GROUND CONTROL TO MAJOR TOM

You can’t make an omelette without cracking eggs. Likewise you can’t create a tropical garden without some casualties.

I’m talking trees and weeds.

Firstly trees. They can pose big problems.

Sure, there’s nothing like the sound of a majestic gum rustling its leaves in the spring breeze. It’s almost spiritual...

Not so enlightening, however, when the core has been devoured by a colony of chomping termites and the trunk is leaning over the house at a perilous angle. 

Or when a tree decides to spontaneously separate and, while one half stands firm in the garden, the other half falls over the driveway and blocks all incoming traffic through the cul-de-sac.

 

Then there’s only one thing to do. 

We call the tree loppers. Bryan and his team at ‘Too Easy Trees’ being our loppers of choice.

I take my hat off to these guys. Swaying precariously 10 meters above the ground on a branch designed to carry a few dozen leaves is a crazy gig in my book.

 

And when a tree looks like this on the inside who knows which way it might decide to fall.

 

But Bryan and the team do a mighty job and, after taking out some potential roof hazards not to mention a couple of potential people hazards, we are left with a safer haven.

 

 

Plus we score two lovely big piles of tree mulch.  Something Ian is looking forward to shovelling at a later date.

Now all we are left with are the weeds!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

To my dismay, I have been assigned the unenviable job of weed killing.  I don’t recall putting my hand up for this, but Ian insists I agreed when we were at the jewellers choosing an engagement ring.  I was in a La la land so I think he must have swayed me by dangling a carat.

I really hate using chemicals in the garden but when even the dog refuses to venture beyond the patio wall, it’s time for desperate measures.

So I kit up.

 

Looking like a cross between Darth Vader and Louis the fly, I get to work.

It takes about two hours of actual spraying, plus another six hours of praying it won’t rain, but finally it’s done.

Never thought I’d say this about my garden but I hope things start dying real soon. I'll keep you posted.

.

ONE MORE FOR THE ROAD...

 

I am becoming a plantaholic.

 

Loosely defined:

·        I can no longer drive past a plant nursery, garage sale or store where lowest prices are just the beginning, without nipping in to purchase a potted gem.

·        At weekend markets, I ignore the fruit, veg, crocheted toilet roll covers, other peoples junk and bric-a-brac and make a beeline for the palms and shrubs.

      
Plus  (and I cringe as I write this)

      ·        …I have been known to knock on complete strangers doors to ask about a particular plant in their garden. One lady even gave me a cutting (I think she was relieved I wasn’t selling anything or asking for a donation for the church roof.)

It’s a ferocious addiction.

 

 

 

The other day I went a bit stir crazy at a palm and bromeliad sale.

 

Ian seemed a little nervous as he helped me unload the car of greenery.

‘More plants?’ he asked.

 

I explained to him that tropical gardens don’t grow on trees and that we need all these plants for the new garden bed.

‘What new garden bed?’

‘The one we’re digging out the back.’

It’s true. You cannot have a tropical garden without exotic garden beds.  They hide fences and create illusions. I know this; I’ve been doing the research. And out the back is one ugly fence.

So some of the lawn has to go.

 

The next morning we get to work.

The ground is hard and dry, so we soak it well, edge it with rocks and layer a few inches of the newspaper that I have been saving for this very purpose. Then some commercial poultry pellets, a couple of bales of lucerne and we top it all off with a thick layer of cane mulch.

 

 

I should wait for it all to break down before planting out, but I am not good at waiting. Make hay while the sun shines, I say, and it’s certainly been beaming down lately.

 

The finished result is not quite as lush as I was hoping, but give it time and maybe a few more plants…?

 

 



FENCE ME IN BABY!

There is still no formal plan. Ian doesn’t believe me when I tell him that wandering around the garden deep in thought is my way of being productive. He should know that I can’t read a map let alone draft one, but all that thinking does result in an epiphany of sorts.

The garden bed on the left hand side of the driveway is a complete eyesore. Not only does it have weeds almost as tall as me, it is the first area on view when you drive into the garden.

 

We decide it has to go. (that is 90% me, 10% Ian)

Now I’ve always wanted a ranch style fence it (blame an addiction to Dallas years ago), so, after only a little negotiation, we agree to clear the weeds, erect my longed for fence and replace the garden bed with grass.

We hire a bobcat to clear the site (cheating I know but I was afraid of what we might find in there…)

 

 

Then we put up the fence.

  

 
A couple of coats of white paint courtesy of Ian’s brother (he’s a professional painter and loves painting in his spare time) and I can almost imagine myself lounging at Southfork.
The finishing touch is to buy some turf from our local supplier – not the expensive stuff, we figure we’ll nurture it like crazy and hope for the best. And we lay it ourselves – a true test for any relationship.

I’m pleased to say we’re still together. Hard work? Absolutely, but the front garden finally looks semi respectable. And, more importantly, it’s given us our starting point.  Now we have the motivation to plough on. More than worth the sore back, cracked heels and ruined manicure.