I was entranced by the diminutive Androsace lanuginosa recently discovered in Phlomis Flo’s wonderful garden. Actually it wasn’t lost, just new one to me. And what an impression it made! It sucked me in but didn’t spit me out and still it haunts me. The charming white flowers, variously red and yellow centred, are held high above the downy foliage. Far from its native Himalayan hills it is thriving in its North Devon adopted home. Stunning and now lusted after in a slightly scary way.
Yet again there are some splendid floral displays in the our little seaside town. This bed was particularly striking with its marigolds, verbena, cordyline and kale. Yes kale. And why the devil not?
The quince tree at The Farm is the first time I have come across this ancient fruit. This is not the flowering quince, Chaenomeles japonica, widely grown as a wall shrub for its decorative spring flowers. We are talking about Cydonia oblonga grown for its fragrant fruit, which like medlars must be bletted, or left to almost rot, before eaten. If this does not appeal then they make delicious jams, puddings and wines. Allegedly. The Portuguese word for this golden pear shaped fruit is marmello, and it is from this fruit that the original marmalade was made.
Last year this tree managed to flower but produced no fruit. The fact that it spent some of this time horizontal, until properly staked, may have had something to do with its barrenness. This year we have had flower, it has set fruit and had another go at flowering. I am hoping that this fruitling, snug in its velour all-in-one, will hold on tight until autumn, when we can sample its delights.
This was the lucky one. The rest were chewed, mangled, dug up and stomped upon. I am haunted by the image of their cute little bunny faces laughing as they danced on my misery.
Without my words today, must have mislaid them somewhere whilst I was out and about. To tide me over until the next time, here is a sea holly and a ginger bottomed bee.
We should have been full to bursting after our trip on Sunday, but we had left just enough room for pudding. Yesterday we went to see Phlomis Flo and TT and their amazing garden on the Mortehoe cliffs. The sun had exhausted itself on Sunday and in its absence the mizzle was having its day. This didn’t matter, the garden was still stunning. I have been here many times and still wonder at its beauty. The dry stone terraces are packed with plants from across the globe, all living happily together. As Flo says, they should be an example to us all.
You will be pleased to know that today I went to work.
An All Horts day out at Marwood Hill Gardens, yipppeeee! Hosted by yours truly, gulp. This wonderful garden is located in the badlands of North Devon, with its fearful reputation, and I fretted that the turn out would be meagre. In an attempt to boost numbers and to give the illusion that I was popular, I paid some resting “actors” to come in disguise as my employers and friends. A fine pair of Shakespearean actors posed as Lord and Lady Mantle. In Stratford* they still talk of their sensitive interpretation of Romeo and Juliet. The role of Max’s Dads was carried off with great aplomb by a fire eating, plate spinning, Harley Davidson riding duo, filling in before the Edinburgh Fringe Festival. I am certain no one would have guessed that Torrington Tina was in fact a Tina Turner tribute act, although I am sure I spotted her practising Nutbush City Limits behind the rhododendrons. The Edible Ilfracombe gals are usually to found performing the Can Can at the Windmill Theatre, Barnstaple and my other half was ably played by a famous industry** stunt man whose groin strain meant he was available for hire last weekend.
I was also concerned that some may have been put off by my promise of frolics and fun. This was a wild promise and one I regretted for fear of attracting the wrong kind of visitor. As it was they came anyway. Not the wrong sort, the right ones. The usual suspects turned up, on time and full of enthusiasm. Moo, Didcot Dave, Mr and Mrs Duck, Madame Admin, Hero, the Kernow Kid. All present and correct. Like a horticultural army we marched from car park to entrance to demand cheap entrance fee. We were unstoppable. Until approximately one minute later when we reached the tea room. Then we stopped and chatted and drank tea and peeked at the garden and fidgeted and then, we were off ………
Round lakes, up hills (I know I didn’t reveal the hill bit previously), gawping, label reading, tree hugging, note taking, more chatting, much laughter, a little sitting. There were ducklings, champion trees, candelabra primulas like fruit pastilles, a Persian carpet of astilbes, rogersia and inula, there were stewartia, pendulous cercidpyllum, wingnuts and cornus aplenty.
We meandered back up the hill (sorry it is North Devon) for a generous lunch at the wonderful tea room where we sat in the shade of a substantial Magnolia stellata. A last look around, admiring herbaceous assortments in the walled garden and alpine beds, before winding our way to the Plant Centre.
Of course the visit to the Plant Centre was inevitable and some had succumbed to temptation before the others had reached its hallowed ground. When this sweet shop of delights had had its fill, it spat us out with bags full of treasure and grins and excuses and tuts and head shakes, according to which person it belonged to.
Thank you everyone who came. It was fun and there may even been some frolicking. The sun shone and so did my heart. It is a joy to spend time with like minded people. Like minded but individual and all with something to contribute to the mix. New friendships were made. Old friendships reinforced. Here is to next time. Please make it if you can, you won’t regret it.
*East London pre Olympics
** the pasty tasting industry
When I ventured out into my garden this afternoon, secateurs, labels and plastic bags in hand, the garden said “and who are you?”. Have I really been away that long? Possibly, bearing in mind the ubiquitous bindweed and its other dubious mates. The prime directive was to propagate some of my tender plants; the “just in case’s” the “sensitive souls”. Just as I was about to remove a prime cutting candidate of Colquhounia coccinea (say that after a couple of sweet sherries) I noticed this handsome grasshopper. I am sure it is the same one I spotted last year on the fuchsia. He didn’t recognise me. This fine furry shoot was left for another day. I don’t hold grudges.
Great choice, couldn’t have done better myself!
I had a bit of a tidy today at the Farm. Outside the greenhouse had become a mess of pots, plants, planters, redundant shelving, an old wooden table, bit and bobs. The detritus of a hectic spring and early summer. In sorting through the jumble this little chap was disturbed. I hope he had been eating some slugs. Look at that eye. Beautiful.
Off The Edge Gardening