Autumn and Hawaii may be a contradiction in terms since Hawaii, in autumn, has little in common with the temperament and complexion of lands that begat the term and concept of autumn in the first place. What I’ve noted, though, is that nighttime temperatures have dropped enough that I snuggle in with a sheet and a quilt at the beginning of sleep instead of adding that quilt in the wee hours of dark morning. Tourist numbers seem to have decreased somewhat, and certain fruits have appeared at farmers markets as others have exited. I saw both rambutan and mangosteen at the farmers market on Saturday, and neither of them graced any farmer’s display during the summer. Apparently--from what I’ve read--the south swell of summer is shifting to the north swell of winter, and whales will soon commence cavorting in waters off certain Hawaiian coastlines. Otherwise, I putter on in much the same fashion--to include clothing--as I did in summer.
In October I actually washed my car by hand on my own driveway with my own hose for rinsing--something I haven’t done in at least thirty years. My car was dirty, though still presentable--the blessings of a white car--but I hadn’t realized how dramatically the grit/dust of pahoehoe lava eroding into a developing topsoil can dull the brilliance of white. Once I completed my first swipe of my car with the soapy rag, the spaces still requiring a wash were shockingly discernable. At the moment, though, my vehicle is blindingly white.
This month I eliminated the house ants: I succumbed and purchased ant bait, the kind where the worker ants take the poisoned bait back to the hive and kill the queen. Whether or not I have actually instigated a queen-killing, I do not know. The bait has been out for a week, and the worker ants don’t come around any more. Hmmmm….
And also in October I solved the mystery of the fruited vine wound decoratively round a power line that looked like maybe it held young avocados but avocados don’t grow on vines. It is lilikoi--passion fruit. (I might need one in my yard someday.)
And speaking of yards, mine remains largely blank although I have adopted my niece Kim’s approach to landscaping: piecing pieces together with the hope that the ultimate design of the patchwork is pleasing. Indeed, some latent DNA is emerging: the farmer/rancher from my dad’s line and the gardener from both sides of the family. I head out to the yard to work for an hour but lose myself in the labor for three or four.
Sun and insects have notably informed my gardening ablutions and apparel. First I apply insect repellent with DEET, taking special care to cover my wrists, ankles and neck. I wear over-the-ankle socks with my shoes because with short socks, I still end up with bites around the short sock line despite wearing repellent. At Walmart I purchased these light khaki-colored cotton twill pants with a drawstring waist in the Boys Department for $8 apiece: size XXL. (There are a few perks to being small.) They do not flatter but they do serve their purpose--relatively cool and an insect-contact-with-skin deterrent. A long-sleeved cotton T-shirt, sunglasses, a wide-brimmed hat, and garden gloves complete my ensemble. A vision of loveliness I no doubt am not, but I avoid checking in the mirror to be sure one way or the other.
The “patchwork pieces” of my yard underway this month include these:
(1) A small plot of lavender--multiple varieties--above the the septic system drainfield area. From my reading (I google regularly: septic systems, hibiscus, water catchment, herb gardens, raised garden beds, bougainvillea, etc.), planting vegetables, especially root vegetables, or plants with woody and/or complex root systems above the drainfield area of septic systems is not recommended.
(2) An herb garden in pots. From what I learned at a church-sponsored women’s symposium last month, I should never have to buy fresh herbs or green onions because they are so easy to grow. Two weeks later, and I no longer buy herbs. I merely slip outside to my herb pots and snip off whatever I desire. Cilantro--high demand for me since I mainly prepare southeast Asian or Mexican, and both cuisines often incorporate cilantro--occupies two pots.
Still working on the green onions, though! What I have at this point, I started from the chopped-off ends of green onions purchased at the market. I have now purchased a packet of seeds as a back-up plan.
Still working on the green onions, though! What I have at this point, I started from the chopped-off ends of green onions purchased at the market. I have now purchased a packet of seeds as a back-up plan.
Eventually I plan to have my herb garden on raised beds--along with some vegetables and flowers--but for now they reside on the rocks situated as “landscaping” by the builder/seller of my house. Meanwhile, I have concluded that scent is an herb garden’s secret power. At moments I just stand amongst my herb pots and breathe deeply.
Two cilantro, one mint, one rosemary
Basil, parsley, and green onion.
Green onion peeking through in the pot on the right.
(3) Two baby bougainvilleas bloom on the south side.
(4) I planted four different varieties of hibiscus. Here are two of the varieties blooming at the moment as "toddlers."
I asked John, my neighbor across the street who has helped me with weed eradication--about planting a lawn, and he laughed. Without bringing in topsoil to spread over my rocky and graveled expanse, native grasses will conquer any planted varieties. Okay then.
Well, I do have a lot of rocks--mostly lava-spawned--so I have decided to use them.
I am moving some of the nearby uncovered rocks to create this wall/edging at the back of the yard. (I think the builders bull-dozed quite a collection of them to the yard edges.) Two of those rocks now located here I had to roll into place because I couldn't pick them up!
Right now I'm thinking of placing my raised garden beds on rock platforms. We'll see how this evolves. (You can see the rock "wall" in the back and a bit of my catchment tank.)
I continue to envision a plumeria tree in my yard. My googled articles warn that plumeria are temperamental, and the starter trees selling at Home Depot go for $119. Hence, my plumeria in the yard resides in dreams only. One day, though, I will plant one. I think I have determined its space.
Just because I like the red geranium living in a pot on my front lanai.
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