Magnolia, weeping

Dragon's Teeth

It is a quiet time for vegetables. Most tasks are administrative: tidying up after a busy summer, or preparation for next year. Important yes, but not really spectacular. At least in a young garden.

Ten days ago I planted my garlic. It seemed grey and grim enough, as if winter is solidly here. I didn't quite know how much I'll need: started with one bulb, then two, before finally adding another. About 30 cloves in all. Good plump ones too. I would have like to eat them. Is that too many? Maybe. But we're enough to absorb any excess produce. And really, even if they all deliver beautifully, a bulb every second week is not excessive? And that is without planning for the scapes, the roasted garlic, the pickled garlic, the chicken with 16 cloves, the lamb with 24, the baked potatoes with 127 cloves, or the garlic crisps. That last two still need some working on. They went in everywhere where I could find an open spot between the herbs. That is a lots of spots.

Then, today, they all appeared. I was quite surprised. An army of 5cm shoots marching on the thyme, with another flank cutting off the sage. Will they slow down enough to still make sense of spring? I really don't know. But I hope so.

Fig tree

Three months ago, just before I moved into the new house, we had a barbeque here. Outside, next to the quail, with 40 years of fig tree towering above us. It was filled with small green figs. I picked one the sticky milk, scratchy little hairs and above all the scent of fresh fig tree transported me to long summer afternoons on the Highveld.

We had two fig trees in our garden, three actually. An ancient tree, probably planted by the ancestors on the small irrigation gully that ran through the garden, was well past it's prime by the time I started noticing trees. The other two were planted later, when I was young, to catch the overflow from the dam. One rewarded us with sweet figs every year, the other grew faster, taller, with large leaves but very few fruit. Finding another tree, half a world away, was a good sign, it made me feel at home.

Sadly, the tree was rarely watered, resulting in tough leathery runts instead of proper figs. And, in the tradition of trees planted close to houses, it discovered our plumbing. So the landlord decided that it had to go.

Two men came this morning, with saws and ropes and tools, and removed it. I fled the house to avoid the trauma. By the time I returned there was a tree-shaped hole in the garden. Lots of new sunlight. But still a hole. And it smelled of fig everywhere.

Summer solstice

The scent of jasmine fills my room.

Finished a report tonight, not a big one, but potentially important. Ok, maybe not finished, but the bit of smoothing that remains is relatively minor. I suspect I've been enlarging it in my mind, but it was frustrating nonetheless. I realized my extreme maloquance* when it comes to literature reviews of subjects I really don't know much about. Maybe it was the the way I've been reading - with more focus on understanding what I'm doing than where it fits it? Anyway, creating the grand overview was challenging.

But I finished at 22h-ish. Better than the last few nights. Then I went outside, for a walk, trying to replace my inner rush with the tranquility of late dusk. I crossed the rail tracks:


Eventually I found myself outside Tesco. Thinking that I need something to sooth myself I went inside. Maybe a chocolate bar? I rarely buy chocolate (unless it's for cooking), so I really had no idea what I'd like. Then I saw the tonic water. The OED says:

tonic, a. and n. 2) Med., etc. Having the property of increasing or restoring the tone or healthy condition and activity of the system or organs; strengthening, invigorating, bracing.

So I bought a bottle. And a lime, just one. The gin was already waiting at home.


On the way back, I discovered a low, almost hidden jasmine shrub. It creeped into my nose from two houses away. And brought memories with it. We had an amazing one outside our door, in a small quad. It would fill the kitchen with its scent for most of spring. In Stellenbosch, I would start looking for leaves from early spring onwards, and plan my midnight walks accordingly. Hoping to find the find fresh blossoms, but also the last ones before the heat of summer set in. Later, when I had a garden (a real one, with earthworms and hadedas and bloody sorrel), I would take fragrant bunches along when invited to dinner. Even though no-one would call it courtship, it was appreciated enough for me to persist.

I surrepticiously plucked off a small bit over the hedge tonight, it is lying next to my bed right now.


* Yes, that is my new word for today.

The end of spring

I think this might be the last magnolia in town. It certainly feels that way.

Dandelion