PLAY IT SAFE
Now that there are babies visiting my garden, I’m making some changes to the sorts of things I have growing in it
The stinging nettle has to go and the foxgloves can no longer occupy the prime spot in front of the veranda. Both plants fail the child-friendly test, despite being favourites of mine. I’ll not banish them completely, but move them to an inaccessible corner of my garden where they can grow untouched by pudgy hands and suck-everything mouths. I’ve already had a traumatic experience involving digitalis and a guinea pig, so I know to get that cottagegarden favourite out of nibbling range.
I wonder how colonial gardeners managed the problem?
Perhaps their children were tougher. Even nuggety settlers’ children wouldn’t have rolled around in stinging nettle, though; there’s no way a child will laugh off a brush with plants of the urtica genus, no matter how much dock leaf is applied to the reddened skin. Mine’s going behind the hen run, where no child ventures.
The skin-blisterers such as hogweed, rue and wild parsnip are pretty serious threats, especially to the eyes of an adventurous child who’s broken their stems with their hands and rubbed their face unwittingly. Even less delicate skin, such as that on the arms and legs, blisters and blackens when it comes into contact with the sap, combined with sun and water. Those plants that previously enjoyed a free reign in my garden will have to take a holiday for a few years before they’re allowed back in; I’m not willing to have a child burned by my plants.
I don’t want to have to fish any kids out of my frog ponds either.
So for now, the shallow ones are being filled with soil and the cast iron bathtubs I’ve sunk into the ground for the purpose of hosting tadpoles are being dug up and given away to friends wanting to make fire baths.
I’m keeping the one that serves as our own outdoor bath, but converting it into a tadpole pond and fitting mesh to the top to keep kids and kingfishers out. Being raised on posts, this bath will be a great attraction that can only be viewed from the arms of an adult, particularly those of a grandfather.
The natural spring that issues near my creek and is home to seven giant kokopu can’t be shifted and I won’t fill it in, so it’ll be a place that can only be visited by request and in the company of someone who can haul out any toddler who slips in. I’ve been taking my two grandsons there to help me feed the fish with little chunks of raw meat, and the excitement of seeing the water boil with the native fishes’ feeding frenzy draws the wee boys closer and closer to the water, so I know someone older than them needs to be there at all times. No one’s fallen in yet, though, so I’m encouraged by that.
I’ve already sent the rooster packing.
I’ve a little friend, Gulliver, who suffered at the claws and spurs of an aggressive rooster on his parents’ farm, so I know they can sometimes take to small children ruthlessly. My big bird, handsome and seemingly gentle though he is, looked sideways at my youngest grandchild a while ago, so I’ve farmed him off to avoid any potential future trauma.
It’s not that I want my garden to be as harmless as a down-filled pillow. I’ve trees that can be climbed, ferny banks to tumble down, bridges that if crossed could result in a muddy splash and a whole host of minor harm-causing structures and plants that will no doubt catch one or more of my grandchildren out over the next few years. But I do want to have some peace of mind around the serious threats: no abandoned mine shafts, precariously balanced grindstones or partially collapsed water towers.
On a more positive note, having children toddling around in my forest garden has caused me to consider how things might look from their level.
I’ve been planting edibles close by the trails where they can easily reach them: raspberries, currants, gooseberries and strawberries that can be browsed. And tasty leafed plants too: sorrel, miner’s lettuce, kale and fennel, which appeal to my grandchildren to an extent that surprises me greatly. I think their parents have done a wonderful job keeping their children’s taste buds tuned to real foods.
My grandchildren aren’t yet aware of the influence they’re having over my garden and my own eating habits, but one day they might find this magazine, read this column and find out!