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itsamoodd · 1 year

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My father's house was a lowset timber home on a quiet street, close to the hustle and bustle of a main road and local stores. That's how most houses were in Brisbane, Australia; neatly tucked away in suburban silence, but not too far to walk to visit your local cafe and baker. When he and my stepmother Judith bought the home 9 years ago, the backyard was nothing more than a blank canvas of dried grass and promising square meterage. The far right corner of the yard had a faded 3 x3 concrete foundation laid, but the previous owners clearly never used it; it was as bare as the yard surrounding it. The yard itself was the perfect slow-burn project for creative boomers who bear a gusto for DIY and have cash to burn on woodchip and flora. Shortly after moving in, the dust had settled, and so began the slowburn project. First it was large riverbed stones trucked in to create a large perimeter, like a semi-circle cut in half (the neighbours fence being the 180 degree slice through the centre), and then the soil within was turned up and fertilized. Judith went to work planting all sorts of foliage, garnishing the garden bed with an old sundial and birdbath. She also planted an olive tree, a lemon tree, and an array of wattles. The bare concrete foundation was an eyesore, invitingly empty and full of promise too. Dad knew what to do with it. He set about drafting the "architectural design" for what he called "The Spirit House"; a soon-to-be ensemble of “borrowed” wood from abandoned construction sites and flaking doors embedded with stained glass. He'd seen a photograph of a similar construction in a copy of Better Homes and Garden years ago, and loyally kept the page bookmarked and tucked away neatly in his catalog of treasured magazines, patiently awaiting the time that he could piece together his own masterpiece. Amongst this catalog were magazines that covered Harley Davidsons, vintage Holden vehicles and tattoo parlour mags, all printed well before the mid 2000's. That was Dad in print. He was a dreamer, a rebellious aesthete; and very well organized.

Over the short timespan of just 6 and a half years, the Spirit House and surrounding foliage bloomed into existence. The Spirit House, despite it's eclectic assortment of materials, stood beautifully quaint with his stained glass doors and flaking white paint, exuding an air of history from many decades now gone. The grass was green, the olive tree standing over 9 feet tall (but stil not bearing any fruit). Judith had realised that the original garden bed surrounded by riverstones was a lot of work for her plants to survive. She turned her attention to three raised zincalume graden beds, placed neatly in a row in the opposite corner to the Spirit House. There, her green thumb and specially chosen soil and fertilizer could now reach full potential. Chillis, lemongrass, cucumbers and zucchini flourished thick and fast. Cherry tomatoes, basil and rosemary too. That's another great thing about Brisbane Australia; somehow the best of each season would bless this corner of the world; gardeners across the world would be envious of the cool winters of sixteen degree days with bright sunshine and blue skies, inviting strawberries and mandarins to bloom, while the summers topping just 30 degrees (most days) allowed for bright garden beds of flowers.

Naturally, I was the primary caregiver of the garden whenever Dad and Judith would go travelling. Their trips were frequently sporadic, but I didn’t mind. The garden was a pleasure to behold on quiet afternoons, and even better enjoyed from the verandah sharing a joint with my gal friend, Bella. She was British, (just like Judith) and also a green thumb.

“What’s that new one ?” Bella inquired through a puff of THC.

She was pointing at a long climbing shrub; the plant itself stood a metre tall and with purplish and white flowers. In fact, I’d never seen them up until two weeks back when Dad returned from another trip.

“I don’t know. Dad’s super excited about it though, he thinks it may be a new species.”

“Oooh! A botanical discovery right here on this verandah. Where did he get it from?”

“Hmm, yeah, don’t know Bell. He’s limited to working in Australia cause of COVID obviously. Far north probably.”

“No sneaking off to Dubai this time.”

“Haha! Not that I know of. Speaking of which, apparently they don’t get have COVID there, everything’s business as usual. So maybe he is sneaking off to Dubai.”

Bella grinned. “Can’t wait to sneak off to England the minute it’s open.”

“Innit Bell.”

“Innit Reese.”

We both looked back at the curious plant.

“It is a bit funky isn’t it.” I stated.

“Very funky,” Bella concurred as she stood and wandered closer to the pot the shrub was sprouting from. I stood too and took a closer look. “It looks hairy too ooh I bet you don’t wanna touch it, I think that’ll make you itch.” Bella was right; the plant was still young with bright green stems covered in thick, short hairs. It’s flowers were just sprouting, and so were the beginnings of what appeared to be seed pods. I lit up the Google search on my phone.

“Its a velvet bean?” I mused carefully, scanning the top responses to my hurried description in the search bar.

“Could be could be Reese. I am no botanist, but velvet beans are indeed climbing shrubbery with itchy powers.”

I chuckled. “Definitely no touching.”

A year later, we discovered it was not a velvet bean.

#nature #aesthetic #gardenblr

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