Time is relative, apparently. To be honest, I am not sure I understand the intricacies of this statement. I nonchalantly fling these soundbites around with the bravado of a kinematic specialist. Which I am not. I am a gardener and I wing that most of the time. Except if you happen to be a present or potential client, to whom I confirm I am all knowing and glorious. What I do know is that spring has been a long time coming. Even longer than usual. Now that it has eventually arrived, it has proved to be everything I hoped for, perhaps even more. I would much appreciate it if the management could arrange a slowing down of time now. All the better for appreciating and even wallowing in the glory of this season of all seasons. Anyone know who I should write to?
Today Max’s Dad told me that this was the best tree in town. Who am I to argue?
This morning, more than any day throughout this wretched pandemic, I really needed a hug. Far more importantly, I desperately needed to hug someone. But I am not allowed to hug that person. Although a fleeting physical closeness wouldn’t have fixed anything or anyone, it might have helped us both just a little. Such cruelty. It has left me feeling helpless and hopeless as it was all I had to offer.
This Salvia leucantha ‘Midnight’ is as close to a floral cuddle as I can muster. It is the best I can do.
I thought it would be enough, but it wasn’t. It appears that we need a little more than the vibrant chrysanthemum to keep our spirits buoyant. Mine, anyway.
For those who could also do with a little extra sparkle, here is a booster shot. A dew-bedazzled Inula hookeri. It helped me.
With barely a month left to run its course, I have become accustomed to autumn. Two days of sunshine has helped my conversion immensely.
If I could put in a weather order for the next few months, today would be the template. No pinching frosts to nip vulnerable plants and fingers. For moisture I request only a heavy dew. The air must be calm, with perhaps a little laundry-drying breeze from the south. I am willing to negotiate on the details. There is one thing I will not compromise on; I demand the life-enhancing, low light that allows even the most to modest shine. Surely that is not too much to ask?
Does anyone know which department I should write to?
Yesterday the Red Admirals were feasting on the windfall apples, a late summer tradition in Max’s garden. I enjoy this annual event as much as the tipsy butterflies, watching them flit from fruit to rotting fruit, with the odd frisky interval. I’d best make it quite clear that it was the butterflies that were frisky, not me. Neither was I tipsy. Far from the flocking bank holiday hoards, I was content working in the warm sunshine and welcome calm, all was serene.
There was a slight blip in my tranquil day, which involved a close encounter of the slow worm kind. The accident was quickly resolved and his home reinstated. I left two juicy slugs near his disturbed front door as recompense. Hopefully I am forgiven and he has recovered from the invasion of the giant gardener.
Today, the photobombing bees were unavoidable.
As if you would want to avoid them.
My words have failed me at the moment. I’ve had a little shufty about and still nothing. I’m sure they’ll come back, they usually do.
Instead I am all action. Just like this ladybird patrolling the sturdy pillar of a cardoon; ever vigilant for aphid infestation and a bit of lunch.
For your information: Greenfly are not my snack of choice, though feel free to send twiglets.
It would have been rude not too.
It is always special to see once of your babies doing well. This Iochroma australe was grown from seed and now, with its pale sister, is thriving in Max’s garden.
I do wish I had kept one for myself. It could have elbowed its way into a corner somewhere.
On reflection it probably is for the best. Sometimes you have to let your young ‘uns go, to spread their leaves elsewhere.