If there was a Desert Island Discs for trees (unlikely) and I was ever invited to be a guest on the programme (the odds are lengthening now) the crab apple would definitely be one of my chosen. Unbeatable blossom, fruit that is both beautiful and delicious (with a little culinary assistance), fine autumn colour and friend to the wildlife. Ask me a tricky one!
Taking up the mantle of your horticultural physician, and in an attempt to cure your January Blues, I prescribe one Caltha palustris to be admired three times a day. This should be repeated until the symptoms disappear. Then once more for luck, you can never be too careful with maladies of such fortitude.
A click here and a click there and suddenly it is June and and the rodgersias are flowering!
Forgive me, today’s dip into the archive is singularly lacking in pretty flowers. In my defence I was gardening when I took this picture, no doubt doing some of my “deep thinking” whilst gazing Wales-ward on this bright October day. I spotted Peter, an elegant and intriguing gentleman who lives in the lime washed cottage by the sea wall, rowing out to sea in his ancient clinker built row-boat. In years past this was a bustling harbour and tourists were brought around the coast from nearby Ilfracombe, by men with salt water in their veins. Here they would enjoy the many tea rooms, the view and a paddle until they were returned at the end of the day. There are not many boats in the bay nowadays, ubiquitous kayaks and the odd annoying jet-ski, but few true boats. Peter would not have looked out-of-place in the roaring 1930’s, dapper in his whites and Panama hat. Unaware he was being observed, using the strong easy strokes of someone who has rowed for fifty years, he headed purposefully to nowhere in particular. His joy was being on the water in his trusty vessel, embraced by the sea. I was envious then and, looking at this photo again, I am envious once more.
This Symphyotrichum novae-angliae ‘Andenken an Alma Potschke’ breaks several of my self-imposed rules of acquisition. In fact it not only breaks them, it grinds them into the dust with the heel of its steel tipped cowboy boot. This list (in no particular order and compiled after much soul-searching) includes but is not confined to the following:
I will never ever acquire a plant
I can’t even stick to my own rules, there really is no hope. She is rather pretty though, don’t you think?
This coral poppy is poised for action, perfect in its potential.
I clearly remember taking this photograph. It was the day after my birthday and the sloping meadow above the greenhouse at Cliffe was aflutter with these little blue butterflies, edged in silver. It was quite heavenly. The memory keeps me warm on a dreary day such as today.
As befits my disorderly personality, I am not undertaking The Great Photo Archiving Project in a methodical manner. I am closing my eyes and picking a file at random to cull and label. Far more exciting.
I took this picture of an auricula in September 2014 at one of my favourite haunts, the alpine house at RHS Rosemoor. This photo certainly has its failings. The leading lady is not well centred, a spent flower mars its immaculate beauty whilst a perfect bloom has been cropped at the bottom. What may well be an out of focus corydalis is suspended in the top left corner. I could pretend these faults were all intentional, that I had spent a long time setting up the shot to tell a story. That the haze of blue provided both enigma and texture, the shrivelled flower symbolised the ephemeral nature of the world and the skewy shot was to illustrate that there is no need to be centre stage to make an impact in life. I doubt I could get it past you though. Yes, it was a hurried snap. Yet again I was over-whelmed by my enthusiasm for the plant to the detriment of the picture. But I quite like it. Perfection is so boring.
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Zauschneria californica, another one of those names that needs a long run up. Actually I wouldn’t recommend attempting it without the use of a safety harness. Perhaps we will be safer using its common name and you can choose from either the California or the Hummingbird fuchsia. To be honest this plant is not very popular with me, we have history. When I saw this photo again I couldn’t for a moment put a name to this exotic bloom. When I eventually remembered, it sent a shiver up my spine. How could I forget the many unhappy hours I have spent digging this character out of borders and tearing it out of walls before it had the chance to flower? The truth is that I was so intent on disliking it for its thuggish behaviour that didn’t see its beauty. Really, these lessons learnt in retrospect are very demeaning.
The one line that is guaranteed to put fear into the souls of my illustrious clients is “I have had an idea”. After the initial knee-jerk gasp of horror, one of the following occurs a) they change the subject, b) run for cover or c) start crying. It is true that these plans often involve mud, sweat and more mud, and perhaps the odd tear. Mostly mud though. I am not sure what all the fuss is about, it usually works out in the end. “It is the journey” I tell them “not the destination”. This doesn’t seem to help.
So you will be pleased to know that today I have had an idea that involves no mess whatsoever. One of the self-imposed tasks for this month is to catalogue my photographs*. So to take full advantage of this monumental mission I will, as chaos becomes order, post photos from this confusion of shots. These pictures will undoubtedly be accompanied by some random musings and words of obscurity.
This photo is not from the archives, it was taken earlier in the week at The Farm. It was about 3.30pm and the sky was already beginning to darken and a faint blush was appearing on the horizon. The spent umbellifer heads formed a fine silhouette against the faintly clouded sky.
This picture has not been labelled and its fellows, the ones that do not come up to the mark and are destined for the bin, have not been deleted. I will start tomorrow. Honest. Unless I get a better offer.
* Label the good ones, delete the embarrassing ones.
Off The Edge Gardening