nature as enemy, nature as friend

We’re all scared of some things at some times. Whether the threat is imaginary or real. Sometimes the world of nature can be seen as unpredictable and menacing. Other times it can be seen as familiar, satisfying and fulfilling.

In The Pigeon, Patrick Suskind describes a character with a carefully constructed ordered routine life. The unexpected sight of a pigeon disrupts his fragile equilibrium.

He knew every noise on the floor. He could interpret every crack, every click, every soft ripple or rustle, the very silence itself. Then unexpectedly he saw a pigeon. And this is how he perceived it …

It was crouched there, with red, taloned feet on the oxblood tiles of the hall and in sleek, blue-grey plumage: the pigeon. It had laid its head to one side and was glaring at Jonathon with its left eye. This eye, a small, circular disc, brown with a black centre, was dreadful to behold. It was like a button sewn on to the feathers of the head, lashless, browless, quite naked, turned quite shamelessly to the world and monstrously open; at the same time, however, there was something guarded and devious in that eye; and yet likewise it seemed to be neither open nor guarded, but rather quite simply lifeless, like the lens of a camera that swallows all external light and allows nothing to shine back out of its interior. No lustre, no shimmer lay in that eye, not a sparkle of anything alive. It was an eye without sight. And it glared at Jonathan.

Writer Helen Dunmore must be a gardener. Nature for her isn’t some alien threat, it’s part of who she is. Her writing is a world away from the horror that Suskind describes. This quote is from With Your crooked Heart.

The birds don’t really sing in the middle of the day. They drowse away the heat in the jungle of buddleia and bamboo, and sometimes you hear a bubble of song rising in their throats, but it never bursts… Inside the sycamore by the wall, there’s a wood-pigeon. Prr-ccoo, it goes, prr-cooo. You love its hot and sleepy stammer more than anything else in the garden…

There’s smell of cat-piss, and buddleia. A honeyed smell which draws the butterflies. The garden simmers with heat and wasps, cat-piss and cabbage whites. In the little fountain, water wobbles then spurts up.

One day you’ll chop everything back, or Paul will. But you’re at home in London gardens like this one, overgrown, rank and fat with weeds. It reminds you of when you were a child, when you were four or five, tagging after the kids, in and out of fireweed and rotten fencing. You like buddleia and bramble, and jam-jar traps for wasps, and flying ants, and the Russian vine that’s climbed like a wave over the back wall, and swamped it. There’s honeysuckle in your garden, and a stand of bamboo. You pull out the new shoots of bamboo from their shafts and nibble the cold, moist tips.

One pigeon, two interpretations. Paul is uptight, an automaton, alienated from himself, other people and the natural world. In marked contrast, Dunmore’s sensual character Louise luxuriates in her fertile ramshackle garden teeming with plant life and wildlife.

a botanical puzzle solved

It was love at first sight. I'm referring to Spyridium vexilliferum, commonly known as Winged spyridium. That first sighting, in a nursery specializing in Australian indigenous plants, occurred about 8 years ago. I didn’t know anything about this plant, except that I loved its white velvety floral bracts.

For more than a year, or so it seemed, it obligingly and ceaselessly flowered on. Then, quite suddenly, it started to die back. I was puzzled. It had been so healthy. I couldn’t see signs of insect predators. I cut back the dead bits but the dieback continued. So I removed the plant in case it had a virus that could affect other plants.

I replaced the original plant with other Winged spyridium and other spyridium species. They all died after a year or two. I concluded that it was simply a short-lived plant, a definite disadvantage in a low maintenance, relatively no-fuss garden like mine.

There was something going on here that I didn’t understand. So I turned to Google. I discovered spyridiums originate from Tasmania, are part of the family Rhanmaceae, and are officially classified as an endangered species.

I also discovered that spyridiums are obligate seeders. That means that they are plants that can only regenerate from seed after fire. I think this explains the puzzle of their brief lives. I failed to provide the environmental conditions they need. In the absence of fire they lack the means to regenerate or reproduce. That is why, without the ability to set seed, they die.

No wonder they are on the list of endangered plants. In their natural habitat they have to contend with bush clearing and weeds. If there's fire but it comes too often they don't have time to mature.

They may be short lived and difficult to propagate but hopefully you'll always find one or two in my garden.

the day the film crew came

There were four men in the garden: director James, camera man Mark, sound man Graham and Stephen, front man and host of the show.

The result of the day’s filming will be seen in a few weeks time as a five-minute segment of ABC TV’s Gardening Australia.

It was an interesting novel experience for me. I love talking about the garden, but after a few hours my brain turned to mush and I can’t be sure what I said.

It was a bit weird seeing the garden through other people’s eyes. What they found unusual I find perfectly normal.

Like growing whatever works in whatever configurations I like. Apparently many people neatly divide their plants into categories like edibles vs. ornamentals or natives vs. exotics. I have spent years carefully working out how to make plants look as if they were chaotically, randomly, accidentally - yet perfectly - placed.

I wasn’t surprised that they found my possum - welcoming attitude and activities intriguing. People hate possums so much that I hope I won’t get death threats after the program. Or worse: I hope the possums in my garden won’t be at risk once their cover has been blown.

The next day I realized that two juvenile Eucalypt leucoxylon trees had grown sufficiently to have their stakes removed. Looks much nicer now, but I am reminded that each day is a snapshot of a real garden changing in time. Perfection is the goal, a hypothetical end point in what is an endless garden making process.

I had another realization that day, thanks to a remark by Stephen. The Wollemi pine in the front garden is not in a suitable position. With a potential height of 20 metres (60 feet!) it has no place in my suburban garden. So I am offering it to anyone who can promise it a good home. Already I visualize the front garden without it.

death by boiling so we can wear silk

This post is dedicated to the silkworms at Les Chantiers Ecoles Silk Farm in Siem Reap, Cambodia.

Artisans D’Angkor helps young Cambodians from poor rural areas learn traditional craft skills. They learn wood and stone carving, gilding, lacquering, silk painting and other traditional crafts.

They also learn sericulture - the ancient practice of growing silkworms and harvesting the long threads they produce by unraveling their cocoons.

The stages in the labour intensive process from hatchling to completed silk products are ...

The moths lay the eggs that hatch into caterpillars.



Silkworms eat the leaves of white mulberry trees in huge quantities.


It takes 30 to 40 days for tiny hatchlings to grow into adult caterpillars, and they increase in weight by an incredible fourteen thousand times!!!!!!!




When they are full grown they stop eating and spin their cocoons. Seven to ten days later the caterpillars will have completed their cocoons.




Next step is the process of extracting the silk. The cocoons are heated to kill the pupae. (If this were not done the pupae would turn into moths and break the thread as they emerge from the cocoon.)


Next the spinning stage: threads are unwound and reeled together, forming a single length of strong thread.



The silk threads are dyed with a range of traditional vegetable dyes.



The dyed threads are then woven into silken material of varying colours and patterns.

possum family

I'm delighted to announce the arrival in the garden of a brushtail possum family. I don't know where they sleep in the day. I know they don't use the possum nesting box because I climbed the tree in the daytime to check. For the last few nights they have regularly appeared in the tall tree above the compost heaps to check out what's to eat. They are a family of three: two parents and one baby.

gardens and gardening in Cambodia

The royal garden at the king's palace must be a good example of the preferred style of a Cambodian grand garden. It's formal, and it's fun. Though not fun necessarily for the army of workers who keep it in check.





Water features are everywhere. With or without fish, reflecting the sky, so tranquil and beautiful.




Clean, neat and tidy is all important. Leaves and twigs are swept up and thrown away. There is no mulch, you see the bare earth.



Cambodia is a poor country, no expensive high tech garden gadgets. Gardening methods are traditional and hard work.



Tonle Sap is a large lake in northwest Cambodia. So large that there are 107 floating villages around the lake. One of these villages is called Prek Toal and is the base for a community ecotourism project, run by an NGO called Osmose.


Even in a floating village there are people who are enthusiastic gardeners. Like any English gardener, they nurture their roses.




Until 1999 the villagers had a protein rich diet of fish, but no fruit or vegetables. The program provided education and funding to enable them to instal floating fruit and vegetable gardens like this one.

glimpses of the winter garden

greens and greys and a touch of yellow ...


side looking fuller


elegant euphorbia rigida


possums still snacking


caterpillars also snacking


heavenly hellebore


potter posing


either erysmium or cheiranthus


xerochrysum bractateatum


perfect parahebe perfoliata