(c) Melina Magdalena (2009)
I am enjoying living in Kilburn. Outside our kitchen window is a large grevillea tree. When we first moved in we were a little dismayed by the tree. It is large, and was dominating the lemon tree which we considered to be of more use. We were not even sure what kind of tree it was, until my father took a cutting to a local nursery and returned with their verdict. A grevillea tree is a native and – what’s more, it is a flowering native. Clearly it does well in Kilburn. Soon after we moved in, small clusters of red blossoms began to appear as if at random, along its branches and at the tips. There is a small colony of honeyeaters (also native) which make their home in the grevillea tree. It is pleasant to stand at the sink and gaze at them as they flitter confidently about in the tree.
We did prune it back considerably during the last school holidays, mainly to give the lemon tree some chance at revival. It did the lemon tree no end of good and we even have lemon blossom at last, as well as a few ripening fruits. All is well, in our back yard.
Last Thursday we were sitting on our IKEA lounge under the window, yawning and chatting and generally winding down for the day. A knock came at the door, and it was our neighbour – two houses down. He brought us the unwelcome news that there was a dead cat on the corner. We looked out and saw the soft, dark heap. My heart gave a leap – after having already lost one of our cats since moving here, I hoped it wasn’t my Ripple. We walked over and saw a large, soft black and white cat, and I recognised it (I thought) as belonging to our across the street neighbour. We didn’t know what to do, and decided in the end to leave it until the morning for identification purposes. It seemed to have been struck by a car and to have crawled across to the safety of the street corner.
The neighbour who brought us the news is a native to Kilburn. He is one of those people who makes it his business to know what is going on in his street. He has a wealth of knowledge and a kind heard to go with it, so we don’t feel too impinged upon by his visits. His long experience in the area has given him a healthy perspective on what to expect from those of his community. This is useful for us, as we try to eke some credibility as new residents of Kilburn.
I spent some time next morning out by the back gate with the handy pruning saw, chopping up the grevillea and lemon tree branches that we’d removed from the trees several weeks earlier. They were too long and unwieldy for the bin, and we had nowhere to store them. So I reduced them to usable lengths – we have an 18th birthday bonfire coming up in October, stored them in the shed, and tidied up the area around our back gate. The cat was still there.
With no excuses left, I took my fork and went into the front yard to continue weeding our flower patch. Most of our front yard will be nativised (take a look at this website: http://www.backyards4wildlife.com.au/index.php?page=butterflies), but we’ve already planted a frangipani tree and some mint in the square outside the lounge room window. It’s a long job, clearing grass, and I want to try digging it out first, before simply poisoning the stuff. We’ve already got poppies and cornflowers sprouting in the area I cleared a couple of weeks ago.
Our across the street neighbour came out of her house, through her gate and across the street. My heart sank. “I just wanted to let you know,” she said, pointing to the cat, “that’s Nemo.” She had arranged for the council to pick him up and take him away, and turned down my offer of burying him in her back yard. I kept on digging until the council man came, and then I abandoned my silent vigil and put away the fork for another day.
We took this neighbour a home-decorated Easter egg several weeks ago. And she brought me some homegrown chrysanthemums out of her garden on Mother’s Day. Very sweet.
We were rather selective about whom to give our Easter eggs to. The Afghani family with whom we share a party wall, received some, of course. We’re hoping that over time we will get to know them and that they will become confident to share some of their culture with us. And our two houses down neighbour as well.
Since moving here, we’ve become aware of some of the issues that embroil this community. Groups of shiftless youths, some white, some black, some multicoloured, roam the streets from time to time. Clearly, they need something to occupy themselves. Our house was home to a drug-dealing prostitute before the public housing people put it on the market. There was a shooting here a while back, and there have been several murders in the suburb over the past couple of years. It’s generally been from native Kilburnites that we’ve received the response – you bought a house in Kilburn? Why?! Didn’t you know what it was like?
Our yard – front and back – is infested with couch grass. I think it is couch. My son scoffed at me recently when I mentioned it. Did he say it is kikuyu? I always imagined couch grass to be the sly, narrow-leafed grass that creeps its way in and takes hold before you even notice it. That’s not what we have. We’ve got the bold as brass bright green thick-leafed runner grass that pokes its nose out of freshly-weeded soil hours after you put away the fork. It is thriving here, and its long runners and juicy roots seem to be everywhere I stick my fork in and pull.
People do think we're a little crazy to think we can eradicate this grass by manual labour. My father has said patronisingly that we need to be left to make our own mistakes. He, like others is a keen promulgator of poison. We may yet need to resort to that.
There is a different ground-cover that we’ve noticed in the neighbourhood. It appears on the odd nature strip, as well as in our back yard. I was worried at first that it was three-corner jack, or some other kind of thorny creeper. It looks a little like creeping thyme, with small dark-green leaves a little grey on the underside, and tiny pink and mauve flowers. I think it’s very pretty actually. We took some to a nursery for identification, only to be told it is a weed and nursery folk are not interested in weeds. We tried again at another nursery and after asking friends, have decided it is a kind of saltbush, and does not produce thorns. So we’re keen to help it take over the areas where at the moment, the grass usurper reigns supreme. However, the vegetable patch must naturally take some precedence, even over the native saltbush. It was while trying to dig up a patch of the stuff that I discovered its rooting nature to be quite different from the runner grass. Like everything else, our vege patch is a work in progress. At present it is comprised of two long and narrow beds (1.5m x 2.5m), with sleepers on either long side as the borders. The first one runs East – West, parallel to the side fence in the back corner. The second is splayed a little, running North-North-East – South-South-West, with the western end meeting at the corner of the first. Eventually, there will be six beds, each with a triangular path separating them, like a semi-circle.
Instead of sending out runners here there and everywhere, as the colonising grass does, the saltbush seems to grow from one very long, very thick, deep taproot. It spreads above the surface, but not below. I didn’t realise this until after cutting it back with the secateurs to make room for the vege patch, I realised I would need to dig one plant out completely. The fork, alas, was not much help. I got out the spade, but it would not cut that root. So I found myself on my knees with an old, blunt hatchet, chipping away at this root. The root was twisted and fibrous. It felt rather awful to be destroying it with such a blunt instrument. Perhaps next time I’ll sharpen the hatchet before I try this.
While digging and chipping and planning, I began to think about the process of developing our yard and creating our home. We have fairly clear ideas about why we chose Kilburn and how we hope to live here. We don’t mind at all, becoming part of its living history, as the colour of the community changes and transforms. We don’t mind coming into contact with its past history and the characters who inhabit its past. We are keen to be part of its future. We want our back yard to be productive, colourful and vibrant – to reflect in short, our inner lives, which is no small ambition.
I keep thinking about the native saltbush and the runner grass invader. It’s interesting that the native can survive and spread over the surface of a large area, through one large root. It’s almost as though this plant does not want to affect the soil beneath it, but just live cautiously, quietly, mindfully upon the surface. The grass on the other hand, behaves in a very different way. It pops up continuously, and sends its roots wastefully, capriciously in all directions, as though by doing so, it is guaranteed that part of it will succeed, somewhere, even if the rest is dug up or poisoned.
It reminds me of the different ways of different peoples. Some peoples recede into the background, doing their own thing, quietly getting on with life in an undemanding way. Others are much louder, more flamboyant – not only giving of themselves unasked and often unsolicited, but unaware of the impact they are having on their environment.
Where do we sit, along that continuum of extreme opposites? Are we not the enthusiastic invaders of this neighbourhood, determined to move in and make our mark? I’ve long considered myself to be essentially homeless as far as having sovereignty over a little piece of earth is concerned. I’m still getting to know myself as a homeowner. At the same time, I’m a homebody, and I enjoy pottering about, working on our garden, setting up and keeping house. I am drawn to my metaphor of living quietly and gently – not impacting or damaging this place that we have moved to. Perhaps it’s just one more thing to keep in mind as we continue our work in creating our home.
