February 2022
It did not bode well for the month of February as we stood staring at the snapped trunk of the Robinia ‘Frisia’ mop top. We had planted it the week before in a nicely protected spot, making heartfelt promises of watering it daily so it could survive the end of Summer. It was a bit whippy, so we staked it in the proper manner at the base. ‘That should protect it from the wind’ we declared. We failed to consider the possums. In our defence, possums are not high on our list of priorities. They run about the roof having fun at night, they did nibble one of our Oak trees to death but generally they don’t destroy things like we’ve heard in other gardens, especially not our new Robinia. It did though. And if it wasn’t so sad, it would almost be comical as the possum attempted to scale our weak, whippy Robinia bending it over so much with it’s weight that it snapped the trunk in half. But sad it was, and this was only the 1st day of February. Surely things could only get better?
Unfortunately, Jenny’s mood became more dejected by the lack of rain. She was becoming a watering robot machine, walking around the garden in a morose stupor pulling out dead things, mostly plants. She wondered what has become of the water that falls from the sky, she wondered why on earth she decided to make a garden in such dry conditions. Perhaps we should move to the bottom of the mountain where it seems to be always wet. It’s ok, we go through this every year, I’m well used to it. I was just hoping she remained upright and didn’t take to her bed again in the spirit of Mrs Bennett from Pride and Prejudice. She didn’t, not even when the next catastrophe struck.
We lost one of our water tanks to corrosion halfway through the month. Jenny remained calm. I tend to feel anxious when Jenny remains calm. It’s not like her, but I think she had just reached her point where there is nothing you can do against the tide of complications. We simply ordered water from our lovely Water Man Ronnie and watered the garden as best we could.
In the end there was only one solution. Pour a glass of wine, sit on the veranda and take lots of deep breaths. The side where we sit looks over the greenest part of the garden, you can look out and see all the complex plantings we have created. The birds are running amok in the birdbaths, and fighting over the bread we throw out to them. The magpies are demanding mince meat. The evenings are getting cooler. February is an unusual month, neither one thing or another. It’s hot yet cool. You can feel Autumn slowly creeping in (or we may be delusional but if we didn’t we’d probably cry).
And yet, amongst all the glumness of our February, our Muscari are starting to pop up. Cyclamen are lighting up our empty Summer garden beds. We start to think not about the season that’s been but the season to come. And we all know that once Autumn arrives, it’s time to start planting regardless of the weather. Summer? What Summer? Of course that tree from Alaska will be fine in our hot, dry climate. What a stupid question!