Ipheion uniflorum ‘Rolf Fiedler’

Ipheion 'Rolf Fiedler'

This year my lovely boss (me) has decided to let me take January off.  There are many reasons for this, the most important being that I want to.  This does not mean that you will be party to the same generosity.  No, the blog will continue, perhaps in a more random manner.  Yes, you heard right, even more random.  That means I will be sorting my photos and meandering down memory lane.  I will be catching up with friends and visiting a few gardens.  I will be sorting stuff, my tools, my seed, my plants, my head.  And, drum roll please, I will be working in my own garden.

Which is exactly what I did for a couple of hours this afternoon.  One of our two misplaced apple trees was pruned.  It is far to big for our small plot (says the gal who has just bought a 12m conifer), the crows enjoy the fruit before we can get to them and those that they knock off in their vigour turn to mush.  If I had my way it would be gone, along with the other, but this is a democracy and I have conceded.  For the moment.  There may be an “oops” moment in the future. I potted up the Sciadopitys verticillata and the pack of six Heuchera ‘Palace Purple’ I purchased earlier at the garden centre (did I fail to mention this visit …..).  There was weeding and chopping and planning.

I also checked my little plastic greenhouse, the act of which is becoming increasingly treacherous due to a dodgy zip.  Here I found that the diminutive Ipheion uniflorum ‘Rolf Fiedler’, stored safe and sound against the cold and wet, had begun to flower.  Such a beauty.

Happy New Plant

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Another new year, another new plant.  This Sciadopitys verticillata, the Japanese Umbrella Pine, has irresistible charms.  It is true that I am not know for my resistance (generally futile), but when I noticed that this little darling was half price the die was well and truly cast.  A mere babe in arms at the moment, it has the potential of reaching 12m in height.  Until that point, which will hopefully not come too quickly, it is another one for the pot (terracotta not cooking).  Here it will wait patiently with the others until I move to my grand estate.  I know it will be very happy with me, as I am with it.

Wishing you all a magnificent 2017, may you both give and receive tolerance and empathy, may you share love and kindness with friends and strangers, and, most important of all, may you indulge in regular disco dancing marathons and drown in an ocean of laughter.  xxx

 

Planetarium

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Throughout my very early years my family were gypsies.  Unfortunately this does not mean we lived in a caravan drawn by a faithful carthorse called Neddy.  What it did mean was that we moved five times before I was seven.  I know just what you are thinking, we were not on the run from the police.  At least that was what I was led to believe.  Come to think of it ….  Anyway, the story I was told was that we had to keep relocating for my Dad’s job, who was an aeronautical draughtsman.  Eventually we settled in Cornwall and my Dad commuted weekly.  Neddy went to the home for retired carthorses.

An advantage of living in the home counties was that we were taken on frequent trips to London. It was my Dad’s home city and my parents had lived there when they were first married, so they enjoyed revisiting and showing us the sights.  To a small child who lived in rural Sussex it all seemed very big and noisy and slightly scary. To a middle aged gardener who lives in North Devon it seems pretty much the same.  We visited the museums, Oxford Street, the Tower of London.  We also took a trip to the planetarium.  The word alone is almost good enough, a word full of mystery and magic.  I can remember quite clearly, head tipped back, mesmerised by the voice that came from the stars, watching the solar systems and planets move across the pseudo-sky.  I didn’t understand a word but I was hypnotised and thrilled.  Years later I revisited with my partner.  We were just as thrilled.  I may have understood a little more.

Missed

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A wonderful day at The Farm.  Absence definitely has made my heart grow fonder.  And it was pretty fond already.  I planted out Allium atropurpureum, Brodiaea laxa ‘Queen Fabiola’ and Anemone blanda.  I primped and preened and mulched and collected seed and my horticultural zeal was invigorated.

Then, as I was dragging my tired feet towards the greenhouse to tidy tools and do a last check of the cossetted ones, a flitting in the blackthorn trees caught my attention.  Something made me stand, silently, and wait for the story to unfold.  As my eyes grew accustomed to the gloom I started to pick them out, first one, then another, then a dozen long tailed tits.  These tiny birds, looking like ping pong balls wearing their big brother’s tail, weightlessly hopped from branch to bough, impossible for me to capture.  It was an all too fleeting visit, soon they were on their way to where ever these bijou beauties reside.  This spectacle made my day.  Which to be honest had been pretty good already.

Faith

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During our early morning tour of the garden I asked after the hollyhock youths that were due be planted out. “Oh” said Mrs Bun “I’m not sure, I haven’t been in the greenhouse for ages”.   The hollyhocks were doing just fine, and later were relocated to their new playground, which is more than can be said for the pelargoniums.   They were in an advance stage of decay, being consumed by a severe case of grey mould, otherwise known as botrytis.  The North Devon dank is the nemesis of these South African natives and best friend to fungus.  Although destructive, the mould was strangely beautiful and, I thought, rather seasonal in appearance.  As if the Snow Queen had visited and cast an icy spell.   At every touch the “ice” threw up a puff of spores and I tried very hard not to breathe it in.  I’m not sure there have been any confirmed report of Gardener’s Rot but I wasn’t going to risk it.

So whilst Mrs B took care of housely duties, I spent a happy hour picking over the potted plants, removing the furry, soft and blackened vegetation.  It was strangely therapeutic.  I sung a couple of Christmas carols to myself which I believe was much appreciated by Big Bertha the voluptuous chicken.  Eventually clean bones were all that remained (of the pelargoniums not the chuck), but I have faith that they will make it through the winter to display their cerise beauty next summer. Mrs B has strict “check for mould regularly but barely water” instructions.   She won’t let me down. I told you, I have faith.

Sway

teasel

We have a thing about teasels in our house.

When we lived in Bristol we grew a monster teasel.  In truth we neither planted it or nurtured it, it just appeared.  Then one day it was so large that we could watch the goldfinches feast on the seed from our first floor bathroom window.  It was truly a monster teasel.

When we moved to North Devon a seedling piggybacked on one of the many pots we brought with us.  This seedling in turn has spawned others that appear regularly in our front garden.  Now they have moved next door, much to the amusement of my lovely neighbour.  “What is it?” she asked, “Don’t worry” I said “It is son of Monster Teasel and it will bring you good luck and feasting birds.” She agreed this was reason enough not to dig it up.  When the northerly winds visit they sway in unison, spreading any remaining seed far and wide.

We love teasels in our house.