Tag Archives: gardening

Oribi Mom

Oribi Mom: Ever-Changing Gardens for Those Who Walk in Them

“It’s time to prune in order to grow.”

Lavender in bloom.

 

September 5, 2023

The thorn tip that attacked my wrist is finally out, and the scratched-up wrists and arms are almost healed already. This garden is thorny, and I’ve left it quite a long time to itself with small babies growing in me, and then being on my hip these last few years.

But this time of year is the final opportunity to get things chopped and pruned and weeded while everything is dry and dying. It’s easier to pull things out. It’s also easier to see into the dense bush and tree in case there are one of the many venomous snakes hiding. We have so many here.

Blood, Sweat, and Some Tears in Our Thorny Garden

So, bleeding arms, blisters, and cut up shins are just par for the course when trying to handle lantana and the many other thorny things I’m trying to get under control.

There’s even an extremely poisonous vine that pops up, with three pronged leaves. Apparently, there are a few species around. The ones with purple flowers are okay. The orange-flowered ones have poisonous fruit and leaves, so even pulling them out is a bit treacherous.

There’s always a bit of sadness, too, at seeing the gaping holes in the garden where the weeds were or where we chop it back. But come summer, that fills in rather quickly. I’m almost through the blackjacks here now. But the moon-shaped burrs are still going crazy. They’re much harder to pull out than blackjacks, too. We’ll get there.

Looking Back, It’s Worth It

If I look back at the garden we arrived to six years ago, or rather the dense, weed-filled bush that surrounded the house, a little bit of pride pops up at how far it’s come. It’s still bushy and rough, but it’s beautiful to me. It’s growing and changing. It’s thinning out here and there and showing some results for all my hours of work.

Like our family that is growing up faster than the weeds, it’s worth the struggles and the blood. And in twenty years or so, we might look back in wonder at all the progress. I hope so.

Published here.

Oribi Mom

Oribi Mom: Let’s Talk About Invasion

The birds strip my poor little palm trees, and the moles keep pushing up my groundcovers and trees before they can get going. It’s wild.

At least there’s a beautiful coral tree here in my Oribi Gorge garden. Photo By: Heather Lind.
February 21, 2021 
Let’s talk about invasion. Maybe not the Star Wars (or Occupy Cape Town mansions) type, though.
I mean lantana, for example, the invasive weed that’s ruining every piece of tilled land where something isn’t planted right away. The butterflies love its pink, orange, and yellow buds, and the birds drop the seeds everywhere (which is how it spreads like wildfire).
As a budding gardener who’s just getting into the nitty-gritties, this weed is only one contender for my wrath in Oribi Gorge. Blackjacks and sweethearts (those semi-circle burrs) come in a hot second. The bunnies are trying to help me clear those, but it’s an uphill battle most summers.

It Isn’t Just a Weed Invasion

Between the monkeys, chickens, rabbits, and Southern Boubous, my seedlings and succulents often lose their will to live or multiply. The birds strip my poor little palm trees, and the moles keep pushing up my groundcovers and trees before they can get going. It’s wild this invasion.
What to do when hours and hours of back-breaking work and careful cultivation has come to naught? It’s a relevant question in a global pandemic, not just for those who took up gardening during South Africa’s perpetual lockdowns. As a sleep-deprived working mom of two, my personal choice is often a mini-breakdown with tears.
The exhausted cry of the mom accompanies out-loud roaring at indignant Vervet monkeys as these relentless opportunists scamper back over the fence after decimating my vegetable garden or blooms. My toddler now imitates this pathetic roaring at will. It’s quite awkward when it is directed at passing tractors or an unsuspecting visitor at our coffee table.

It Isn’t Forever Because Seasons Pass

All that sweat, and real blood from stupid lantana thorns, and what is left in the soil? A lonely stalk that looks nothing like a cabbage, butternut, marigold, or echeveria. It’s infuriating. It’s also illuminating.
A certain beloved Gogo down the road has taught me an invaluable lesson about the things under my care: everything needs pruning. When you care for the land, it responds in kind. You need to chop, hack, and discard the dead and dying plants.
Cut the beautiful hedge down to knee-height, and see what happens in the growing season next year. Don’t be stingy about the damage, either. The more you prune, the more beautiful the development. The more you cut down the wayward tendrils, the stronger the bushy blooms are in the sunshine.
Jesus pruned the vine, too. Now, I understand why.
When last did you prune your own expectations, commitments, and bad habits? Lockdown has given many of us these mini-breakdown moments and we’re not yet out of the woods. Go on, test your roots and clear away the excess that has invaded time, money, relationships, and life choices. You may just find life more beautiful.
Also, you may need to get a dog to keep the monkey invasion at bay.
Published here.