Here’s my garden, as of 12.30pm this afternoon, utterly toasted. Boo.
In all honesty, though, it wasn’t much of a magnificent sight before this heat wave rolled through the state. Feast or famine, they’re the two ways my tomatoes tend to grow, and I’ve not had a feast since 2010 and this in 2008:
(I’ll interrupt myself here by saying good gracious, look at how young the kids are! Wasn’t that just ten minutes ago?)
My brain is in similar condition at the moment, what with the weather, not sleeping, dealing with the usual energies of children (contained indoors from the heat, at that) and working when and as best as I can around all of it. The spectre and memory of fire is always present, and has been since Black Saturday. Grass fires were up the road at Kangaroo Ground just the other day; Warrandyte, a suburb not far away, is being watched very carefully. Do we have a fire plan? Drop everything and run, basically. I have friends in fire prone areas monitoring the CFA Facebook updates, or keeping an eye on the news, just in case, like us.
Even worse, my BELOVED LEMON TREE THAT WAS DOING BETTER. LOOK AT IT NOW. WOE.
Apart from watering, I don’t know what – if anything – I can do for it. It’s saddening to witness the damage done to the vegetation. I know it’s a part of life, and what else do you expect in Melbourne when summer finally, truly, hits, but it’s how I feel.
We were walking back to our car this morning after swimming lessons and Keira said, ‘Mum, what’s that smell?’
‘It’s the trees, darling. They smell like they’re cooking, don’t they?’
Stay safe, keep cool. Don’t go too crazy. x
