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| Arum adds dashing white to the autumn party |
In this world made small by technology, quite a lot of my paid work comes from
Europe and some from the US. I love the global perspective that I get through
this work. But I am still thrown by the insistence of so many writers in those
Northern Hemisphere countries – when they are writing for global audiences – on
talking about “spring”, “autumn”, or even “fall”. They will usually be talking
about a meeting or a decision, very often concerning low-income countries, most
of which are in the Southern Hemisphere – and nothing remotely related to the
seasons.
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| Delicious wild plum, savoured by all |
Strange, hey? At first, I saw it as some kind of
arrogance (even the seasons were more legitimate in the North, it seemed). Now
I see it as a habit, one that could be quite endearing if wasn’t so confusing for
readers in the South. So at this time of the year, I’ve seen quite a few uses
of “spring” pop up in documents.
Spring
time
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| Crown of thorns, simply beautiful |
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| Clivia nobilis, an early flower |
After winter in the North, I’m happy that it’s spring there. But it is
most definitely autumn here in the South, and believe me, after our summer,
we’ve happy that it’s autumn.
My cousin, Vick, sends me pictures of the stunning “Lady Night” tulips
blooming in her London garden. And my sister, K, reminds me of the tulips and
daffodils that grow like weeds in her Geneva garden. In spring that is. Both of
them have also sent me pictures of their snow-covered winter gardens.
And then I look around and take conscious
note of what is flowering and fruiting in this frost-free, summer-rainfall area
as winter approaches.
There’s
not much leaf fall here. It’s too warm for that, and the oranges and reds of
deciduous trees never fail to delight me when I am visiting colder places in
autumn. But there is a lot of orange here right now. It comes from the things
that are flowering: among them, bird of paradise (Strelitzia reginae), gazania, and wild dagga (Leonotis leonurus).
A
party of colour
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| Barberton daisy, still shining |
Not all is orange. The Euphorbia crown of thorns (E. milii) is a riot of red. The
ribbon bush (Hypoestes
aristata) is in full purple haze. What we believe is a streptocarpus from
Pondoland is sneaking out dainty blue blooms. The arum lily (Zantedeschia
aethiopica), wild daisy (Osteospermum), and
camellia join the party with dashes of pure white.
The clivia nobilis are beginning to flower: the clivia miniata will follow in winter and spring. The Barberton daisy (Gerbera jamesonii)
continues to throw out gorgeous flowers, mostly in orange, which are fabulous
in a vase. On the good advice of the woman at the farmers’ market, use only the
tiniest amount of water, just enough to cover the tips of the stems; otherwise,
they rot.
Dripping
The amantungula (wild plum, Carissa macrocarpa), which followed fragant
white flowers, are dripping off the trees. All kinds of wildlife love these,
and even humans are fond of them, but the fruit has to be very ripe: just a
trace of milkiness makes them bitter.
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| Ribbon bush, a purple haze |
We grow both indigenous and
non-invasive exotic plants in the newer beds that hug the old naartjie (heavy
with fruit now) and cherry guava (just finished fruiting) trees. These beds are behind
the house, and far from the indigenous forest that lines the garden.
The roses are putting on a
beautiful autumn show in this part of the garden. We never use poisons on these
roses; splashes of “worm wee” now and then, and sprays of garlic and chilli,
when needed, seem to help. So we have lost a few, but those that remain are
survivors in an area that’s not really known for roses: they are more
successful, usually, in places that get frost.
Roll on, summer … uh, winter.
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