There’s a beautiful sunset this evening and the air is cooling after a hot nor’west day.
It was too hot for gardening, so I found a shady spot to read this very enjoyable book.
I’m half-way through and I don’t want it to end – but I can’t put it down!
Here is the first Precious Platinum of the season, picked for Mum. It’s her favourite, with a divine scent. The rose was transplanted from her garden.
There’s hardly any need to pick flowers to bring inside; they are visible from nearly every window. From my computer this evening I have this view:
The Cecile Brunner has always been lovely at this time of year, but not quite as good as it was, filling the whole window, when I took the photo below (left) in the 1990s. The photo on the right was taken today.
I look through the window in the morning and plan what I will do in the garden that day, or maybe later that week.
Today I planted two tomato plants and some lettuces. Next, the lawn needs mowing and there are some geranium cuttings to pot up. The roses in containers could have some liquid fertiliser and the citrus trees are due for more food. Now that it’s summer weather, it’s time to put saucers back under the pots and containers. That’s tomorrow’s jobs sorted.
That Felix is largely nocturnal explains his very early morning interruptions of my sleep, I’ve decided. Generally he is shut out of the bedrooms for this reason. Sometimes he just wants to party and sometimes he brings in a rat.
Awoken this morning by the sound of angry blackbirds, I looked out the window to see him under attack, cringing and dodging as two blackbirds flew at him squawking angrily. I knew they had a nest in a nearby tree. I called him inside, thinking the birds had done a good job of defending their chicks.
Later, I found two little fledglings under the tree, dead; a cause of distress all day, for me and the blackbirds. “This is why I didn’t want a cat,” I grumbled to Mum. I manoeuvered the two little bodies onto a dustpan, disturbed by little movements they made and the presence of ants, and put them on the outdoor table so the watching, keening parent blackbirds could see they were beyond help – if they needed reminding. Then I buried the tiny bodies under the tree.
All day I thought of the months the blackbirds had spent setting up their territory, courting, building a nest, sitting on the eggs, feeding the chicks. I put pieces of fruit on the bird feeder to help them along and I enjoy their company in the garden – even when they scatter leaves over the drive. They are good at clearing out the guttering. This afternoon one was having a bath in the bird bath, along with some sparrows. And one sat in the kōwhai tree, looking accusingly through the window, I imagined.
Cats are obligatory carnivores according to the vet. And the instinct to hunt is strong. Perhaps that makes life simpler for them. Humans make life complicated and, probably, we are the only animals who can ‘change our stripes’ by reinventing ourselves. Stereotyping might work for cats, but humans – not so much. For example, I was surprised how gossipy boys are when I began working at a co-ed high school. Recently I was amused to be startled out of my prejudices on seeing some tough tattooed men glide into the shopping centre car park in an electric vehicle then walk up to the salad bar to order their lunch. But I can’t see Felix changing his ways. He is what he is and I just have to live with it. There’s a lot to like, of course, but the raw instincts can get you down.
Looking forward to something can be better than the event itself. However, I’m looking at my roses which are beginning to flower and producing heaps more buds. It’s amazing how fast they have grown after being pruned back in July. I’m pleased to find that they weren’t blown to smithereens by last night’s wild wind.
The globe artichokes have lots of buds this year; usually there are only two or three. While the blackcurrant flowers were barely noticeable, the developing fruit is more obvious and looks promising. The lime tree, which I feared was dying, is now producing new leaves. My neighbour says it may be wise to remove the flowers to give it a better chance of survival.
Clematis montana is in full flower, and hierloom green rose ‘Viridiflora’ to the left is covered in buds. The garden will be enjoying the rain which we had been hoping for. The temperature has dropped and snow is falling further south. Felix commandeered Mum’s chair beside the fire last night and again this morning.
A new Westerland rose, kindly given to me to replace the one which died, seems to be happy socialising with other roses, and has several buds. I am planning where to plant it, which requires removing the stump of its predecessor which I had hoped might regenerate, but no such luck. Now there is the new rose to look forward to.
It was midday when I walked out of Groovy Glasses where I’d had a thorough eye examination and had ordered new lenses and frames. I was thinking of lunch. Directly opposite was the Belgian Waffle Haus.
The berry waffle, with added cookies and cream icecream, was huge. I prepared to take it slowly while enjoying the view out onto New Regent Street and the trams trundling past.
I considered the coincidence that my favourite glasses designer, Theo (pronounced tay-oh), is Belgian. My prescription sunglasses and everyday glasses are Theo, and the new ones are Theo.
Then I noticed the visual display on the wall opposite. Tintin featured, and surrealist art which apparently had its start in Belgium.
I made a valiant effort, but didn’t finish the waffle. I tried to work it off a bit by climbing the stairs to the fiction section on the fourth level at Tūranga but, by the second level, digestion and climbing seemed to be in conflict and I took the lift.
I managed the thirty minute walk home, however, and looked about for other Belgian connections. There is my Tintin collection. And Hercule Poirot. That he is Belgian was a deliberate choice by Agatha Christie. His off-sider, the bumbling and rather dim Hastings, is an Englishman. This was a deliberate reversal by the subversive Christie. Hercule Poirot is not your normal hero, not a Hercules at all, but rather pear-shaped (une poir), and interested in the psychological motives of his suspects. He is sniffy about being mistaken for a frenchman.
While it’s hard to put aside the gruesome colonial history of the Belgian Congo – particularly when colonial attitudes are evident in Tintin books – Belgium may have redeemed itself as headquarters of the European Union and participation in the International Criminal Court. Its national dish is Moules Frites (yum) and it’s well-known for waffles (hmm…) and chocolate. Other Belgian innovations include Art Nouveau, the Smurfs, the longest tram line in the world, and the saxophone. For me, Theo comes out on top.
Or chocolate …
These roses had already been battered in the wind on Monday and Tuesday, so I brought them inside to save them from predicted high wind on Thursday. The little buds had been snapped right off and were lying forlornly on the path.
As it happened (or didn’t happen) the wind was almost a non-event. According to an article in this morning’s Press, a website which visualises weather data ‘showed a wall of high winds approaching the city in the morning, before splitting into two parts on either side of Christchurch by early afternoon’. There was much stronger wind on Tuesday when a large branch of my lilac broke and fell into the neighbour’s driveway.
I listened to the radio for most of the day, hearing horrific reports of wind damage across the country. Apparently, higher than usual temperatures in Antarctica are causing this weather pattern to develop. Climate change in action.
A woman looked over my gate this week and asked, ‘How do you get your flowers to grow?’ I looked with some despair at the cloudy masses of forget-me-nots and couldn’t think of an answer. ‘They just do,’ I said lamely, in the end. Which is true. I didn’t plant the forget-me-nots. They just come up every spring. So do a lot of other things which I inherited when I moved in nearly 40 years ago. ‘What about those,’ she asked, pointing at some aquilegias. I planted aquilegia seeds – probably decades ago – and they continue to come up every year. Often in less than convenient places. Fox gloves come up randomly, as does Solomon’s Seal, feverfew, borage, parsley, lemon balm, wind flowers, marigolds, geums … She told me that she’d tried to grow some daffodils in a pot but they got knocked over by the wind. Gardening’s like that, I reassured her, a roller coaster of success and failure.
While I have planted roses, herbs, fruit trees, vegetables, pansies, sweet peas, geraniums, raspberries, blackcurrants, and so on, many plants are self-sown or grown from cuttings I’ve been given. Others have spread of their own accord. Or contrarily given up the ghost.
Many large trees in the garden are self-sown and are usually indigenous such as several kōwhai, ake ake, pseudopanax, pittosporum and cabbage trees – or were planted by previous owners, such as the beech, karo, a very old hebe and a myrtle. The ake ake has an interesting trunk.
Although not a great fan of succulents, several years ago I bought some cute little ones at a market. Now they are in various parts of the garden, completely hidden by cottage garden plants at the moment except for some in pots. I’m encouraging some self-seeded elder plants to grow so I can make elderflower cordial.
Dips in the gardening roller coaster include plants which do not thrive or suddenly sicken. This has happened recently to a bay tree in a pot which was thriving until a few weeks ago when its leaves began to turn brown. It was badly affected by scale. I trimmed it back and administered what first aid I could. Now it’s just a matter of wait and see. A lime tree in a pot lost all its leaves, but there are new ones appearing, so I’m hoping it will recover. My lemon tree gets sooty mould from time to time, and once a more serious disease from which it has recovered. I had to remove all the affected fruit in the serious case, and pruned the tree in both cases to let air flow through. I’m still mourning a beautiful rose, a Westerland, which died last year.
A bit of a softie about what gets to grow, I often can’t bear to pull things out (except convolvulus). Children passing by might enjoy the dandelion clocks on the front berm. This week a gardener on tv was advocating for weeds in the garden. While not exactly a weed (whatever a ‘weed’ is) my artichoke is a bit of a thug in the garden, overshadowing the vegetables and rhubarb, but it is pleasing to look at. Today I noticed the first globes appearing.
I spend a lot of time just looking at the garden. Once the forget-me-nots have finished, other plants will re-emerge to take their place.
The much missed Westerland rose.
This morning Felix was king of the castle on the roof next door.
I can only imagine what adventures he has. Sometimes he’s away for hours. Last week he came home looking sorry for himself with a chewed neck ruff and bits of fur falling out.
What I do see or hear is Felix doing ‘zoomies’ around the house, ‘helping’ with bed making, running about on the roof (as if he’s wearing hob-nail boots), bringing in a rat or a mouse or a bird, disappearing over the back fence, climbing effortlessly up a tree, coming into the house and stomping across the wooden floor as if he would tell me what he’s been up to if he could, and following me down the street.
Here he is at midday, looking deceptively relaxed.
Rough winds do shake the darling buds of…October.
This morning it was on with summer clothes and sandals and my friend and I paddled in the high tide at the beach. By the afternoon I was staying inside out of the hot, dry, enervating nor’west wind. It is weird to remember that last weekend we were hunkered down by the fire while steady rain and cold temperatures continued for two and a half days.
Yesterday was hot, but with only a slight breeze, and I took the opportunity to power-wash the house. It dried quickly in the heat, as did I. It was lovely to have all the doors open as the house dried, and to wander in and out freely in the warm air.
This evening, the wind died down and I ventured into the garden. Lots of cabbage tree leaves are down as is usual after strong wind. I am pleased I tied the Cecile Brunner rose to its archway yesterday as it was getting blown down one way in the southerly and the other way in the nor’west. The growth is phenomenal; it was just bare sticks after I pruned it in July. The apple tree and the kōwhai trees are flowering vigorously. The kōwhai flowers glow in the evening light.
My ‘new’ macrocarpa fence and gates were installed in June 2017 and feature at the top of my blog. Today, the fence is barely visible and the timber has silvered with time. The clematis at the gate is beginning to flower.
Aiming to work off a lunch out, return my books and get some exercise, I parked on the edge of the Botanic Gardens and walked through to the library. I took paths at random and deviations often when my eye was caught by something such as this spreading dogwood tree with its wide flat petals, and a sea of stock and tulips.
I came upon a rock garden with flowering plants growing in cracks in the rocks. Perhaps it was the bright azalea which drew my eye – its colour hardly seemed real. The textures of the rocks are as beautiful as the plants themselves. Turning away from there, I discovered a pond with waterfalls.
I suppose the changing season could account for the feeling that everything was new, even though I’ve been in the Gardens hundreds of times before. This grove – or forest – of acer (I think) was layer on layer of fresh spring green.
In the Arts Centre a figure seems to be struggling with an umbrella or perhaps a kite – or has she fired a gun and been blown backwards by the recoil? By the river, the chestnut trees are flowering.
On the return journey, I passed a bluebell wood. In the water garden an abutilon drew my attention. It has the same leaves and rambling structure of my chinese lantern abutilon at home, but the flowers are different.
I used google lens frequently to identify plants and admired how many are left to grow over borders – as I do at home. Perhaps, in both cases, it’s a lack of staff!
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