Memories and moonlight
A breathtaking garden in the hills near Tauranga keeps love alive.
Judy Mahar’s magical garden in the hills near Tauranga keeps love alive.
“I have about 100 roses, and at least 56 rhododendrons, which I love especially when partially in bud.”
When the Mahars moved to Mayward Homestead their possessions included a five-tonne truckload of plants propagated from their impressive Taupō garden.
She’s knocking on 80 but age will not deter mad-keen gardener Judy Mahar. It’s not as if her plot is tiny, and it’s not as if her idea of gardening involves plucking the occasional weed from a raised bed. Judy’s property, up high in the Bay of Plenty hills near Tauranga, spans just under 20 acres (about 7.5 hectares) and her gardening paraphernalia resembles big girls’ toys. It’s not unusual to see her setting possum traps, or heading out with chainsaw, and pig netting and waratahs for fencing.
Most of the property, named Mayward Homestead, is in native bush – some of it is deemed tasty by the neighbour’s grazing sheep – and a fair chunk of the remainder is in garden.
Judy and her late husband John bought the homestead and its land back in 2004, living happily until John passed away five years ago. He knew he was leaving their slice of paradise in capable hands. “John reluctantly taught me to use the chainsaw when we knew he wasn’t going to be hanging around. He declared me a dab hand,” Judy says.
When the Mahars moved to Mayward Homestead their possessions included a five-tonne truckload of plants propagated from their impressive Taupō garden. In that lakeside township, John had owned a garden centre and duly earned the reputation as the town’s gardening guru.
Ironically, when he met Judy, he had declared “don’t ever ask me to do the garden.”
He did help out in the early years but, Judy says, with ailing health, his involvement was to enjoy it, issue commands, and compliment. He would tell her she had transformational talents.
While the Tauranga garden included some solid structures, transformation was required. There were drystone walls, ponds gravity-fed from a stream, and a strip of garden following the driveway’s curvature. Two of the three ponds closest to the house are linked via a wooden aqueduct that carries water from one level through a water wheel to the lower pond. There’s also a wee waterfall.
Judy, whose career involved floristry as well as teaching, says planting decisions were not rushed.
An early task was grouping plants according to colour and type. Whatever was planted had to suit a never-changing bush backdrop too. Vibrancy was required, she decided. And so, maples were welcomed, as were Azalea mollis with hues ranging from gold through to tangerine – their magnificence magnified by pond reflections. Hostas, dwarf rhododendrons of the softest pink, ‘Green Goddess’ and arum lilies joined them pond-side. Lily of the valley delight at ground level. At the other end of the spectrum, towering rimu and tawa – clothed in epiphytes – can be found both pondside and at the top of the drive. Magnolia and camellia reside close to the house, with the likes of ajuga, granny bonnets, Queen Anne’s lace and roses at their feet.
“There’s something magical about dogwoods and irises and hostas grouped together. Visually, the combination is special.”
This area also has a John story. It’s where the casket and celebrant were positioned when John was farewelled.
Roses are key players here, where Judy established a formal garden out the back of the house, dubbed Judy’s peaches and cream area. Here, rows of ‘Ali Mau’ – their pink blooms fading to apricot – and standard creamy ‘Gruss An Aachen’ reign. Weepy Buxus microphylla var. koreana keep the roses in line; Judy chose this variety of hedging because no pruning is required. The scented delight of white ‘Margaret Merril’ underplanted with ‘White Romance’ surrounds the rotunda – the domed structure adds enchantment at the end of the rose rows.
Nearby is a bank planted in rhododendron and snowball trees, and Judy makes special mention of the Viburnum rosacea – a pink-hued snowball tree – and a ‘Tahitian Dawn’ rhododendron. She’s also happy her garden includes “the most delicate peachy apricot” of a rhododendron named ‘Grumpy’.
“I have about 100 roses. I know this from when I prune and cover half of them at night to deter the possums. And I have at least 56 rhododendrons, which I love especially when partially in bud.”
The fact that Judy’s land is up high, in low cloud, benefits her treasured rhododendrons as it means they don’t get scorched. Proximity to the bush equates to acidic soil, which rhododendrons and camellias like.
Judy tells how, in John’s last weeks, they moved to a room overlooking this formal area of the garden. It has remained a place of significance, albeit with joy replacing sorrow. Since John’s death, many a wedding has been held in this special place.
It’s not the only place. Beyond the ponds closest to the house is an open area where a rustic old wooden stage structure is draped in white Wisteria venusta ‘Alba’. Weddings have been held alongside the stream, and here too with the stage taking on altar-like duties. Plantings in this vicinity include Rhododendron ‘Mi Amor’ (perfect for a wedding venue, Judy notes) and Viburnum mariesii with its wonderful layering. “This part of the garden is a real celebration of green and white, and ‘Mi Amor’ is a stunner with its enormous flowers – each floret like a Christmas lily. In the evening the perfume is just beautiful,” Judy enthuses.
This area also has a John story. It’s where the casket and celebrant were positioned when John was farewelled.
Judy tells how, some time after John died, she was contacted by a young woman asking if she could have a wedding there. “It was such a scene of happiness with beautiful music, braziers burning, dancing in the rain and people rejoicing. As I looked out on this scene it was the first time I had felt a surge of happiness since John had died.”
Judy, who is in the garden nearly every day, says life is never boring. She’s created “a bit of a boardwalk” with planks over the pond to the little island in the middle,
“One of the first things we planted were rengarenga lilies. The neighbours’ cattle ate those, and the sheep ate the hostas.”
so she can weed it now. She’s planted up the perimeters with hostas and irises – the view is breathtaking, she says, when the latter are in bloom. It’s in both this area and the native bush that she has applied her fencing skills. “I don’t strainer fence. I use pig netting as the ground is so undulating. I haul myself up on supplejack, take a tuck in the pig netting and push the steel waratah through to ram it in place.”
Just as the flora (and Judy’s endeavours) delight, so does the fauna frustrate. “They are of the greatest frustration and sometimes I wonder why I do this garden malarkey,” says she who knows what pleases the palates of various critters.
“One of the first things we planted were rengarenga lilies. The neighbours’ cattle ate those, and the sheep ate the hostas. Three deer broke through neighbouring fences and reduced remaining hostas to stalks and got the roses too. When the deer came, we could hear the galloping of their hooves at night. Pūkeko pulled out the calla lily, possums are an ongoing woe and there are bush rats. I’ve hardly ever seen the kōwhai flower as the kererū gorge themselves in there, and we’ve been visited by mallards, as well as paradise and pecan ducks who fight over their place in the pond.” Hawks took the ducklings,
“The light in the morning and early evening is so beautiful, and moonshine on the pond is a thrill.”
“thanks” to feral cats and ferrets, the rustic chookhouse with its little windows and slat roof is minus inhabitants.
Strawberries grow under netting to deter nibbling hares and rabbits, and Judy places blood and bone around her hostas to repel rabbits.
Other challenges come courtesy of the property’s soil type and fungi. The heavy clay soil and the fungi that come with the native bush dampness mean some plants take longer to establish, and others don’t survive. Some of her rhododendron and hydrangeas have succumbed to phytophthora root rot. Judy uses applications of gypsum and fibre earth to make the clay soil more friable.
Supplejack doesn’t suffer from the soil type – some of it sports an uncharacteristically wide girth. “It’s an amazing spectacle, almost triffid-like. It looks as if it belongs in a Peter Jackson movie,” Judy laughs.
On a more sombre note, she admits winter can be dreary and austere up at her property which is near road’s end, hugging the Kaimai Ranges. But nature offers comfort by way of plants, such as the Cornish snow camellias that provide as much pleasure as her summer roses. These small-flowered varieties don’t seem to succumb to frost like their bigger, blowsier relations, she’s observed.
And then there’s always the changing light, regardless of season. “The light in the morning and early evening is so beautiful, and moonshine on the pond is a thrill.”
Judy also enthuses over particular plant groupings. “There’s something magical about dogwoods and hostas and irises grouped together. Visually, the combination is special.”
Judy is content. To those who ask how long she’ll continue calling this property home, she modifies an ancient wisdom. “Confucius says, house finished man dies. I think that can be applied to gardens… and I’m never finished.”