Lorraine’s Green Thumb
My Mum, the gardener, anything to do with plants Mum loved with a passion. Every home Mum has lived in needed a garden to make it a complete home. They may have started out as a dry, barren wasteland, but given time and Dad’s ability to dig holes with no questions asked, Mum turned it into a lush green haven that the family could enjoy. Mum liked having fresh cut flowers in her huge brandy glass on the table, just the head of the flower floating on water, either roses or hydrangeas.
Mum had three fantastic willow trees on the Pickering Brook property’s backyard. She had a grape vine that covered the back veranda, a fish pond at the back steps, plus a whole array of different plants at the front and back with large areas of buffalo lawn that came in handy for twenty-first birthday parties and even Judy’s wedding.
I remember going with Mum to different nurseries on Hale Road in Forrestfield on a Saturday or Sunday afternoon, browsing around all the new seedlings and plants to see what she could add to her collection. I would have been around 10 years old.
Having many outdoor functions like the good old BBQ family get togethers, or just the daily morning or afternoon cuppa. And don’t forget all the baking Mum did, there was always something homemade, whether it was cakes, scones with jam and cream, biscuits, slices. She was as good a baker as she was a gardener. The lush green garden gave you that cool feeling about the backyard. I’m now just starting to realise how much I miss having morning tea with Mum and Dad on a Sunday at the Cagney way home, while we chatted on the back veranda about the week just gone.
Mum had Dad build several greenhouses over the years for her orchids and ferns, as Mum loved to grow these. There were countless hanging baskets on the patio or pergola. Mum would take cuttings from all things and propagate into plants for herself. She loved her azaleas, and hibiscus constantly getting Dad to move pots all over the place to get them in the best location for sunlight or shade.
Mum was always in her element in the garden, repotting plants, pruning, watering, adding manure and weeding, or giving instructions to Dad, as someone always needs to take control. By the end of the Cagney Way garden Dad a had a maze of reticulation, micro sprays and drippers watering every plant, pot and hanging basket that one person could possibly squeeze onto the veranda.
Vegetable gardens were found on most of Mum and Dad’s properties, even a few fruit trees and a passionfruit vine. Most of this was left to Dad to look after, but I’m sure Mum had plenty of input as to what to plant.
