| Sat in front of my computer intent on writing whatever follows I can’t help but stare at a little desktop ‘gadget’ on my screen that automatically updates itself with the value of the Euro against the British Pound. To be perfectly honest, not unlike a lot of ex-pats living in Spain, I can’t decide whether each change in the relative values I see before me is good news or bad news.
Consequently, I play safe. I read it all as bad news and thus spend a lot less than I used to. That way I get to consider myself as a Greek millionaire waiting for the Eurozone to fall flat on its face so that I can feel myself to be above it all. If only! |
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| So, on with the subject of austerity gardening for those like me that don’t really know what’s
going on in the financial world but still love to garden. If gardening on the cheap sounds like it could be hard work then rest assured that it is. But, amazingly enough, it can be even more rewarding than flashing the credit card down at the garden centre prior to cramming the equivalent of the Brazilian rain-forest into the boot of your hatch-back. And here’s how……. |
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| Once upon a time, a couple of years back, I had a plot of land at the bottom of my garden that I’d gladly surrendered to Mother Nature to do with whatever she fancied. And she sure got stuck in to the task with no questions asked or prisoners taken. At first it was a scattering of wild flowers, more commonly known as indestructible weeds. You know the sort. Roots the diameter of a gar-den hose and venomous leaves that give you a bright red rash if you as much as look at them. She quickly followed with a connoisseur’s hand-picked selection of thorn bush species, the like of which contravened every aspect of health and safety regulations. Razor wire pales into
insignificance in comparison. Anyway, undeterred but hesitant, I arose from my bed one bright and sunny day and made one of those irreversible decisions that most gardeners hate making. I decided to get stuck in. |
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I spent the first hour just looking at the splendour of nature’s very own barrier reef of under growth wondering whether I should even bother. I didn’t really know where to start. You know the feeling, just a tad like the Sunday Times crossword. There were some attractive portions with flowery bits dripping from them whilst most of the rest was indistinguishable as plant life. And then, all of a sudden, the solution hit me like a house brick. Divide and conquer! |
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| And so I did. I didn’t want a manicured garden extension. I simply wanted to make what was mine more attractive and hospitable. The sort of place I could meander through with a cold cup of tea whilst contemplating life, the universe and the value of the Euro against the British Pound. |
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| Assessing the more formidable items such as thorn bush and prickly pear as initially immovable items, and ground coverings of creeping ivy as items to retain I began to slowly clear a pathway approximately 1.5 metres wide into the undergrowth, twisting and turning its course as the
immovable's and keepables blocked my progress. The gear I was wearing and the tools I used evolved rather like the undergrowth itself had. Long trousers, tough shoes, strong leather gloves and, most importantly, eye protecting goggles, slowly replaced the shorts, flip-flops, T-shirt and bare
knuckles I started with. Oh my, was it hot! Tree loppers and a pickaxe replaced my secateurs and hedge clippers and all of sudden I began to make real progress. I soon disappeared deeper and deeper into this previously undiscovered territory. I know this to be true as my wife, on glancing towards the bottom of my garden thinking that’s where I was to be found, believed I’d nipped out for a drink. |
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| The thorn bush I thinned firstly before cropping through the main stems at ground level. This made the debris much safer and easier to handle and remove. I then used the pickaxe to remove as much of the remaining root as I could. Next I cut deep channels along the boundaries of my cleared pathway, the dirt from which I scattered back over the remaining but thinned out under-growth. As I turned and twisted and cleared my way ever deeper I came across
desiccated specimens of Spanish bayonet and large agaves that must have been planted many years before man-kind lost all interest in this little plot of unkempt land. My joy was boundless and my motivation was on the rise. |
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| I kept up this routine of self-annihilation for a further two whole days, resting in the evenings with a glass or two of red plus a pair of tweezers with which I extracted the thorns from my body that had penetrated through my boots, trousers, shirt sleeves and on occasion, my dignity. My pathway was never ending. It meandered like an endless mountain stream creating islands of plant and ground cover which now had form and shape. I finished off by transplanting pieces of prickly pear and agave and aloe pups that I’d dug up along the way and further transplanted offshoots of
pampas grass that had self-seeded within the choking growth. I spent less than an hour strimming the pathway and do you know what? It looked good. In fact it looked better than that. It looked great. |
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| I now plant any off-cuts of drought resistant plants and shrubs I come across into the ‘islands’ I’ve created and occasionally trim and clear the odd bit that appears to be taking over again. Overall, it requires very little maintenance and because of the nature of the plant life within it, very little
watering. What originally looked formidable and horrendous at the end of my garden is now quite attractive and hospitable. Perhaps they could try the same technique with the Eurozone bearing in mind the whole process I’ve used here has so far cost me nothing! The only thing requiring a bail-out is me. But if offered I shall most definitely refuse. Nothing’s going to take away my
sovereignty! |
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More from
Phil...
The Mediterranean Difference - A series of articles by Phil Thompson.
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