Summer! Yeay!

 A well-behaved yellow rose!
Golden Smiles Rose

Summer! Yeay! But not too hot to garden, so I've already spent three hours in the shade trimming more of the Big Banksia rose down. The path through to the glass-house is once again passable. There's been too much wind to drag any of the prunings off to the bonfire, and they are far too tangled to put through the shredder. So the nearby lawns are covered with piles of rose mess.

Time to Sit and Read...

Summer weather demands a sensible gardening strategy, and time must also be put aside to choose a shady seat, sit, and read - I've just done that. Such a lovely holiday feeling! It's only four o'clock, so I'm going to put my shorts on and do some weeding. Thinks - last time I wore my shorts I got bitten on the backside by a mosquito. How rude! Well, in today's wind they should have a hard time alighting anywhere near my bottom!

Much Later...

I've been good. I spent two more hours collecting weeds from the interior of the Wattle Woods - Alkanet (a semi-weed which the bees adore), annual Forget-me-nots, Cleavers (aargh!), and the cutest little ground cover, Creeping Charlie. Make that grrrr-ound cover! This quartet of lively nuisances is again romping around the Wattle Woods' shrubs, roses and ornamental grasses. Grrrr.... indeed!

Sunday 11th December

Wow! 35mm of rain fell overnight, plus the big wooshy irrigation was running, so the house gardens have been well-watered. That's nice - things look so tired after the hot dry winds have been blowing, even for one day. Same could be said about the gardener - the dry winds are oddly energy-sapping for people as well. And often lead to social misbehaviour...

 Nasturtiums and pansies.
Summer Annuals

Non-Gardening Partner says that everything will be far too wet to burn today. He is probably right, but he has an ulterior motive - I have a singing concert this afternoon, and was planning to leave him in charge of the bonfire. Cunningly I have now suggested that he help me fill the trailer with it (several times) and dump it by the fence-line. Profound silence. Wish me luck!

In the meantime I'm staying inside, writing up rose pages for some of my newer David Austin roses. Two more pink fluffies (Strawberry Hill and the Wedgwood Rose) - what can one say about pink fluffy roses that hasn't already been said? Compare them to ballet tutus? I'm sure I've already done that. For me they're a bit floppy. And there's the super-drooper Lichfield Angel, stems never strong enough to hold up their flower-heads, even when it hasn't rained.

 Another David Austin which droops at the slightest excuse.
Lady of Megginch Roses

One doesn't like to criticise the great rose-breeding master, after all. But several of my newer David Austins seem to be a little top-heavy.

A brilliant thought...

Yes, a brilliant thought! The trailer full of rose rubbish could go to the dump. Ha! Tis done. NGP has been helping, dragging and stomping down the tangle. And now he has been sent off to the 'Resource Recovery Park', where he will pay the small charge. What a great idea!

Much Later...

I'm back from my Christmas Carols concert, and I see a huge open garden space where most of the Banksia rose was, with loads of firewood logs waiting for me to cart away to the stack. NGP has been busy. And the cost of the dumping? Twelve dollars. So why did I ever think about burning the stuff? Too silly.

 Suddenly my washing line is sunny again!
Where the Banksia Rose Was

I know what I'm doing tomorrow. I'm attacking the last pieces of the rose, raking the new garden, and also finishing weeding out the Fabulous Four (see above) from below the glass-house.


No I'm not. I'm going swimming, exercise for the aging hip. Sorry dogs, but the dog park is not on today's list, nor is gardening. It's been thundering overhead, and now noisy rain is pelting down. There are even puddles all over my free-draining (i.e. sandy) lawns.

Summer? Yeay? It's somewhat cool for so-called summer. Not that I am complaining - the wise gardener lives at ease with the weather, after all. But I expect all the Lichfield Angels will be totally bent over, flower-faces muddy in the wet dirt. Dear things! I'll pick them for the house vases.