We wandered out into our small pocket-sized garden after dinner and read until 10pm. It's been hot here. We have summer. It's for sure now.
There's even talk of 31 celsius at the weekend. We have a BBQ to attend, a birthday party too. Oh, and the monthly expedition for supplies.
But anyway, the garden ...
Note of caution, based on what I read in Gert's mind ... if you want peace and tranquility, best not take a photographer.
This morning my camera and I wandered out to the garden but it's not really my garden at all. The Jasmine ... okay, I carried that home from the Amsterdam Flower Market one year, on the train, traveling with my favourite Australian, Clare.
And I pushed for the lavender plants and the honeysuckle too, bought one of the raspberry canes, and asked if we might have a fern. I was rapt when Gert's parents gave him a part of their rhubarb plant ... while wishing I could have had a slice from the root of the mythical rhubarb plant back home in New Zealand.
Nana and Grandad grew the best rhubarb in the world, or that's how we told it. Mum and Dad were given a section with roots and voila, we had some of that Invercargill perfection growing out back in our Mosgiel garden.
But I'm more of an admirer of gardens ... as opposed to being an actual gardener. My mother would have told you that I was a bit of a lazy wench when it came to gardening. I preferred reading or walking my dog, or just simply watching. I should have been ashamed, as I come from a long line of hardworking, dedicated gardeners but I wasn't.
Then I met Gert, who didn't garden but does now ... just like the New Zealanders I grew up around and so our garden is all thanks to him. The big fat toads living out there simply amuse him. He brushes off spiders, and goes into battle with the Ivy when it threatens to overwhelm all.
He BBQ's too, and this time I don't have a dog to get rid of the evidence about totally not being a Kiwi when it comes to BBQ food.
So these photographs taken by me mostly capture the result of his hard work and dedication ...
It was a Sunday morning impulse to attempt to capture a sense of how this beautiful day is playing out in our tiny pocket-sized Belgian garden.
My cousin Tania owns the house I love best in the world ...
Situated near the foothills of the Southern Alps, on the edge of a sometimes mighty mountain-fed river, it is a place of beauty ... a place of peace. I love it there.
I have memories of staying there in the past, of slipping outside and crossing the dew-covered lawn, just happy about being alive in that place.
This time the Belgian Bloke and I only managed to fit in an afternoon visit but one that involved an afternoon tea on the lawn in the shade of the trees, surrounded by the most exquisite flowers and birdsong. Beer and lemonade were involved. Stories were told and there was much laughter too.
Next time we'll stay longer. We were trying to do and see everything back there in my world and there weren't enough days in those 5 weeks at home.
Next time ...
Gert has begun preparing the garden for winter and I couldn't resist photographing the colour of the decaying rhubarb leaves yesterday.
The red raspberries are almost finished. The parsnips are almost ready. He harvested a huge load of silverbeet (Swiss Chard/Bietole) and we froze some. Then he cut back the Thyme and the Rosemary too.
We had a wet warm Spring and then there was enough rain in the summer for the garden to grow madly well. This morning I was on the school run and as we left the house at 7.30am, the air was Crisp ... with a capital C. We're losing the light now ... the door to the garden stays shut while we eat breakfast, and the big metal shutter isn't opened until after 8am.
I'll miss Summer ... well, until I reach New Zealand anyway.
The temperature rose unexpectedly today ... unexpectedly because I had imagined summer was done and autumn was here. It’s at least 23 celsius as I sit here in the garden, as per instructions from Gert. He told me to take the laptop outside and work in the sun, using the small table he bought me for precisely that purpose. He said ‘rest’ and so here I am, sure that my neighbours, the ancient man and his lovely wife, are wondering what on earth I am doing out here, with all of my gadgets. I brought my camera gear too ... just in case. The garden has poppies and sunflowers and all kinds of other things tempting me.
It was painful moving everything out here and I processed the sunflower image without really being able to see the screen. The roofers are a bit noisy just a few doors ... or rooftops away, although their music is good. Blaringly loud workman-style music, the same the world over I suspect, as the sound of it surely takes me back to the sound of my dad working as a fibrous plasterer or wallpaperer,out on a job. God only knows what toxins I’m breathing in as they weld their way across that rooftop but even that is the nature of Antwerp. You can be 110% sure you don’t want to know what you are breathing in in this city situated on the crossroads of Europe ...
Gert finally found one of our black garden toads the other day, so I guess its wondering what I’m doing out here too. We hadn’t seen them since the autumn but there he is, making his home in the compost heap Gert is developing up the back of his garden. The birdfeeder has been left empty since spring, as if we could have saved the elderberries from the wickedgreedy pigeons who have spent the summer gorging on them anyway.
And clearly I’ve made the delighttful discovery that I have wifi out here in the garden. I’m less happy about spiders, wasps and toads when it comes to gardens and more about wine, the laptop and flowers. Although today it will become more about painkillers or red wine sometime soon. I read that red wine really does ease arthritic joints and my joints have been honouring the high-impact motorbike crash back when I was 18 ... they creak on the stairs and ache in the cold. What’s that about then ...
Anyway, a little snapshot in words and image from this summertime day here in Belgium.
