Off The Edge Gardening

Yes, I’m afraid it has happened again.  I am not proud.  It was not mine to eat.  You must understand that this golden raspberry was so alluring and I am so weak.  Delicious, in case you wondered.

My new boots arrived today.   I love them.  Good boots are an integral part of the gardener’s kit.  They increase the Happiness Factor tenfold.  These will see me safely through the winter and beyond.  They will keep my feet warm and dry.  They will protect my toes from errant forks and soles safe from stray nails.  The only problem is they are too shiny.  Tomorrow I will be working on rectifying this.

Although a little chilly, these dewy mornings can be very beautiful.

a)  I left them for Lavinia and Lionel to enjoy when they returned from their latest exploits, hiking across The Empty Quarter,

b)  I picked them and made them into a very small pot of jam,

c)  My little brother ate them,

d)  The blackbirds ate them,

e)  I ate them.

 

We have been horticultural archaeologists at The Farm today.  There is a forgotten area just below the (soon to be) vegetable garden.   An area whispered of in the dark corners of hostelries and scribbled in ancient tomes.  The void on the map.  The Badlands.  Dry stone walls with half buried door and window, the wooden lintels still holding firm, back and side this green enigma.  In amongst the mass of self-seeded hebe and goat willow emerge flower spikes of zantedeschia and typhus, suggesting watery feet.  Beneath the raft of vegetation lay a series of ponds and pipes, interlinked and redundant.   We had heard tales of water gardens and fireworks, others spoke of pathetic puddles and duckweed.  The truth is somewhere in between.

It began, as these things often do, with another of Mrs G’s understatements.  “Did you have anything in mind for today?  Thought you and Slasher might clear the pond area.”  Before long SS was on duty attacking the big stuff (trees/shrubs), tool of choice pick axe.  I was on small stuff (ferns/couch grass/ivy/being bossy), using my natty little hand hoe and border fork.  Things were helped somewhat by a few rousing choruses of I Need a Hero.  Obviously that was just me.  The concrete lined ponds were little more than silt and sludge, chocked with desperate aquatics and divided by slate bridges.  Our investigations of the periphery found more rock than soil, boulders that the sneaky intruders had wound around, in between and underneath.  Small specimens were tricky to extricate, the larger ones challenging.  Slasher was so annoyed at one point he may have said “flip”.  I believe his darkest moment was when clearing the steps up past the jaunty potting shed.  We may need some more heavy duty equipment to remove the tree seedling lodged beneath the top step.  Let us just say that this project is work in progress.

After late sowing, bunny munchings, slug gussling, diversions and distractions, this marigold is finally flowering.  Full marks for perseverance.  It was worth the effort, it was worth the wait.

If I had to pick a song to represent today it would be Indian Summertime and the Living is Easy.  True, it doesn’t scan as well as the original, but it sits just perfectly with me.

After my recent debauched weekend, today I was back at the coal face.  How I suffered in the cosseting rays of the benign autumn sun.   With unremitting bravery I bore the hardships of garden gossip, planning the year ahead, collecting seed of aubergine hollyhocks, planting out hesperantha and gaura, shuffling out-of-place cistus and lobelia.  Then, to add insult to injury, I was expected to partake in freshly baked tea loaf smothered in creamy butter.  To be honest, if there was a medal for bravery in the face of great horticultural adversity, I deserve one.

What can I say? It was a wonderful weekend away from The Shire.  I am still recovering.  For this reason words are in short supply.  A precis of my adventures using photographs to illustrate each event will follow.

With Hero I shopped.  This delphinium was admired but passed by in favour of the ever-shifting sales area.

At Cannington Kate’s I collected seed from a lost label helenium, the colour of cinder toffee.

At the show we admired orderly exhibits,

curious creatures,

and glorious gladdies.

The morning after, in the not-so-early sunshine, myself and Hero wandered Mrs S’s dew-dipped garden in our PJ’s.

And with the Malvern Maid, well ……..

…… well with the Malvern Maid, I sipped champagne and we raised our glasses to friendship and flowers.  We were later joined by Mrs S and Hero who were similarly led astray, they didn’t need much persuasion!