The
two piles of mulch left by the tree loppers are not disappearing as fast as I
would like.
They are like the loaves and fishes of the front yard, the more you
shovel out, the more there seems to be left. We’ve remulched the new garden bed out back
but it hasn’t even made a dent.
And the weather isn’t helping. Steamy hot days
do not make for happy shovelling.
However, having twin peaks blocking the view from the road is motivating. I want them cleared quickly for several reasons:
1. It’s a lot harder to shovel tree mulch with grass growing through it.
2. Our neighbours are watching and can gauge our work ethic or lack thereof.
3. If I don’t get rid of them before the next family gathering one of the males in my family is sure to plant crosses on them.
But, as usual, I’m getting ahead of myself.
You can’t mulch until you plant.
Well you can, I suppose, but I’m a control
freak, remember? I like to do things in the right order.
So planting it is.
Fortunately,
my recent spraying is giving me some weed- free breathing space in which to
plant out some of the existing garden beds.
Fearlessly,
I choose the biggest garden bed. The one smack bang in the middle of the front
lawn.
There are
some really nice established plants in this circular bed – philodendron Xanadu,
massive cordylines – all overgrown of course. There are also some vicious yuccas. I
know this because I have been attacked several times while fighting my way
through.
I decide some
of the yucky Yuccas have to go.
I am a dab
hand with a chain saw, thanks to my many years dealing with fallout on an
acreage. But, being a total coward (a coward who values her limbs), I always
give my little electric machine the respect it deserves. And the fact that it is a baby one makes Ian
feel a whole lot better about me using it…
…and very
anxious to have a go himself.
While I’m in
fighting mode, I decide to hack back the overgrown greenery.
Ian has to
restrain me here as I have been known to go a bit stir crazy with the trusty
saw and he pulls me up before the philodendrons are reduced to a collection of
sticks.
A couple of
trips to the dump and, finally, we are ready.
Ian helps me
plant a selection of palms - MacArthur, Majestic and Cascade - to establish a
backdrop. Then I fill in with heliconias (Red Xmas is one of my favourites) and
a couple of variegated gingers from my plant horde.
We lay some
mushroom compost to get some nitrogen into the soil (can you tell I’ve been
reading up?) and for extra colour I plant the croton cuttings I brought from
Mackay, with the hope that they do better in the ground than they are doing in
pots.
Because I am
now on a roll, and because a kind neighbour, Judy, has given me some bromeliads
that she swears the wallabies won’t eat, I decide to plant them around the
edges interspersed with rocks.
A little path through the middle of the garden is laid
courtesy of Philip, who stays with us for a few days and, being a workaholic
canefarmer, can’t survive with nothing to do.
I found him something.
Finally we attack the mulch pile.
Thick and luscious and smelling earthy. A bit like me at the moment. Shame neither of us is getting any thinner.
