Off The Edge Gardening

Another hard days slog buying plants, eating crisps and admiring a two metre high inflatable Lindt rabbit.

One of the disciplines I try to instil on my clients is the importance of accurate labelling.  Let me give you an example.  The above is a tulip, no need for years of study to work that one out.  But what, however, is the cultivar or species name?  If I don’t know then it will be difficult to buy more/avoid like the plague/give this information to admiring passers-by, which ever is most relevant.  When this flower has finished its glorious display and died back into the soil until next year, how you will you know where is it if it isn’t marked?  Do you really think you are going to remember?  Well dream on Sunshine!  I promise you will soon be saying, with a vague sweep of the arm “I am sure I planted them over there somewhere” seconds before sticking your fork right through the middle of a plump bulb.

It is also imperative to carefully mark bags of over-wintering corms, tubers and the like as quite frankly one gnarled old bit of root looks pretty much like any other.  Without names you will be clueless as to where will be the best place to replant and when, how deeply and how far apart.

Of course your stash of garden collected seed must also be carefully logged, with full name, the location where it was harvested and date.

There are are good pupils.

This is an example of Lord Mantle’s labelling.

Some less so.

I suppose I should feel fortunate that there was actually writing on this bag, there were some that Lady M had kindly left blank for me to identify.  She is now in detention writing “I will label all my plants, I will label all my plants …” one thousand times!  Lord M is excused homework.

 

You have fair warning, there will be a substantial amount of joy within this blog.  Anyone looking for misery or heartache, turn away now, you are the road to disappointment.  Similarly, if you are likely to be offended by unabashed gloating, please retune your TV.

To be greeted by a bouncing Bobbie dog as you arrive at work is enough to charge the mood cells for at least half a day.  This is even taking into account her propensity to sits on top of the Armeria maritima, creating a curiously flat thrift plant.  Saying that, I am sure it is very comfortable and can we blame her?  What followed was a glorious morning spent chopping out frazzled viburnum, osteospermum and photina, planting out stocky broad beans plants and a mixed bunch of snakes head fritilleries.  For this (on top of my wages) I was rewarded with half a dozen of Big Bertha’s finest eggs and a sixer of excess beans.

Then on to the du Mauriers where pruning and mulching and feeding filled an equally enjoyable afternoon.  True, my identification tests fell on stony ground and my radical pruning techniques were mocked, but on a day such as this it could only be taken in good grace.   As I struggled out of the village, winding up the hill from hell, the car was weighed down with a boot full of kindly donated giant red canna, just beginning to emerge from their hibernation.

After such a day it would be difficult not to gloat.  A memory to put in the safety deposit box for those inevitable other days.

We seem to have slipped quite nicely into second gear.  Spring has officially sprung and trundling along in first gear will not be possible any longer.  Soon hyper-drive will kick in and our faces will be doing that attractive g-force thing.  Luckily we have all spent the winter months wisely; preparing, planning, scheduling.  After all it is the same each year, isn’t it?  So we know the rules. We wouldn’t be so foolish as to have wasted time faffing or prevaricating or moaning about the weather?  Never!

Today I have been mostly digging out celandine.  I paused for a moment to admire its pretty green stained flower.  Then I dug out some more.

Generally I avoid prickly plants, call me a wimp if you dare.  But from a safe distance, and with the renewed bravery a little sunshine brings, this coconut scented gorse was a real treat in the spring sunshine at The Farm this week.

Heading west for a few days, see you when I return.

My knowledge of water gardening is minimal, and that is being generous.  I do however know that this is a bulrush, last year’s stems standing to attention awaiting the arrival of this year’s growth. These are looking a little bedraggled at the moment or, perhaps more accurately, stone dead. However soon, when once again in full livery, they will provide the perfect hiding place for ducklings and baby Moses’.

On occasion, especially when you work outside, the world gets ramped up to high volume. Everything is more intense, you become more aware, you sense the essence of things.  Yesterday the culprit was the wind, today it was that stranger the blue sky.  Perfect.

A tough morning.  It had been a restless sleep disturbed by raging storms and appropriately bizarre nightmares but I had no chance to be bleary eyed.  Walking from the front door to my car the unremitting wind and accompanying vicious showers suggested strongly that I return to my bed.  Tempting, but I pushed on.   Crazy stallions were stampeding towards the shore and I worried about those who were out at sea and for those who might have to save those poor souls. Soon I was cajoling Max’s less-than-keen Dad into the garden (yes you’ve guessed it “Its just a shower!”).  We struggled through the gales and rain like evil needles, whilst we dug up more of the dull fuchsias and ferns and non-performing azaleas.  All this on a steep slope, muddy underfoot.  To add insult to injury, gusts shoved us spitefully like a school bully, while trees groaned beside us mimicking our own misery.

After a soothing lunch of soup, bread, cheese and chat, I was refreshed and refuelled and ready to continue the fight.  Then the kamikaze scaffolders arrived to take down the scaffolding and a car was in the way.  So when MD said “The car has to be moved, shall we go to Marwood to see what they’ve got in the Plant Centre?” I was buckled into the car before minds could be changed.  So I was back at Marwood again, twice in one week!  We met the lovely Marwood gang, drank coffee in the inner sanctum, cuddled a lurcher puppy, bought bergenia, veronica, hellebores and cleyera and admired the greenhouse camellias.  Some of these camellias will be exhibited this weekend at the Early Camellia Show at RHS Rosemoor, surely this virginal white, gold bossed “Coronation” is a contender?  Now what’s that other saying?  Oh yes “third time lucky”!

Lord Mantle certainly knows how to pack a trailer.  This task was project managed with precision. His Lordship instructed and I followed.  LM was officer in charge of collecting the raw material, delivering to site, presenting to myself, pointing and saying “chop there”.  Naturally I excelled as chief chopper.  My duties entailed chopping when and where I was told to (generally). Any unruliness is solely down to later additions, made when he foolishly left me unattended whilst making scrambled eggs on toast for lunch.  I would imagine that it is once again in alphabetical order.

ps Lunch was lush!