Cape Town - The wind has wreaked havoc with my garden, drying out the plants and leaving debris all over. My neat vegetable garden of a month back has grown over the paths, and the snails and bugs have moved in. The flowerings of spring have passed and I’m learning about a summer garden in Cape Town.
It’s been nine months since I moved to Noordhoek, to a garden that is big enough to grow vegetables in, and has enough sun. It’s been a treat, and a learning curve.
I’ve been writing about other people’s gardens for years now, and I’ve picked up many tips about gardening. Now that I’m faced with my own garden, I appreciate so much more the end results, the gardens I see when I visit, and the effort that goes into a garden.
Our priority was the vegetable garden. Perfectly placed just outside the kitchen, the area was a sandy patch where a children’s jungle gym had stood. It was also the area used by the builders doing renovations. We were helped setting it up, and it was laid out in a day: loads of compost, rocks for the landscaping and rough mulch for the path. Our first planting was in May, and within a few weeks we were eating lettuce from it.
It’s December, and the honeymoon phase is over as we deal with the bugs, moles, caterpillars and snails, usually by physically removing them. It’s an organic garden, so no pesticides. Our soil is sandy, and despite loads of compost and mulch, the water runs right through it.
Bernard is more active in this part of the garden, spending about an hour each morning, harvesting, checking for insects, planting seedlings and generally doing what needs to be done. I’m learning that you don’t need 10 spinach plants: even though I give bunches of it to everyone who visits, I still have too much. We’re eating lots of beans, a strange-shaped and coloured tomato from a packet of heirloom seeds, lettuce, rocket, beets, spring onions, leeks, courgettes and a variety of herbs. I get a thrill when I look at my plate and most of it has grown in my garden.
Now that I’m growing vegetables I have lots of questions. How do you know when the onions are ready? Why are my parsnips twisted, with lots of roots at all angles? How on earth do the vegetables survive being whipped by the south-easter and lashed by the winter storms? As I said, a learning curve.
Once the veggie patch was established, I started on the rest of the garden. I inherited a mostly indigenous garden, a lot quite overgrown, and after an initial severe pruning, I was left with some bare patches. And this is where I wish I had an expert to help me with what to plant, and where, and when.
I’m keen to keep much of the garden indigenous, and I love colour. I came back from Kirstenbosch’s nursery with a selection of pelargoniums – hardy, rewarding, with flowers. Some are flourishing, others not. One is being steadily eaten by something which sucks the sap from the tender shoots. My dilemma: what to do? Do I spray it with some pesticide (I have an organic one, but it’s still poison), do I leave it and hope the plant manages to survive? I’m filling up bare areas with plants like wild garlic and salvias, and ground covers, but I see now that perhaps it would have been better to make an overall plan, taking into account colours and shapes of plants.
I was advised to live with the garden for a year before doing anything, to see where the sun moves through the year, where the sheltered areas are. Which might have been a good thing, had I had the patience.
The clivias I brought from my previous home transplanted well and flowered in spring; the roses in pots are not as happy, probably the wind, and the succulents, true to their nature, have survived the constant moving around as I found the right spot for them.
A wall around the pool was dense with ivy – my pet hate as it constantly needs to be cut back and invades everywhere. It was removed, the wall repainted, and I had a narrow bed to fill. It’s a hot and dry area, and we planted restios and grasses and other hardy indigenous plants there, most of which are growing well. A tickey creeper has started to grow up the wall. We built a water feature, and I’m waiting for my water lilies to flower.
Lastly, under a waterberry tree, in a shady corner of my back garden where my Buddha sits, I planted a meditation garden, mostly white, using tree rounds to create spaces between the plants. An indigenous jasmine grows along the fence. It’s slowly taking shape, and I’m learning patience.
Much of the joy of a garden is watching it grow, in its own way. And accepting that it may not be exactly the way you thought it would be.
Cape Argus