‘Winter doesn’t start on the first of June. It starts when I say it does’, said Mother Nature, as she handed down the coldest May on Australian record.
Now it’s July – midwinter. The magnolia tree by the back deck is completely bare of leaves and in its dormant state. The tree had been showing me for many weeks that this year, winter was coming early. Yet I remember standing in the hot sun, looking at its yellowing foliage and wondering if it needed more nitrogen. I’m a long way from being in touch with nature’s cycles.
If I’d observed the tree more closely, I’d have known a cold snap was coming. The hints to buy firewood, unpack ugg boots and winter clothes were missed. Are there other tasks we should have completed on the property before winter? Pruning, mulching, fertilising? Are the mango, macadamia, custard apple, fig, orange, loquat and pomegranate trees calling for something we’ve neglected to provide? Hopefully they’ll all survive another season as we learn to fall in step with their needs.
Connecting with the seasons is one of the reasons I moved to the country. To know a small parcel of earth. To leave that patch healthier than when we started – more able to sustain us and provide habitat for wildlife. To give back in a small way to Mother Nature.
It’s our second winter and I’m noticing similarities with last year – my start to understanding the seasons.
The raucous screech of the yellow-tail black cockatoos is less frequent – they’ve depleted the casuarina (she oak) cones down in the gully behind the back fence, and our neighbour’s supply of macadamia nuts. I love these majestic birds and we’ll definitely plant more food sources for them in years to come.
There was koala scat under the trees near the front gate. It’s not yet their mating season and without hearing their guttural, rumbling brays l forget they may be here year-round.
Like last winter, half-eaten figs scatter the ground, suitable only for composting. The king parrots get to the fruit long before us – I see them feasting from the loungeroom window. We’ll never score more than a couple of the juicy delights, but the parrots are beautiful. Loosing fruit to wildlife is known as ‘Bush Tax’, and like making payments to the Australian Taxation Office, there’s an inevitable contribution.
In the bottom garden the sweet potato vines (yams) are dying back and its nearly time to pull the tubers. For the second year, this will be a major winter harvest for us, along with citrus. Both the Valencia and Naval oranges are ready for picking – two more trees that luckily thrive on neglect.
Starting a gardening diary might help me understand the cycles – what’s planted where and harvested when. Year-to-year this would just be a guide though, as Mother Nature’s sequences don’t always fit neatly into the months allocated to seasons.
My permaculture teacher suggested tuning into seasonal changes, rather than gardening by calendar. He starts each day just wandering around his property, observing. He listens to Mother Nature’s whispers.
Even though it’s mid-winter, today on the afternoon breeze a sweet breath of Spring brushed my cheek. The idea of sipping cocktails during a warm sunset, rather than cosying near the fire, seems a pleasant possibility. Is this the first indication of the next season, an early Spring?
But before cocktails and warm afternoons, there’s lots of work needed to ready the garden for planting next season’s beans, corn, potatoes, pumpkin, tomatoes and zucchini.
I need to be ready because spring may not arrive on the first of September. Spring will be here when Mother Nature says it is.
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