After the speculation on the perfidy of aphids in a recent column, I was feeling pretty certain that without my kindly delivery of OUTinPerth my lovely family would remain unaware of the significance of the sudden burst of appreciation for their company and the offer of culinary treats – and the strange correlation between such unprecedented behaviour and the onset of urgent major jobs in the garden. In describing the organic paradise I was creating, fuelled with free labour cunningly extracted from unwitting family members, I bargained without an appreciative reader telling Mother about said column. It turns out my mother knows how to use Google. Who knew?
The consequences were dramatic. I lost my labouring underlings (me? dig? what, personally?) and then my father, pesticide enthusiast extraordinaire, upon becoming au fait with the aphid situation, launched spray and run raids on the roses. Oh boy, were the aphids dead. Of course, the roses were much nicer than anyone else on the street’s as a result, which I am in no way totally and unbearably smug about, but the idyllic organic dream dissipated along with the little suckers.
I guess I have a confession of my own to make though. Putting down mulch to keep in the water to keep plants alive led to a slater plague which not only then ate both the mulch and the plants – their digestion system contributed to sandy soil becoming increasingly water repellent. I was a desperate woman, what can I say? Observing the shrivelling aphids I figured I was already on contaminated ground and, firmly suppressing my conscience, launched a chemical warfare campaign of my own. The slaters, munchers of all things plant, boilers of soil, armoured tankadillos, slayers of seeds took a fatal hit of something in a bottle that had the kind of long words on it that spell ‘pretty nasty’. Oops.
These later spring days have been warm, interspersed with solid rain and ideal for new seedlings. Although the tulips and early roses have faded away, the new sunflower hedge is putting on an inch a day, and the thyme and lippia lawn is spreading. Even the natives are spreading their twiggy arms and looking like they’re planning to stick around. Lovely spring growth – I was glowing with pride. Everything bursting, budding – bolting…
As the lettuce and chard reach a foot high and flower merrily I’m thinking that the ‘peaceful soothing time’ spent rejuvenating one’s self in the garden is actually a thinly disguised battle for supremacy. Plants go in and the beasties – ranked into battalions from slimy to scaly – spit them out. Attacks are launched from on high as the twenty eights hone in on unwary seed heads. Sappers below take out roots and bulbs. Water bounces off the soil.
After a long hard fought campaign, rations are slim – twelve purple spotted beans and a bunch of herbs. But the trenches are holding for now, and there is hope for maintaining the current position over the summer…. The labour force and garden experts will return. Dear Family, I have a new recipe for cake – and resistance is futile…
Zoe Carter
