Anyway, gardening for the most part is dirty, spidery and it usually involves an inordinate amount of stinkin' dynamic lifter, which is like sticking your head up a cow's bum for two days or until the wind changes. And, no, I'm just not into that. Speaking of green things that don't involve cows bums, I went to Canberra's National Arboretum this morning for coffee.
It was my mum, you see. She's recently become a lifetime member of the Arboretum cult-like fan club (great - look what happened to Britney and Xtina post-Disney) and it's all Arboretum does this and Arboretum does that, so we went to this mysterious tree place to see what all the fuss is about.
According to the glossy brochure, which I used mainly as a base for my many snotty tissues that are a result of The Cold That Won't Die, the Arboretum is home to 92 forests of rare, endangered and symbolic trees from Australia and around the world.
One's mind conjures up a majestic forest of dense, exotic bushland, but it really is just a bunch of hills with a lot of weird and wonderful looking saplings trying to grow, despite the fact that they are supposed to be in the Himalayas or China or Japan or England or any other number of places with unique climates that are perfectly suited to each plant.
Apparently a lot of the mini-me trees have died since being planted in a place with a climate that is probably akin to that of Mars. It's like bringing a husky to Australia and being all surprised when he doesn't want to go to the beach and play fetch or sunbake and eat Streets Golden Gaytimes (yum, so good). Because he belongs in the fucking snow. But good luck to the Arboretum.
From what I observed this morning, the Arboretum seems enormously popular for the view, rather than anything else. It certainly wasn't the parking, which is around $500.00 per hour, but all money goes to maintaining the baby forests before they wither and die. The view, however, is most pleasant. And free. Here are some pictures.
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