I love this view, which is what I look at when I sit out on the patio with GOM. There is a Bangalow Palm tree, which I am rather fond of, the Maple, which is just showing its' new lime green foliage, & the tree fern is in the foreground.
Lovely new shoots unfurling. It reminds me of New Zealand. This tree has taken a hammering from drought, but it seems the rains we have had, along with Spring's warmth, has spurred it into fresh growth.
We have 4 other fern trees, but one seems to have died. We are not sure why, but have wondered if it is run-off from the poisoning mission on the Neighbour-Privet. It is slightly downhill from the Privet, so perhaps the poison leached down the slope.
In the evening there is the most glorious perfumed air. There is Jasmin flowering in overgrown profusion in the neighbour's garden. They also have wonderful Azaleas which are in full bloom, & give off a sweet scent. Our Port Wine Magnolia adds to it all, as well as the lemon tree, which is just a riot of blossom. Seemingly overloaded, & it worries me a little. I have read that some trees produce a plethora of blossom just before they die, as a sort of last ditch effort at prolonging life.
I have not noticed many bees at the the Lemon tree this time, & yet they are usually thick, when the flowers appear. I am very watchful, as I am allergic to bee stings.
I remember lying under the blossom trees, - peaches, nectarines, apples, -smoking cigarettes, with a young man I had a crush on. He was a neighbour of my girlfriend, & we used to spend time with his younger sister. I was still a teenager, & I think he was 20. So handsome, & seemingly so dashing. He smoked, offered me cigarettes. Of course, not wanting to appear unworldly, I took the proffered,
horrible things. They made me dizzy, & feel slightly sick, but as I was lying under the fruit trees, I just pretended I was enjoying them!
My girlfriend had more sense, she refused the cigarettes. But then, she didn't have a crush on Mr Suave! His 'Little Sister' was never offered. She was younger, & she looked like a little doll. Such a pretty, blonde haired girl. Her mother had died in childbirth. The Grandmother had raised the children, the father never really recovered from his wife's death, & he was what would be called today, "A Functioning Alcoholic". He did his job, then went home & drank himself into insensibility every afternoon. Poor man. But I know he loved his children, dearly.
And another neighbour, of my girlfriend's, had a hideous huge silver Stainless Steel Seal, balancing a huge stainless steel ball on its' nose. Forever condemned, to stand on back flippers, holding the ball aloft, in a pond/fountain, on the front lawn. They also had a small dog, a bundle of white fluff & frenzied ferocity, that went insane every time the paper boy rode past, delivering the paper. I know from inside information, how much he yearned to give that little canine flying lessons.
The Waifs, Vermillion