I just love bureaucrats. They are such a wonderful source of ridicule. Farming readers will be busy jumping through the same hoops as nursery people and even section maintenance operators – undergoing mandatory courses in agrichemicals in preparation for the January deadline after which one won’t be able to buy many basic chemicals unless one has the magic certificate.

Mark obediently trotted off and did his course last year (if only I could remember where I filed the certificate….). In principle you can’t argue with the logic of attempting to educate people in the safe use of chemicals. There are dangers and pitfalls in their usage and countless tales of abuse and bad effects. So while Mark prides himself on being a relatively safe operator, he didn’t really complain.
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Winter struck with a vengeance this week. There can’t be much more to blow down. Leaves, twigs, branches, the odd small tree, every container plant – they are all lying around waiting to be cleaned up. Then it turned so cold that I didn’t feel like venturing out between showers. Next came the frost and it remained cold. Sometimes our long autumns lull me in to a false sense of security and I never fail to be surprised by a wintery blast.

I was rung by a journalist working on a story about winter gardens and it made me focus on what we strive for in the winter garden. Despite my reluctance to brave the cold, we garden for twelve months of the year here. In spring it tends to be a pretty tree and shrub garden with the addition of lots of spring bulbs. In summer we aim for the lushness of the subtropical look with touches of the English herbaceous tradition. In autumn it is the detail of the autumn bulbs along with the splashes of colour on the plants which colour up well (the metasequoia was a breathtaking orange this year).
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It must be a sign of the times, dear Reader, that I am going to inflict a website on you. Being rural and suffering from very slow dial-up (roll on unbundling), I am not a great web browser but when rain drove me indoors I clicked on www.guerrillagardening.org.

The site is fast and friendly and details the night time guerrilla gardening activities of an ever growing band of enthusiasts who are taking over neglected and unloved urban areas. The greatest effort is in London so far but it appears to be a growing movement. Even the prisoners in Guantanamo Bay are reportedly trying to keep their sanity by growing plants from seeds saved from their meals.
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One of the recent themes of our gardening conversations here has been perennials. Perennial gardening and herbaceous borders are our current challenge, albeit one that may take us a decade or two to get to grips with. (Have I mentioned that we take the long term view regarding gardens and gardening?)

New Zealanders tend to be exceptionally good at creating quick impact, pretty tree and shrub gardens. Avenues of cherry trees, hedges of camellias, flowering daphnes, roses and the like – all flourish in our equable climate, grow quickly, have almost instant impact and are relatively easy care. Where perennials are used, they tend to be part of mixed borders to add seasonal flowers and foliage. Plants like irises, polyanthus, hostas and more recently clivias and that other fashion plant of today, bromeliads, are part of the repertoire of most gardeners.
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As I was getting the washing in earlier this week, there was much loud twittering of birds. Mark, who was passing commented on the consternation (it did remind me of that early horror story “The Birds”) and suggested that our ginger killing machine might be at large. In fact the ginger killing machine (aka the cat) is rather more a ginger sleeping lump these days but I wandered behind the garage to see if she was entertaining herself by inflicting a spot of terror.

No. It was a snoozing morepork. I managed to get within a metre of it, roosting in a tree in the bush. There was a small and hyperactive fantail dancing around the branch with much agitation telling it to move on while the other birds kept a safer distance away as they gave it it’s pedigree. A bit of a pariah in the ornithological world, the morepork, but I was enchanted to see one close up. For some time we had one resident in a very large blue conifer outside our bedroom window and it would swoop in to catch the moths attracted to the lights. But it always moved so fast that I never caught more than the tap on the window and a glimpse of it flapping away.
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