I am daft. There is no disputing it. You may know that already. But I have further evidence. A couple of weeks ago, I slipped on the stairs and hurt myself. My friend Dorchester Doris said “have you considered living in a bungalow?”. She has a point. Daft. It needed to be said again. Head in the clouds and rushing about, always my downfall. For more than the last fortnight I have been pretty miserable. No gardening, no blogging, no fun. However, the last couple of days have seen an improvement in both body and spirit. Which means I am here, sixing along with the best of you. Pop over The Prop’s and all memories of my my sad tale will be replaced with wonder. Shall we shake a leg?
First we have an amaranthus, an absolutely ridiculous plant, but if you can get past the crazy poodle puff, it is rather lovely.
Next we have Begonia grandis subsp. evansiana ‘Claret Jug’. Please forgive it for such an outrageous name. This has been sat happily in the rain shadow of the Pyrus ‘Chanticleer’ and done rather nicely, thank you very much.
Rodgersia ‘Heavenly Gill’ suffered over the summer, not surprisingly for a moisture loving marginal. It held its own for a while and I wasn’t that bothered when the large leaves started crisping up, I was already on “next year”. However, HG was not on the same page, as you can see new leaves are being produced.
Next we have Kniphofia ‘Nancy’s Red’. I split a pack of mixed red hot pokers with The Prof and they have been a little slow. I was really pleased to see this one making an effort, although I am not sure it does actually belong to Nancy. Any thoughts? Does it matter?
A couple of years ago, I visited a garden in North Devon and my guide gave me some flower stalks of Pennisetum villosum, saying they make very good dried flowers. I thanked her, but with mischief on my mind. So I harvested the seed. And then I sowed the seeds. And then I raised a plant. And then it came to South Wales. And then it flowered. The end. Actually, in truth, it is the beginning.
In my Ilfracombe garden I tended/untended the Bed of Anarchy. Uncontrolled, uncontrollable. Looking at my new garden, these last couple of days, after its enforced fortnight of neglect, I felt a certain nostalgia. But I must also acknowledge, both to you and myself, that perhaps it is my natural state.
The only way is up, baby. ‘Til next time.