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Swirling through the ether, the mantra is 'think global, act local'. I struggle to understand the emotions of standing in a large barn of an assembly hall whilst a voice booms over a PA '64 Sanderson Road - 100% destroyed'. I likewise struggle with how people can cope with the stench of river mud through 100% of their house, or lying for weeks through their paddocks. Or their house blown 100m up the road and all their possessions scattered. It has been and is, a trying summer. So, in a paradoxical way, my issues are the least of my worries.
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I have a small courtyard, covered in tiles, surrounded by two storey terraces, except on the SW side - which is a road. The damage from the week plus of 32+ temperatures was more ambient heat than anything else. My garden was tended morning and evening.
I came to figs late in life, but am a devotee. My nostrils fill with the aroma of standing under a laden fig tree in the south of France in September 2008, the ripe fruit bursting from the pods. This year my tree has been equally laden. I have already eaten half a dozen . But now I have an issue. Most of my garden is ornamental, for pleasure rather than survival. I want to move the percentage just a little but worry about the lack of depth to the soil, and my own ability to cope with the workload.
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It will always be the garden of a dilettante. I would love to have tomatoes tumbling down the wrought iron, but know that the grub of the white butterfly would make this a futile endeavour. What would you suggest? Perhaps zucchini or capsicum or rockmelon. Or green pea-pods dangling from a trellis.
