June 2025

Spekboom Indoors: My Little Forest of Sunshine

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Spekboom Indoors: My Little Forest of Sunshine When I first brought home a little pot of Portulacaria afra, lovingly nicknamed Spekboom, I never imagined the quiet transformation it would bring to my indoor world. It wasn’t flamboyant. It didn’t shout for attention. But over time, it settled into its sunny corner like it had always belonged—an unassuming slice of Eastern Cape charm, right there on my windowsill. There’s something grounding about Spekboom. Its rounded, jade-like leaves grow in cheerful clusters, and the reddish stems give it just enough architectural character to stand out without overwhelming a room. And once I learned it’s sometimes called the “elephant bush”? That sealed the deal. I imagined herds of elephants feasting on it in the wild, while mine grew quietly under a north-facing window, far from the veld but full of life. What I’ve come to love most about growing Spekboom indoors is how adaptable and low-maintenance it is. It’s the kind of plant that forgives forgetful watering, smiles back at bright light, and doesn’t hold grudges when the heater dries out the air a little too much. It’s the perfect flatmate—low drama, high charm. When I first potted mine, I chose a wide, shallow ceramic pot with a good drainage hole. I used a gritty succulent mix, the same blend I use for my Echeveria, and added a few small stones at the bottom to be safe. I nestled the little Spekboom in the centre, surrounded it with a few decorative pebbles, and gave it a gentle first watering. That was the start of something quietly beautiful. In terms of light, I’ve found Spekboom loves a bright spot indoors—ideally near a window that gets good indirect sunlight, or a few hours of direct morning rays. My plant lives near a large window in the living room, where it basks happily all day. If the light dips too low in winter, I pull it closer to the sill and rotate the pot now and then to keep the growth even. Watering is wonderfully simple. I wait until the soil is completely dry before giving it a drink—and when I do, I water thoroughly, letting the excess drain out freely. In the cooler months, it barely needs any water at all. Sometimes I go two or three weeks without lifting the watering can, and it still keeps its plump, glossy leaves. Pruning is more an art than a task. Every now and then, if a stem gets too leggy or I want to encourage a bushier shape, I snip it back with clean shears. Those clippings? I let them dry for a day or two, then pop them into soil to start new plants. I have little Spekbooms growing in mugs, jars, and even a cracked teacup on the windowsill. It’s like a mini indoor forest that keeps expanding. Beyond the aesthetics and ease, there’s something deeply comforting about having Spekboom around. Maybe it’s the fact that it’s known for its ability to absorb carbon dioxide, or maybe it’s that it just looks so full of quiet purpose. Either way, it brings a sense of balance and peace to the room—like a leafy little sage that just knows how to be. There’s a moment I always think back to: I was working late one night with the soft light of my desk lamp spilling over the room, and I glanced over to see the Spekboom casting its gentle shadow against the wall. No fuss, no fanfare—just presence. I smiled and got back to work, somehow a little more grounded than I had been the moment before. Blog FAQs

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Viburnum sinensis: The Living Curtain of My Garden

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Viburnum sinensis: The Living Curtain of My Garden Some plants you grow for colour. Some for fragrance. And then there are those rare gems that give you everything—structure, softness, and a sense of sanctuary. That’s exactly what Viburnum sinensis offers in my garden. It’s not flashy, but it’s quietly powerful—the kind of presence that gives a space character, while tucking it neatly behind a leafy veil. I planted mine a few years ago along a tired stretch of fence that desperately needed some green magic. The fence had seen better days—bare, uninspiring, and far too transparent for comfort. I didn’t want a harsh wall or an artificial screen. I wanted privacy without losing beauty. So in went the Viburnum, with fingers crossed and hope in my heart. It didn’t take long for hope to turn into sheer admiration. Viburnum sinensis grows with purpose. It doesn’t rush, but it doesn’t dawdle either. Once it finds its feet, it fills out with dense, leathery green leaves that form a thick, impenetrable screen—just what I needed to block out curious stares and soften the sharp angles of my boundary wall. Every season brings a new charm: in spring, its creamy white flower clusters appear like surprise guests at a garden party; in autumn, the leaves shift subtly into deeper tones, adding warmth to the chill. One of my favourite things about using it as a privacy screen is how it doesn’t look like a hedge. There’s an organic elegance to its form—it flows, moves with the breeze, and never feels rigid or overly manicured. I shaped mine gently as it grew, encouraging vertical height while allowing the natural bushiness to remain. Now it stretches proudly up to two metres high, completely cloaking the fence behind it like a forest in miniature. Caring for this green wall is surprisingly easy. I planted mine in rich, well-draining soil and made sure it got full sun to light shade—a few hours of direct morning sun seems to be its sweet spot. During dry spells, I give it a good soak every 7–10 days, and I mulch around the base to keep moisture steady. A light prune in late winter keeps it neat, and every spring, I give it a gentle feed with compost and organic fertiliser to keep the foliage lush. And oh, the birds! Ever since the Viburnum matured, I’ve noticed more feathered visitors flitting in and out, using its branches for shelter. It’s become a miniature ecosystem in itself—privacy for me, and a hotel for garden wildlife. There was a moment last summer that sealed my love for this plant. I had friends over for a lazy Sunday lunch, and one of them remarked how peaceful the garden felt. She was surprised when I pointed out that just beyond that green wall was a busy street. “It doesn’t feel like it,” she said, and honestly—it didn’t. The Viburnum had absorbed the sights and sounds beyond the fence like a velvet curtain, wrapping us in a kind of leafy hush. Blog FAQs

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Echeveria ‘Mexican Giant’: My Silver-Lined Jewel

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Echeveria ‘Mexican Giant’: My Silver-Lined Jewel In the drier corners of my garden—where the sun drapes itself lazily over stones and the breeze carries the faint scent of dust and wild thyme—lives one of my most quietly commanding plants. Echeveria ‘Mexican Giant’ doesn’t wave for attention, yet somehow everyone notices her. With those generously spaced rosettes and her ghostly, powdery sheen, she sits like a living sculpture—part succulent, part snow queen. I first laid eyes on her in a succulent collector’s garden tour, tucked into a weathered ceramic bowl surrounded by gravel and sunbleached driftwood. The entire display was serene, but this plant was the clear centerpiece. Her leaves were wide, elegantly spoon-shaped, and coated in a soft veil of farina that shimmered ever so slightly in the light. I crouched down, reached out (gently, of course), and knew instantly—I needed one in my own sanctuary. A few weeks later, I found a smaller specimen at a nursery and practically floated to the checkout. I planted her in a wide terracotta dish with gritty, fast-draining soil, letting her stretch out like she was sunbathing. That’s when I truly got to know her style. No drama. No fuss. Just quiet grandeur. What sets ‘Mexican Giant’ apart from the dozens of other Echeverias I’ve grown is her scale—she truly earns her name. Over time, her rosettes can grow to nearly 30 cm across, if not more, and each leaf remains thick, firm, and slightly upturned at the edges. The farina, that delicate white powder, not only gives her that elegant frosted look—it’s also her built-in sunscreen, reflecting harsh rays and protecting the tender inner tissue of each leaf. I learned early on to admire from a distance and avoid touching too much, as the powder is easily rubbed off. In terms of care, she fits beautifully into my lifestyle: sun-loving and drought-tolerant, yet surprisingly responsive when treated just right. I give her a spot where she gets plenty of morning and early afternoon sun—about six hours a day—and some shelter from the harshest midday glare. Too much shade, and she begins to stretch a little, losing that compact, symmetrical shape I love. Soil is non-negotiable here: she must have drainage. I use a blend of succulent mix and perlite. Her roots are like a cat—they hate wet feet and will sulk if the potting mix stays damp for too long. I water deeply, but only when the soil is dry all the way through. On especially hot weeks, that might mean once a week; in winter, hardly at all. I’ve watched her send out bloom stalks in late spring and early summer—tall, slender stems topped with tiny, bell-shaped coral flowers that dangle like ornaments from another world. They’re a softer feature compared to the boldness of her base, but they add charm and a gentle pop of colour that the bees in my garden seem to adore. One thing I wasn’t prepared for was the attention she’d attract. Garden visitors, casual by passers, even the delivery guy—all pause when they spot her. I’ve had someone knock on the gate just to ask, “What is that plant? It looks like it belongs in a crystal cave.” I smiled and introduced her, proudly, as the Mexican Giant. It’s the only time I’ve caught a grown man take out his phone to snap a picture of a plant. Propagation is possible, though she doesn’t pup as freely as some of her cousins. I’ve had better luck with leaf cuttings, but it’s a slow and patient process. For now, I let her enjoy her space, giving her the freedom to grow wide and glorious without being disturbed. Maybe someday I’ll try to start a family of Mexican Giants—but for now, she holds court alone, and that feels just right. There’s something about succulents that grounds me. They’re survivors. Architects of their own success. And this one—she’s the embodiment of resilience with grace. When the afternoon sun catches her silvery leaves and casts soft shadows on the gravel below, it feels less like a garden and more like an art gallery. Blog FAQs

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Star Jasmine: The Sweetheart of My Garden Walls

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Star Jasmine: The Sweetheart of My Garden Walls Every garden has that one plant that quietly climbs its way into your heart—and for me, Trachelospermum jasminoides, affectionately known as Star Jasmine, is that quiet companion turned show-stealer. With its twining vines and heady perfume, it’s transformed my garden into something out of a summer evening dream. I first discovered Star Jasmine at a local nursery—the fragrance hit me before I even saw the plant. It was like walking into a memory. Sweet, delicate, a touch nostalgic. I followed the scent to a trellis covered in glossy green leaves and clusters of tiny white pinwheel flowers. I was smitten instantly. That fragrance followed me home, along with two eager little plants that would soon begin their magical climb. Planting Star Jasmine felt like adding a touch of theatre to the garden. I gave it pride of place near my pergola, hoping it would grow into a leafy curtain for summer shade. And goodness, did it deliver. This climber knows how to perform—sending out shoots that clamber lovingly up and around anything in their path. With a bit of guidance, it created a living tapestry above my head, weaving green and white into one of the garden’s most beloved corners. What’s most enchanting is the way the flowers seem to burst all at once, like a silent fanfare. One moment, it’s all leaves and promise—then suddenly, the air is thick with jasmine and the vines are dusted with tiny stars. I find myself lingering on my walks through the garden, drawn to that scent like a bee to nectar. And the best part? It lasts for weeks, especially on balmy evenings when the breeze stirs it up just right. In our South African climate, Star Jasmine thrives with very little fuss. I planted mine in full sun, though it tolerates a bit of shade with grace. The soil? Well-drained and rich is best—I added compost when planting, and the roots have thanked me ever since. I water regularly during dry spells, but once established, it’s remarkably self-sufficient. Every late winter, I give it a gentle trim to keep it tidy and encourage new growth. It’s one of those plants that rewards care with abundance. I’ve found that Star Jasmine isn’t just for climbing either—it cascades beautifully in containers or hanging baskets, and I even let a few trail down the edges of my garden walls. Wherever it grows, it brings that same fairy tale charm. There’s one particular evening I always think of: I was hosting a quiet dinner outdoors, just a few close friends, laughter echoing under the stars. A breeze swept through the vines overhead, carrying the jasmine scent across the table. Everyone paused, closed their eyes, and sighed. That’s the kind of presence this plant has—it turns ordinary moments into something timeless. Blog FAQs

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Primula: A Rainbow in My Winter Garden

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Primula: A Rainbow in My Winter Garden While most of the garden begins to yawn and stretch its way into the slower pace of winter, one flower stands up and sings. Enter: Primula, my garden’s pint-sized symphony of colour and charm. There’s something undeniably magical about their rosettes of soft foliage cradling vibrant blooms—like little faces smiling up at the sun, even on chilly mornings. I first met Primula at a friend’s garden tea—tiny flowers planted en masse beneath her bare fruit trees, looking like someone had spilled a packet of candy across the soil. I was enchanted. I remember crouching down to take a closer look, and being surprised at how bold and bright those little blossoms were. That very afternoon, I stopped by the nursery and brought home a tray of mixed colours, feeling like I’d just adopted a basket of happiness. There’s a quiet resilience about Primulas. Even when the air turns crisp and many plants shy away, these little beauties rise to the occasion. I especially love placing them in spots where I pass by often—near the doorstep, by the garden bench—so their cheerful hues can lift my spirits daily. Their range of colours feels like nature’s mood board: pastel pinks, golden yellows, deep purples… it’s a floral kaleidoscope. And don’t even get me started on the butterflies they attract—it’s like having miniature garden guests twirling around in gratitude. Primulas thrive in partial shade, which makes them ideal for tucking under deciduous trees or in spots with filtered sunlight. I plant mine where they’ll get a gentle touch of morning sun, protected from the harshness of midday rays. As for soil, they adore a rich, moist, but well-draining foundation. I always mix in generous amounts of compost and keep the soil consistently damp—never soggy, of course, because they’re a little fussy about wet feet. Even though they’re compact, I give my Primulas plenty of breathing room—spacing them around 15 to 20 centimetres apart lets them stretch out without jostling for space. During the growing season, I like to give them a little pep talk in the form of a liquid feed every couple of weeks. It seems to keep their spirits high and their blooms abundant. And just to keep the roots cozy, I tuck in a layer of soft mulch around their base—it helps keep moisture in and surprise warm days from catching them off guard. One crisp June morning, I went outside with my coffee, only to find a light mist curling around the garden beds. The Primulas were glowing with dewdrops like they’d been dusted with tiny diamonds. It stopped me in my tracks. That’s the power of this humble plant—it turns ordinary moments into memories.

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Winter Preparations: To Mulch or Not to Mulch

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Winter Preparations: To Mulch or Not to Mulch Winter sneaks up on you fast. One day, you’re soaking in the last bit of warmth, admiring your thriving garden, and the next—bam! Frost warnings have you scrambling to protect your precious plants. I know the feeling all too well. Picture me standing outside, arms crossed, staring at my garden like a concerned parent wondering if my plants need tiny sweaters. Spoiler alert: they don’t. But they do need protection! Mulch: The Unsung Hero of Garden Care Let’s talk about mulch—your garden’s equivalent of a cosy blanket. When temperatures drop, so does soil warmth, which can spell trouble for your plants’ roots. This is where mulch (or bark chips) steps in, acting as insulation that locks in soil heat and keeps frost damage at bay. But here’s the kicker—mulch isn’t just a winter MVP; it’s got some serious summer skills too. Ever notice how the soil dries up like a raisin under the scorching sun? Mulch slows down evaporation, helping your plants stay hydrated and cutting down how often you need to water. This means less stress for you and happier plants all year round. And weeds? Mulch has no patience for them! By blocking sunlight, it discourages weeds from sprouting while letting your plants thrive. It’s like giving your garden an extra layer of defence against those pesky invaders. Choosing the Right Mulch Now, not all mulch is created equal. There are different types, like wood chips or straw, and each comes with its own perks. Wood chips break down slowly; offering long-term soil enrichment, while straw decomposes faster but is excellent for insulating roots and regulating moisture. Aside from its practical benefits, mulch also has aesthetic appeal. Have you ever noticed how neatly mulched garden beds instantly make a space look more polished and put together? It’s like an instant landscaping glow-up! And the best part? As mulch naturally breaks down, it feeds nutrients into the soil, making your plants even healthier without you having to lift a finger. Extra Frost Protection Okay, so what if you want extra winter protection? Enter frost covers, aka plant blankets. These come in different thicknesses—typically 17gsm or 30gsm. I always opt for 30gsm because, well, I like my plants extra cosy. Applying frost covers is a bit of an art. You’ll want to place them over your plants in the late afternoon when temperatures start to dip and remove them in the morning once the sun is up. Leaving them on too long can actually do more harm than good. Think of it like tucking your plants in for the night rather than smothering them under a never-ending blanket. They still need air and sunlight, even in winter! Over the years, I’ve experimented with different frost cover methods. At first, I wrapped my plants too tightly, thinking the more coverage, the better. But soon enough, I learned that too much insulation can trap moisture, leading to more problems than I started with! Now, I gently drape the covers over my plants, securing them just enough to stay in place without suffocating them. It’s a delicate balance—kind of like bundling up for a chilly day but still needing to breathe and move freely! My Winter Gardening Ritual Winter gardening might sound intimidating, but with the right preparations, it’s actually one of my favourite times of the year. There’s something oddly satisfying about knowing I’ve done everything I can to help my plants survive the colder months. When I step outside on a frosty morning and see my plants still standing strong, I feel like I’ve won a quiet little battle against the elements. Plus, I use this time to re-evaluate my garden layout, plan for next season, and even experiment with winter-friendly crops. And let’s not forget the joy of cosy garden walks—bundled up in layers, sipping hot tea, and admiring the resilience of nature. So, if you’ve ever debated whether to mulch or invest in frost covers, let me tell you—it’s worth it. Your plants will thank you, and you’ll go into winter knowing you’ve given them the best possible chance to thrive.

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