The Frangipani

I live in an old house, with a a wrap around verandah and a frangipani.  This is a favourite view from my kitchen windows.

Each summer, the perfume of the shell-pink flowers wafts through the french doors (thinking of you, Nanna) and the leaves shade my children as they play on their scooters in the driveway below.

When our house was renovated, a lot of the mature trees planted by previous owners had to be removed. There was overcrowding and disease and many were in strange or dangerous positions.  The roots of a mango tree threatened to crack the slab of the backyard cottage.  A large gum, planted right against the house, regularly dropped huge limbs on our tin roof. And there was a magnificent jacaranda planted inches from the pool.  It was necessary, but l was sad to lose so many trees.

So, when my aunt told us about the frangipani that was going to be cut down at her place and did-we-want-a-cutting, I was all ears.

Frangipanis are very slow growers, but they have one advantage.  You can take a cutting of considerable size, stick it in the ground and it will grow.  Guaranteed. It occurred to me that if a cutting would grow so easily, maybe the whole tree would too.  I rang the tree people to talk.

The arborist came out to my house and inspected the site.  Pronounced it suitable and explained how easy frangipanis were to transplant.  No problem.  Then he gave me a quote for $2200!  To remove the tree and replant.  *cue sound of  Mrs Catch being overcome with the vapours*

I couldn't justify spending that much.

And, we couldn't wait very long either.  It was nearly demolition-day.  The frangipani was on death watch.

After an frantic re-think, we sprang into action.

Mr Catch loosened the tree in its raised garden bed and pushed it on to the driveway below.

Next step was a tow truck.  When it arrived, the driver stepped out to meet me.  I can't remember his name.  Let's call him Wally because it suits him.   He had a huge, handle-bar moustache and the smallest, tightest shorts that I have ever seen on a man.

"Where's your car, love?" he asked.  He was the type of guy that calls all females "love".  Do you like that as much as me?

"Ummm, it's not so much a car as a tree..."

He stopped in mid-stride, turned and blinked at me.  "A tree?" he repeated, confused, "Did you say a tree?.. A TREE?..."

I had gone over this with the receptionist.  The idea was that the tree would be hauled up on the truck and transported to my house. She obviously hadn't enlightened Wally.  As I explained, his ears began to turn red and the moustache twitched alarmingly.  He was a mover of cars.  Trees were outside his jurisdiction.

Eventually, after phone calls to the office and much dolloping of charm, I persuaded him and he reluctantly got out his chains.  I followed the truck to my house, watching Wally ahead, sitting very low in his seat.

The tree lay on my driveway for a day or so, until the backhoe guy came, dug a huge hole and planted it.

The best part?  Although Wally was convinced that there wasn't enough money in the world to get him to carry a tree on his truck, the office lady had given me a quote of $70. The backhoe cost $110.  So instead of $2200, I had gotten away with $180!  Don't you love a bargain!

The worst part?  Everyone who moved the tree knocked bits off it. When  Mr Catch  pushed it over, it lost a large limb, then when Wally was in such a hurry not to be seen, another was dislodged.  The backhoe driver was careful, but even he took quite a bit of bark off.

The tree however has thrived.  It barely missed a beat, even after all the indignities that it was subjected to. The wounds are healing, new branchlets are sprouting.  It will develop a nice shape again ... in about twenty years.

Until then, it matches the rest of us here in Catchland.

A bit wonky.
But happy and living well.


Mrs Catch
xx




Do you have a favourite memory of Summer?
And how's your garden faring with all this silly weather?