to don their hats and get out into the work day. The needs of animals, crops and clients just don’t wait for a cool change. 

Having to work in the heat sure takes some getting used to. I’m no early bird. I prefer to be out in the garden at the end of the day when the sun dips and work until it’s too dark to see anymore. I loathe the thought of stepping on a cane toad - or worse, something slithery.

The Secret Garden feels more like the rambly jungle described in the fairy tale of Sleeping Beauty. 

A tangle of overgrown plants crowding each other and jostling for space. 

Leggy and languising after busily flowering and fruiting.

I need to make tough decisions about what to cut back and cull but it’s hard to know what to sacrifice and where to start. It feels overwhelming,especially on a hot day. Once I begin, I get on a roll and don’t want to come inside. It’s the starting. The decision making. Non-decisioning is paralyzing. 

We wander around in aimless circles don’t we? Unproductive in our paralysis.

I guess the Secret Garden was overgrown when Mary first discovered it. She worked hard, taming the chaos and coaxing the beauty back. It is discouraging when you pull something into gear and then it gets away again. It’s a job to stay on top of it.

To maintain some semblance of order to cultivate beauty is a discipline.

At least it hasn't been a soggy summer yet here. A few scuds and showers but not heavy rain. It's actually quite dry but I'm not complaining.

The thought of flooding rain again is more than we could bear, especially for Brisbanites.

Perhaps that’s why it’s hard to cope - we’re not used to this heat and humidity up here in the mountains. You would get used to it over time, but the temperatures fluctuate so randomly, it takes us by surprise. 

The beach is calling me. That longing for the sea is getting stronger as summer stretches ahead for yet another month. I don’t necessarily want to be on holidays. I just want to be cool. Immersed in clear blue water.

And yet if we leave for too long, responsibilities are neglected and treasured plants I’ve tended to so carefully suffer.

Perhaps we can make a different plan this time next year.

Meanwhile - Autumn’s on its way.

hang in there

Tentative steps forward, feet shifting to adjust as the heavy wings test the wind. I watched the hang glider with bated breath. Was he going to take off and soar out over the vast expanse of the deep blue ocean below that cliff?

I expected a quick run and expert lift off as I stood back observing. Then realised it was a training session. The instructor stood right at the edge of the drop off, carefully monitoring every breath of wind, coaching, encouraging and cautioning the learner flyer. A few tense attempts. 

His feet actually did get airborne once or twice but scrambled back to earth after barely
leaving the ground. His upper body certainly looked capable but it took every ounce of strength to control those big wings. It looked awkward and clumsy but I knew once airborne, hang gliding seemed effortless.

The pair backed away from the edge and the coach helped unclip the harness and talked the student through the manoeuvres as they packed up the cumbersome contraption. 

Another time. 

It’s all progress. Experience. Learning.

The conditions were not ideal. The timing wasn’t right. He wasn’t ready yet.

Our creative journey is similar. We want to fly, but first we have to take those important foundational steps. To launch early can be costly, even dangerous to our dreams.

Too much too soon and we can crash land, our ideas shattered and hearts bruised.

We need to invest, work, build up our skills and establish a good foundation. We need a lot of practice. Simply showing up and going through the motions some days. 

Inspiration is as fleeting as a good breeze.

It comes in its own time.

Opportunities and open doors are like that. When the time is just right, we simply step into and through the other side. It is amazing to experience that flow and favour. 

True, heartfelt success feels miraculous. 

Exciting, yet peaceful.

Meanwhile, get ready. Prepare. Keep showing up. Keep practising. Keep stepping forward. And trust. Trust the process and trust your Coach.

You’ll soar at just the right moment and it will seem effortless.

rain rain go away

It’s not raining. It’s more like constant water just flowing from the sky. I’ve been holding my breath all week as I think about those who may be flooding AGAIN. I can’t bear to think about their distress as families and business owners watch and wait. More cancellations and activities postponed. It all feels surreal.

We are thankfully well and truly high and dry here. Both dams are pouring over - you could kayak from one to the other now along the overflow. A mini version of white water rafting. The garden is soggily sodden and my husband turned the fountain on just because it’s chockas. I am wondering how on earth I am going to tackle the garden when it eventually clears up.

The whole microclimate has changed as shrubs and trees have overgrown areas that have now become deep shade. It feels very secret-garden-ish actually. All mysterious and rambly shambly.

It is an opportunity to reconsider the landscape. That’s a positive outlook I guess as I have been considering overhauling a few areas. The winter will see some destructive reconstruction. Things often look worse before they look better. We need to make tough decisions to progress forward into improvement.

Since I can’t be outside in the pouring rain, I have been pottering inside but I can’t seem to get stuck into anything. My work is gardening, so I subconsciously feel like I’m on holidays when it’s wet! 

I miss the light. Perhaps that is why I haven’t used this wet week wisely to be creative indoors, or get stuck into housework.

I have been flitting from one task to the other. Studying a garden design course online, (very boring and one dimensional for this people person), knitting, reading two books at once, writing, hemming curtains and too many mini-series. 

The house feels messy with the damp but if I wait until it’s perfect, I would never get anything creative underway.

And so - in the midst of it all, I sat in my multi-task space and picked up my paintbrush.

The sketch I had started stalled. I wanted to do justice to capture my daughter’s wedding bouquet. Tricky when the flowers were cream and white! But as I started dabbling last night -  it happened.

I clicked into the flow of enjoying the process. Joy!

It’s been so long since I have done any art that I am out of sync. It’s good to just do it for the practice though. No expectations. Aim high and have a reason, but just relax and enJOY the experience.

I love it. It’s not to do anything with - I will try another for my daughter. I’m happy to simply practice and improve. 

What would you like to get stuck into? Do you find overcast weather affects your mojo?

coming of age

My son has just turned 21. We moved here the day he was due.

Tim was born right here, peacefully and safely at home. I guess that makes him a local.

He is well and truly all grown up now – a mature man with his own business.

He came home to play the other day. 

Tim has graduated from playing Tonka trucks in the paddock to operating the huge machines that make mountains into molehills.

He climbed into the yellow cabin of a 20 tonne excavator and made short work clearing a mess of privet, lantana and scrubby wattles in the beautiful part of our property where the tall gums grow.   We named this place after the towering Tallowood trees.

He knew what he was doing. It’s instinctive and he’s wanted to do that for years.

Life has come full circle.

In our first year here, I had a bee in my bonnet to tackle the bush and tame it. We had all that beautiful space and land. It just needed clearing.

We had five children under 10 and then baby Tim joined the crew.

There were so many things I’d dreamed of doing.

Building a swing in a big tree and clearing the way for a long flying fox was on that list.

Undaunted and naive, I ventured out into the bush with the children, wielding a big brush hook, wearing my baby boy in the mei tai sling.

Slashing and bashing through lantana with a vengeance, I had my eye on clearing to a beautiful big native fig tree. I could just imagine the swing!

After three days I was angry, frustrated and utterly, tearily exhausted. I could hardly summon the strength to cook tea.

My husband, who wasn’t involved because he was busy working elsewhere, kindly sat me down with these wise words.

“Stay inside the fence.”

It was such a relief that I didn’t have to feel responsible for 27 acres all at once.

We narrowed it down to two around the house and built a swing set instead. It’s hardly been used to be honest.

A few years ago, Tim and his youngest brother, Daniel were busy outside. I was busy inside and didn’t really take any notice of what they were up to.

They were busy for days. I was happy they were happy working together. 

“Mum, come and see what we’ve been doing.”  I put that off until I finally did follow them out.

Out into the wild bush around the Tallowoods.

Déjà vu.

The boys had cleared the whole area around the fig tree...and they had rigged up a big rope swing.