Tiles, plants and pond
I’d long known that avid gardeners, more than most, have a keen perception of seasons and their transitions. We pay attention to every change, the emergence of buds and leaves, the dying off of flowers.
But as an Australian who spent most of her life in humid subtropical, coastal Sydney, I’ve realised since living in the Netherlands what a different proposition it is when winter really is winter. When daylight is scarce, when water in the garden freezes, when plants go into hibernation, and growth just doesn’t happen. Then spring, which really is the most violent transition. “Sap rising” wasn’t really a concept I’d grasped till I saw the way that plants here, as the weather warms and the days grow longer, are under a physical pressure that bursts with shoots from bulbs and buds and new growth. Followed by the placidity of summer, and the faded languor of late summer. And autumn, with its rush into long nights, the acceleration leaving you in no doubt what’s coming.
While Sydney has its heatwaves and droughts and floods, its seasons are otherwise relatively indistinct. Winters are mild. The only plants that are deciduous there are introduced, so although there is a spectrum of green that shifts over the year, there is little in the way of the browns and reds and golds of European trees.
And speaking of latitude, a few years ago I came across this fascinating map, created by Ian Allen.
It superimposes a flipped Australia onto Europe, positioning it with the same latitudes, but ignoring the north/south element. While Australia feels far south, in fact even its point closest to Antarctica, in Tasmania, is equivalent to Spain in relation to the equator. Little wonder that winter here in the Netherlands is so... wintery.
And now it continues to be wintery. The snow on the ground is persisting, with today again not exceeding 1°C.
Fortunately, it wasn’t quite so cold in December when the landscaping began. Our gardeners at STEK, Lex and Eric, recommended Steven Bol to do the work. Steven is an experienced landscaper and gardener, whose philosophy mirrors ours, valuing organic, biodiverse gardens. He and his team cleared most of the existing plants—excepting the pear tree, the dogwood, and a particularly fine Acanthus. And of course the enormous horse chestnut! They cut the stems of the ivy smothering the horse chestnut. While it no doubt provides good habitat for various creatures, it’s bad for the tree, weighing down branches and limiting photosynthesis. Once the ivy has died from lack of water, it can be pulled off the tree without damaging the bark.
The team removed most of the existing pavers. They laid the new, hexagonal pavers in a meandering design, deftly cutting into some of the old ones to make the transition more elegant.
Steven and the team prepare the ground for the tiles.
The tiles are laid out.
The pond and tiles are in, along with the soil for the plants. The existing tiles at the rear are where we’ll be putting in a garden table and chairs, along with a potting bench.
Lex, Steven and Eric.
Lex and Eric returned to put in the new plants. Because they’re dormant, the seedlings won’t be growing much in the way of shoots or roots till the weather warms up, but will be acclimatised and settled and ready to burst forth into life. (Have you gleaned yet that I’m a little bit excited about that?)
You can see the plant list here. In some of the gaps in the pavers, they planted a winter-hardy European groundcover, Sagina subulata, also known as Irish or Scottish moss, or heath pearlwort, and in Dutch, vetmuur. In others, creeping thyme. We’ll see which spreads and works best given foot traffic.
The pond has a capacity of 530 litres and is 205 x 130 x 50 cm. We’ve put in a pump to keep the water moving and avoid stagnation and to stop mosquitoes breeding there in summer. (The mosquitoes here are ferocious! Finally, we’ve found a creature that puts Australian beasties to shame.) Once the plants have grown around and among the rocks, it’ll be transformed. At the end of winter, I’ll introduce the aquatic and riparian plants. At this point, I’m not planning to have fish—I don’t want to risk them eating tadpoles.
We’ve also installed bird nests and feeders, and word has clearly got around. The bird population here is flourishing. More about that next post!
The main part of the garden is now complete, just waiting now for spring. Then I’ll also fill up pots with annuals, maybe a lavender or two.
Meanwhile, Ruby the Spoodle, the gorgeous pooch who immigrated with us, says hi. Here she is on a morning walk along Rotterdam’s Delfshavense Schie canal.
She’s still getting used to the curious white fluffy water.