In the midst of one of the most severe droughts in the history of the region, what lessons can the people of Cape Town teach us about resilience, fortitude, and coping with change?
Like most people with a garden, I had grand ideas and magnificent visions of what my garden would look like. It was 2014, and I had a sort-of established garden to work with. Very much like my life.
In my mind’s eye I could see the most delightful rows of Iceberg roses lining the driveway. A magnificent swathe of hibiscus and camellia trees would line my perimeter walls and glorious clumps of shrubs and darling climbers would be dotted all over.
It was going to be the most beautiful garden in all of Cape Town. I would be the envy of my neighbours, and Conde Nast would be beating down my door, begging to use my garden in their lifestyle spreads. Then 2015 happened, and we were put on notice to use less water.
Most sensible people started investigating water-wise gardens, but oh no, not I. I was going to have the garden of my dreams, by recycling water and harvesting rainwater. I would do whatever was needed to get my garden established.
Oh wow. How utterly misguided I was. The drought saw my pig-headedness and laughed. My Icebergs have been reduced to ice dumps, some of the hibiscus and camellia trees never made it past their toddler years, and the only shrubs and climbers standing in 2018, are the unconventional beauties. Aloe, Yucca, Ivy and Agave. Nothing resembling the stunning hydrangeas, jasmine, sweet pea and other bulbs I had envisioned.
It was a dark time. I realised that I had invested too much time, money and emotional energy in this garden of my dreams. I took the failure personally. It was a tumultuous time in my personal life as well, so the garden was my escape, my Narnia.
But now that I have gathered my thoughts and feelings, I can see that there are lessons to be learned from this scenario. Here they are, my Lessons from the Great Drought.
- To be truly resilient, you have to take both the positive and the negative. My frangipani trees are hammered, their juicy, milky bark is dehydrated and brittle, but it was still able to produce about a third of its usual crop of intoxicating flowers.
- To be optimistic in the face of challenges. We had very little water to work with, but one of my Pin Oaks found an underground water source on the other side of our boundary wall and tapped it for all its worth. This was the sole survivor, so I decided to replant it. Imagine my surprise when we had to lift bricks to trace its roots four metres away!
- Have a strong support system. Initially, my Jasmine was struggling to latch because of the dry, windy conditions. I tried all sorts of tripods and support sticks. I had already given up on this little creeper ever doing its creeper thing up the pillar, when lo and behold, the little sweetheart “hooked up” with the Ivy from the other side of the pillar and did some piggyback-creeping. What a delight that was to behold.
- Be endlessly grateful. So what if hydrangeas are my Waterloo when it comes to gardening? I have resigned myself to a hydrangea-less garden. I have so much beauty in my garden. For too long I focused on my complete and utter failure to grow glorious krismisrose and other Christmas bulbs. I desperately wanted to recreate the Christmas gardens of my childhood and got so wrapped up in my hydrangea-less garden that I failed to see what else my garden was dishing up for me.
Once I started really looking at my garden and seeing all the unconventional beauties it delivered under challenging circumstances, I knew that we’d be okay.
This new attitude of being grateful and following my garden’s example of resilience and turning failure around, has boosted my well-being. I’m happier and more gentle on myself. I remember to take the positive with the negative. I remind myself to find more sources of joy and when I’m not feeling strong, I call on my support system, and just like that, I find the courage to try again.
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