Pollenatrix

Fashioning in a garden

I normally don't think much about my attire while I'm out working in the garden, but today I was caught out by a young work colleague who dropped by to return some stuff he'd borrowed. At the office I'm neatly dressed, usually in jeans and no fashion queen but generally quite presentable. Today, I realized, I was quite a sight. It was a drizzly day and I had light gray track pants on that were soaked to the knees, one muddy trouser leg half caught in the top of a crusty Australian boot. On top I wore a couple of layers of disreputable t-shirts, nothing matching, topped off by a dirty and wet red rain jacket. My hair was pretty wild under the broad rim of my once-beige Tilly hat, the crowning glory of an eccentric attire, and I had mud on my face - a nice broad streak where I'd wiped my runny nose with a filthy glove. The poor fellow caught me while I was in a death roll with a large weed tree that I was trying to extract, and when I realized he was there I turned around face-to-face with some very wide eyes. Ha. He didn't stay long.

Strangely enough, it didn't bother me in the least. An image flitted through my mind of another gardener I once knew, a beautiful slender blond herbalist who always floated through her fairy gardens in flowery sundresses, looking tanned and magazine gorgeous. But I instantly dismissed the image with a grin; no matter how I may appear, I am never more beautiful than when I'm outdoors in my ridiculous hat playing gardener in the mud.

I couldn't leaf things alone

Last week I noticed that the thick layer of fallen leaves was gone from the lawns around my building. The Hausmeister had taken advantage of a warm sunny day to scoop them up with his riding mower and dump the chopped-up leaves into a big pile beside one of the buildings. I found the pile, and the little gardening fanatic in me drooled. Just drooled.

Black gold, that's what it was. The thing I'd been fantasizing about all summer while the plants in the beds outside my doors drooped and struggled, while the Hausmeister grumbled about having to water those same beds during hot spells until he finally asked me to do it. That poor, stoney, parched, starving, packed-down soil. It needed a good thick mulch and some compost, much more than I could ever hope to drag home in a bicycle cart. I had tried to start a discreet compost pile under some bushes, but was caught and asked to put compost in its proper place: In the brown bins that are emptied and taken away as waste each week. Truly, what a waste.

New orchids discoveries

"Scientists from the conservation nonprofit WWF discovered the flower, along with at least seven other new species of orchid, in the tropical rain forests of Papua New Guinea."

National Geographic News

"Now conservationists have made a discovery that would make any orchid hunter weep with joy - up to 28 new species of the flower. Eight of them are already confirmed as brand new plants that have never been seen before."

This is London

Neat vs. Nature

Gardeners are hard at work on the grounds around my apartment building, and I have to say I have decidedly mixed feelings about it. There are lots of jungly plots around the place, flowering bushes that over the years have grown out of control and melded into wild and impenetrable batches of shrub. The gardeners are pruning hard, untangling the impossible growth and scraping the ground around them bare of leaves and branches and other accumulated debris.

On one hand, the gardener in me appreciates the return to order, and looks forward to a nice display in the spring. On the other hand, the wildlife lover in me grieves. The birds use those little wild places for cover and nesting, and I've seen hedgehogs run in and out of those bushes in the dark hours of the evening. It's a tough time of year for a hedgehog to be evicted from a warm nest.

That's no fragile hothouse flower

That's one tough orchid.

Two years ago I brought a Lc. Cynthia 'Model' AM-FCC/AOS home from Madeira. This lovely orchid bloomed for me last winter, but we moved and life in our new home was not easy for a sun- and heat-loving plant. The summer was dull and rainy for the most part, and the morning sun through our window was filtered by a heavy cover of trees. In May I hung the obviously struggling plant on a tree outside, in the hope that it would get some more sun. It was definitely on the decline, and to be honest, I had already given up on it. Every once in a while I'd look over at the neglected orchid hanging on the tree and notice with a pang of guilt that it was still green, and still alive. But I'd shake my head and move on, knowing it was just a matter of time before it died.

In late August, I took a closer look, and was surprised to find that not only was the damned thing still alive, it even had some determined new growth. I decided then that this valiant orchid deserved a better home than I could give it. I cut off the new growth, potted it up, and gave it to my friend Christian -- a kindred spirit with a sunny south window. I threw the two remaining shrivelled backbulbs and rubbery leaves onto the compost heap under the bushes.

Fast forward to late October. Chilly nights, and chilly days. Even a smattering of snow. Leaves were falling, and the green of those discarded backbulbs contrasted mightily with the brown leaves all around them. "Geez", I thought. "That thing just won't die. I might as well give it a chance, it can't do any harm." I picked it out of the pile, plopped it into a pot with some medium, stuck it into a plastic bag on the back of my bike, and cycled off to work. I put it on the sunny windowsill beside my desk, in the corner of the office that is starting to resemble a jungle. One plant at a time -- that's the secret I learned back in Toronto to bringing new plants home without arousing the suspicions of the spousal unit. Or in this case, good natured colleagues.

Said colleagues were alarmed by my squeal two mornings ago, when I found a new knob of growth at the base of the bulbs. The damned thing is starting to grow.

Like I said. That's one tough plant.

Eco-sensational idea

It's been a while since I've had an entry for the "Naked Naturalists" category, so I was very pleased with an email I received today from the Vanpermaculture mailing list.

There is a new buzzword, apparently, and it's called "Eco-sensual living". Some journalist who specialises in the "growing field of eco-design" is going to give a talk in Vancouver next weekend on "how people can create a space for luxurious, restful sleep and passionate play that does not sacrifice their health or the environment."

Hey, I'm not knocking it. I'm all for stopping the polar ice caps from falling into the ocean. But c'mon, is this for real? What is she going to do, tell people to make love with the lights off? Or to use a little less hot water in the bubble bath?

Hey, a gal's got to make a buck. I'll give her that.

Living Tree Art

This is a new one on me -- living trees shaped into sculptures, and even furniture. Two Australian artists have mastered the art of training and grafting growing trees into amazing shapes they call "Pooktre". Check it out: www.pooktre.com