Rock Pile update!

Bromeliad in my garden

One week later. Countless mossie and madness making midgie bites. Forearms that look like I just adopted half a dozen kittens, thanks to bromeliads and their spikey-edged leaves, I am on the home stretch with these rock garden borders that surround our old swimming hole.

I have been forced to take a break today once again because this old bod of mine is demanding a day of rest. I have about another 12-14 feet of border to complete. I had left this section with the hardest packed soil for last and in retrospect, maybe I should have conquered that bit first when I was still fresh. The rocks in this last section are buried under hard packed clay-like soil and are clinging to their long-buried positions like a dog with a bone. They are mingled with old roots and I am uncovering ant's nests and native gecko hidey holes with every other stab of my spade and I am praying I don't come across any spiders or snakes that have possibly taken up residence as well. This section is also mostly under cover of a tree that produces an extremely toxic milky sap that can cause serious injury if it drips on your bare skin or gets in your eyes. It is called a pencil cactus or stick tree - a euphorbia that adds a gorgeous focal point in the corner but whatever you do, don't snap off any of the sticks as they will punish you with their sap. A couple months ago my Mick was pruning a few branches and got some on his hands and even though he washed his hands, the sticky residue remained and he touched his eye and we ended up in the emergency room at the hospital for an evening getting his eye treated for what amounted to a chemical burn.  So, you can see why I left this section until last.

The excavation continues

I have to do most of the work hunched over to avoid this miserable tree coming into contact with my body. The ants are furious with me. The soil is unrelenting and I am really beginning to wonder if I took on more than I could handle. On the up side, the result of all this toil is such a dramatic transformation that it is driving me to carry on.

Gardening in the semi-tropics is no walk in the park. I absolutely pine for my moist earth and cloudy skies of my Vancouver garden. I have given up trying to recreate my past floral choices. It may be possible in the southern states here, but it is like working against the grain to do it in Queensland. My neighbour stubbornly grows plants that have no business in a tropical garden, but she is in her garden 7 days a week nurturing and tending to her delicate specimens to keep them alive. I don't have her stamina or weathered alligator skin. I needed something that didn't need my constant attention. Hence, my venture in the world of Bromeliads. I have been researching these plants that are new to me. I can see that they could become an obsession, kind of like orchids. There are so many varieties - it's mind-boggling. For now I am making do with cast-off pups from friends and neighbours plants and taking what I can get for free. This way, I reckon if they don't thrive, as least I have not invested too much moola.

Bromeliads in their new homes

I am surprised they make such a stunning statement. Getting them into the ground is like wrestling kittens as I mentioned earlier. My poor arms and hands are a fright! We upset a gorgeous green frog who was nestled in the cool pool of water inside the inner cup of one of the broms we dug up next door. I am hoping he finds his way to my garden to resume his position inside the plant that now lives in my rock garden. 

It is truly a learning curve for me here. Who would have imagined I would be surrounded by palm trees, agaves, crotons and bromeliads? I am still a novice and learning the names of all these new plants and trees and figuring out their needs. My neighbour is a great source of information. I was agog last week when I visited her garden and saw a spectacular display of about two dozen assorted amaryllis in gorgeous shades of pink and red and coral and peach. It still amazes me that these are grown outside as perennials here. When they die off, they are replaced with masses of Cosmos and Shasta daisies in that particular bed, so she has a constant riot of colour all year round.

Just the other day, I noticed an orchid reaching up out of a clump of ginger that grows out near my patio. I had tossed my old spent store bought pots of orchids into the clump where they were pretty much ignored for a year or so other than the odd bit of water that may have reached them and now there are two blooming again. I lifted them up and out of their less than deserving locations and promoted them to more prominent positions where they will bring me a second round of joy for the next few weeks. In Canada I never had a spot to keep my dormant orchids and would toss them.  I love that I can just tuck them into the garden and forget about them here until they are ready to perform once again.

Ginger clump to the left of the chair where I toss my orchids and the new growth beauty that graces my outdoor coffee table now

Ready for her close-up!

Rock On

Between the Orchid Show two weeks ago and the local garden tour this past weekend, I finally got the inspiration I needed to start tackling the neglected gardens here at our house. I got further inspired this past week as I read The Subtle Art of Not Giving a F...k by Mark Manson - particularly his bit about doing the hard yards. He talks a lot about how we all want our dreams and fantasies to manifest, but how many of us are actually willing to do what it takes to actualize these dreams?

He uses the example of how when he was a kid he wanted to be a rock star. (who doesn't?) He wanted it for years, but he came to realize that the truth was, he was not interested in the years and years of practice and rejection and hardship that paved the road to that moment on stage in front of his adoring audience. He wanted the destination - not the journey. We all do this. We want the goal but aren't too interested in the skill development required to score.

Hence, my present project. I wanted my garden to look great, but the task seemed so daunting, I kept avoiding it until Monday. When I got home on Sunday afternoon after touring some local residential gardens, I knew that the only way my garden was going to get restored to it's former glory was to roll up my sleeves and "git er done". Having hung up the paint brushes and rollers after completing the inside of this "fixer upper" we call home, it was time to start the whole process over again outside. Now, when it comes to gardening, I didn't "just fall off the turnip truck" as Dr. Phil used to say. In my past life in Canada, I had tackled two pretty major garden renovations already. My first foray was in North Vancouver and that is where I got myself educated. I immersed myself in everything botanical and lived and breathed the creation of my west coast patch of paradise. I went so far as to learn most of the Latin names of all my plantings. I memorized what plant needed which nutrients and which soils were required for my roses to thrive. I became a bit obsessed. When my daughter was born, I would take her baby monitor outside while she napped to care for what had then been demoted to my second baby.

Just when I felt I had perfected my Deep Cove plot, up went the "for sale" sign and I left my creation behind to head east and start all over again - this time in Toronto. I fell for what the real estate brochure described as "a charming character home with lovely English Gardens". Believe me when I say it was a stretch. The home had character alright and the sellers were English, but I think the adjective "charming" and the word "gardens" were exaggerations. It was indeed a fixer upper and I was able to see the potential. I am not sure if this ability of mine is a blessing or a curse. I keep saying I will never buy another old house but here I am again in yet my third "has potential" dwelling. Will I ever learn?

Admittedly, there is a sense of accomplishment associated with turning lemons into lemonade, but it is harder to do the squeezing with each passing decade. That is why this morning I am sitting here at my kitchen table gazing out at my half finished rock garden renovation and writing this blog instead of excavating rocks from under layers of soil and mulch. After two days of said task, my body is insisting I take a break. My glutes remind me every time I stand or sit that I am not 32 anymore, my knuckles are bruised, my triceps are tender to the touch and I have what is surely a case of dehydration headache. Ouch. It is one thing to garden in Canada, but it is an entirely different kettle of fish working in the semi-tropics with a shovel and Palm Tree roots.

The beds I am improving have not been maintained for many years. Some of the  plantings are re-usable and mature now but the rocks that would have been used instead of mulch originally have sunk and become covered in plant and leaf debris and dirt. The only way to bring this baby back to its former glory is to clear the debris, remove thousands of rocks, improve the soil, re-position some of the plants, add a few new ones and then re-use the rocks. It means doing the hard yards. Since paying someone to do this was out of the question, it was up to me. Was I willing (or able) to re-create these beds? Willing - sort of. Able - unknown. It has been awhile since I have summoned my major inner Manual Labour. Was he up for the task? Manual and I once removed an entire pool deck consisting of heavy interlocking bricks over a long weekend back in 2002. It was back-breaking work but worth the few grand it would have cost to have it done. Manual is 14 years older now. This morning I can see and feel he needs a siesta. The mind is willing but the body is rebelling.

This job will get done, but at a slower pace than it might have moved along 14 years ago. Like anyone, I love a quick fix. There is only one way to the desired result in life. You must do the work. Sometimes money can help move things along quicker. However, there was a story I read once about gardening that I have always remembered. Mick Jagger bought an old country estate and hired the famous English Gardener - Penelope Hobhouse to design his English Gardens, paid the money and went away. He came back a few weeks later to see what he envisioned as lush blooming borders of colourful flowers and was devastated when he saw what amounted to smallish seedlings spaced apart, with gaping chunks of bare soil. He was furious. Where was his beautiful garden -the one from the plans? What had happened? He had no idea that it takes from 5-7 years for a garden to mature.
Even his money could not hurry mother nature along. He had expected an instant garden.

Clearly there had been a miscommunication between them because I suppose he could have paid for fully mature plantings, but she was old school and she did things the old school way.

I took a few photos of my project. I am doing it in chunks. Here are some before and afters. There will be a new fence at some stage. For now, at least the beds will "rock it"!

Before - Mother-in-law tongue taking over, rocks buried beneath debris

Before - Removal of all debris and digging up of rocks to re-use later

After - Weeded, leveled, soil refreshed, rocks replaced

After - Mature Agave given new life 

New Bromeliads planted - generously donated by my neighbour

Fun with rocks...will erect a proper Inuksuk soon!