The joys of a garden

A beautiful summer’s day, warm, but no too hot, the sun for most of the day veiled by vague clouds, more like a gauze which may partly blur one’s features. No wind after many days of very strong winds, first from the East and later from the North and thus cold. The easterly wind brings jellyfish to our beaches and we have seen thousands of them during the past week. Not the poisonous kind, but who likes to slip on gelatine patches when walking the beach, let alone swim embraced by their tentacles. 

 

 The garden is lovely and lush, although showing signs of the drought. Leaves, at this time of year brightly green, now turn yellow and drop like autumn leaves. I wonder if the trees will die or recover next year. Perhaps dropping leaves might mean saving roots.

 

 

 It is a joy to see all the young song birds around. Normally blackbirds, pigeons and small song birds drink from the bird bath which I keep well filled. After a refreshing drink they start washing, drops flying up from their wings with which they scoop up the water, downing their heads. Quite a few young tits are around. Their colours are still somewhat vague and not as distinct as those of the mature birds. They twitter, fly around, sit in the bird bath not quite knowing what to do, observing what might be their parents. The tits must have a nest or several nests here in my back garden or the neighbouring one, because there are flocks of them, rather clumsily flying and landing, their feathers still slightly downy. They are rather endearing. 

 

 

I love this garden, a small patch of paradise for me. The roses with their different shades from fuchsia to dusty pink, the beautiful container plants, the water of my pond where dark young fish shoot from one side to the other, the tiny white blossoms floating on the surface looking like delicate snowflakes. In Dutch they are called “frog-bite”, in America common frogbit. The vividly pink mini waterlilies, insects skating across the surface of the water on spindly legs, the blue jay, an occasional visitor, which tries to drink from the pond but almost topples over as the water level is too low. It is quite comical. The butterflies enjoying the flowers, the bumblebees feeding on the nectar of the lavender and some other plants. The jay quickly and dexterously picks up something out of the water, thinking it has caught a frog or a small fish, being quite proud of himself, but instead it is a dead leaf and he seems very disappointed. No succulent meal this time!

In spite of the noise of landing planes – Schiphol is all too near - , the continual drone of the motorway, wheels on tarmac, a music all of its own, the shouts from the sports fields opposite, I do not want to leave this small garden full of life. There is the ongoing fight with the wysteria, which grows quicker and blooms with a vengeance the more I cut it back. It is entwined with a dusty pink rose, which thinks that flowering just for one month a year is quite enough. 

Hydrangeas are almost in bloom, but are quite surprised by the warm weather which they had not expected in this clime and which they do not appreciate. They are in a state of limbo: to bloom or not to bloom, taking some liberty with the words of the famous bard. Blooming or not, this tiny part of heaven represents nature in its many guises and forms. I pity the talkative toddler next door. His parents have just redesigned their “garden”, which now looks like the airing court of a high security prison with its high wooden fence all around, its sleek pavement slabs and its artificial grass. No plants to be seen, not a container, no border, just wood, plastic and pavement stones. It has nothing to offer to birds, bees, butterflies, frogs or anything remotely alive. How will this little boy ever learn about nature, be amazed by a ladybird, a butterfly landing on a flower, a bumble bee?

Later in the evening I find a little tit, dead, on its back, apparently attacked by a cat and left on the paving stones, a sad sight. I pick up the little fledgling and dispose of it. Nature can be cruel.