By Catherine Watson
STEP into Barbara McNulty’s garden and you feel as though you’ve entered a miniature botanical garden. There are frog ponds and potted jungles, a chook palace, tiled garden beds and shady tunnels framed by a massive banksia.
It's only a quarter of an acre but appears much bigger because there is always more to see, around every corner: salvaged garden fountain pieces, bromeliads thriving in the shelter of a roofless shed crushed years ago by a falling tree. A damaged clawfoot bath she pulled out of her previous house has found new service as a pond. A chipped terracotta fish she carried home from Vietnam many years ago made a perfect spout.
It seems that everything in Barbara's world gets reimagined. “I collect all sorts of bits and pieces," she says. "One day I find a use for them.”
STEP into Barbara McNulty’s garden and you feel as though you’ve entered a miniature botanical garden. There are frog ponds and potted jungles, a chook palace, tiled garden beds and shady tunnels framed by a massive banksia.
It's only a quarter of an acre but appears much bigger because there is always more to see, around every corner: salvaged garden fountain pieces, bromeliads thriving in the shelter of a roofless shed crushed years ago by a falling tree. A damaged clawfoot bath she pulled out of her previous house has found new service as a pond. A chipped terracotta fish she carried home from Vietnam many years ago made a perfect spout.
It seems that everything in Barbara's world gets reimagined. “I collect all sorts of bits and pieces," she says. "One day I find a use for them.”
A coastal banksia has pride of place.
Softly spoken and matter-of-fact, Barbara calls it “just mucking around, really”. She’s built every bit of it herself, from the chook house and rock walls to the wicking beds and ponds.
Retirement and the freedom of her own patch of earth have combined at just the right moment. The garden is flourishing and so is she. "I really enjoy it. It’s better than working for a boss,” she says emphatically.
She moved from Brunswick to Wonthaggi about 10 years ago, but it was five years ago that she bought this weatherboard cottage on the south side of town.
“I fell in love with it because it had a lot of big trees. That’s what I wanted because once you’ve got big trees you can do anything. And the more all this grows, the more of a microclimate I have.
“I grew up in Kilsyth when it was semi-rural. I feel like I’ve come back to that. Just having a garden is lovely. I sit out here and have my breakfast and lunch."
Retirement and the freedom of her own patch of earth have combined at just the right moment. The garden is flourishing and so is she. "I really enjoy it. It’s better than working for a boss,” she says emphatically.
She moved from Brunswick to Wonthaggi about 10 years ago, but it was five years ago that she bought this weatherboard cottage on the south side of town.
“I fell in love with it because it had a lot of big trees. That’s what I wanted because once you’ve got big trees you can do anything. And the more all this grows, the more of a microclimate I have.
“I grew up in Kilsyth when it was semi-rural. I feel like I’ve come back to that. Just having a garden is lovely. I sit out here and have my breakfast and lunch."
“Hopefully they won’t bulldoze this place after I’m gone and put up units. I try not to think about that!”
She’s over-planted, of course. What gardener doesn’t? She sees something and thinks “I must have one of those”, and never regrets it.
“They’ll sort themselves out, they really will. In the end, I’ll have a nice cover.”
“They’ll sort themselves out, they really will. In the end, I’ll have a nice cover.”
There were already a large lilly pilly, two huge old coast banksias, weeping myrtles, a massive old apple tree and an ancient peppercorn in the garden. She’s added a couple of silky oaks (Grevillea robusta), a couple of blackwoods and a pinoak.
“That’ll take a long time to do anything,” she says cheerfully. “Hopefully they won’t bulldoze this place after I’m gone and put up units. I try not to think about that!”
She gestures toward what once was a tank stand. “There was a big block of concrete here. So I built a frame around it, filled it with soil, and now it’s like a giant pot. The astromeriums love it.”
“That’ll take a long time to do anything,” she says cheerfully. “Hopefully they won’t bulldoze this place after I’m gone and put up units. I try not to think about that!”
She gestures toward what once was a tank stand. “There was a big block of concrete here. So I built a frame around it, filled it with soil, and now it’s like a giant pot. The astromeriums love it.”
“I’ll try anything. I can’t see why not. We only hold ourselves back then, don’t we?
There are salvias of every colour, camellias bottom pruned to show off their elegant legs, and a massive old twisted peppercorn that was on its last legs until an overhanging tree came down – and the peppercorn revived. A gunnera spreads its prehistoric leaves like something out of a storybook. Spinebills, tiny weebills and fantails flicker through the dappled shade. The air is filled with blackbird song.
Asked how she achieves such lushness, Barbara has five words: wicking beds, chook poo, and mulch. The wicking beds provide a constant source of water exactly where it's required, chook poo keeps it all fertile, and the mulch keeps in moisture and suppresses weeds.
Frogs are spoilt for choice in this garden with a chain of hand-made ponds tucked into corners and under trees for frogs. All are alive with tadpoles.
“When I built the first pond, I went down to the wetlands and got a few strings of eggs and popped them in and I've had frogs ever since.
Asked how she achieves such lushness, Barbara has five words: wicking beds, chook poo, and mulch. The wicking beds provide a constant source of water exactly where it's required, chook poo keeps it all fertile, and the mulch keeps in moisture and suppresses weeds.
Frogs are spoilt for choice in this garden with a chain of hand-made ponds tucked into corners and under trees for frogs. All are alive with tadpoles.
“When I built the first pond, I went down to the wetlands and got a few strings of eggs and popped them in and I've had frogs ever since.
“It’s lovely to lie in bed and listen to the frogs. It can get pretty loud, but nobody’s complained.”
She built the chook house from cypress sleepers and a few odds and sods – wrought iron salvaged from an old security door, some Turkish tiles she’d fallen in love with years ago.
“It’s pretty straightforward,” she explains, “just a square box with an A-frame roof."
She insists she’s never been a builder – she worked in aged care, among other jobs – but suspects she picked up a lot from her parents, who built their own house.
“I’ll try anything. I can’t see why not. We only hold ourselves back then, don’t we?
"Part of the joy for me is working out how to do things. It doesn’t always go right, but I’m happy with what’s going on here. I really feel it's starting to come into its own."
She built the chook house from cypress sleepers and a few odds and sods – wrought iron salvaged from an old security door, some Turkish tiles she’d fallen in love with years ago.
“It’s pretty straightforward,” she explains, “just a square box with an A-frame roof."
She insists she’s never been a builder – she worked in aged care, among other jobs – but suspects she picked up a lot from her parents, who built their own house.
“I’ll try anything. I can’t see why not. We only hold ourselves back then, don’t we?
"Part of the joy for me is working out how to do things. It doesn’t always go right, but I’m happy with what’s going on here. I really feel it's starting to come into its own."