Blonde headed, real gone surfie types, clad only in board shorts and thongs in the middle of July have spread the misconception that winter never darkens or frosts our doors in the bay. This is not quite the truth. It is cool, even cold in Byron Bay for at least six weeks a year. Sometimes, like this year, winter hangs around even longer.
Normally, this would not have worried me. After all, I know that we are not experiencing the beginning of an ice age! But Kenn and I have been working in the garden since Autumn, hoping to have it just perfect for our daughter Melissa’s Spring wedding. Kenn built new retaining walls here and there and replaced decrepit garden arches.
I planted out pots of pansies to greet the guests in a jovial, springlike manner.
We weeded, mulched and talked to the plants for we were hosting a recovery breakfast to follow the wedding reception. I had visions of guests sprinkled around the garden, sipping coffee and orange juice admiring the flowers in the balmy sunshine.
That was before the weather intervened. Instead of warm, sunny, spring weather, it rained, sprinkled and rained some more. Through the mist, my guests could see that there was a garden and probably somewhere out there, trees, shrubs, ferns and flowers but up close and personal with nature they did not get. Convivial conversation and laughter warmed us instead.
It’s been two weeks since the wedding. Two weeks since that rainy weekend and the garden has decided to really come delightfully alive.
The frangipani trees are sprouting, patterning the skies with green.
The daisy standard is clearly saying, “Look at me, look at me!” as the bees buzz happily about.
To my surprise, the bromeliads appear to be climbing. It’s not a tower yet but …
The may bush is in full flower and I noticed just today that the white Jacaranda has its first flowers while the northern border is alive with colour.
Every garden has its delights, something that catches your eye in every season. My garden is very much a work in progress. I confess, I have suffered from garden envy on occasion: walking through my sister Jenny’s rose garden in spring, admiring my sister Maryanne’s original federation garden with its mature weeping elm, box hedges and wisteria or tiptoeing through the tulips in Canberra. But at the moment, I am content. (After all, do I really want to spread those three bales of mulch that are still stacked around the side from before the wedding?) The birds visit and the flowers and ferns waft about as I drink my coffee in the morning sun. What delights await you in your spring garden?