Gundungurra Country
A wombat hole is a garden feature
I’m hesitant to use the noun garden because it immediately holds connotations of small, tightly controlled outdoor spaces. The reality is, however, I do garden (verb) but with a different intention, one that I would prefer to align with re-wilding, although it’s not exactly that either. Forms of gardening inherited from Europe, replete with imported plants and animals, have been carelessly and ruthlessly imposed on Aboriginal land with often disastrous impacts since the arrival of white settlers. In the case of our block in Mittagong there’s a European interpretation of a Japanese garden in the front courtyard, as well as various hedge and flower bulb installations meandering down the slope toward a creek bed below our boundary line. Creeping out under their own seeding ventures, introduced species build their own momentum, relieving the colonising hand of its work. It’s difficult to undo the work of another gardener, particularly since it was the quirkiness of the courtyard and the terraced fire pit that particularly charmed us, but the spreading exotics, the leggy plants that belong somewhere else are the first to go.
Out of sheer laziness, it took me several years to remove the ‘Shangrila’ sign from the front gate. English writer James Hilton created Shangri-La as a fictional place located at the base of the Himalayas in his 1933 novel Lost Horizons. I have not read the book but suspect it smacks of Orientalism, not only because it was written by a white Englishman but also during the rule of the British Raj. It’s a strange thing to find oneself residing in this fictionised space and experiencing contradictory feelings of appreciation and discomfort. Interestingly, Japanese author, Eiichi Ikegami, and illustrator, Ken’ichi Yoshida, commandeered the title for their fiction series published in Kadokawa Shoten’s magazine, Newtype, in 2002-04. It was around this time, give or take a few years, that the creator of this Mittagong garden moved on, saving the Shangri-La theme from becoming thoroughly entrenched.
Within the confines of the courtyard, there’s a magical interplay between the pond, stone-inlay paths, Buddha-inspired statues, the poorly installed bridge, and deteriorating porticos. Our task, and I’m including Brenda here, is not to throw the baby out with the bath water. We’ll retain some of the quirky features, while carefully transforming the garden into a wilder space, an endemic plant ‘habitat for wildlife’. That’s stated exactly on the sign provided by council and I’ve banged it onto the front fence with a nail.
In late 2018 we moved to this one-acre spot in Mittagong on the side of Mount Gibraltar (possibly called Bowrel by the people of the Gundungarra language group) from 330sqm in Sydney’s Inner West. It was a year before Covid broke out, and the subsequent exodus from city to country. We were escaping the city, but soon the city was following us.
At the time of moving, an acre seemed massive and wild. A 35m canopy created by towering Brown Barrels (Eucalyptus fastigatas) blocked the stars and the sun. The uneven ground and steep slopes required recalibration of steps and balance: a challenge for my urban ankles. I became acutely aware of my body in space and how vulnerable it was without the protective concrete wool of the cityscape. At night I was enveloped by a beautiful darkness that I increasingly ventured into. While weeding out the back, I trained my ears to the creaks and cracks of the unstable tree canopy above while planning futile escapes. Seeking cover alongside retaining walls and fallen logs through a series of tumble rolls and dives seems to offer the best chance of survival. I learnt to dig with care after unearthing two Myrmecia pilosula nests and discovering several funnel web holes. I can only describe Myrmecia stings like knives driven through skin. In a flash of unearthing their nest I had maybe fifteen of these battleship ants charging up my legs resulting in three huge welts. I now know that if I’m ever stung again, the juice from readily available plantains, native and exotic, will neutralise the toxin. I keep that thought at the forefront of my mind. In the early days I stamped and prodded grass clumps with sticks to ensure snakes were not startled by my hands or feet. Over time the fear abates, and the land is not as threatening as it first appeared to be. A respectful coexistence has ensued.
Looking over ‘our’ backyard in 2018 there wasn’t another light to be seen, except for an old farmhouse on the side of a hill a few kilometres away. There were several houses in near proximity but they were country escapes. The large house next door to us must have been occupied just five times in our first five years here, the longest period was when they travelled during covid lockdown to stay for a month or two. The ‘property manager’ said the now deceased owner grew up in a circus, was an alcoholic but managed to amass wealth. I had to engage with this Company Director to relocate a shared boundary fence to our advantage. Through his secretary we battled it out and, in the end, I claimed a victory for the wildlife. The area gained now forms a third of our block and is the wildest. Since it was fenced it has never been mown, it has not been driven across and weeds are no longer dumped into the creek bed below us. Installing gates felt a step too far in these negotiations, so instead I followed another neighbours lead and cut holes for the wombats, swamp wallabies, kangaroos and echidnas to pass through. Perhaps in time we can open a conversation with the current owners to create a ‘no fence zone’ to allow the animals to easily reclaim a portion of their ancestral routes.
While many areas of this block have been landscaped or disturbed, there are a surprising number of endemic species, plants and fauna, that continue to emerge and thrive. A great many introduced species have integrated themselves into the mix, many having significant environmental impact on native species.
The photo above captures the lower end of our block. The area in front of the fallen log in the distance is a celebration of Poa labillardieri, which has naturally covered the area. Exotic grasses, honey suckle vine and some blackberry have been removed. Beyond the log exotic grasses have worked their way into the mix and it’s a task to remove them before they seed. A lot of weed seed is dropped by birds from the treetops, so while all our neighbours and their neighbours have environmental weeds it will continue to be a problem for us to manage. Caring for land is an enormous responsibility.
The Birds
This small bower has been created by one or more satin bowerbirds, the nest rests in a nearby tree. Bowers are constructed by the males of the species as a platform to attract and court the females. Dancing, singing and defending can go on all day and can be very entertaining to watch and hear. This particular bower never stays up for more than a few days. I’ve never been able to establish whether it’s a practice bower and the adults declare it’s not good enough, start again, or if it’s brought down by rival suitors. Whatever the case, there can be great upset and consternation. The variety of species of bowerbirds around Australia collect different coloured objects to make their bowers more enticing. In the case of the satin bowerbird it’s blue, sometimes with a yellow flower or green leaf thrown in. Traditionally, parrot feathers and berries of the Blueberry Ash and Dianella would have provided them with a good source of blue during the courtship season, but now with the scourge of human junk, small blue plastic objects such as milk bottle tops and wrappers are the easy go-to. Objects are stolen from competing bowers so defence of the bower requires commitment.
In the autumn the berries of kangaroo apple (Solanum aviculture) or bush tomato trees are ripening to a beautiful orange/red. In the mornings the trees are literally shaking with with Bowerbirds and LBBs (little brown birds) as they collect food. The short-lived trees are considered pioneer plants meaning they are among the first native plants to establish themselves in disturbed soils, providing shade and protection for the germinating seeds of future natives. The berries are poisonous when green but once ripened, and best fallen off the tree, they can be cooked and eaten, but I haven’t gone there yet. In indigenous cultures they have been used for medicinal purposes, and the leaves used as poultices. The benefits to our block is as a food source for the local native wildlife (the possums seem to enjoy the berries too) and to provide shade. I also find them particularly attractive plants with their purple flowers, orange fruits and kangaroo-foot-shaped leaves.