Bonfires and chook poo and weeding the gardens - these are a few of my favourite things

Well, what a rewarding week it's been in the garden. The weather has been kind, if a little overcast, with equal shares of sun and rain - the stuff happy gardens are made of.

Constant weeding and the occasional planting has been the order of the week. It's getting easier to weed and there are less bare patches to plant out but there's still enough to keep me busy for an hour a day. Oh, to go back 30 years when an hour in the garden was just the beginning, not the extent of my gardening. The upside is I get to enjoy the garden for the rest of the day, with heat pack and comfy cushions in tow.

Veggie patches are planted and I am experimenting with a system of slowly releasing my chook poo tea into the soil. The soil is looking healthy and is full of fat worms so here's hoping for a better season this year. We're not buying tomato seedlings this year. No need. We have a bed full of self seeded ones taking over the bed in the green house. Survival of the fittest - we'll use the strongest ones in the outside garden bed.

One feature of a large garden is a large industrial area. The area where old trees go to die and piles of gravel, sand, mulch and dirt abound. This is where my tea production also resides. We have appropriately called this area "Fyshwick" - a tribute to the industrial area of Canberra. Hidden behind a fence, the weeds run riot and the piles of unwanted gardens bits and pieces build up. (Fittingly, we call the area in front of Fyshwick, "Pialligo" - a pretty spot just across the highway from Fyshwick.)

This week we deemed Fyshwick full enough of dead branches and weeds to declare it bonfire season, well bonfire 2 hours anyway. Bonfire season entails getting the incinerator roaring, competing with each other to see who can put the most on it without getting burnt and then sitting down with a cider and a wine to watch it roar. Very atmospheric with smoke blowing in your face and the sweet smell of singed hair or burnt clothes.

The only problem with where Fyshwick is is that it hides my favourite plant that we inherited with this garden. It is a magnificent banksia with flowers the size of a pumpkin but it isn't growing in a place where we can showcase its beauty.

Right now I'm sitting on my soft cushion down next to the pond. Rory Is. has its sign and the plants are looking good. The fish are leaving the one water lily alone so fingers crossed it will spread across the pond. The frogs are going off and everything is looking lush.

Maybe it's not so bad only working one hour a day after all - is it wine o'clock yet?