bonsai boffin

Michael developed a fascination with all things Japanese in his mid twenties and so began his interest in the art of bonsai. When we met, fifteen years later, he came as a package deal and his beloved bonsai found a home in a sunny spot under the pergola of our suburban backyard.

Five years on, we moved to a property in the Adelaide Hills and one of the first items we added to the garden was a shade house to protect the bonsai from unpredictable weather. (It did become airborne in one particular storm but, fortunately, no bonsai were harmed. We then concreted the corner posts into the ground.)

Fast forward another seven years and we made the bold decision to relocate to Tasmania. By this stage, there were over forty bonsai to consider in varying stages of evolution. There were strict biosecurity rules for entry into Tasmania, any potted plants had to be fumigated by a registered authority and sealed until arrival across the creek. Sadly, all but four were sold or given away and the remaining plants travelled with us on the Spirit of Tasmania to their new abode. More specimens have been procured and nurtured since our arrival but they have been somewhat “out of sight” in various spots around the garden.

After years of planning and procrastinating, the new bonsai stand was finally created last winter.

The little trees received some long overdue attention with pruning, root trimming and re-potting.

Let me introduce you to the collection. The radiata pine was given to Michael by someone who no longer wanted to continue with bonsai, and the three sticks on the right are English oaks that had self-seeded on a friends property at Table Cape.

Spring brought verdancy to the oaks but, regrettably, the radiata failed to thrive.

The origin of this liquidambar is uncertain (meaning forgotten) but, despite resembling a twig in winter, it perked up once the warmer weather arrived.

We have a huge holly tree in the garden from which we occasionally find young saplings, the perfect source to experiment with bonsai. So far, this one is a success.

I bought Michael this olive as a gift nearly thirty years ago. He re-trained it and it is one of the chosen few who came from South Australia with us.

The ash tree is quite spectacular. Liberated from between two pavers on a suburban footpath in the mid 80s, Michael trained the roots around a rock before planting in a deep pot. The roots were then gradually exposed and this is the result.

The oldest exhibit in the collection is a copse of English elms. One of the original seven died in transport to Tasmania but there are two new saplings growing in the grove and one will be nurtured to reinstate the preferred uneven number.

The dwarf camellia has done well and produced a beautiful pink flower last year.

Perhaps the hardiest of them all is the Japanese maple. Firstly created as a bonsai, it was then planted in the garden to enable it to reach its full potential. That wasn’t to be when the neighbours horses reached over the fence and ate most of it. Reclaiming it into a pot seemed the kindest thing to do, now we just need to find a way to stop the nocturnal wildlife having a nibble.

The Australian blackwood was gifted at the same time as the radiata but has fared considerably better. Several root suckers have emerged and will hopefully result in a miniature blackwood forest.

Dogwood trees are prolific in our forest and Michael took these three from the path to see if they could become bonsai. I’d say it was a successful experiment.

With the Japanese Buddhas enjoying themselves at the watering hole,

the new display is complete….for now.

strenuous summer

Early last year we had a few large trees removed and the timber was left in piles for us to turn into firewood. We finally got around to dealing with it this summer with many hours of chainsawing, splitting and stacking (not to mention swearing). Realising there were a further two trees that needed felling, we came up with yet another project to use the enormous pile of mulch that would ensue. The row of trees along the south-eastern boundary of the garden has always been difficult to traverse with the ride-on mower. We mapped out the area to mulch and laid 3-metre pine posts for the edging.

Procuring huge cardboard boxes from the dumpsters at local electrical stores, we laid them flat to repel the weeds. The remaining mulch from last year’s felling was used up first

before more cardboard and a hefty layer from the new pile.

We interspersed our weekend activities with more cutting

and splitting

to clear the way for the new border. The Tree Doctor returned to decimate the final specimen

and we returned to mulching the new border with great fervour.

Alas, the piles of timber waiting for splitting seemed to be never ending

and with one monster left,

a massive effort saw the completion of our odyssey.

It is very rewarding to see the firewood stacked in preparation for coming winters.

A feature has been made of the remaining stump of the once majestic blackwood tree

and the old plough has a new position front and centre.

mulching mania

The arboreal aftermath left us with a monstrous mulch pile to deal with and so, I made it my mission to replenish every garden bed before the onset of winter.

The Tree Doctor advised us to cover the exposed roots of a couple of large trees or they would certainly suffer. We moved the existing edging to extend the mulched area and procured some huge cardboard boxes from a local electrical store. After placing the cardboard as a weed mat, I dumped a hefty layer of mulch

and am very pleased with the result.

Come and have a look at the refreshed garden.

We then decided to rejuvenate the old dog kennel (that none of our dogs have actually used) and move it to a more prominent position.

With a fresh coat of paint, new bright curtains and the addition of a door and gable finial, she is flanked by a pair of potted English Box.

arboreal abscission

Being surrounded by forest makes for a wonderful peaceful setting, with verdant vistas and myriad birdlife. However, having these larger tree species within the garden can pose a bit of a problem. Like any living being, they have a life span and some had been shedding bark and limbs at an increasing rate with the potential to damage outbuildings. We called in the Tree Doctor to diagnose diseased, dying and dangerous specimens. A huge Eucalypt was deemed to be failing (I don’t miss cleaning up the frequent sheets of bark on the driveway).

A second Eucalypt, with a distinct lean away from the prevailing westerlies, was displaying the same symptoms and awarded the same fate.

A healthy Tasmanian blackwood just needed an amputation of a rather large limb overhanging the studio

but another blackwood we thought in need of a trim was actually slowly dying.

A few weeks later the team arrived and wasted no time tackling the first blackwood.

The smaller branches were picked up and fed into the chipper

which was then emptied into an ever increasing mulch pile.

Before long, only a stump remained and a substantial stack of timber for future firewood.

The razing of the leaning Eucalypt was a little more involved. A precise landing was in order to prevent damage to buildings, fences and established plants in the garden beneath. With ropes attached to guide the downward trajectory,

a hefty chainsaw took care of the rest and the giant was felled.

I was pleased to see the rhododendrons still upright on either side of the enormous trunk.

The mulch pile continued to grow, along with the firewood supply for the next few years.

A quick trim of a wayward branch from a pine tree on the neighbouring property

and the final Eucalypt was tackled.

Proximity to the fence was problematic but the skill of the experienced team overcame the hurdles for another successful outcome.

Now, where is that chainsaw……..

forest walk

With Michael recently sidelined sporting a badly sprained ankle, I stepped in for Poppy-walking duty. Saturday is always the long walk down the steep hill into our forest. It had been quite a while since my last venture this way and I was amazed how much had changed. The tree ferns are enormous and every shade of green.

If Michael hadn’t pre-warned me about the crayfish burrows on the path, I probably would have stepped on them. Freshwater burrowing crayfish live in tunnel systems in muddy banks, only venturing out at night or in damp, overcast conditions. The Tasmanian genera has claws that open vertically to the body rather than horizontally to allow for larger claws in narrow tunnels. Characteristic ‘chimneys’, some as high as 40cm, announce the entrance to the burrow.

Remnants of an overnight rain shower sparkled on foliage

while contorted trees danced amongst their lofty companions.

I dutifully followed Poppy along the boundary of adjoining farmland

where we attracted the interest of neighbouring cattle who didn’t hesitate to take a closer look.

Our circuit returned us to the forest, the winter season has delivered more firewood from nature,

the manferns are thriving

and the stream is bubbling its way to the Blythe River.

I wisely chose bright red socks for my pilgrimage, all the better to see the leeches that abound in the damp conditions.