I was gardening for friends yesterday. It was delightful. Their garden is what I'd call old-fashioned, crafted out of specimens such as a series of roses in whose presence I had to be pretty bloody nimble! It reminded me how gardening is an art that requires nurture, and possibly makes us more understanding, caring people. There is also a continuity or common link among gardeners that goes back centuries, even when their approaches are utterly different.
The one squatting is the young one.
The jacaranda's where I put minced beef most days. It's principally for the magpies I do it, but anything with two wings is welcome - especially anything marvelous! For me, gardening is an interaction with nature that allows me to facilitate improved conditions. Playing restauranteur is part of that.
Uncommon in much of Melbourne's sprawl, the kookaburra's unmistakeable, whooping chuckle seems to come out of ages past...but it's here, now...
here as I write this they're laughing. There were three that came today, and I'm hoping they stick around, now they know where there's some catering. Me? I make a garden so the world has somewhere it can sing with life.