WAIT FOR ME AHEAD.
FAY ESCORTS YOU THROUGH HER GARDEN
As my garden visitors alight from the bus and enter my garden, I must direct them to take the path to the right because most of them halt in front of the bed of Jacobean Lilies, awed by this first impression of my garden, and want to ask me, “What are those red flowers?”
Jacobean Lilies.
I answer them briefly that these lilies originated in Mexico and are sometimes commonly called Aztec Lily or Orchid lily because of the fleur-de-lys shape of its petals.
All my life I have been a gardener. Every spring during my childhood, Dad cleared a stand of scrub beside the Myall Creek and in the rich ashes of the fire he planted seeds of tomatoes, cucumber, pumpkins, melons, beans and corn. It had fallen to me and my sisters to carry buckets from the creek and ladle water on each plant. In every instance, in the gardens of the farm homes I had previously established I was hampered by insufficient water. Here on this Granite Belt farm fronting the Severn River I realised I had unlimited space and abundant water at my disposal and saw the potential to create the garden of my dreams.
I’ll always be asked, “Did you draw it all up on paper first – a plan?”
“No. You can’t do that in this country – too many rocks. I went with the lay of the land, creating low terraces. When I wanted to plant a tree, I dropped in a crowbar. If it went clunk, I placed the tree elsewhere.”
Laying out hoses in sweeping lines, I used a spade to permanently mark the borders of what would become spacious garden beds. Between these lines I excavated soil to half the depth of the blade to form the base of paths, throwing this topsoil over into the area intended for gardens. I repeated the process of excavating soil right across the huge area that Eberhard had pegged out for the extension. This soil I shoveled into barrows, dumping the contents on the garden beds to raise the level of the soil.
A man will always point to the rock boulders surrounding the rose bowl and the smaller rocks edging the paths and comments, “You women, you always want rocks shifted! Some poor bugger must have done a lot of hard work!”
I’ll laugh and say, “That’s true, but it was a ready resource. Our farm has lots of rocky outcrops. All these paths were built over a period years. As Confucius said, all long journeys begin with one step. These paths began with one rock.”
I had roamed the property with Eberhard’s builder’s-barrow choosing rocks to utilise, scrupulously avoiding destroying the environment from which they were removed. Small boulders of every shape and form I prized loose with pick or crowbar, before laying the barrow on its side, rolling in the rock and finally heaving the barrow upright. Back to the garden I had trundled to drop off the rocks.
Frank Musumeci was hired to drill the postholes for the steel house stumps. The same day he used his bobcat and tipping truck to load and transport river sand into a dump outside the front gate.
From this heap I had shoveled the coarse sand into the barrow, wheeled each load to the excavated pathways and backfilled them. Now I only have to rake the paths once a week to clear the fallen debris of twigs and leaves.
Being a lateral thinker, I avoid constructing formal gardens, instead favouring free form curves. “Mother Nature never produces straight lines,” I explain to my visitors. I designed all my paths as romantic winding tracks wide enough for two people to stroll hand in hand with each path intended to reveal a new view around every bend. The only path that isn’t sand is the entry through the front garden leading to the office.
Again someone who hasn’t heard me answer the question previously will ask,“What are those tall spikes?”
Foxgloves like a semi shaded position
“Foxgloves. They grow wild in the forests of Europe,” I pluck flowers and place them over my finger tips. “Here they are known as foxgloves, but in Germany they are called fingerhut – a hood for the finger. They belong to the digitalis family and as such are highly poisonous.”
Someone is sure to ask, “Digitalis is a heart stimulant, isn’t it?”
“Yes, and it was used in olden days to poison kings, hence they all had food tasters,” I’ll reply.
Another question that I’m always asked is, “How do you cope with weeds?”
“I believe that ‘one year’s seeding results in seven years weeding. I also follow a lunar calendar.”
“How does that work?”
“In the vegetable garden during the first week of the waxing moon I plant leafy annuals like lettuce; the second week it is the turn of fruiting perennials or tomatoes; after the full moon I’ll plant root vegetables – carrots and beets; finally in the last week of the waning moon I weed. If I can follow this practice of weeding for a week of every month, very few plants get the chance to seed. But, look at these,” I point to a clump of violas, “my largest weed problem is self-sown flowers.”
Violas and Californian poppy.
“Why is that?”
“Largely because they will be left to flower and some seed will drop before I clear the bed.”
“Are those violas?”
“Yes, but they are known by many different names throughout the world. The English call them Heart’s Ease, the Americans refer to them as Johnny-Jump-Ups, the Germans liken them to a Little Step-Mother, for the same reason that they pop up everywhere, and the Russians reckon they are Anna’s Eyes as they are always watching you.”
