Pink Profusion

For a few short minutes the gloom of a cold, rainy Cape Town afternoon was unexpectedly broken by sunshine breaking through the clouds. 

Not that I'm complaining about the rain, you understand, because it's worrying how little has fallen during our supposedly rainy season.

The prolonged warm weather has thoroughly confused the plants, particularly the roses.  Two weeks after their end of July pruning the rose bushes are covered in green shoots and delicate new buds.  Oak trees down in De Waal park are sporting a display of luscious green leaves.

However, the Cape May bushes which should be covered in delicate white flowers are sulking. 

Not cold enough for them, alas.

So it looks as if it might be hosepipe bans and bucket carrying once summer properly kicks in.  Ah well, as long as there are pink geraniums ....

Blogger's Block

I've been suffering through a long period of complete inability to post anything at all on my blog.  I could blame the heat, lack of inspiration, the pressure of beginning of the year workload, or I could be honest and just admit that I've been feeling down and dull and unable to see anything interesting around me.

I subscribe to several newsletters which have recently commented on this subject, so it seems I'm not the only sufferer.  The main piece of advice they advocate is just to start writing something / anything about any subject, no matter how small and to refrain from too much analysis or judgment.  I thought long and hard about this and realised that the one activity I've kept up with is watering the garden and picking my roses.  The reason for this is that we've been experiencing incredibly hot, humid weather, particularly in the City Bowl where I live and you either water or your plants die.  Gardening in this winter rainfall area is particularly demanding in summer - the mountains seems to radiate heat out over the city and the temperature doesn't always drop much at night.  When the sun isn't burning the roses, the wind denudes them of petals and after that the bugs complete the destruction.

Despite all these problems I realised anew how rewarding roses are and how there's nothing more enjoyable than picking a fragrant bunch for the house.

The Just Joey rose in the picture was my darling father's favourite rose and everytime I bury my nose in its petals I'm reminded of the joy he experienced from his and my mother's fairly large collection of potted roses.  He didn't have as much time as he deserved to enjoy his roses (and his dahlias) in his golden retirement years but I think of both my parents when I potter around the rose shrubs.

The other rose is my favourite Abraham Darby which I thinks rivals any other variety for its sublime fragrance.  It's the only one of my English Roses which has flourished in the city bowl area, although I believe that new hardier varieties of the English Roses have been grown specifically for the harsher South African climate.  Maybe it's time to try some others again. I find the closely packed cup of petals and the delicate colour changes during the maturing process, just too beguiling to resist.

I'm drawn mostly to the  peachy-pink and yellow colours but it has to be said that the yellow roses attract the most stubborn and  annoying black and white spotted beetles which can devour and destroy a bud in short order.  I don't like to use non-organic sprays and unfortunately the organic ones are ineffective so I'm reduced to picking these little wretches off by hand.  I've always been squeamish about doing this but a little bit of healthy annoyance at the insect destruction has hardened my resolve.

And there we have it - at last a new post to break the dry spell, perhaps more personal that I'm using to sharing, but I'm glad to be on the return trail at last!

Greens Galore

Building renovations have left the garden, not to mention the house, covered in a thick layer of red dust, so it was a delight to nip out during one of the first winter showers, umbrella tucked between neck and shoulder to capture a few photographs of the freshly washed and gleaming plants.

The smooth lime green leaflets of Duranta "Sheena's Gold" dazzle against the darker, tooth-edged leaves of Plectranthus Mona Lavender with their deep purple undersides.

The glossy leaves of Rhaphiolepis add to the bouquet of greens so brightly set off against the old red brick path found in so many of the circa 1920s Cape Town city houses.  The terracotta pots have been cleared of their pink petunias which flourished in abundance despite the bouts of five day south-easterly summer winds.  The pots have taken a bit of a knock from the builders' wheelbarrows but the planned blue, yellow and white pansies should divert attention from the missing chunks of pottery.

The roses are grimly hanging in there, thoroughly baffled and confused by the fact that summer has continued for so long, interspersed by the odd cold, rainy day. 

 Tucked away in a sheltered corner, but not to be overlooked, the flashy Begonias do their best to outshine all contenders with their flashy, ballerina-skirt blooms shedding petals with every rain droplet.

Coffee Society

Newport Deli at the Mouille Point end of the Promenade on the beachfront, is one of the breakfast places to see and be seen.  It is pretty good to sit out under the umbrellas, savour the salty sea air, sip a cup of cappucino and perhaps toy with an almond croissant.

The reflections in the deli window, layer upon layer, in glassy complexity - difficult to see what's inside and what's outside.

A change of scenery and on to another place where we enjoy "doing" breakfast and coffee, the plant nursery.  We needed to find a few punnets of what would probably be the last petunias to plant up for the end of summer.  I hadn't realised how fragrant these flowers are until I returned home late one evening and this exquisite perfume pervaded the air as I walked up the stairs.

The name says it all and, yes, the icecream sold here is sinful.

To wax philosophical for a moment, I believe that that visiting a plant nursery is one of the most uplifting experiences when you're feeling low.  Watching people buying trees and shrubs that will only attain maturity once they themselves have passed on;  seeing couples planning first gardens together; or flat dwellers buying herbs for small balcony gardens is to realise that no matter how sad and uncertain life may be at times, people still plant gardens and believe that it's a good and worthwhile thing to do.  That is a statement of hope and belief in the future and I'd rather do that than stress, as television programmes and sensational articles would have us do, over the date when the the world is due to end.