Water under the Bridge

Water Race Fern

I've just spent an hour sloshing up and down the water race, picking up stones from the bottom. It's midsummer, I'm on holiday, and I'm very happy. I love being in water, or watching water flowing by. I love the sounds of moving water, and the wonder of where all the water comes from and where it all goes.

The water race here is my private stream, an irrigation channel 1.5 metres wide and knee deep which cuts a straight line through the paddock at the back of my house. We are required to keep the house side of it clear, in case the local council decide to bring in their machines. They came to clean it soon after we'd moved in, leaving huge mounds of mud and stones on the grass along its length (about 70 meters). Since the experience of cleaning up after their clean up, we've become shovel-wise. Easier to keep it clear and widen it when needed, with a shovel and a pair of leaky gumboots.....

Bridging the Gap

The water runs straight and fast under four bridges. All are functional rather than decorative. A quaint arty painted bridge would look out of place here - this water is on a mission, straight and true. A bridge with a hump would not be wheelbarrow friendly. Hand railings could be used as cat climbing routes, but are hardly necessary for sturdy gardeners with a good sense of balance.

Down the far end of the garden, past the glass-house, is a short section of water race, about 20 meters, where the council machines can never reach. Here I'm allowing myself to plant both sides! Here I can be stylish - I can create illusions as to which feature came first. This area is partly shady, at the edge of the Wattle Woods, with a couple of huge old flaxes already resident right at the water's edge.

Rooster Bridge spans the water here, complete with its own mid-bridge swinging gate, and is an extension of the path which connects the Wattle Woods with the Hen House Gardens over the water. There are Renga Renga plantings each side, some new rhododendrons, and some pulmonarias rescued from the searing heat of an earlier ill advised planting scheme.

Rooster Bridge

Rooster Bridge

The rooster who gave his name to the bridge lived with us when this area was undeveloped. He lived, scratched and roosted on one side of the water in the old gorse hedge - we lived on the other side, and the gate midstream divided us. Now the area immediately by the hen house is finally being cleared.

The tall gum trees whistle noisily in the wind, dropping leaves and branches and huge strips of bark. Few things will grow underneath, but some lucky hebes and flaxes are about to try it out. Apricot foxgloves did flower here this spring, but their quaint woodland charm in combination with the stark Aussie gums was bewildering.

Waterside Plantings

Between Rooster Bridge and Middle bridge the waterside plantings are a year old, full and luxuriant. There are ever expanding clumps of gunnera, and huge established flaxes on the water's edge. A traditional dog-path leads along the race and onto the sunny lawn beyond. Reeds and ferns grow along the steepest parts of the bank, with astilbes and spotty ligularias.

I've often thought about staying on Rooster Bridge - setting out a mattress here and going to sleep for the night, with the sounds of water rushing beneath me. Ducks could paddle furiously upstream under me. If it rained I could retreat to the hen house. I'll do it, one night, when it's not too windy.

Middle bridge, named precisely and appropriately, moves from open flat grass on the house side of the water race to large flaxes, shrubs and the mixed plantings of Middle Border on the other side. Since "our" water race is so straight, one feels focused standing on a bridge halfway between the "ends", and the naming of this bridge was inevitable. New trees are growing fast to hide the continuing path through Middle Border, and two "dog-paths" move off either side at the water's edge, snaking their way along curving around flaxes and native grasses.

middle bridge

Duck Tales

Lately a family of ducks have claimed the circular lawn beyond Middle bridge. They arrive, floating at high speed, then disembark after the bridge, just before the native garden. They are a strange family - all juveniles, adult duck size and ten in number - who have decided to stay together for some secret duck reason. I am often surprised by them zooming past on the water as I'm working in one of the gardens. They'll ignore me as they waddle onto the lawn, then shake and settle on the grass to rest. After a quarter of an hour they wander back to the water, launch off, and they're gone in an instant.

Middle Border with its narrow waterside dog-path has almost reached the next "bridge". Here the planting is to stop. This next bridge, however, is the cause of much debate. It is affectionately known as "The Plank".

Little John Taj-dog walking the Plank

The Famous Plank

Every home, family, and garden has its own legends and memorabilia which just cannot ever be forgotten or thrown out. We have "Marcus's Chair" - a ghastly brown patterned broken-springed armchair which was the relaxing chair of our very first dog. My (adult) children check on it when they visit (I've managed to confine it to the stables) and indulge in sweet nostalgia for a moment. I am not allowed to throw it out. They say they can still smell him...

The Plank is part of this garden's short history, a legend of the days when we first came, and needed to get over the water race quickly and efficiently. It is actually two planks of wood which were thoughtlessly thrown over the water race, halfway between Middle bridge and the Car Bridge at the edge of our land, on a slightly alarming lean, wide enough for a wheelbarrow. I love it. It's got history, and you can't tamper with that.

"Where do you think the Plank should go?" asked my gardening partner the other day. "Where it is" I had to reply. "But is it the best place?" he continued. Gardening partner is a functional bloke (engineer), and needs things to work efficiently. He is also the bridge builder, and to him the underneath bits are as important as the top. This is a very good attribute, as it balances any pretensions of style I might momentarily have. He is concerned that he cannot remember why he put the Plank in that particular place.

But, like the decrepid dogchair in the Stable, the Plank stays. It's been one of my gardening goals to "reach the Plank". I'm almost there. It has to stay!