Not a tree hater

As I hope I proved with my little bonsai, I am no tree hater, even though I dislike the things the neighbour’s tree sheds onto my garden.

Another proof is my little Japanese maple tree.

When I took possession of this 4 x 10 metres backyard garden, there was not a tree in sight (nor much else either). It took me about five years to start thinking about planting one. I always thought the garden was too small for a tree – but, after all, there are not-so-big trees to be found, right?

So, my first consideration in choosing a tee was that it had to be a fairly small one. My thought first tuned to conifers – there’s such a variety there! – but I quickly abandoned the idea. Conifers need sunlight and, unless I planted them right in front of my window something which I would not do), the conifers would be in shade or partial shade most of the year. After weeks of research I finally decided to go with a Japanese maple. I first wanted the coral one, which displays beautiful reddish branches when the leaves fall off, but had to give that choice up because it grows too high. So it had to be the Acera kind.

Easily said, but much more difficult to do. For, as I soon discovered, not many nurseries in Johannesburg have maples for sale. I found one in a distant part of the city and planted it in the spot I designated for it, with the clay soil carefully dug out and supplanted and enriched with lighter soil that maples like.

Alas, after the very first year it dawned on me that the spot I selected might not be the perfect spot for my maple tree. True, the tall conifers from the neighbouring garden (since gone – but more about that another time) cast a shadow over almost the whole width of my small garden, but in the height of summer, December through February, the sun shone almost vertically on the maple’s tender leaves. With the sad consequence that many of the leaves dries out and died.

I gave it another year, thinking that perhaps matters would improve as the (religiously watered once a week) tree grew accustomed to its position. It did not.

Against my friend’s advice, who was adamant that moving plants equals killing them, I moved my maple closer to the high wall that divides my garden from the neighbouring property and casts a shadow through much of the day.

They say that the correct procedure for transplanting a tree is to do it over a period of about a month or two. First you dig a trench on one side of the tree, than on another, and only then dig it out. However, after all the digging I did the previous year, I was not prepared to go though that. Besides, I read about the experience of one maple tree-owner who, like me, had planted his tree in a sunny spot and, believing it dead, dug it out with roots and threw it away onto a pile of compost – only to find the tree sprouting leaves in the spring. He replanted it in a shade and, as he says, the tree is doing wonderfully.

Therefore, I took a deep breath, removed all the carefully placed stones around the maple, dug it out and planted it against the wall, into a prepared, well-composted soil.

Well, two years on, my maple, now five years old, is doing well, as can be seen from this photo:

This is the same tree in its old, sun-baked position:

To follow: photos of my maple tree in its autumn splendour.

Bonsai

One good thing did came out of all those invasive tree seedlings: my own little bonsai, now about five years old.

Yes, it does look rather pitiful – but then, I have no idea what I am doing. The little bush to the left sprouted from I know not where. Notice the brand-new seedling in the background, the consequence of yet another tree seed falling onto the fertile ground. I decided to let it grow. I envisage having a mini forest in that pot soon.

Other people’s trees

One of the rare things that are more annoying than other people’s children is other people’s trees with branches hanging over your garden. I have one such tree – or rather, my neighbour has it, I only have a few branches that give me lots of work year round. In autumn it is – you’ve guessed it – dead leaves. Buckets and buckets of them to be swept every day or, time permitting, twice a day, packed into plastic bags and disposed of. In spring time it is some fluff – tiny yellowish droplets – that fall all over the place, hogging the plants, burrowing among the stones, covering the paved patio. Again to be swept and scooped into buckets and binned. Then come tiny green seeds that rain down and pop most unpleasantly as I walk over the paved area. It’s even worse when they fall onto the soil, for from each and every one of those seeds sprout at least one – and I suspect even more than one – seedlings, to be plucked out and binned.

I even have the photographic evidence of the plucked out seedlings:

 

And here are the seeds:

With all that evidence, you would think I’d be able to sue someone. But no one cares, except my sore back that complains every time I bend.

In all honesty, I must say that things used to be even worse. There used to big conifers growing in the neighbouring garden, right next to the wall separating it from my garden.

I like conifers as much as the next person. In fact, I simply love them when I am on the mountain skiing. But as anyone who has had conifers – at least this particular kind of various stuff shedding conifers – knows, they are a nuisance. If you are not collecting needles that fell of them, you are collecting most unseemly little yellow things that resemble worms. Plus, they seldom allowed sunrays into my garden.

After petitions from several gardeners next to my townhouse, who shared my woes with the conifers (they formed a long row), the gardeners from our complex were allowed to go into the next door property and cut them down.

I relish the sun and the absence of needles and wormy things; still, I must confess I miss the conifers. Only this painting I made when they were still blocking the sun and shedding their stuff remains to remind me of them:
photo 

I know, sooner or later the obnoxious tree will be cut down too, probably when the next door property is sold for development. I can’t wait, even though it means I’ll be left without the shade and will have to invest into one of those monstrous umbrellas.

Here is the picture of the tree that sheds all those seeds:

Hail, again

A gardener dreads hail more than anything else. And in Johannesburg a year rarely passes without at least one major hail storm. I still shudder to remember the one that had left many of the leaves of my Philodendron in shreds.

This year’s hail was more merciful. For one, the Philodendron was entirely spared, probably thanks to the neighbouring tree that had grown some huge branches over a part of my garden, which acted as a protection.

As soon as the hail subsided, I went into the garden to assess the damage and to clean it up, but not before I took a few photos.

The hail among pratia flowers

The leaves from the neighbouring tree

After the hail

Daisies live on

Not to worry. Daisies have not been consigned to the dust bin. They have been given a new lease of life as potted plants. The ugly plastic pots are a temporary solution. I plan to re-pot them into two tin buckets that I bought although I have no need for them whatsoever. It only remains to persuade my husband to drill drainage holed in them and the daisies will have a permanent home. I am hoping the mission will be accomplished in the sometime during the forthcoming five-year plan.

Erigeron moves baby geranium

As soon as I planted the erigeron plants, I realised that the baby geranium previously transplanted into the vicinity of the one on the left hand side had to be moved yet again. This will be the third time it is moved from its germinating pot. I do agonise over its future a bit, since I still see no evidence of any roots.

But here’s to my little baby geranium, hoping for the best!

Erigeron replaces daisies

My new erigeron plants are now where daisies used to be. They are still a slip of the bush they will grow into (it the old gardening magazine and the nursery assistant – who is quickly becoming my acquaintance – are to be trusted). But I am content as content can be. They are just right for the spot, or rather the two spots. I gave them the gift of good measure of compost and promise to give them organic fertiliser too.

The new plants look much better in the designated spots than daisies, because they have that light, airy look I was sought to achieve. Their small flowers seem to float above the clump of the leaves.