An Over Active Imagination

Iris

Today I told Mr and Mrs du Maurier that it is now illegal to grow cotoneaster.  Not content with one little untruth, I went on to warn them that there were a newly formed arm of the secret service called the Cotoneaster Police.  These law enforcers arrive unannounced with chainsaws and flame throwers.

It is feared that automatic entry into heaven is becoming less and less likely.  In my defence I was inflicted with an over active imagination, which is hardly my fault.  Hopefully St Peter likes a joke.

For your delectation here are some ethereal blue iris from their garden.  Far classier.

Subtle

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Bold is what I am drawn to.  Subtle seems to evade me.  This is not something I am particularly proud of, it is just the way it is.  It probably highlights an underlying shallowness. So for a change I thought I would try a little sensitivity.  Bring on the understated and the wistful. Embrace the backroom boys and the misunderstood.  If you could imagine Kate Bush singing Wuthering Heights in the background at this moment it might help.  What do you think? Did I manage it? Seems a little bit weird to me.  Although when you examine this soon to burst nigella bud and its ferny foliage you might start to believe there is something to be said for the coy approach.

Black Widow

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It was a varied day, which is always the best kind.  It started with a drive through hazy Devon countryside, verges and banks spilling with cow parsley, stitchwort and campions.  We were on our way to visit a rural pottery, complete with wood fired bottle kiln, lovely wares, nesting swallows and nice folk to sit on a wall and pass the time of day with.  Then next to Bideford, along with a million converging motorbikes whose hum soothed us as we enjoyed a French lunch with an obligatory vin rouge.  Eventually home in time to listen to championship rugby on the radio, a form of commentary I always find both confusing and inspiring.

These Geranium phaem, or the black widow geranium, were flowering en masse in the garden of Shebbear potter Clive Bowen and his wife Rosie.   I can usually find a flower somewhere.

Blondes

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I follow several blogs.  In varying degrees they have some association to horticulture or nature, artists who garden, professionals, amateurs, vegetables growers, propagators, photographers. Without exception they give me great pleasure.  The exception to the rule (the hortie rule not the pleasure one) is written by poet and author Anthony Wilson http://www.anthonywilsonpoetry.com. Discovered by happy accident through a friend, he not only writes beautifully but champions other writers and poets, educating me in my ignorance. Hopefully he will forgive me paraphrasing a piece that I found especially interesting and helpful.

It was about rejection.  It was a simple tale of an actor friend who soothed Anthony when he was feeling downhearted after one of his poems had been turned down.  The actor said “but they wanted a blonde”.  When pressed, the thespian explained that this is how he copes with the big thumbs down.  Those wielding the power to say yea or nay wanted something different, someone that you couldn’t be.  It was not about being better, it was about being more suited.  This has stayed with me.  Stored in my emergency emotional first aid box.

Today I was rejected.  They wanted a rose and I am a marigold.  I can’t help being a marigold, I quite enjoy it.  I couldn’t be a rose even if I wanted to be.  Which I don’t.  Often, anyway.  That helps.

But I do think those in question could do with a few more marigolds in their lives.  Or maybe the odd delphinium, or salvia, or even an allium ….

Vibrant

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So tired this evening after a frantic day trying to get a truck load of bedding in place.  The hoards arrive tomorrow at The Farm for half term and we wanted it to look its best.  Nothing like living to the wire.  I have nothing against bedding but I can’t get too excited by it. Not yet anyway, perhaps later when it fills out to its blousy best I will be more enthusiastic.

This however is quite different.  A single flower of Wachendorfia thyrsiflora, vibrant in today’s persistent sunshine.

Heronsbill

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As anyone who is self employed will tell you, it is very difficult to turn down work for fear of not being asked again.  There comes a time though, when you have to say “today is for me” and that is what happened yesterday.  And what did I do?  Well I gardened of course.

Sometimes I think that plants survive in my garden in spite of me.   Althaea cannibina struggling behind an over-exuberant euryops, barely protected Hedychium greenii already with shoots of 20cm, ignored dahlias showing their wares.  My lovely daylily ‘Pollies Dark Seedling’, once feared lost, was ably tackling the molluscs unassisted.  Talking of the enemy; there were biblical amount of slugs and snails.  Every pot I lifted, every leaf I turned, every plant I knocked out, there they were, in all colours, shapes and sizes, lurking belligerently and stuffed full of fresh foliage.  Bindweed was the herbaceous equivalent; strangling, sneaky, cleverly wrapped around itself to make a taut stem with which to climb to even higher heights.  A whole day spent in intensive care went some way to bring the garden back from the brink.  Must try much harder, it really is a very bad example.

This little Erodium manescavii wasn’t bothered by my neglect.   I have a soft spot for the diminutive heronsbill.  Very uncomplaining, very beautiful, perfect for my garden.

 

Star Turn

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We had celebrity visit today at Max’s.  It was a gentleman who knows a lot and is not shy to share this information.  His encyclopaedic knowledge and unfettered opinions filled in some gaping holes in our plant identification.  He also confirmed that many were unusual specimens in the garden. Which of course is good, but it is also bad.  Very nice to know it is special.  Not so good is the increased pressure to protect these plants.  Some are positioned very awkwardly, not in the best place for them to thrive but too large to move easily.  Several are very tatty looking and situated in prime positions.  The Moral Maze ……….

Communication

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Communication is vital in the Client/Employee relationship*.  One of the main areas of contention is nomenclature.  Below is a typical conversation:

Me:  I thought we could plant the Lobelia siphilitica over where the Pinus sylvestris was.

Esteemed Clients: Blank looks, nervous side glances

Me sensing bewilderment:  The tall blue flower where the pine tree was.

Esteemed Clients:  Embarrassed smile, prolonged feet observation, one may have nodded off for a moment.

Me giving up all hope and using hand signals and illustrations:  You know the big tree that half fell down just after Christmas and the nice man with the chainsaw came and chopped it down completely, shall we plant some pretty flowers there?

Esteemed Clients:  Why didn’t you say that in the first place?

Me: Quite.

This is Clianthus puniceus ‘Rosea’, parrot’s beak, lobster claw, , glory pea.  Never mind, it is another pretty flower.

*As several of my Esteemed Clients read my blog, please be assured that this is an amalgam of several people, none of which is you.  You are just perfect, it is the others, honest, you are my favourite and can do no wrong.