and other things I have discovered
We have Covid at the farm now. You can admire the pretty flowers outside the barn but don’t go near the door. The person who lives there is locked in his flat until he gets better. This is bad news because we can’t use the communal washing machine downstairs.
Einstein suggested that time is not constant. He probably started thinking about this after a tough slow winter. One day he was glad that February was done, the next he was staring at his Camelia bush wondering where the hell March went. I know how he felt.
It’s magnolia time. These flowers are a symbol of perseverance, which is a strong trait in rats.
The fig tree is full of summer promises. Every hard green fruit will be soft and juicy by August. Then we’ll race the starlings to get them first. Birds have it so easy, with everything laid on. They don’t wake up every day racking their brains for dinner ideas.
In Aboriginal culture, the eucalyptus is a reminder of our interconnection with nature and the importance of links to past and future generations. This tree was planted to provide gentle shade, with a hint of rain forest. All we got was a spindly stick that thrashes about in gales. It became a reminder of ‘potential damage to a roof’. So we chopped it in half.
The White Narcissus is so tidy and dainty, catching the sun on its way to the pond, which has too many leaves, and no frogs. Where are the frogs?
The Begonias are making an effort. In summer they will do a takeover bid, swamping everything nearby, but in winter they are welcome. Collapsing under the weight of frost one minute and presenting bright pink flowers the next, Begonias are a symbol of caution.
The garden is bleak. Leaves rot on slimy paths, sunflower skeletons collapse against broken garden chairs, abandoned balls wait for dogs that don’t visit and snivelling chickens hang around the back door, hoping for company. Above all this the Pampas Plumes soar towards the sky. ‘Look at us’ they say. ‘See how we glow in the sun. Autumn is wonderful’.
The Fuchsia bush is heavy with flowers.
All of a sudden those early summer elder flowers are berries, groaning with antioxidants. I should make syrup, but flocks of greedy starlings get there first. What is an antioxidant anyway? Google says it is an invisible thing that cures everything and comes free in red wine and berries. Berries are free if you get them off hedges or quite pricey if you prefer blue ones imported from America.
August arrives and the sunflowers come marching in. Seedlings become giants overnight, apparently having a competition to see who can grow fastest before bursting into flower. Thousands of sunflower seeds will come next. Maybe I could dry them for chicken food?
