A day of mizzle and murk, that is until the moment I clocked off when the sun came out in all its glory. Life is like that sometimes.
I arrived home to find the scaffolding complete and a quartet of builders in deep debate. I am not absolutely certain, but I am pretty certain I overheard the words “metaphysics”, “bain-marie” and “sledgehammer”. Then I reversed into the drive. My favourite occupation, reversing with an attentive audience. You will be pleased to know that I didn’t hit the bins. Close, but not quite.
This Choisya ternata, the fragrant Mexican Orange Blossom, is having another shot at flowering. Great idea.
Bees on heleniums are so last season, darling! This year it is all about the baby snail.
Today has been all about seeds. Not any common or garden seed either. We are talking about organically raised, locally grown by good guys seed. They are soon to open their virtual doors for business, when they will share this angelic seed with us lucky folk. At a (no doubt very reasonable) price of course. Free seed would be too exciting for my delicate constitution. We know what happened last time. I am still having nightmares. Or perhaps I am thinking about the poor unfortunates that I mowed down in my frenzy. It is all a blur. Anyway, keep an eye, ear and nose out for Vital Seeds, they are on their way!
These are the berries of Maianthemum racemosum, false Solomon’s seal, a very handsome seed carrier if ever I saw one.
Weary and you are thinking about turning in early but you glance out the window and the buddleja against the dusk sky looks incredible and you just have to capture it so you grab your camera and stumble through the plants and the recycle bin and the angle isn’t quite right so you stand on the dodgy bench and can’t keep yourself still let alone the camera but you snap a few in faint hope and in retreat put your foot through a random box that is lurking beneath the bench and curse and stumble back inside.
All for you.
There is a wasp nest in Max’s garden. A quarter way up the slope they have buried bravely into the scorched and stoned soil. I have watched as it has evolved over the weeks, the main entrance expanding, shingle strewn, workers ever vigilant,.
As of yet they have caused no mind to beast or person. I’m no waspologist but as far as I can ascertain they are good guys in the garden. The great misunderstood. They get a lot of bad press and windmilling arms. I don’t blame you, it is instilled into your very bones that they are the enemy, that they will sting out of malice alone. I am happy to report that this is not true. One less bad guy in the world. Result.
Early in the season the wasps harvest aphids and other sap sucking creatures to feed their demanding carnivorous babies. These larvae in turn feed the adults sweet intoxicating nectar to keep them focused on the job. The fretful young, once they have shrugged off their youthful ways and spun their way to pupa, leave the poor sugar addicted mummas to get their fix wherever they might find it – be it picnic, barbecue or your kitchen. Understandable under the circumstances.
This afternoon several wasps were flitting around the tap whilst I was filling watering cans. I noticed a couple of casualties in a shallow saucer nearby. They were thirsty and their colleagues had drowned trying to satiate this thirst. I filled a shallow bowl, with room enough to perch, and soon enough they came to drink. A small gesture.
The last few days have been of mixed pleasures. Catching the sunlight filtering through this dinner plate dahlia was a fine one. A car that wouldn’t start was not so good. The full story, one of mechanical mystery peppered with idiot operator, may well follow. In the meantime, I think we should dwell on the pretty dahlia.
Helenium, bee. Bee, helenium. Same old, same old.