On Myrtle's Preparations for the Coming Koala Invasion Apocalypse

Modern life – meaning life in the context we think of as modern, a distinction we are less and less certain has any significant meaning, really – allows very little time for reflection. As such, when we catch a hint of outside perspectives, a word or two from strangers about the impact our work has on them, it can tell us some very basic things about ourselves which, frankly, we should have already known.

A recent example at Myrtle’s place – a neighbor (probably a transplant from California) complimented us on our young eucalyptus tree. This having been the second such compliment received in a week… maybe we should pay attention, and stop to consider what the presence of this one individual plant amongst so many in our front yard herb garden might be trying to tell us about ourselves.

A bit of back story – we planted a couple of seedlings found in the discount bin at Farm Patch a few years ago, with faded tags reading only “Lemon – Corymbia citriodora”. And, yes, they smelled faintly of lemons, and we are always game for trying new things, so into the ground they went. It being a fall garden, and us not knowing what they were (though fully intending to eventually getting around to finding out), we mulched them, watered them, and then promptly forgot about them.

Chores, kids, day job, presidential elections, missing cat, found cat, oil changes on the Toyota… think of a distraction that came before looking up what the heck it was we had just planted, and said distraction surely took place. And over the winter, one of our nascent corymbia citriodora plants froze to the ground. The other didn’t look happy… but then, winter here is just harsh enough to kill lots of things that are tropical or semi-tropical, and just mild enough that a handful of such plants occasionally make it through. African basil, for example, will come back from its sturdy roots every spring.

So, we left well enough alone. We mulched it on a balmy January interlude between cold fronts, right along with our hardier perennial herbs (notably rosemary and oregano), and hoped for the best.

The best became apparent that March, when “Lemon – Corymbia citriodora” demanded to be upgraded to its more common nomenclature, owing to the fact that it sprouted up to a 3 ½’ height, towering above its neighbors in the herb garden, and threatening (if we were any judge of what the pinkish-green shoots at the top of each of its branches might mean) to keep right on growing. So, that’s when we finally gave in, and looked up what turned out to be our lemon eucalyptus tree.

Native to Australia, and not typically hardy below 30° fahrenheit (which explains why its sister snuffed it), there are nevertheless plenty of anectdotal examples of trees surviving frosts and freezes once they reach maturity. There are several examples scattered throughout Northern California, for example, where other varieties of eucalyptus thrive – which is, presumably, where our complimentary passersby became familiar with them.

And now, another winter has passed, and another spring and summer, and it now stands at 8’ tall, and is unmistakably a young eucalyptus tree.

We have no idea whether it will continue to thrive in the balmy Brazos Valley climate, though we are hopeful. The long range forecast is for the El Niño Southern Oscillation effect (ENSO) to remain stuck in “neutral” through at least Spring 2014, and the seasonal outlook forecast maps from the National Weather Service all show expected above average temperatures until at least then, so the odds of prolonged exposure to temperatures below 30° fahrenheit are somewhat low.

Assuming it survives to adulthood, this tree (which, remember, we thought was going to be a modest bushy variety like basil or sage) could conceivably be 30-40’ high by the time our daughter graduates college. It would, if this happens, tower over our driveway. Only a deep freeze, or an invasion of koala bears, could keep this from happening.

And as we reflect on the coming wave of unschedulable changes related to global warming, our lemon eucalyptus serves as something of a bellwether. Happy accidents of this sort will occur whenever and wherever folk are prepared to experiment – not blindly, but definitely wildly – with a wanton disregard for preconceived ideas about what must be put where, and what grows, and what does not.

There are some rules, of course, that will continue to be functional in the scary new world to come – mulch, for example, is always a good idea, as it helps plants retain moisture and self-regulate their tolerance to extreme temperatures – but not every rule handed down from master gardeners is going to continue to be valid, regardless of how “tried and true” that rule might be.

And not every experiment will end well. We are quite prepared for the possibility that we will have a freak snowstorm this winter (it happens every few years here in Bryan-College
Station, after all), and we will walk out to find an eight-foot-tall freeze-dried twig collection in our front yard, instead of a eucalyptus tree. We can’t count how many “fails” we have accumulated, in the form of plants that didn’t do well where we put them, or of arrangements that maximized thorns and fire ants and minimized fruit production and enjoyment.

We have also noticed, thanks to a competitive spirit, that when we compare our own garden to someone else’s, we are likely to notice only the flaws in our own, and only the advantages in theirs. Self-deprecation aside, we have met very few “proud” gardeners; they are generally sincere in their worries about problems of which they may be the only persons alive with even the slightest awareness. Yet, taken as a whole, there will inevitably be people in the community whose tomatoes are ripe when no one else can even get blooms, or who have pole beans so verdant they make they make the ivy covered outfield fence at Wrigley Field seem naked, or who in the midst of a valley-wide squash borer invasion, can grow pumpkins to make Linus and Snoopy blush.

Our hope is that people continue talking to each other, and listening to their plants – and the animals who live in, on, and around those plants – and continue adjusting as everything in that cluster of different entities continues changing.

Our own conversations with the admirers of the eucalyptus tree were short; they were, however, representative of at least part of who we like to think of ourselves as being. We are often out in the garden (though not as often as we’d like), and we often have time to stop and chat with those who are passing by. Our human neighbors know us, and some of them even approve of us. We hope we can say the same of our non-human neighbors.

It is the time of year when the planting calendar approach to gardening has most folk in the Brazos Valley scrambling to put in peas, and spinach, and broccoli, and cabbage and the like… and we will undoubtedly be doing some of that ourselves. Fava beans in particular are one of our favorites, as they overwinter well, and if planted now can conceivably become a forest of 4-5 foot tall heavy food producers (in addition to providing plenty of winter forage for our bees).

But the thing about which we want to be most aware is not anything marked on a calendar. We want to keep our eyes peeled for that next weird discount-bin type find – what is the next unexpected gem going to be? You can’t plan for it… you can only be patient and open to it.

Here’s hoping you find your own unexpected treasure this fall.

Happy farming!