I can’t remember if this is the seed head of a zephyranthes or a habranthus. It doesn’t really matter though, my point is still the same. Seeds are lush.*
*Translation for those of you not familiar with the terminology of the west of England, lush means mighty fine.
When this photo was taken, one swallow really did make a summer. The month was June, the location the Farm, and he sat defiant on an overhead cable, surveying the scene. I wonder where this swallow is now? Did he make the journey safely back to South Africa? At this very moment is he thinking about travelling north again, flexing his wings and packing on the pounds? He may even be on his way as some may arrive as early as March. It takes six weeks to complete the epic 6,000 mile journey, driven on by unremitting instinct. Unlike many migrant species they fly throughout the day. At night they rest in huge flocks, a prime example of safety in numbers. Whilst here they breed, often reusing the mud and vegetation nests they make in barns or other buildings. They can have two or three broods, each of between 3 and 8 eggs. If you are very lucky you might spot a parent feeding their young on the wing. What an incredible world we live in.
While we are on the subject of rain …… This photo was taken in July. I wonder why I haven’t used it before. Perhaps I have and can’t remember, highly possible. If so I apologise, but I think it might deserve a repeat. It is a callistemon, an Australian bottlebrush, and it lives in a pot on the patio. Patio sounds rather over-grand, I wouldn’t want you to get the wrong idea; it abides on the 3m x 2m paved yard outside the back door. Here it shares the space with a couple of Acer palmatum, a sophora, a blueberry, a liquidambar, an oleander, a peach tree and a brugmansia. Tardis technology. Steep brick steps lead up from here to the rest of the bijou garden. I fell down those steps once and now find them terrifying, but don’t tell anyone, especially not me as it might mean I do even less work up there. This wonderful shrub was another of those, buy now, explain later purchases. But it was greeted with approval and is now a permanent resident. The picture reminds me of one of the carnivorous sundews, with their sticky insect catching droplets. Callistemons however are strictly vegetarian and, luckily for me and its good health, prefer a moist environment.
This is the last week of my sabbatical and still the rain falls. I am hoping that it gets all this nonsense out of its system before next week.
There are a lot of tedious things about rain. These include, but are not confined to, the following:
It makes you wet,
It makes the soil wet,
It makes your sandwiches wet.
You must admit, however, that it does add a little something to a photograph. This lily, the colour of warmth, is bejewelled by raindrops. Beautiful before the downpour, enhanced afterwards.
I found it in the garden today and I hadn’t realised that it was lost.
It has been a forever twilight day, dank and uninviting. With feet dragging slightly and a lope of indifference, I went outside to do some necessary work, it was duty rather than desire. Within minutes it came over me, that old feeling. The one that sends us out into the garden in night-clothes and wellies before breakfast , the one that keeps us there until a head torch is necessary. And with this rediscovery came the thrill, the joy, the comfort.
This is dangerous, I thought, with a secret grin. This is great.
Marwood Hill Gardens in April. A photograph of camassia. Who is that I spy hovering in between the blooms? Zoom in to find this little fella. This is not the first time I have re-examined shots and found more than I first imagined. This is a good thing. The picture that just keeps giving.
This photo was taken last January in Spotty Dotty’s garden. The emerging hellebore has been caught by frost, its back crystalline with cold. But these are tough customers and it shrugged it off in the lukewarm winter sunshine. In the weeks that followed we enjoyed a plethora of double white flowers, which later freely seeded under its petticoats. Another lovely memory.
Today I have been working hard an article that I am writing about Broomhill Sculpture Gardens for Devon Life magazine. Whilst sorting through the photos I found this picture of a favourite of mine. I’m afraid I can’t tell you who it is by or what it is called. I can tell you that it is made from old road signs, is shaped like a cast off crinoline and decorated with flowers. Some of these blooms are draped in lichen, an addition made not by the artist but by Mother Nature. I wonder if whoever fashioned this work envisaged this soft green addition to their metallic masterpiece.
You could be forgiven for thinking that I had painted the thin cerise lines down each side of this phormium’s gloriously strappy leaves. Then you would remember that if I had attempted the job it wouldn’t be half as neat, so beautifully applied, so perfectly framing the stripes of green and cream. This plant was given to me by a lady in Bristol who had grown it from seed and I often wonder if the other seedling grew up to be so fine. Then it was barely out of nappies, now it has grown into a stunning specimen. For all this, I must admit that I rarely look at it for most of the year. This is in part due to chronic ostrich-itis; it is desperate for re-potting and rather than spend 15 minutes doing just that I would rather spend six months averting my eyes. But it is for the main because it is now, in the depths of winter, that it really comes into its own.
It is always the same. I start a task with great gusto and then gradually the enthusiasm fades. What makes this far worse is that I shout about all the wonderful things I am going to do and then I have to confess that I was distracted. So here goes, the Great Photo Archive Project has slipped behind schedule. In truth there wasn’t actually a schedule so in that respect I am blameless. Perhaps I am being a little soft on myself. I did say I was going to finish it before I go back to gardening in February. This milestone has stopped creeping up on me and now broken into a gallop. A little discipline is needed, it is time to knuckle down and have another look at what went before. With only a slight sigh, and an unnatural urge to clean the oven, I have worked my way through another few files. Which was quite lucky as on my travails I have found another photo for you to enjoy. This is Hoya carnosa, the porcelainflower, belonging to the lovely Lavinia and Lionel. Even little old me, with my dreadful sense of smell, was intoxicated with the heady scent that filled their conservatory when these nectar dripping flowers were blooming. What is more Lav gave me a cutting so I could share the joy. Lucky, lucky me!
Off The Edge Gardening