The verges of the roads in Kommetjie are abundantly utilised as garden extensions. Rather than scrappy patches of grass and weeds, the residents take pride in outdoing each other by way of horticultural excellence. Indigenous species are favoured - not necessarily through a sense of ecological conscience, but because our indigenous flora needs little attention and is quite spectacular. Banks of scarlet and orange aloes, interspersed with a dash of yellow, form a natural deterrent against unwanted visitors (I don't mean mothers-in-law) and flourish against the warmth of an otherwise ugly concrete wall.
But at this time of year, my favourite flower, the pincushion, provides a spectacular show as we move from winter into spring. These are on the pavement near my house, and although the sun had almost set and no longer shone on them, their colours are true to life. Nature at its most perfect.
For years we had a large orange pincushion at our gate and every year, when the flowers had gone to seed (about November), the baboons would arrive and strip the remaining heads from the bush. There must have been something in the dead heads that appealed to them. One year, a particularly large baboon perched precariously on the very top of the bush and inevitably split the trunk. Pincushions aren't fond of mishandling, and in a very short time, the entire bush had died. I was livid, but the baboon didn't care. He no doubt found somewhere else to perch. Since then I have left it to others to grow proteas and pincushions and have confined my attempts at an indigenous garden to the showy leucadendrons, which have so far had no visit from our furry friends.
No comments:
Post a Comment