Tag Archives: invasive

Oribi Mom

Oribi Mom: Rose Bush Is Free of Triumphant Vine

“The vine branches are the same colour and thickness as the rose branches, minus the spiny thorns that go right into tender fingers or arms.”

PHOTO BY PIXABAY

March 2, 2024 

That vine has come up again. The one with big leaves that grow right over my rambling rose. It twists and clings, dropping new roots as it goes. If I leave it any longer, it’s going to get those seed pods again, which is the reason it came up again this year, I’m sure.

Today, when I looked out of the kitchen window for the umpteenth time to admire my little pink roses, I couldn’t even see the bush! The vine looked triumphant. So, I left the housework, the children, the paid work, and the tea and marched outside to collect my boots, slasher and gloves. I’d had enough of that old vine.

Don the Gloves and Go For It

The gloves are an essential feature for me in this thorny, hand-slicing garden of mine. There are all sorts of stinging things, too. One day I felt something tickle my leg and swiped a bit. As I looked down there was just blood. I thought I’d squashed the fly, but it was my own blood that the nasty fly was apparently having for lunch [insert horrified emoji here]. The scar stuck around for two weeks.

The boots look ridiculous, but they’re for the night adders. Rather, I like to think of them for the night adders and not think about all the other, much worse, slithery things my feet might step on while I’m knee-deep in grass or blackjacks.

Watch Out For the Spikes and Fangs

Careful of what you grab onto. Vine snakes look like branches, and so do female boomslangs. Actually, a lot of snakes look just like branches, or leaves, or the pesky weeds that grow long tendrils over everything and push my poor plants flat down on the ground. I’m constantly pulling those out. They get little white flowers with a purple centre that are actually quite pretty, but don’t let them fool you; they take over in a matter of weeks.

With my trusty boots and gloves on, I dealt with the vine. My rose is free, though it didn’t thank me. The vine branches are the same colour and thickness as the rose branches, minus the spiny thorns that go right into tender fingers or arms. Talk about biting the hand that feeds you. At least I can see the pink blooms again.

Summer is almost over already, and the green beauty will soon disappear for a few months. Next season, hopefully, I’ll be a little more proactive about that vine earlier in the season so that I don’t have to spend an hour in the rain getting eaten by horseflies. Or maybe I’ll just have tea on the porch instead.

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.