A dry spring, a hot summer.
The biggest killer in the Australian garden is evaporation.
Keeping the water up to parched plants is a model of expense on one hand, counterbalanced by efficiency on the other.
I’ve set up a drip watering system because it is the most efficient, delivering 4 litres per hour to the roots of my most precious plants.
I’ve mulched, because mulch holds the moisture in the soil.
At the moment, I’m experimenting with models for shade. I’m happy to fail. I’m just not happy to not give it a go.
I do my best to weed, because weeds are crazy good at dominating the garden-scape and sucking the nutrition and the moisture away from my more desired produce.
You see, everything in my garden is designed to be consumed.
It’s how we at Bunyip Creek survive.
No garden, no goodness.
It’s that simple.
The Garden of Eden has ever been a symbol of domestication. But besides that, it is a symbol of preparation for the future. A garden of goodness grown resplendent. An aim, a home which sustains our needs and replenishes our spirit.
In the garden of healthcare, our ‘water’ is patient safety.
The harsh conditions that evaporate our lifeblood of safety is the challenge we have to guard against if we want to enjoy the goodness that our nurturing aims to provide.
Safety has a moral equivalent in goodwill. Everything that evaporates that goodwill makes it harder and harder to keep up our original promise to ourselves and those who seek our help:
That we will, first, do no harm.
In growing safety in the arid conditions of healthcare, try this:
Keep it simple.
Plant half as much, look after it twice as well, and it will eventually deliver you four times the reward.
Don’t wait for rain.
The future starts because you do something now.