Smug in the face of climate change in my delta, I had my sunshade right, bring it on, in Spring 2019 I filled my garden with plants that should be able to cope better with the weather. The sickly Lonicera seemed to have perked up a bit, so I told it to hang on and dragged, pushed and shoved its trellis planter to the most shady corner. That means shade until mid-morning, sun thereafter. I put Nasturtium seeds at its feet for company. And rigged a line between a teepee and the rainpipe for my runner bean to climb. I could already taste the fresh beans, love them. Fired by the urge to grow some more veg, I sowed salad greens, got a tomato and a chilli plant and begged one of my friend's strawberries off him. Along with the herbs that had done very well and a variety of Pelargoniums in the railing planters, my garden looked very different from the first year. I was tempted to get a Musa...better not, that ever blowing wind, eh?
Puck and I installed ourselves on a lounger with book, beer, bone and a bowl of water and watched the veg grow. Every afternoon the jackdaws from the roost at the end of the street would line up on the edge of the roof opposite and stare at us. Puck would stare right back, she's very protective. Swifts swooped, a cuckoo called in the distance, the occasional screeching ringneck parakeet flew past, the slugs held war councils amongst themselves and the bees for some reason lacked.
That previous windstill scorching summer, I had had plenty of bees, hoverflies, wasps, houseflies and, darn it, mosquitoes. So what had happened? Well, there was the wind. We had extreme amounts of wind in 2019. And my Mediterranean collection didn't attract a lot of bees for some reason. In fact, my entire harvest of runner beans, non pollinated, consisted of 1 beautiful bean. Puck and I shared it ceremoniously and pronounced it delicious.
The Nasturtiums did very well, climbing the trellis, and trailing elegantly over the edge of the planter. But the Honeysuckle again dropped all its buds and most of its leaves. Then an unprecedented Summer gale struck. It whipped my Roses, tore off their leaves, gave the Pelargoniums a good shaking, threw over the Fatsia and tomato and made my tiny side table sail away. It landed three floors down and 10 m away at 3 cm from the fender of a Lexus. Some very posh neighbours here. For some reason this particular one was not amused. He screamed at me that I am an irresponsible nutty plantgeek. It sounds even worse in Dutch. So rude!
Okay, I did take better care of storm damage prevention after that. My roses recovered, I was so happy they did. And there was another, very unexpected, little success. When I arrived in this street in June 2018 there were no plants on the balconies. Some folk had artistic Buddhas, most had expensive lounge sets, and there were plastic lavenders and grasses dotted here and there (no doubt weighted down with heavy rocks). But nothing green and alive. Until I noticed in 2019 that on one of the balconies a miniature olive tree appeared (clashing somewhat with that Buddha) and look, on another a couple of tasteful clipped buxus balls. One family even went wild and put two mini palm trees on, hung with solar lights. Not outdone, the man in the flat opposite put down a cheerful planter full of geraniums and sat next to it every evening, smoking and calling Poland.
See, my darling, I told Puck. Even a drop of water can eventually wear down a rock. All we have to do is show them how lovely real plants are. Puck agreed. She always does, good girl.
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