Visitors

They said I was mad to plant milkweed… but here we are six months later hosting Monarch caterpillers. Now, I’m as ambivalent to all things American as any Australian ought to be, but the romantic tale of the arrival of the Monarch or Wanderer in the late 1860s and via New Caledonia has me intruiged. And the caterpillers are so full of character. How could I resist?

The thief

Somebody has been pinching my mulberries! Chewing the fruit from the tree and leaving just a stump. Its not the chooks, they are safely away in their new run. Its not flying foxes, the tree is too small to support their weight. That leaves possums and rodents as the most likely suspects. And no mulberries for me until I figure out who it is and how to protect them…

This week my mulberries decided to get all dressed up!

 

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Beenleigh Black. CC BY 4.0

This week my mulberries decided to get all dressed up! I put them both in the ground last spring, and this the first year the black tree has fruited. It has also grown, and is just taller than me – about 6 foot.

In case you can’t tell from the photo, the fruit are sweet and super juicy! They also leave a violet stain on your hands.

gratitude #7/10

Neighbours, today I am grateful for my lovely neighbours. Yesterday I was feeling a little low – I had taken a week’s leave to get the garden sorted, and a big list of projects to complete. Six days later I realised that despite having worked really hard and being exhausted, I was not going to get it all done. Then the ladies from across the road popped by and one told me she was glad someone was giving the house some attention and the other gave me some empathy for the overwhelm I was feeling. She also shared her plans for her garden. So I got some acknowledgement, appreciation, shared reality and connection. I am feeling re-inspired today đŸ™‚

Two mandalas in my front yard planted with a mandarine & mulberry and veggies under the mulch

On the back step

The sun is gently rising and I’m sitting on the back step,
watching the paint peel, and
the grass overgrow the side fence, and
Old Limpy hobble after her fat, clucky sisters.

And my hands are warmed by a mug of hot tea.

And all is well in my world.
And all is well in my world.

wild rose

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image: Wild Rose, Nigel Mykura

Thorned limbs catch me in a vicious embrace. One hundred thorns for each small cluster of simple blood-red blossoms.

Frustrated, I remove those thorny canes, avert my eyes from the tiny fallen flowers, and begin excavations.

But you hold fast to the earth. You hold fast.

I sit beside you, then with you.

My own thorns and flowers — one hundred thorns for each small cluster of simple blossoms — become present.

I sigh, replace the soil, and clear the remaining weeds from your base.

*CC BY-SA 2.0

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