As I pick the basil leaves I thank them, they basilness with every separation. – and I find myself enjoying that beautiful basilly smell. Then I remember that the point of that smell (and taste) is to avert predators….Now I am the predator.
The Basil’s smell is intensifying in the heat. I am encouraged by it’s loveliness to override my empathy for their demise at my hands; I am torn though and upon finishing my harvest, I make a deal with myself. I’ll leave the outdoor basils to grow on and feed my bees with their prolific flowers; the glasshouse ones will be cut back – it’s still hot enough in there that they will get a second chance to express their beauty and abundance to all.
I back away, bowing low and rush inside to the kitchen to start blitzing….That word says it all! My only choices here are to be deeply grateful to the basil deva for her yummy gift and to sing her praises to one and all. Oh, and to enjoy that Pesto like its gonna be my last meal!
As autumn begins to take up the space left behind by a slowly retreating summer, the fruits of the season are ready for harvest. Today I collected Feijoas from a friend’s orchard. They lie under the trees in rich abundance, their gorgeous scent stimulating memories of previous year’s ingestion.
It has been a pleasant week; lots of sunshine after a heavy and extended, but desperately needed, rain. All of a sudden, the possibility of planting out the many inhabitants of my shade house became a reality. Along with planting out comes the usual removal of plants which have positioned themselves in the ‘wrong’ place. As the primary designer (or so I tell myself) I follow my plan. As Mother Nature is cleverer than me She sometimes positions plants with such superb skill I can only marvel. Other times She likes to play a practical joke! I am fortunate in having kind friends who are happy to ‘rehome’ plants that are in overabundance.
There are the odd few, however, whose reputations have gone before them and I cannot, in good conscience, give them away. I’ve just spent some time in my veggie garden removing Oxalis bulbs, one of my least enjoyed immigrants. It is such a large family and some are terribly well-behaved whilst others are nothing short of hooligans who take over and create hours of weeding work. As I squat digging them out with my trusty Niwashi I wonder what lesson I’m learning from these vigourous/annoying garden overstayers. I keep in mind they were invited here by my gardening ancestors; perhaps it’s unfair to label them so negatively. A little more tolerance and I can see how, in their roundabout way, they keep bringing me back to the veggie garden; my hands returning to the soil, keeping the connection.
Feelings of peace exchange places with annoyance. A nod of thanks to Oxalis and I go back to the house and wash up ready to reward myself for a good days work with the delightful scent and taste of Feijoas.