Periwinkle Pathway

Have had to cut the periwinkles back, around the shed, coz a king brown snake is hanging around the path, and can be hard to see. Gotta avoid stepping on it in thongs!

Little (cute!) wandering baby redbacks are moving into their permanent positions in the garage for the summer, now, as the heat increases. Grrrrrr! What a pity they'll soon grow into big and cranky black widows!!!!!

Sluggo Bloggo

It's damper, this spring, and we've actually got a few slugs and snails around, for the first time in years and years!!!!! The long 10-yr drought seemed to kill them all off! But some must've stayed alive, somehow, somewhere. Maybe low down in crevices in the earth, perhaps? I know snails go into hibernation, with that little door of foam they make for their shells. But what does a slug abide in, during years and years of drought???!!! Anyway, I'm glad to see slugs and snails returning to their necessary place in the scheme of things!!!!!

I once, twenty years ago, stayed up all night watching two giant leopard slugs in coital embrace. A rather slow-motion but, nevertheless, poetic affair, with the two participants entwined in a sort of romantic love-knot--I suppose it would be called....

Tiny, baby snails, with transparent shells, are fun. If you hold one up, on a piece of glass, in front of a bedlamp--not close enough to burn it, mind you!--you can see it's little heart beatin', all with the naked eye. Lots of fun, and a nice natural science lesson for children.

Walking around a large garden, like ours, one often comes upon old empty snail shells that may even be several years old. I have reasoned that such shells could be carefully pierced and threaded as rattly Halloween necklaces--for those who are so inclined to celebrate in that (ghoulish!) way. The shells could even be lacquered with a bit of nail varnish to shine them up a bit, again.

Thistledown

Sow Thistle in Winter Bloom


Lately I spend a lot of time, on a place called The Moor, blowing thistledown into the wind. I have come to the final realisation that all the stars on Merlin's robe and cap were, originally, thistledown.

It's great fun blowing thistledown, and I am, by now, quite champion at it. I figure, too, that every thistle needs as much opportunity as possible to scatter itself far and wide, so I like to help facilitate this. Sow Thistle are a particular favourite of mine, but I don't mind Cat's Tails, either. There are some little native daisies that have tiny ''clocks'', so I do those as well--if it pleases and suits me; but, of course, as I'm running about, I'm more likely to grab the thistles nearest to hand, rather than those way down low on the ground. I do enjoy Dandelions, and you do see some here in the non-drought years, but it's too dry for them at present. Scotch Thistle are fun, but you see them more on the cooler and wetter Tablelands, too. They are far too prickly to handle, anyway. I have been known to blow Wild Salsify clocks on the banks at Cotton's Weir. Compass Plant can be fun, but they tend to be tougher to break off, as well as a bit prickly, too. Still, the Sow Thistles are rather aphidy, lately, and I do feel a little guilty for disturbing the insects' sticky lifestyle.

Flanders Field--recent poppy notes

Wild poppies in spring


Flanders Field--recent poppy notes

1.)

Well, I got up early this morning, and lo!, walking around the garden my eyes were suddenly caught by a strange pink blaze in the horse paddock opposite. It was so wonderful. It looked like reefs of coral, or glowing embers. I reasoned that it was due to some sort of flower. I went and got my camera and took a few pix--before battery went dead. Then I bent my steps over to the paddock--something I'm not usually wont to do, as it looks as if I'm snooping in the neighbour's--which I was!!!

Anyway, it turned out to be thousands of red poppies--the ones with black centres like you see on Poppy Day, 'ceptin that the angle of the early morning sun, shining thru the petals, were making them glow a flourescent pink. A gorgeous sight. It looked like glowing embers after a fire!!! Like a sunset on the ground!!!

There's been a drought for 10 years, and I haven't seen any such poppies, except rare individual ones. Or the odd opium poppy. And very rarely at that. Perhaps the horses brought seeds on their hooves? They are often coming and going with their horse trailers at that farm. Or, else, maybe some fertiliser or manure, or seed, or something, was contaminated with poppy seeds? Whatever it was, I'm hopin' the winds'll, in a few weeks, when the seed heads are dried out, scatter their seeds over our way.

I did buy some packets of Flanders Field wild poppy seeds, years ago, but they did never get established here, alas. It may be something to do with the soil, or cultivation of the paddock, too, coz the poppies aren't growing outside the fence.

What a glorious sight, anyway, to wake up to!!!!

I've got a dry itchy throat, at the moment, and, too, have lately had a few unscheduled deep polaramine daytime sleeps--akin to falling asleep in a field of opium poppies, really!!!! Like Dorothy in The Wizard of Oz!!!

2.)

Amazingly, the horse paddock, opposite, is full of Flanders Field poppies. The little red ones with black centres. I got up, the other morning, and saw this strange redness across the field. I couldn't, at first, figure out what it was. It so happened that the angle of the sun was such that the red petals were all illuminated; the morning light and a slight wind making them all glow flourescent and flicker like pink embers; like some wonderful coral reef; or the sunset playing on the ground. Quite spectacular. When I went over to see what it was, I found it to be caused by poppies. Let's hope some of those seed are blown onto our place, but I think all of that horse and sheep manure makes quite a lot of difference.

3.)

Californian Poppies used to grow wild at Borenore, in the tennis courts there; but it's damper over towards Orange--on the Tablelands! They can survive on rainwater, alone, at Borenore. There you can get Californian Poppy seeds and scatter them about your yard in winter, and you should have some coming up, wild, by spring.

Unicorns and White Tritelias

The tritelias are out, lately. The thing about them is that they are amazingly tough, and don't ever need watering. There are blue ones, but the white ones, also known as ''White Stars'', are quite spectacular and pretty, and have that purity of whiteness that one associates with ''Snowdrops''. They'd make a nice subject for embroidery. You can buy the tiny bulbs in autumn. A very worthwhile species for Australian gardens. You might like to consider them for a waterless spot. They go dormant in summer, and get by on winter and spring rainfall, alone.





Speaking of pretty white things, here is a local unicorn--with horn retracted.

MOTH CAMOUFLAGE

This moth, snapped on a piece of shadecloth, is very interesting. It is pretending to be a dead leaf. Very clever. It had me, too, fooled for awhile.

Cestrum nocturnum?

One of the last times I saw Gavin Scobie, a couple of decades ago now, he was walking by the wild fennel in Centennial Park--not that far from the wild cestrum. Years later my boyfriend found a tiny sucker of that cestrum, and it did take root. Was it Cestrum nocturnum? I'm not sure. There are cestrums and cestrums. Some have greener flowers and some more of an orange or yellowish colour. I'm not a botanist. You see the odd cestrum around Parkes and Forbes, NSW, surviving abandoned in very hot dry conditions. I wouldn't know what sort they are, or how they got there in the first place.

There was once a cestrum growing--all green-flowered--in a tiny postage-stamp backyard in Victoria Street, Potts Point. Possibly from a bird's dropping. The landlady told me her friend said it was a ''jasmine''. Cestrum, with its toxicity, is certainly not a jasmine, but it has been called ''Jessamine'', so clearly someone's wires were a little crossed. Of course, jasmine are not toxic, and we like to sip jasmine tea--so fragrant and cooling.

You have to credit those wild cestrums, though. So very tough and drought-resistant. Beautiful fragrant flowers. Clive Blazey, in his Digger's Seeds catalogue, said he smelled the most wondrous and enchanting fragrance on the isle of Rhodes--or was it Crete? It turned out to be Cestrum nocturnum. Well, they do have a beautiful nocturnal scent. Nothing like the scent of Cestrum nocturnum wafting up into your window, at night-time. Seems especially strong after rain, too. So sexy, if a perfume can be described so. Intoxicating. I think it's related to other night-scented members of the Nightshade family--like petunias, night-scented tobacco, and four-o'clock flowers.

I love Four-o'clock flowers. It's fantastic and amusing how they open up reliably, every afternoon, at four-o'clock--all depending on daylight saving, of course. I especially like the self-sown harlequin ones that survive around hot summer pavements in Paddington and Darlinghurst. Like cestrums, they tend to smell especially nice and fresh after the rain. They are very easy to grow from seed. Very sexy and beautiful scent--very evocative, and aphrodesiac, on hot summer nights. They are quite tough, but will need extra water in the hottest and dryest of conditions. They come up year after year, from the tuberous root they form.

Walking in the Fumitory & Shepherd's Purse

Shepherd's Purse




Fumitory


God, I love walking in the fumitory and Shepherd's Purse! Both are in bloom at the moment.

The fumitory with their light pink flowers--with dark strawberry jam centres. Such fine and delicate foliage. What a wonderful and pretty weed. Apparently there are Zero-resistant fumitory, now, as a result of the plants evolving and developing resistance to weedicide. Well, they make me very happy, with their frilly pink prettiness all about my house and yard, and all along the roadsides.

I find Shepherd's Purse is quite a pretty partner to fumitory. With its lovely white flowers, Shepherd's Purse has a visual impact similar to that of alyssum. The heart-shaped seed-cases are so unique and interesting too. In the old days, Shepherd's used to carry purses that were made out of animal's hearts--dried out like leather, I suppose, with the inner chambers for filling with coinage.

Yes, fumitory and Shepherd's Purse make a lovely and pretty combination of colours from the wild gardener's palette. Nice colour display in late winter, and then into spring.

Where have all the ibis gone?

Where have all the ibis gone?

We used to have wonderful flocks of ibis here. The same ones used to come every year. I know, because one had a bad leg, and I would recognise him.

Then, about 10 years ago, the ibis all suddenly disappeared, and have yet to return. They all died out. Apparently it was due to a poison--an agricultural chemical used in the cotton-growing regions of NSW, hundreds of miles away--which killed off the ibis in very great number. An environmental disaster, basically.

I've not had an ibis in my yard for years and years, now. They'd get around, all day, busily picking up snails in their beaks; and then smashing them on the ground, to soften them; and then swallowing them. This was the ibis' home. Such beautiful, graceful and elegant birds. All gone now. A terrible tragedy. I don't suppose the long drought has helped them to recover, either.

I wonder if I'll ever see an ibis here again?

Drought-resistant plants once grown at Murga

What drought-resistant plants were once grown at Murga?

Well, a walk through the Murga Parkland ruins, over a decade ago (before the recent and terrible drought of several years duration!) revealed the following specimens still surviving from the old days:


*Photinea serrata
*Some sort of cotoneaster
*A crepe myrtle
*A pink honeysuckle--probably Lonicera hispidula.


These plants had survived, obviously, for decades without extra water or care. The honeysuckle was sick and miserable with aphids, but it--to it's credit!--still managed a few pink blooms.

Looking around the valley at Murga, there are a few other drought-resistant sights to be seen near abandoned farmhouses and old garden sites. In the paddock next to the sawmill, there's an old yucca, surviving and blooming unattended. (Good for honeyeaters!) Also a super-tough pink climbing rose of some description. Elsewhere I see a couple of oleanders blooming nicely, and a couple of japonicas, outside an old farmhouse now used as a shed.

HOW TO SAVE LOTS OF MONEY ON GASOLINE

Look at the above photo carefully. In the centre is the trunk of an Acacia pendula in my garden. Look at all the ground around it. Notice that there is no grass growing around the trunk for quite some metres in all directions. This is because the roots are ''phytotoxic'', I think it is called. It means that this type of acacia can poison all the grass around it. (See how far the green grass is away, in the picture?) This can be quite useful, if you want to keep the grass down. Grow enough of these acacias, and you'll never need to mow again. Most wattles live around a good ten years, so if you keep a few new Acacia pendula seedlings coming along, at all times, your garden can be kept free of grass forever more. No more gasoline bills. No more lawnmowing. Ground kept clear as a good firebreak. Of course, other trees like Eucalyptus can have phyotoxic roots, too, but they have leaves full of eucalyptus oil and catch on fire easily.

Acacia pendula have nice silver-grey leaves and, yes, the branches do hang down in a rather ''pendulous'' fashion. Quite an attractive and drought-resistant tree, but you'll need to give it some extra water to get it up and running quickly--if you want it to stretch its roots out as rapidly as possible. You won't have to mow, but every ten years or so you will have to replace the trees, and cut out the dead ones. That means a little chainsaw work, yes, but nothing like being obliged to mow regularly, year after year. Sit back and enjoy the view, instead. The birds will love you for the extra trees, and you won't have to worry about snakes hidden in the grass. Flower-wise, they are not the showiest of wattles, blooms being of a more paler and insignificant yellow, but they are still pretty enough.

How to Grow Four-Leaf Clovers

Well, finding a four-leaf clover did not make me richer or luckier.

About twenty years ago, now, I decided I'd like some nice clover blossom in my lawn. So I bought a small bag--a few pounds--of ''New Zealand White'' clover seed from my local agricultural supplies store. I scattered it all about the yard, and hoped for the best.

I did get quite a few plants coming up, but they were rather thirsty, and couldn't abide the heat--not without much additional water. (It was fun, for a year or so, though, before I abandoned them.)

One day, (subconsciously) counting clover leaves, as one does, I was sure I espied a four-leaf clover. And lo! It was a four-leaf clover. I was very impressed, and wondered if it was a real rarity. This particular clump of clover, growing in a pile of chalky roadfill gravel, had not only four-leaf clovers in it, but fives and sixes. They may have went up to about seven. I forget now, but some had definitely more than four leaves.

I presumed it was a mutation, a deformity, or something. It could all be in the genes, I suppose. (Are New Zealand White prone to such sports?) I had tossed some dishwater on them, too, to keep them alive in the dreadful heat. That contained detergent, so maybe that chemical additive helped kick off this unusual phenomenon.

I now prefer different types of oxalis for that clover-leaf effect. I have pink and yellow oxalis, and they fill my heart with much joy when they bloom. They are amazingly tough. Of course, they die down in summer, but are always green and fresh from winter to spring. We call the yellow ones ''yellow bells'', because that is what they look like. The yellow ones bloom in late winter, and are followed by the pink ones in spring. There is a short period of overlap, too, where both pink and yellows are in bloom at the same time. The pink ones are not invasive, but the yellow ones are. The more the merrier, I say. They sure are beautiful. I notice that if you touch the yellow ones' leaves with the back of your hand, they are cold to the touch. But if you touch the pink ones' leaves, they are warmer--and have a fine fur behind them--obviously a very good insulator. A lot of old Australian gardens have pink oxalis growing about the place. One woman I once knew would eat a few of the stems and called it ''Shamrock''. It was tangy and sour, but I wouldn't eat too much of the stuff, as it contains oxalic acid--which is certainly poison to some livestock, at least.

The yellow oxalis are the most drought-hardy of all. They look very much like they may be Oxalis pes-caprae, but I am no botanist. They were certainly once deliberately planted, and can still be found in old ruined gardens--like the old stone fence (now in ruins) at Cotton's Weir, near Forbes, NSW--where they make a pretty enchanted elfin woodland. Also around some old abandoned railway stations where they once would've been oft-admired by travellers. They don't appear to self-sow, so while they do venture, they can only do so quickly with lots of water. They have a slight sweet perfume, and bees seem to like them. Very pretty, indeed, and a shape reminiscent of primroses. Great for that cottage garden effect; and no water required in summer!

Almond Blossom and Cockatoos

The pretty almond blossoms gladden one's heart, lately, despite the icy weather. The Sulphur Crested Cockatoos--pure white, too, look a picture when they all land in the branches. Why do cockatoos come and snip flowers off, with their beaks? Never mind, the cut blossoms look nice as floral decorations indoors! Of course, the cockatoos and galahs will be back to cut open the green almond nuts in a few months' time. (They will also cut open pecan nuts. Such powerful, strong beaks. They can even tear green Aleppo pine cones apart--to shreds. A flock of cockatoos can sit in my pistachio trees, and chomp the nuts away. They don't get broken fingernails, either, as human beings do!)

A couple of decades back, I saw some ancient almond trees still surviving at the old Junction Reefs gold mining site, in an old, long-abandoned orchard. (There was an English Mulberry tree there, too, a Morus nigra, surviving neglected. It had a few fruits on it, but would've benefited from a little extra water.)

My almonds were grown from a bag of Christmas nuts. I started them off, in disposable plastic drinking cups. I gently cracked the shells, first, to assist in germination. They are very drought-resistant, once established, but can tend, as young seedlings, to go blue and sickly-looking in the extreme heat. I lost a few to this strange blue-leafed condition. The ones that survived that blue-leafedness all went on to become robust adult trees.

Almond blossom looks beautiful on moonlit nights. Honeyeaters find some nectar in almond blossom, which is interesting, because they don't appear to use plum or apricot or peach blossoms--other types of Prunus--as a nectar source. I've noticed that ornamental almond trees are very tough, and often seen around old abandoned farm homestead sites. They have a slight purple-bluish tint to the blossoms, when seen from a distance; whereas the ones for eating are more pink. Clouds of blossoms are necessary for that cottage garden effect.

Toughest Passiflora Known to Man !!!

Well, this Passiflora must be the toughest passionfruit vine ever known to man. It can survive, once established, crawling along the ground on hard baked clay that you could fry an egg on, at high noon on a summer's day--when there's a heat haze off the ground that can ripple the air. I find it growing in the Lachlan Valley, NSW, around old ruined farmhouses--abandoned and without water. It must have been a very important ornamental garden specimen before modern irrigation techniques became available. It's also quite frost hardy--much more so than P. edulis.

I'm not sure what it is. It's not P. caerulea, because I had a ''Nelly Kelly'' P. edulis grafted onto a P. caerulea, and found that P. caerulea is far more thirsty and less drought-hardy than this tough specimen, above. (P. caerulea wouldn't last, abandoned, in those terrible heat conditions, as it would die of thirst.)

This above-pictured specimen was, originally, grown from a cutting that sprouted roots in a green Perrier water bottle. I planted it out, and it hasn't looked back since. It suckers freely, and a lot of people wouldn't like that, but I say the more beautiful and lovely vines, covering everything, the merrier. The purple blue flowers are quite fragrant. (I wonder if it's not P. incarnata?) Whatever this vine is, it should be hybridised with other Passifloras for it's drought- and heat-resistance, as well as its frost-hardiness. I mean, take P. mollissima, for example. It can't take a very heavy frost at all, without being burned back to nothing, and it's so very thirsty. But a hybrid between P. mollissima and this species would, for example, allow a beautiful pink flowering vine that had drought-resistant and frost-resistant qualities as well. You couldn't get a tougher Passiflora than this one I am growing. I think it would be nice in white, as well. And imagine super-drought-resistant red ones, in a waterless outback cottage garden!!! How pretty they would look--just like climbing roses.

One rare year it actually had a single fruit. About the size of a large bird's egg, and yellowish in colour. Strangely, it had no seeds inside. It doesn't self-seed as, with no fruits, it can only reproduce by suckering or layering itself. (It's great at sneaking up into watered pot plants, from underneath, and invading them. Very easy to propagate!) Perhaps its not self-fertile, and needs a pollinator?

It makes quite a good hedge if allowed to drape itself over a wire fence, but it will look much nicer if given some extra water. Superb fairy wrens like to sit in this vine, if it grows high enough. They also like to sit in Passiflora edulis, as well. And they'll sing about it all very happily the morning after--very early.

You have to really credit the early settlers for their building beautiful cottage gardens with very drought-resistant plants. This Passiflora will give that wonderful cottage garden feel. Similar to that of a climbing rose. Splashes of colour from blooms spread through climbing green everywhere. Another tough little climber, that can withstand dreadful heat is Lathyrus latifolius--the ''Perennial Pea''. Very pretty, like a sweet pea--and can live for years and years (and years!!!). I've seen them surviving in the heat--on fences around old abandoned cottage ruins. The orange trumpet vine, Campsis grandiflora is also great for dry-climate cottage gardens. Its shrubby relative, Tecomaria capensis--did I spell that right???!!!--is also quite a tough and heat- and drought-resistant plant, but wouldn't appear to be as frost-hardy as are Campsis grandiflora. There's a beautiful Tecomaria specimen growing in the school grounds, on the hill, in Parkes, NSW, aflame with small orange trumpets in the warmer weather. A very pretty picture with sunlight shining through the orange trumpets.

You can't really have that full cottage garden effect, without vines. It's impractical to be growing thirsty and delicate, water-guzzling things. The toughest wistaria types are quite drought resistant--once established. Wistaria sinensis is tough, but W. floribunda is too thirsty. The common garden variety honeysuckle is too thirsty to survive happily in the heat, but the pink honeysuckle--Lonicera hispidula--is amazingly tough by comparison.

Superb Parrots and Acacias

This picture of a Superb Parrot is wonderful and special. It's been on the endangered species list, for some years, but now seems to be making a comeback. I was very lucky, that day, to have had an extra shot left in my camera. The bird seemed quite happy to pose, and was quite curious. It was eating wattleseed.

It's a credit to the people of Cudal, NSW. This pretty parrot was photographed near the local airport, eating wattleseed by the cemetery. If the council hadn't grown these wattle trees, for beautification, the bird might've gone hungry.

The more wattle trees, of various sorts, planted around Cudal, the better. The locals can now see this rare bird outside their very own windows, if they plant a few wattle trees. Looking at pretty parrots outside your kitchen window is far preferable to watching footage of extinct birds on nature documentaries on television!

There is plenty of space left, in Cudal, for more wattle trees. Wattle tree seedlings can be obtained from the NSW Forestry Department at Forbes, NSW, or any good nursery.