In another pre-work bout of guerilla gardening, I stepped out with three fine leaved creeping boobialla and 17 ruby saltbush plants.
The saltbush went in to a bank where weeds thrive in the cooler months. It was only after I had them all in the ground and was pondering whether to invite the person whose driveway adjoins this patch to water them… that I remembered there was a reason I hadn’t planted here before. Occasionally a car parks here. Hopefully that won’t be an issue until next year’s royal show, when perhaps by then these plants will be bushes big enough to fend off stray vehicles.
The boobiallas went in beside some plantings that are barely managing to survive. They may fare no better, but I gave all the little stragglers a drink. Maybe one day they will be understory for these ironbarks. As I watered in the last of them, the umpteenth cyclist pedalled past and this one called out ‘thanks!’ so I called back ‘thank you!’ It was a pleasingly cheering exchange.
Home again empty! I have so many little seedlings pushing up I will need all the pots I can empty. I realise that on Game of Thrones the chilling call is ‘winter is coming’ but in this part of Australia, the killing time is summer, and it’s coming faster and harder than usual, I think. The more plants I can get in the ground in this relatively cool week, the better. I planted lettuce and beetroot and dill this morning too. The chickens were made happy by poppies and parsley and kale and calendula and assorted weeds plus a few flax plants that had gone to seed. Even the plants they don’t enjoy eating are full of delectable caterpillars and other passengers, so it’s sure to be a happy day in the henhouse.