I walk through my garden and I wonder, is it nature that is confused, or am I? Various flowers are blooming, and it is only August. They should only bloom in September?, I wonder. The fig tree's new growth (picture above) is a green contrast against the winter's still cold grip. The weather is funny, with warm days between the cold ones, and the plants are shooting out new growth even though it is not time yet.
The white stinkwood tree's new growth is starting to color the cold sky as I look up. Does it know that it is not spring yet? Why is it already developing new leaves when there are still cold days coming? Does it not know that it can frost over and die? All that growth for nothing. Does nature not know? Or are we as humans arbitrarily centering ourselves, that is, positioning ourselves as if the world revolves around our views?
Every year, predictably, new growth seemingly springs out of nowhere to welcome the new season, but these seasons are labeled by us. The western mind is obsessed with naming things, we named the seasons, but does our naming conform to nature's whims?
With the summer weather in winter, no wonder nature is confused. We effectively warmed everything so much that the plants produce their flowers earlier and earlier. Now we have spring day in August, and the garden seems confused about what it should do.
The African daisy produces its flower but the slugs are still here from the winter rains. It eats most of the flowers, and I wonder if we will have flowers in spring. Is this what the future looks like? Adapt or die, but these flowers did not have enough time to prep for the fast-changing weather.
The lemon tree produces lemons throughout the year. Yet, with the changing weather, it drops so many blossoms. It produces a lot of lemons, yet it also suffers from the confusing weather patterns.
Above you can see a lonely aphid sucking the lifeblood from the lemon tree. Will they come earlier this year, covering the flowers like always? Or will another predator come in and eat it? The strange thing about our new climate is that we are left wondering along with nature.
Another worry, will the bees wake up early enough? Lonely bees, those species that do not have colonies, are left to wake up when nature's normal alarm clock rings. Maybe they will sleep too long, giving predatory species the chance to pollinate the flowers first. I am waiting for the fuzzy Carpenter Bees (Xylocopa caffra) to visit my garden, and to come and feast on the lobster flowers. They are yet to show up.
But other flowers bloom throughout the year, like the ice plant. The bees are also seemingly always here to pollinate these hardy plants. These plants never produce seeds or fruits which I can see, yet the bees always return. Nature has her ways.
The honey bush blooms earlier and earlier each year. I wonder, is this normal, or is this nature saying to us: stop! Stop the warming, otherwise, I will bloom in the middle of winter and the sunbirds that rely on my flowers will starve. I have seen sunbirds return to my garden earlier and earlier as this bush has so many flowers it attracts anything in close proximity.
Other plants like the mustard plant seem to be going on just fine. Producing their yellow flowers, they will soon produce seeds for the next growing season.
The salad rocket as well. How predictable are they, but for how long? How long before they also change their minds?
But lupine, o lupine, I ask you, why are you already growing and going to bloom? I am used to them only flowering in late spring or early summer. Now, you have grown almost into a full plant, almost flowering, when will your brothers and sisters grow if they have not yet shown their fingers?
Dropping soon, these flowers will become the compost for next year's flowers. On-time, I think, they have shown us their beauty for the winter. Does the early spring affect them? It does not look so. They are still beautiful to look at.
For now, I wonder through the garden and look at all the yellow flowers. It seems like the yellow flowers produce first, the other colors are still asleep. Like an abstract painting waiting to burst, the neon purples are still in slumber.
And the arum-lily stands proud, producing only one flower this year. I wonder how the worms got to them this early, but such is life. Without butterflies flowers will die, so the arum-lily offering is a small price to pay.
Postscriptum, or A Lonely Blossom
The garden is confused, I am confused, yet the flowers always produce a calming effect on me. How amazing are they not, coloring the garden with their brushes of color? I wonder through the color palette and wonderful smells. I get drunk on nature's perfume.
All of the photographs are my own, taken with my Nikon D300 and 300mm zoom lens. The musings are also my own albeit under the influence of nature's scent. I hope you enjoyed this showcase of nature's beauty and amazing ability to cope even though we think we are the center of the universe. How funny are we humans to anthropocentrise ourselves? Nature will survive without us if we do not de-anthropocentrise ourselves and see our place alongside nature. Stay safe.