It’s that time of year again, when we happily send some young trees out naked into the winter.
The ones that seem large enough have their wildlife and frost resistant covers removed, so that we can recycle them for this year’s plantings. That’s hundreds of covers to be jerked up, flattened and carried back to the truck, then transported to our overcrowded garage for storage. Continue reading
The ancient trees that stalked across the paddocks when I was a child were my first clue that something was wrong with our landscape.
They started to die.
“Theý’re old” said Dad. “They’ve had their time. We just need to plant some more.”
So he planted more. The Goodradigbee Shire supplied Sydney blue gums in little plastic tubes. The big trees were eucalypts, and so were the new little ones. Not the same type, or even a local type but that was what was available.
I lobbied for planting some wattles, because I liked the flowers and the way they’d made a golden line down the valley when we first arrived.
“They don’t live long enough. They die after five years.” said Dad.
The trees he planted died even more quickly , most of them before they even grew up to the top of their metal sheep guards. Each guard was expensive and time-consuming to make, requiring two or three steel star pickets and a length of netting, plus a certain amount of tie-wire and cursing the rocky ground. Many of them still sit empty, too much trouble to remove. Continue reading