The Rattenburys' lemon tree just keeps on giving year after year. Photo / 123rf
OPINION
“Lemon tree very pretty, and the lemon flower is sweet but the fruit of the poor lemon is impossible to eat.”
Remember that song from the 1950s, a version of a Spanish tune of the 1930s rewritten in English by Will Holt and released by Trini Lopez? My favourite version is Peter, Paul and Mary’s. A melodic, harmless tune redolent of sunny weather and love.
We have a stonking great lemon tree in the backyard. It was a baby when we arrived in 1987 but we noticed it was covered in fruit - big lemons. It is now more than three metres tall and covered in lemons all year round; the old crop slowly turning from yellow to sort of yuck but still usable for juice and the new fruit, little green numbers, poking through in between.
It’s provided lemons to the whānau and neighbours over the years. Many a G&T has been graced with a Rattenbury lemon. Just the other day we took two large bags to family in Marton and Bulls. You can hardly see where we have been. We took the fruit from the bottom of the tree to ease the weight on the branches. It’s also easier for our lawn guy to get under it.
It’s a monster and we have never been able to conquer it. This year’s crop is large fruit, similar to what you see in Greece or Italy. Some years it is a polite crop, well-proportioned and well-behaved. It is a mystery to us why the tree is so healthy. We feed it occasionally but otherwise just neglect it.
We hate seeing the fruit fall and rot so occasionally over the years we have bagged heaps and just put the bags out on the front berm. They go within the hour, taken by families, walkers, neighbours, I suppose. One minute they are there, the next time we look they are gone. At least someone is enjoying them.
We love the seasons at the love shack. Watching the beautiful sunsets over Castlecliff from our dining room table, the angry weather coming from the Tasman Sea or from inland. Grey clouds, fronts. The distant rumbling of thunder.
At the moment, with spring, it’s also pretty noisy around here. The tūī going crazy in the kowhai tree, the kererū, never saying much but flop-flopping around the place, landing on the kōwhai tree, bending the branches until you think they will fall off. Great lumpty birds, beautiful to quietly watch. They are usually in pairs, maybe with a third nearby - maybe a suitor or a chick who cannot quite leave mum and dad yet.
Piwakawaka hovering under our veranda eating the little invisible insects gathered under the warm Perspex, threatening to fly inside through the ranch slider, much to the worry of Jenny. We love fantails but not inside; old superstitions die hard. Outside they come fluttering close for a chat while we are working in the garden, curious little fellows really, just eating insects disturbed by our activity.
Then we have Henry and Grizelda, our resident blackbirds. They have been with us for some years now. We know Henry from his mates - he has a small white flash on his neck and, well, Grizelda is always nearby. A friendly couple. They strut around the back lawn cocking their heads sideways, listening for worms. They are used to us. They just look occasionally at us making sure we are watching.
The other day Jenny was outside doing the garden. I could hear her chatting to someone. I poked my head around the corner and there she and Grizelda were. Jenny is weeding the front garden and Grizelda is helping, within a metre of Jen eating the bugs as they are disturbed by the fork. Cocking her head at Jenny as if in conversation, bouncing around happy as Larry. I left the girls to it, quietly watching from afar.
We do not do much vegetable gardening nowadays compared to years past. We don’t have to. The kids are long gone and have their own gardens now.
I gave up turning over the vegetable garden years ago. It was my annual labour of love. We put in some potagers or raised gardens, much easier to maintain and just as prolific. We spend much time discussing what we will grow. I’ve long given up on tomatoes - too much work and care involved for the outcome nowadays. Usually beans, spinach, silverbeet, lettuce, easy stuff. Throw them in the ground and walk away.
Last year our granddaughters helped us plant beans. The results were hilarious. Few straight lines, more bunches. Miss 2 just threw the seeds on the ground and poked them in with a wee fat finger. Miss 5 made little patterns.
I wonder what they will do this year. Just family life.