Basking under the sunny spotlight is the heronsbill, Erodium manescavii. This Pyrenean native is enjoying the recent cold snap, reminiscing about its chilly homeland. There are no Mountain Dogs here though, just Max who is half kangeroo and not interested in snow peaked mountains. Perhaps we could train him. He will need a wig.
It wasn’t the carmine flower of the pineapple sage that caught my eye, but its crisp shadow lying on the white-washed wall.
I was surprised that this fragrant salvia was still standing after the recent sharp frosts. But it was, defiant to the last. And in a world of droop and desiccation it looked especially fine today.
As the year rapidly advances towards the winter solstice, so my reluctance to get out of bed in the morning increases. The short days and long nights pander to my love of sleep. Sleep would be my specialist subject if I were ever on Mastermind.
This morning, however, if I hadn’t dragged my comatose limbs from my womb-like cocoon, I would have missed a wonderful day. Again “earth as hard as iron, water like a stone”, but fully thermalled-up I was as snug as a gardener in a rug. The sky was a single coat of Dulux Perfect Blue and a scant few magnolia leaves hung on and drooped down revealing grey mouse fur buds.
Myself and Max’s Dad did some remedial protection on thawed ground and dug up blackened dahlias for storage. We pruned water shoots from apples trees. One of us (not me) took little encouragement to climb into the open goblet to reach high stragglers. We drank tea and sat looking at the mirror sea until the cold forced more action, all whilst Max bounded around the garden chasing distant seagulls and a variety of sticks.
It was definitely worth getting out of bed for.
They said it would be a cold night so we had been warned. The morning was icy and I was bound for Lord and Lady Mantle’s estate on the edge of Exmoor. As I am by nature a Scaredy Cat I was slightly anxious about this drive. Most of the journey is on decent roads, but the last little bit plummets steeply down a single track lane, across a ford and then up an equally steep hill the other side. Other arrangements were made. I parked my car in the rocky, gorse cleared area that passes for a car park in these parts and His Lordship transported me in his 4 x 4 Rolls Royce Silver Shadow the rest of the way. Of course I needn’t have worried, the road was quite clear.
Any of you thinking that I was feigning fear to avoid getting mud on my new car, can think again.
It was a beautiful day, cold and crisp and sunny. A Disney winter’s day. My only complaint, the low retina-incinerating sun. Much of the day was spent applying and removing layers of clothing as we moved in and out of shadows. The soil in parts was solid, the nasturtiums had taken the demeanour of over-boiled cabbage, the euryops flopped pathetically and the canna’s were blackened. Most however were untroubled and I felt like a milestone had been crossed. There is no turning back now, winter is inevitable.
I’ve got a new car. Yes, a new camera and a new car. No, I haven’t won the lottery. Admittedly I did win the premium bonds the other week, but I shared the whopping £25 prize with two friends. Yes a whole £8.33.33333333 each. This car is not an indulgence. It has been a necessity for at least nine shaking, spluttering months. In order to work I need reliable transport. In order to stay sane I need transport that doesn’t threaten self destruction at any moment. Driving the old banger is like being a contestant in the Wacky Races, and we are not talking about Penelope Pitstop’s sporty little number. Rather imagine the Boulder Mobile. So last week I got a new car. When I say “new” I mean “new to me”, that £8.33 didn’t go far. But who would have thought it? It doesn’t rattle in an ominous way. There are no odd burning smells. The heater isn’t jammed on. The boot doesn’t double as an indoor pool. It has a rear windscreen wiper. It has a CD player and electric windows. It is very shiny. It is very grown up. It is far too good for me. I suppose it won’t take long for me to wear it in. Before brambles scratches the silver lining. Before mud infiltrates the soft furnishings. Before the rural lanes splatter their welcome. Before it is christened as a gardener’s car. Which is exactly what it is meant to be.
Did I tell you about beeping reversing thingy? Brilliant. I wonder, can you turn it off?
One summer, when I returned to Cornwall for a short break, someone said that I looked “pale and interesting”. What he meant was that I looked ill. Like a city person. Comparing and contrasting to those around me, it was painfully apparent that he was quite right. It wasn’t about lack of colour, it was about excess of pallor. I didn’t take it as a compliment.
One solitary Love in the Mist stood firm in the whipping wind. Faded by the weather, its fern-like collar still standing proud. Although so far we have only had minor frosts, much is beginning to cultivate a bleached out look. Pale and interesting. Still much more attractive than that city girl.
There are worthy reasons to wait until spring to cut back spent flowers. The seed heads provide both food and shelter for wildlife and the perished vegetation offers the plant a modicum of protection from the elements.
But when the sun dances across burnished flowers on a crisp winter’s day, surely that is reason enough.
The seed pods of the Shoo Fly, Nicandra physalodes, are almost as beautiful as their flowers. Notorious self seeders, some might view these purple papery lanterns with a sigh or even a scream. However I am looking forward to them spreading themselves about, they are long lasting, trouble free and floriferous. A member of the “good cop, bad cop” family Solanaceae, which contains both potato and deadly nightshade. They hale from Peru, yes just like Paddington Bear, hence another of their common names, Apple of Peru. Did you think I was going to say The Paddington Plant? I nearly did.
After the predicted stormy night, when the rain was icy ball bearings and the wind thumped like a prize fighter, I thought I’d better have a quick wander to check for any garden damage. Apart from a few misplacements there were only two casualties. Firstly a large pot of bamboo had fallen on top of a Lavandula pinnata, the fern leaved lavender. Garden Doctor’s diagnosis – squished, GD prognosis – with a little nip and tuck it should be fine. Secondly, our Salvia microphylla has been rent asunder, surely not too dramatic a description? This shrubby salvia is notoriously brittle, so this collapse came as no surprise. Luckily it is famously responsive to hard pruning which is exactly what it is going to get. Not today though. The plants might be alright, but I am still feeling a little rough around the edges.
Here in the south west of the UK we have pretty benign weather. It is for good reason that we are called Softy Southerns. The last couple of days have been a little crazy, in our opinion anyway. For others, more accustomed to such madness, it has possibly been a little dull. Hail, thunder and lightning, driving rain and strong winds. Our home faces the sea and whilst this is a generally a great asset, when the wind roars up the channel it is less charming. There is another, bigger, storm on the way, called Angus apparently. The winds will shift to the North-East and it is likely that we will have another window rattling night ahead. Today I have, perhaps a little latterly, brought in a couple of indoor plants that had been vacationing outside for the summer. The scadoxus and scented pelargonium were looking a little ruffled, outraged to have been exposed to such climes. I have no doubt they will recover from this horticultural abuse. The rest of the garden will have to fend for itself.
Stay safe everyone. Its going to be a noisy night.
Off The Edge Gardening