Oh no all my high school maths problems come back to haunt me.
According to my learner guide, I now have to figure out how to work out how much N, P and K is in a 23 kilogram bag of fertiliser with the fertiliser analysis numbers of 10-6-4. Please lightning strike so I don't have to work this out.
As far as I know if you mulch with peas you return nitrogen to the soil, scrape your bbq ashes gives you potassium, and phosphorus, well was it banana skins or was that in seaweed. I forget. Or maybe worm wee. Then it says I have to get a lab test to find out the nutrient content in a tree's soil and leaves. Science schmience. Feeding plants used to be so simple you just gave them compost and manure. Now it's all fancy labels and packaging and special diets, like they are on Weight Watchers or something.
The last time I had a lab test the doctor said I had high cholestrol so that means I can't eat any meat pies, and no cheese or chocolate either. Well not that I can't, but it might not be a good idea to die of a heart attack in the middle of mowing someone else's lawn. I wonder if trees get a similar diagnosis, eating too much junk food what with all the plastic weedmat people have been mulching them with. I had been following the contractors diet of bakery food which is nothing but junk and they always ask if you want a plastic bag with it. What so I can kill everything living in the ocean, and not just myself?
Another thing that I'm trying to ignore is the nagging feeling that someone has mowed over the church proteas and leucodendrons. I went past last week, a drive by, and could not see them, just freshly cut grass. I don't want to go back to that church now. It will break my heart.
Gardening in a man's world sometimes makes me want to run away and cry. I was harangued the other day after checking my work to make sure, yes, I have planted everything in the right spot and not left any weeds. My workmate had a go at me and said I was acting like a dimwit staring at the garden. Well excuse me for standing still for one minute and THINKING we can't all be like you. Oh don't give me that attitude. Before this escalated into a fighting match where I could have chucked mud at him, and told him stop being a dick for cursing everyone under the sun for not being a turbo charged machine like he was. But, why should someone have to be told to stop being a dick? Why can't you just....NOT be one?
I don't work for you, for the residents, for the company or the CEO with the wallet who owns it all ok. I'm working for the plants. If they are happy, I am happy. If they are not, I am not. Is that clear?
Maybe men just don't get it. I did ask God about this once, and He just said He made men thick.
Tuesday, 31 July 2018
Monday, 23 July 2018
The bad tempered gardener
Task done -
Thinned Feijoas.
Ripped out Licorice Plant.
Planted avocados.
Broccolis eaten by the chicken - noted, must replace with chicken proof veges.
Planted hippeastrum bulb (x 1)
Planted hellebores (x2)
Planted punnet primula and polyanthus (x 12)
Now can put my feet up, and rest. I found this curious book at the library called 'The Bad Tempered Gardener' by Anne Wareham, who has a garden in Wales called 'Veddw' but hates gardening. I knew it had to be a riposte to Christopher Lloyd's 'The well-tempered garden' because he was so genial and in love with plants and here's his exact opposite, someone who genuinely hates gardening because its so much work, but thinks she's entitled to one all the same. I call her a rich tosser who would probably employ someone else to do all the work for her while she can play around with her wavy cut hedges and reflecting pool. If you want to call yourself a designer and make a garden but refuse to do the work yourself well sorry but I don't have any illusions about that, just call yourself a garden owner instead.
She has a website called 'thinkinGardens'' and wants people to be more artful about gardens, like making sure they conform to her 'golden rectangle' or to be about something other than plants, or gardeners, which is why she put a TV in one of them. Just to be subversive I guess.
There's a whole manifesto on it.
I don't know if I subscribe. My brain might explode. What, my garden has to be a work of art as well as contain plants? I had no idea. I'm just a gardener! Then why is it landscape architects design gardens end up getting a planting company to plant all their plants in a row. Um, cos they have no idea how to actually garden? They have more money than sense? They think gardening is like farming? They went to the nursery and just bought everything that was on sale and had to fill up the ground with something?
Methinks she doth protest too much, and manages to insult working gardeners everywhere. And that makes me wonder if she's just stirring and wanting me to answer back, because she's lonely and wants a debate with someone.
Ms Wareham, I will say to you, you are barking up the wrong tree. If you want to pay $40 and stare at giant pink snails or giant plastic dandelions surrounded by mondo grass at the Sculptereum then go there, as it provokes thinking about stuff like 'I wonder how much this cost to make?' or 'at least those giant pink snails aren't real' and 'I can find dandelions in my own garden, real ones' but don't call that a garden.
I don't know what planet she's from, but hasn't she ever driven past a roundabout bedding display?? You want concepts, and creative expression? Try planting a thousand plants in the shape of a butterfly or clipping a buxus hedge into the Lord's prayer. Already been done.
Thinned Feijoas.
Ripped out Licorice Plant.
Planted avocados.
Broccolis eaten by the chicken - noted, must replace with chicken proof veges.
Planted hippeastrum bulb (x 1)
Planted hellebores (x2)
Planted punnet primula and polyanthus (x 12)
Now can put my feet up, and rest. I found this curious book at the library called 'The Bad Tempered Gardener' by Anne Wareham, who has a garden in Wales called 'Veddw' but hates gardening. I knew it had to be a riposte to Christopher Lloyd's 'The well-tempered garden' because he was so genial and in love with plants and here's his exact opposite, someone who genuinely hates gardening because its so much work, but thinks she's entitled to one all the same. I call her a rich tosser who would probably employ someone else to do all the work for her while she can play around with her wavy cut hedges and reflecting pool. If you want to call yourself a designer and make a garden but refuse to do the work yourself well sorry but I don't have any illusions about that, just call yourself a garden owner instead.
She has a website called 'thinkinGardens'' and wants people to be more artful about gardens, like making sure they conform to her 'golden rectangle' or to be about something other than plants, or gardeners, which is why she put a TV in one of them. Just to be subversive I guess.
There's a whole manifesto on it.
I don't know if I subscribe. My brain might explode. What, my garden has to be a work of art as well as contain plants? I had no idea. I'm just a gardener! Then why is it landscape architects design gardens end up getting a planting company to plant all their plants in a row. Um, cos they have no idea how to actually garden? They have more money than sense? They think gardening is like farming? They went to the nursery and just bought everything that was on sale and had to fill up the ground with something?
Methinks she doth protest too much, and manages to insult working gardeners everywhere. And that makes me wonder if she's just stirring and wanting me to answer back, because she's lonely and wants a debate with someone.
Ms Wareham, I will say to you, you are barking up the wrong tree. If you want to pay $40 and stare at giant pink snails or giant plastic dandelions surrounded by mondo grass at the Sculptereum then go there, as it provokes thinking about stuff like 'I wonder how much this cost to make?' or 'at least those giant pink snails aren't real' and 'I can find dandelions in my own garden, real ones' but don't call that a garden.
I don't know what planet she's from, but hasn't she ever driven past a roundabout bedding display?? You want concepts, and creative expression? Try planting a thousand plants in the shape of a butterfly or clipping a buxus hedge into the Lord's prayer. Already been done.
Thursday, 19 July 2018
PrimaryITO School
I am going back to Primary School. As a Year 2.
I am retarded. I have to learn the basics again, and I need to be told twenty times before it sinks in.
Like, how to use a push hoe.
And, how to spread fertiliser.
Plus, how to eat a meat pie without a bib. And plant 10 plants in five minutes.
These things do not come easy for me. Advanced statistics, managing a project, how to index a bibliography, teach bible, read music, conjugate verbs, write an essay, organise an information retrieval system, feng shui a room, leverage a mortgage, produce a radio show, paint a mural, bake a pie, all these things I can do all on my own with excellence. But when faced with a hose with a kink chances are I wouldn't know how to waterblast a path so all the dirt magically never sticks to it. Also, I am not well versed into making weeds disappear just as I walk past them.
Another thing I haven't quite mastered, is the art of looking busy. You would think it would not be that hard to do in a retirement village where no resident has to do any work at all so in comparison whatever you do is ten times as much as an 80 year old could do. Besides, I thought gardening was supposed to appear effortless, and we are meant to make it look easy, like a piece of cake. But no, I have to learn that, you are meant to make it look as difficult as possible, and grunt and strain and sweat so it makes it look like you are doing hard labour and on permanent detention like a PD worker.
Yesterday I was given a thick ringbinder with lots of sheets of paper in it, for my homework. At PrimaryITO school, we all get given Learner Guide booklets to take home, read, and then apply. If we get a tick, that means maybe we can earn a certificate at assembly next time, and may even, get to sit with the teachers on the comfy chairs. One of my assigned projects is to create a colourful bedding display. I am quite good at making colourful bedding displays, with hearts and rainbows but am a bit wary of one helicopter parent wanting to do it all for me. I recently found out that some parents, wanting their child to get the top marks, actually do their homework for them. Well that's clearly not going to happen with me, because mum doesn't have the time to do my homework, the only time I remember her making me anything for school is when she made my ball gown.
I do like going to school but, like any school kid what keeps me going is what I am going to have for play lunch. I just have to make sure I have the right bag, because if I wear the wrong one the big kids will tease me and then I have to walk home all by myself.
I am retarded. I have to learn the basics again, and I need to be told twenty times before it sinks in.
Like, how to use a push hoe.
And, how to spread fertiliser.
Plus, how to eat a meat pie without a bib. And plant 10 plants in five minutes.
These things do not come easy for me. Advanced statistics, managing a project, how to index a bibliography, teach bible, read music, conjugate verbs, write an essay, organise an information retrieval system, feng shui a room, leverage a mortgage, produce a radio show, paint a mural, bake a pie, all these things I can do all on my own with excellence. But when faced with a hose with a kink chances are I wouldn't know how to waterblast a path so all the dirt magically never sticks to it. Also, I am not well versed into making weeds disappear just as I walk past them.
Another thing I haven't quite mastered, is the art of looking busy. You would think it would not be that hard to do in a retirement village where no resident has to do any work at all so in comparison whatever you do is ten times as much as an 80 year old could do. Besides, I thought gardening was supposed to appear effortless, and we are meant to make it look easy, like a piece of cake. But no, I have to learn that, you are meant to make it look as difficult as possible, and grunt and strain and sweat so it makes it look like you are doing hard labour and on permanent detention like a PD worker.
Yesterday I was given a thick ringbinder with lots of sheets of paper in it, for my homework. At PrimaryITO school, we all get given Learner Guide booklets to take home, read, and then apply. If we get a tick, that means maybe we can earn a certificate at assembly next time, and may even, get to sit with the teachers on the comfy chairs. One of my assigned projects is to create a colourful bedding display. I am quite good at making colourful bedding displays, with hearts and rainbows but am a bit wary of one helicopter parent wanting to do it all for me. I recently found out that some parents, wanting their child to get the top marks, actually do their homework for them. Well that's clearly not going to happen with me, because mum doesn't have the time to do my homework, the only time I remember her making me anything for school is when she made my ball gown.
I do like going to school but, like any school kid what keeps me going is what I am going to have for play lunch. I just have to make sure I have the right bag, because if I wear the wrong one the big kids will tease me and then I have to walk home all by myself.
Sunday, 15 July 2018
These roses are for burning
I want to hold a Bonfire of the Vain Roses. It's now pruning time so sharpen your secateurs and loppers, there are some cutbacks to be made. Don your thickest leather gloves. Wear some eye protection. You maybe squatting or on your knees a lot, so do some stretches first to get your body into shape. After you've cut the last of the remaining blossoms from your rose bushes and given them to your girlfriend (it does not have to be Valentines Day) or your mum, here are the rest of the instructions.
First - Cut out all the dead wood. Roses always die back on the stem if they are not cut back to a bud. The wood goes all black and won't grow another shoot unless you cut it back to the green. So, do away with it! Serves no purpose except to trap bugs and tender flesh.
Second - Cut out all diseased wood. All spotty, scaly, sickly looking stems (or canes, as they can be called). You want to stop the rot.
Third - Cut out all damaged wood. Anything that's got a gash, is half hanging, split, or looks like it's torn or chewed. You want healthy stems that will grow straight.
Fourth - Now left with growing stems, cut out all crossing inward stems, you want ideally a vase shape if it's a bush rose, a ball if it's a standard, and against the wall if it's a climber. Stems that cross will just become a tangle, choose to keep the healthiest thick, young stems and cut away old ones or ones that are thinner than a pencil.
Fifth- Shape and prune to an outward facing bud, ideally third one from the base. New healthy shoots will grow from the crown, but the stems left will also grow and these will become in time your fresh rose buds. Some roses can grow very leggy and high and out of reach of your nose, so you want the roses to be at a level where you can see, smell and appreciate them.
Now you have all your rose prunings. If you want to grow more roses, you can also take cuttings from healthy stems. But otherwise, now you have the fun part - fresh kindling for a bonfire.
For that you need some matches, maybe some marshmallows, and a fire pit. And maybe we can chuck in some bad paranormal romance books in as well. Goodbye Twilight, Fifty Shades of Grey. Sayanora Hunger Games. Ciao Da Vinci Code. Avada Kedavra, Harry Potter. While you are enjoying the warmth of the fire, my boss will be running around tidying up the mess you made with a hoe and cursing under his breath. Get out the pea straw mulch and blanket the roses with it before he can micromanage any further.
First - Cut out all the dead wood. Roses always die back on the stem if they are not cut back to a bud. The wood goes all black and won't grow another shoot unless you cut it back to the green. So, do away with it! Serves no purpose except to trap bugs and tender flesh.
Second - Cut out all diseased wood. All spotty, scaly, sickly looking stems (or canes, as they can be called). You want to stop the rot.
Third - Cut out all damaged wood. Anything that's got a gash, is half hanging, split, or looks like it's torn or chewed. You want healthy stems that will grow straight.
Fourth - Now left with growing stems, cut out all crossing inward stems, you want ideally a vase shape if it's a bush rose, a ball if it's a standard, and against the wall if it's a climber. Stems that cross will just become a tangle, choose to keep the healthiest thick, young stems and cut away old ones or ones that are thinner than a pencil.
Fifth- Shape and prune to an outward facing bud, ideally third one from the base. New healthy shoots will grow from the crown, but the stems left will also grow and these will become in time your fresh rose buds. Some roses can grow very leggy and high and out of reach of your nose, so you want the roses to be at a level where you can see, smell and appreciate them.
Now you have all your rose prunings. If you want to grow more roses, you can also take cuttings from healthy stems. But otherwise, now you have the fun part - fresh kindling for a bonfire.
For that you need some matches, maybe some marshmallows, and a fire pit. And maybe we can chuck in some bad paranormal romance books in as well. Goodbye Twilight, Fifty Shades of Grey. Sayanora Hunger Games. Ciao Da Vinci Code. Avada Kedavra, Harry Potter. While you are enjoying the warmth of the fire, my boss will be running around tidying up the mess you made with a hoe and cursing under his breath. Get out the pea straw mulch and blanket the roses with it before he can micromanage any further.
Wednesday, 11 July 2018
Mum does some gardening
I came home from work today and found to my surprise mum in the garden, doing some gardening! To be sure, it was not planting but pruning, but she did quite a good job of it and the maple trees were not hacked back or butchered like my dad would have done.
Mummy Cat had been busy too, yesterday she caught a mouse, but did not kill it, and then today I found a dead waxeye on the lawn, I have just buried in the compost heap. I know you a hunter Mummy Cat, but could you kill the vermin and not the garden birds?
Mum had surprised me by announcing on Friday that she was having two weeks off work. But she is doing work on her days off, housework. I wonder if that's what I'll end up doing, when I finally get my week or two off work. Unlike one of my workmates who said he'd worked for 11 years without a holiday. That's....unusual, I said, being diplomatic. You must have really loved your job. He didn't answer me and said he needed a cigarette.
Now I can't help but think of what holiday I will have. No cruise ship, as been there, done that. Not going all the way to London again. I don't have long enough and plus, if my sister wants to see me, she can come here. Australia, sorry, but one of my friends in the time I've known her has gone there at least 10 times, so I feel like I don't need to bother. Am thinking either Fiji or New Caledonia. Or, the Bay of Islands. Planning my escape takes a bit of subterfuge though. People are always nosy about these things. Oh, going by yourself? Well yea. It's like running away from home. It's not really allowed. In the end I just say a day or so before departure, by the way, am going away for two weeks. See you when I get back. This is so I can avoid the curious phenomenon of duty-free souvenir hunters expecting me to export half the country in my suitcase on my return. Drug mule I am not.
Now I can trust mum to do some gardening in my absence, without even being asked, I can go away after all. I will just tell my boss, you have a new temporary substitute gardener, my mum.
Mummy Cat had been busy too, yesterday she caught a mouse, but did not kill it, and then today I found a dead waxeye on the lawn, I have just buried in the compost heap. I know you a hunter Mummy Cat, but could you kill the vermin and not the garden birds?
Mum had surprised me by announcing on Friday that she was having two weeks off work. But she is doing work on her days off, housework. I wonder if that's what I'll end up doing, when I finally get my week or two off work. Unlike one of my workmates who said he'd worked for 11 years without a holiday. That's....unusual, I said, being diplomatic. You must have really loved your job. He didn't answer me and said he needed a cigarette.
Now I can't help but think of what holiday I will have. No cruise ship, as been there, done that. Not going all the way to London again. I don't have long enough and plus, if my sister wants to see me, she can come here. Australia, sorry, but one of my friends in the time I've known her has gone there at least 10 times, so I feel like I don't need to bother. Am thinking either Fiji or New Caledonia. Or, the Bay of Islands. Planning my escape takes a bit of subterfuge though. People are always nosy about these things. Oh, going by yourself? Well yea. It's like running away from home. It's not really allowed. In the end I just say a day or so before departure, by the way, am going away for two weeks. See you when I get back. This is so I can avoid the curious phenomenon of duty-free souvenir hunters expecting me to export half the country in my suitcase on my return. Drug mule I am not.
Now I can trust mum to do some gardening in my absence, without even being asked, I can go away after all. I will just tell my boss, you have a new temporary substitute gardener, my mum.
Tuesday, 10 July 2018
I came, I saw, I planted
I fear I've become too much of a garden nerd. I read books about gardens. I garden on the weekend. I write emails that are all garden related. I plant all I can and then some, and recently I've been told I must plant 50 or more native trees so I can apply for funding to plant 50 more.
No sweat, surely I can plant 50 trees somewhere. Riverpark Reserve, thats where. My old playground. And I could surely organise 250 Massey Primary Schoolchildren to be my helpers.
However, things never go according to plan. It's now the school holidays, and at work, we are supposed to help out at a high school planting natives on their bush/stream track. I really am not sure why this cannot be done in school time with the students planting everything. But this is a contract for a rich private school (I will let you guess which one - it's got the same name as a certain plant barn) and they would rather pay someone else to do it. When I was in high school I did everything I could NOT to be in the classroom, as usually inside them I would be day dreaming or falling asleep. My teachers didn't notice much because I kept really quiet, so they thought I was being studious. I think we had one caretaker, who we never saw, and there was no garden to speak of. The sloping fields were planted with pine trees that I heard have now been felled for logs. I don't remember any flowers, just bare fields and banks of carex.
In my fourth form year I took Horticulture as a subject, and was terribly disappointed to find out we did no gardening at all but just copied things out of textbooks. I know what NPK stands for but learned absolutely nothing about growing plants in the real world. What wouldn't I have given to have dug out the rugby field and created a pond habitat/bog garden? Also, we could have grown our own play lunch, instead of buying junk food from the tuck shop. There was a glasshouse and a shadehouse, but I remember it growing nothing but weeds. So much for my high school education.
Nevermind. I digress. I'm all for practical gardens. I never really got the whole 'designer lifestyle garden' because when I see those in fancy magazines it's like someones gone collector crazy and bought so much plants and crammed them into their backyard, representing their exotic travels and leaving no room to grow food to eat. These are the 'heroic gardens' designed for men and their dogs.
Maybe there's a female counterpart called 'historionic gardens' for women and their cats. I have what is called 'suburban tract garden' designed for human robots and their cars. It was just one step up from 'barren landscaped wasteland' which is just up at Hobsonville Point. They say they are affordable homes, if you can afford an $800,000 mortgage with nowhere to hang your washing.
I must keep on track with my church garden project though, and found out I have about $150 left to spend, so am going to have some planter boxes made thanks to Hone of Tat Upcycle to adorn the entrance of the church. I will plant them up with colourful herbs and flowers, and plan to have some peace lilies in pots at the church lobby, a few native trees (puriri, manuka) possibly one jacaranda, and some coloured flaxes to complete the project.
And then...I will take a holiday. I am so tired of school holidays ruining my garden holidays. Why can't gardeners have our own official set holidays and have the school children to do the gardening while we are away? We could have, instead of school holiday programs - garden holiday programs where children are let loose with weeders, lawnmowers and hoses doing fun chores whilst us working gardeners go on overseas exchanges in sunny resort style hotels complete with hammocks, and experience deep immersion in another language and culture along with advanced currency conversion algebra.
No sweat, surely I can plant 50 trees somewhere. Riverpark Reserve, thats where. My old playground. And I could surely organise 250 Massey Primary Schoolchildren to be my helpers.
However, things never go according to plan. It's now the school holidays, and at work, we are supposed to help out at a high school planting natives on their bush/stream track. I really am not sure why this cannot be done in school time with the students planting everything. But this is a contract for a rich private school (I will let you guess which one - it's got the same name as a certain plant barn) and they would rather pay someone else to do it. When I was in high school I did everything I could NOT to be in the classroom, as usually inside them I would be day dreaming or falling asleep. My teachers didn't notice much because I kept really quiet, so they thought I was being studious. I think we had one caretaker, who we never saw, and there was no garden to speak of. The sloping fields were planted with pine trees that I heard have now been felled for logs. I don't remember any flowers, just bare fields and banks of carex.
In my fourth form year I took Horticulture as a subject, and was terribly disappointed to find out we did no gardening at all but just copied things out of textbooks. I know what NPK stands for but learned absolutely nothing about growing plants in the real world. What wouldn't I have given to have dug out the rugby field and created a pond habitat/bog garden? Also, we could have grown our own play lunch, instead of buying junk food from the tuck shop. There was a glasshouse and a shadehouse, but I remember it growing nothing but weeds. So much for my high school education.
Nevermind. I digress. I'm all for practical gardens. I never really got the whole 'designer lifestyle garden' because when I see those in fancy magazines it's like someones gone collector crazy and bought so much plants and crammed them into their backyard, representing their exotic travels and leaving no room to grow food to eat. These are the 'heroic gardens' designed for men and their dogs.
Maybe there's a female counterpart called 'historionic gardens' for women and their cats. I have what is called 'suburban tract garden' designed for human robots and their cars. It was just one step up from 'barren landscaped wasteland' which is just up at Hobsonville Point. They say they are affordable homes, if you can afford an $800,000 mortgage with nowhere to hang your washing.
I must keep on track with my church garden project though, and found out I have about $150 left to spend, so am going to have some planter boxes made thanks to Hone of Tat Upcycle to adorn the entrance of the church. I will plant them up with colourful herbs and flowers, and plan to have some peace lilies in pots at the church lobby, a few native trees (puriri, manuka) possibly one jacaranda, and some coloured flaxes to complete the project.
And then...I will take a holiday. I am so tired of school holidays ruining my garden holidays. Why can't gardeners have our own official set holidays and have the school children to do the gardening while we are away? We could have, instead of school holiday programs - garden holiday programs where children are let loose with weeders, lawnmowers and hoses doing fun chores whilst us working gardeners go on overseas exchanges in sunny resort style hotels complete with hammocks, and experience deep immersion in another language and culture along with advanced currency conversion algebra.
Sunday, 8 July 2018
On Perfection
Things are looking up. I have an appointment to see TAT upcycle tomorrow, they make planter boxes out of recycled pallets and garden benches, and they also have a native nursery, so will see what they have for St Giles. I have visions of kowhai, puriri, cabbage trees, and manukas fringing our church.
My boss said a road trip is definitely planned this November to go down to Taranaki and check out the gardens, which include some of the most famous in New Zealand - Te Kainga Marire, Pukeiti, Hollards, Titoki Point, Abby Jury's nursery, and Mr Clematis.
And I'm going to get trained up on Level 3 Amenity Horticulture. I don't know if they have an entire module on how to use a hose to get your boots really clean, but, since I didn't grow up on a farm, I kind of forget and not used to the whole routine. Maybe it's being chinese because we habitually NEVER wear shoes inside, we would always take them off and wear socks and slippers. Plus again, in terms of cleanliness and tidiness, we never ate food that was crumbly or with knives and forks, it was always cut up beforehand and eaten with chopsticks, so, the whole crumb thing and napkins and placemats, and eating in front of the tv, or while driving the car, the whole messy thing, I just don't get. And if the garden was muddy, well we just didn't step on it in the first place. Or if you want to go further extreme, go visit Japan where zen garden tidiness and cleanliness is an artform.
Mum is way more forgiving of Martha when she poos on the floor inside than my boss is of me when I inadvertently leave a muddy footprint on the path outside. I couldn't believe how much drama it causes when it's just a simple mistake (that can be cleaned up). But I now have this book called 'Impossible to Please' How to Deal with Perfectionist Coworkers, Controlling Spouses and Other Incredibly Critical People. I found it in the public library in the psychology section.
Pertaining to standards of cleanliness and tidiness, well, lets just say some people are creatives (messies) and some people are non-creatives (tidiers). I don't know about placing cleanliness as the highest priority over and above everything else, but maybe people just can't handle a little bit of chaos every now and then. Maybe they forget and don't remember ever having children.
But the books says just to say "I guess neatness is just a personal preference' and if baited, say 'I think we have different comfort levels regarding neatness'.
Maybe I can convince my boss and manager, if they are such neatniks, that if they don't want to do the hard yards they can just come round and sweep up and wash down after we've done then that is absolutely fine by me. They can do what they are good at, and I can keep doing what I am good at. Who says you have to be good at every single thing. Team work right?
Even Jesus washed his disciples feet as an act of love and service and didn't tell them how horribly dirty they were and didn't they know how to clean themselves up?! And he was like their boss. But that might get me in deep trouble if I dare to say - "Why can't you be more like Jesus? He was perfect!"
My boss said a road trip is definitely planned this November to go down to Taranaki and check out the gardens, which include some of the most famous in New Zealand - Te Kainga Marire, Pukeiti, Hollards, Titoki Point, Abby Jury's nursery, and Mr Clematis.
And I'm going to get trained up on Level 3 Amenity Horticulture. I don't know if they have an entire module on how to use a hose to get your boots really clean, but, since I didn't grow up on a farm, I kind of forget and not used to the whole routine. Maybe it's being chinese because we habitually NEVER wear shoes inside, we would always take them off and wear socks and slippers. Plus again, in terms of cleanliness and tidiness, we never ate food that was crumbly or with knives and forks, it was always cut up beforehand and eaten with chopsticks, so, the whole crumb thing and napkins and placemats, and eating in front of the tv, or while driving the car, the whole messy thing, I just don't get. And if the garden was muddy, well we just didn't step on it in the first place. Or if you want to go further extreme, go visit Japan where zen garden tidiness and cleanliness is an artform.
Mum is way more forgiving of Martha when she poos on the floor inside than my boss is of me when I inadvertently leave a muddy footprint on the path outside. I couldn't believe how much drama it causes when it's just a simple mistake (that can be cleaned up). But I now have this book called 'Impossible to Please' How to Deal with Perfectionist Coworkers, Controlling Spouses and Other Incredibly Critical People. I found it in the public library in the psychology section.
Pertaining to standards of cleanliness and tidiness, well, lets just say some people are creatives (messies) and some people are non-creatives (tidiers). I don't know about placing cleanliness as the highest priority over and above everything else, but maybe people just can't handle a little bit of chaos every now and then. Maybe they forget and don't remember ever having children.
But the books says just to say "I guess neatness is just a personal preference' and if baited, say 'I think we have different comfort levels regarding neatness'.
Maybe I can convince my boss and manager, if they are such neatniks, that if they don't want to do the hard yards they can just come round and sweep up and wash down after we've done then that is absolutely fine by me. They can do what they are good at, and I can keep doing what I am good at. Who says you have to be good at every single thing. Team work right?
Even Jesus washed his disciples feet as an act of love and service and didn't tell them how horribly dirty they were and didn't they know how to clean themselves up?! And he was like their boss. But that might get me in deep trouble if I dare to say - "Why can't you be more like Jesus? He was perfect!"
Thursday, 5 July 2018
Finishing my homework
I hauled out the basalm and have now replaced it with a lovely Daphne Perfumed Princess.
With my fork I encountered some more black polythene 'weed mat' and tried to rip out as much as I could. But it does seem that, the soil has improved a bit where the basalm was so that was a good sign for Daphne.
My other assignment was filling up my raised vege bed, and there are now strawberries, broccoli and perpetual spinach in amongst the herbs and flowers, as well as still to emerge peas, broad beans, and dormant passionfruit vine.
I got two emails from church elders horrified that I was planning to plant a vine over the railing at church. I hadn't sent it to them but it somehow got on the church mailing list. Didn't Jesus say he was the vine and we were the branches? I'm sure that's in the Bible somewhere. I was only trying to be biblical. I may have to face the wrath of the church managers on that one. Well, so much for sweet peas. Wedding arch would probably be a stretch too. I can just see the wedding photos now against a beautiful backdrop of Auckland traffic. I'm on church flowers this Sunday so I can't run away. I think I actually might have to stop going to this church for a while, it's way too heartbreaking to keep having to explain to people that plants are important to God.
Ecomatters have sent me some contacts for compost bins and native plants, so I am going to get on to them soon. Then I can hand my gardening report it in, and go outside and play.
With my fork I encountered some more black polythene 'weed mat' and tried to rip out as much as I could. But it does seem that, the soil has improved a bit where the basalm was so that was a good sign for Daphne.
My other assignment was filling up my raised vege bed, and there are now strawberries, broccoli and perpetual spinach in amongst the herbs and flowers, as well as still to emerge peas, broad beans, and dormant passionfruit vine.
I got two emails from church elders horrified that I was planning to plant a vine over the railing at church. I hadn't sent it to them but it somehow got on the church mailing list. Didn't Jesus say he was the vine and we were the branches? I'm sure that's in the Bible somewhere. I was only trying to be biblical. I may have to face the wrath of the church managers on that one. Well, so much for sweet peas. Wedding arch would probably be a stretch too. I can just see the wedding photos now against a beautiful backdrop of Auckland traffic. I'm on church flowers this Sunday so I can't run away. I think I actually might have to stop going to this church for a while, it's way too heartbreaking to keep having to explain to people that plants are important to God.
Ecomatters have sent me some contacts for compost bins and native plants, so I am going to get on to them soon. Then I can hand my gardening report it in, and go outside and play.
Mr Garden
Mr Garden has been so nitpicky lately that I just want to throw a custard pie at him, but it would be a waste of a custard pie. I don't want to waste energy trying to think of snappy comebacks to all the constant criticisms he's been hurling my way, but I just want to say, so what, yes I'm a not-perfect, MESSY gardener, tell me something I don't know. It doesn't bother me so much, but when he's being deliberately rude to the oldies and mocking me in front of them, I just don't think I can sit there and continue to take it.
They all sit there wondering why I am even working for him, to be honest. Your boss is MEAN they say. I could just do my own garden. Since he's hardly ever there, and spents half the time on the phone taking calls and the rest of the time talking a blue streak giving me so many instructions I can hardly keep up, then wondering in amazement that I can muck up the list of things he's given me to do in 20 minutes. Then takes all the credit for doing nothing but bossing me around.
When he's there breathing down my neck he accuses me of being deaf, but then tells me to speak up as he can't hear me, to ask questions before I even know what to ask, and not to start anything if I can't do it perfectly. I am starting to think maybe its not just Type A but truly OCD personality disorder.. and how do I isolate, minimise or eliminate this hazard.
Eliminate. hmm I could just leave the job. Since I don't do the hiring and firing, that would be the only option.
Minimise. Work with another team? At least would be out of earshot and constant destructive criticism.
Isolate. Perhaps my selective hearing works, while I hum my happy songs in my head, and he's swearing at everyone who does not drive or garden as perfect as he does. I've never known anyone who can get so angry and worked up at others for being, well, human.
Mr Gardener needs to basically CHILL out, although it seems he's actually taken up yoga. I demonstrated the tree pose to him one day and I think he was a bit chagrined that I could just easily do it while he was pacing the floor thinking 'time is money'. At least I know where the heart defibrillator is at the work site, but I'm thinking I need to convince him to install some garden hammocks amongst the palm trees.
They all sit there wondering why I am even working for him, to be honest. Your boss is MEAN they say. I could just do my own garden. Since he's hardly ever there, and spents half the time on the phone taking calls and the rest of the time talking a blue streak giving me so many instructions I can hardly keep up, then wondering in amazement that I can muck up the list of things he's given me to do in 20 minutes. Then takes all the credit for doing nothing but bossing me around.
When he's there breathing down my neck he accuses me of being deaf, but then tells me to speak up as he can't hear me, to ask questions before I even know what to ask, and not to start anything if I can't do it perfectly. I am starting to think maybe its not just Type A but truly OCD personality disorder.. and how do I isolate, minimise or eliminate this hazard.
Eliminate. hmm I could just leave the job. Since I don't do the hiring and firing, that would be the only option.
Minimise. Work with another team? At least would be out of earshot and constant destructive criticism.
Isolate. Perhaps my selective hearing works, while I hum my happy songs in my head, and he's swearing at everyone who does not drive or garden as perfect as he does. I've never known anyone who can get so angry and worked up at others for being, well, human.
Mr Gardener needs to basically CHILL out, although it seems he's actually taken up yoga. I demonstrated the tree pose to him one day and I think he was a bit chagrined that I could just easily do it while he was pacing the floor thinking 'time is money'. At least I know where the heart defibrillator is at the work site, but I'm thinking I need to convince him to install some garden hammocks amongst the palm trees.
Tuesday, 3 July 2018
Homework
Am doing my homework, and this time it's cutting back frosted basalm, which looks absolutely awful when hit by frost, like it's packing a sad. It turns all black and wilted. As long as the temperature stays above freezing it looks gorgeous and lush, with pale pink flowers but am having to rethink keeping it long term for my garden, because I could grow a tougher plant that would look good all year round instead. If that sounds a tad ruthless, well, it was not a plant I had chosen, it was one of Beth's donations, and it's easily propagated by cuttings, so I don't think it will be too great a loss.
Perhaps I could replace it with a plant with reddish flowers or foliage that would complement the bricks of the house?
I sowed some sugar snap peas seeds to grow up the plastic trellis by garage near the passionfruit which I had cut back to basically a few stems. In that raised bed I've also added a feverfew/pyrethrum and michaelmas daisy. I know, rather schizophrenic gardening mixing up flowers, herbs and veges in the same bed. I am a messy gardener. Someone with OCD would be horrified that I haven't planted in razor straight rows and given all my plants labels. That my stakes are rather crooked and I haven't even cut the end of the trellis where its extra. And my sowing style wasn't with a ruler either I just kind of flung the seeds in. How careless! I would be fired by now if I was working in a commercial nursery. Perhaps it's my rebellious way of declaring I am not a robot. I haven't written down how many seeds I sowed so I can monitor the germination rates. I haven't even dug the soil really or forked it over, just added compost and wisteria leaves, coffee grounds and whatever organic matter I can find into the bed. I guess it's the hippie, permaculturalist non-conformist subversive nature in me. Or maybe its meant to be art. All I know it's gardening not farming.
I have further ideas for St Giles church garden. One being a vine to cover the roadside fence railings, and there are two options there, star jasmine and/or hardenbergia. There is also another railing near the Kimberly day care which could support a passionfruit vine, or maybe even sweet peas. I was of the opinion that all the fence railings made the church grounds look too much like a prison. People passing by might start to think it's a Mormon church and those churches are landscaped to an inch of their life, and dare I say it soul-less entities. Am sorry because my next door neighbours happen to be Mormons and their interest in gardens and landscaping is fairly minimal. They put the bones in but then neglect it, so weeds grow in their potato patch, and when it gets out of hand with deadly nightshade growing up to their windows only then do they do a big clear out. Then it looks bare, and tidy, but tidy for me often means B-O-R-I-N-G. But maybe it's their belief that, this life on earth isn't meant for them anyway so who cares? Why bother with an actual garden? They painted their front fence and outdoor decking black, and I wonder if that's meant to be a fashion statement or it's just to hide the dirt.
I know it sounds like I'm being judgemental, but I can't avoid seeing their house every single day as our driveway is right next to theirs with only a chicken wire fence to divide us. It might be partly my fault as I had got the council on to them about removing their privet, but then they removed every other plant on the border between us as well, so the only plants left on their property is a bottlebrush, a feijoa, and a citrus tree. They could have at least left the camellia, or, put some other plants in as a hedge. I just find it really hard to talk to them, because who heard of a Non-Mormon knocking on a Mormon's house asking them to convert. I might get in trouble with their prophets or something because I'm not wearing the right sacred holy underwear. I pass by their church on Universal Drive and it kind of creeps me out a bit with the big forbidding railings, I never see anyone there, and it would be hard for me to say they are rather mistaken about Jesus visiting America and starting up a new religion by damning everyone else for believing in Him prior to Joseph Smith's seance with the angel Moroni.
Perhaps I could replace it with a plant with reddish flowers or foliage that would complement the bricks of the house?
I sowed some sugar snap peas seeds to grow up the plastic trellis by garage near the passionfruit which I had cut back to basically a few stems. In that raised bed I've also added a feverfew/pyrethrum and michaelmas daisy. I know, rather schizophrenic gardening mixing up flowers, herbs and veges in the same bed. I am a messy gardener. Someone with OCD would be horrified that I haven't planted in razor straight rows and given all my plants labels. That my stakes are rather crooked and I haven't even cut the end of the trellis where its extra. And my sowing style wasn't with a ruler either I just kind of flung the seeds in. How careless! I would be fired by now if I was working in a commercial nursery. Perhaps it's my rebellious way of declaring I am not a robot. I haven't written down how many seeds I sowed so I can monitor the germination rates. I haven't even dug the soil really or forked it over, just added compost and wisteria leaves, coffee grounds and whatever organic matter I can find into the bed. I guess it's the hippie, permaculturalist non-conformist subversive nature in me. Or maybe its meant to be art. All I know it's gardening not farming.
I have further ideas for St Giles church garden. One being a vine to cover the roadside fence railings, and there are two options there, star jasmine and/or hardenbergia. There is also another railing near the Kimberly day care which could support a passionfruit vine, or maybe even sweet peas. I was of the opinion that all the fence railings made the church grounds look too much like a prison. People passing by might start to think it's a Mormon church and those churches are landscaped to an inch of their life, and dare I say it soul-less entities. Am sorry because my next door neighbours happen to be Mormons and their interest in gardens and landscaping is fairly minimal. They put the bones in but then neglect it, so weeds grow in their potato patch, and when it gets out of hand with deadly nightshade growing up to their windows only then do they do a big clear out. Then it looks bare, and tidy, but tidy for me often means B-O-R-I-N-G. But maybe it's their belief that, this life on earth isn't meant for them anyway so who cares? Why bother with an actual garden? They painted their front fence and outdoor decking black, and I wonder if that's meant to be a fashion statement or it's just to hide the dirt.
I know it sounds like I'm being judgemental, but I can't avoid seeing their house every single day as our driveway is right next to theirs with only a chicken wire fence to divide us. It might be partly my fault as I had got the council on to them about removing their privet, but then they removed every other plant on the border between us as well, so the only plants left on their property is a bottlebrush, a feijoa, and a citrus tree. They could have at least left the camellia, or, put some other plants in as a hedge. I just find it really hard to talk to them, because who heard of a Non-Mormon knocking on a Mormon's house asking them to convert. I might get in trouble with their prophets or something because I'm not wearing the right sacred holy underwear. I pass by their church on Universal Drive and it kind of creeps me out a bit with the big forbidding railings, I never see anyone there, and it would be hard for me to say they are rather mistaken about Jesus visiting America and starting up a new religion by damning everyone else for believing in Him prior to Joseph Smith's seance with the angel Moroni.
Monday, 2 July 2018
Growing up
Hallelujah, proteas and leucodendron planted at St Giles. This took a bit of figuring out and prayer where they ought to go. I noted the sunniest, most exposed positions on the site and also Els request they be within view of the church. The books and tags all said are fine as isolated lawn specimens and shouldn't be too crowded, can cope with drought, and will die if planted in shade or shelter or even fertilised. They are from South Africa, which means, coastal conditions, or open savannah. They aren't going to survive in a forest. I placed boulders by each one and really prayed this time the mower man, (I call 'Bob') won't mow over them.
After a little weed and tidy up of the triangle flower garden I headed on home, to sort out my gardening life. As always there's more to do, more to learn, and lots of growing up to do. Unlike some people, I don't live on cigarettes and anger so when it comes to break time I really do, need a break. Which sometimes means walking off the job. And coming back to it later of course. But I'm always careful if I'm working with someone that I'm not exhausting them, promising we'll stop and then asking them to do ONE more thing. People have their limits, and a happy gardener is a well fed gardener, not someone who works themselves to the bone and forgets to even have lunch.
I think it goes back to childhood, if I really want to be honest, and all I can tell you is, as a baby I cried (I did not have the power of speech back then) and nobody heard me. So I cried more, and that annoyed my mother, so she told me to shut up. Instead of feeding me she ignored me. And I think I just learned that being loud was disapproved of, so for years at school I hardly said a word, people actually thought I was deaf, or very very quiet. I learned speaking up about your needs meant you were just thought of as a whiner. I grew up skinny as a rake as a consequence because I just learned if I ever said I was hungry, I was not going to be fed.
Cut to 30 odd years later, and, while I've gotten quite good at feeding and looking after myself, I know that, not everyone is going to look after me or is happy or cares to. Fending for myself is something I've learned, and trusting others or the right people is hard. It's easier if I just take that responsibility instead of rely on others. Yet paradoxically, the whole looking after Selina business ended up being make sure Selina takes her medications and stays quiet. Thank God I was delivered from that, but I learned through it that, growing up is not something you can really do all on your own. I'm too tender for that. It requires someone looking out for you that someone who sees your potential, hears your cry in the wilderness and believes that you can grow.
And it's the same with gardens.
All good gardens require a gardener. Someone to tend it, dress it and keep it. They do not just grow on their own. Weeds can grow on their own in the wilderness, but beautiful gardens do not.
After a little weed and tidy up of the triangle flower garden I headed on home, to sort out my gardening life. As always there's more to do, more to learn, and lots of growing up to do. Unlike some people, I don't live on cigarettes and anger so when it comes to break time I really do, need a break. Which sometimes means walking off the job. And coming back to it later of course. But I'm always careful if I'm working with someone that I'm not exhausting them, promising we'll stop and then asking them to do ONE more thing. People have their limits, and a happy gardener is a well fed gardener, not someone who works themselves to the bone and forgets to even have lunch.
I think it goes back to childhood, if I really want to be honest, and all I can tell you is, as a baby I cried (I did not have the power of speech back then) and nobody heard me. So I cried more, and that annoyed my mother, so she told me to shut up. Instead of feeding me she ignored me. And I think I just learned that being loud was disapproved of, so for years at school I hardly said a word, people actually thought I was deaf, or very very quiet. I learned speaking up about your needs meant you were just thought of as a whiner. I grew up skinny as a rake as a consequence because I just learned if I ever said I was hungry, I was not going to be fed.
Cut to 30 odd years later, and, while I've gotten quite good at feeding and looking after myself, I know that, not everyone is going to look after me or is happy or cares to. Fending for myself is something I've learned, and trusting others or the right people is hard. It's easier if I just take that responsibility instead of rely on others. Yet paradoxically, the whole looking after Selina business ended up being make sure Selina takes her medications and stays quiet. Thank God I was delivered from that, but I learned through it that, growing up is not something you can really do all on your own. I'm too tender for that. It requires someone looking out for you that someone who sees your potential, hears your cry in the wilderness and believes that you can grow.
And it's the same with gardens.
All good gardens require a gardener. Someone to tend it, dress it and keep it. They do not just grow on their own. Weeds can grow on their own in the wilderness, but beautiful gardens do not.
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