Off The Edge Gardening

I am generally a little sniffy about TV garden makeovers.  To me instant gardening is the antithesis of what it is all about, in fact it may very well be one of those oxymorons.  In fact I would go as far as to say that the words “instant” and “gardening” should never appear the same sentence.  “Unrushed”, “considered”, “evolving”, “organic”, any of those adverbs would be much more to my liking.  However sometimes needs must.

The other day Mrs G casually dropped into conversation the following nugget:

“Did I tell you about the wedding party that is arriving at the weekend? They are getting married at Rosemoor then coming back here for the reception, their marquee is going to be right in front of that long border.  Do you think you could tidy it up a bit?”

I replied:

“Do you mean the border that has been ignored for the whole season as we were going to completely blitz it and redo it over the winter months?  And do you mean RHS Rosemoor, the Royal Horticultural Society’s flagship for the south-west that is looking particularly splendid at the moment and where we will obviously be compared with?  And do you mean NEXT WEEK!!!!”

“Yes, yes and yes.”

“OK.”

So myself and Slasher Sean cleared entrenched weeds, removed rogue trees, dug out invasive grasses, disguised broken bits, robbed from other parts of the farm and planted new specimens, before finally mulching with some luscious woodchip.  In keeping with tradition we did a big reveal to Mr and Mrs G who I think were quite happy, although when they see the gaps on the rest of the site I am not sure they will be (only joking!) (or am I?).

The result of this challenge is that SS and I are thinking of a pitching a new TV programme to the BBC called Farm Force.  It will have a similar format to other such programmes but we will bring a pig and a chicken with us.  What do you think?  It could work!

Mr G gathers in the squash harvest.  Luckily there was just one of these mammoth fruit to transport to the barn for storage.  Pumpkin pie anyone?

I do work, honestly I do.  In fact I was working this very morning.  OK, so it was at Lord and Lady Mantle’s garden on Exmoor, driving across the North Devon countryside in the morning sunshine was a joy.  It also wasn’t exactly a chore working in their blossoming garden, everything we have planted in the last few months is thriving.  They had completed their homework, including persuading innocent family members to move ginormous rocks to help stabilise the border above the pond.  Both received A* for their efforts.  Then, after a hasty sandwich (made with his Lordship’s homemade bread) I whizzed off to meet the Mr and Mrs Potts at Marwood Hill Garden.  We had a wonderful afternoon exploring and exclaiming, rummaging in the shrubbery, discovering new treasures and at every turn saying “that is my favourite hydrangea, no this is my favourite hydrangea”.  We left wanting more, but time had ran out and the Plant Centre was closing ……….

Something bizarre is happening in this neck of the woods, something we haven’t seen since 1865.  This strange phenomenon is called unrelenting sunshine.  We had a preview yesterday.  I celebrated by working in my own garden (I’ll just do an hour, what tea time already?).  Today was more of the same.  The autumn sun was tepid at best, not armed with potential of a Costa del Devon tan, but was absolutely perfect working weather.  I was very happy about this as working (and obviously extremely hard) is exactly what I was doing.  The gentle warmth filled me with energy and enthusiasm, desperate to appreciate every clement day until the el Nino winter hits.   However it is only Monday, to be cruelly realistic by Wednesday morning I may well be back to my usual slugdom.

We consulted the seagull innards for a sign and all was favourable.  So Hero hitched the oxen to the cart and we headed south, to the fabled southern lands, where the sophisticated folk abide, to meet with like-minded tribes from far afield.  We had heard a rumour that someone from as far as South Molton might be there.  The great event in question was an All Horts garden visit to Lewis Cottage, almost as far as the great metropolis, Exeter.  The reality was shocking.  Although we considered ourselves to be great adventurers, travelling so far without the aid of a sat nav*,  some intrepid souls had roamed far from the shire, from Summerzet, from Kernow, even from past Gloucester!  The award for champion milesmith went to Didcot Dave.  Respect; your certificate is in the post.

It had been suggested by SDG (organiser extraordinaire) to meet in a local hostelry for a small sweet sherry and a spam sandwich before the main event.  Although not accustomed to such establishments we bit the bullet and soon spotted the Horties.  We did our best to indulge in polite conversation.  An especially lovely treat was to meet my blogging pal Rusty Duck and her hubby, who were well ensconced when we arrived and we fell into easy conversation.  Suddenly SDG leapt up, told us he was off to meet anyone going direct to site and that we will find the garden 9 minutes away to the east.  We checked our handbags/bottom of shoes for compasses and found ourselves lacking.  I am afraid this will find all of us struck off the Scouting Proficiency List.  Mr Duck however seemed confident and that was good enough for us, the oxen were rested so we easily kept up with the frisky stallions of Torrington, heading in what we hoped to be an easterly direction.  Several miles, a celtic cross, one curious looking dog walker, no NGS signs later, we found the Cornish and Hartland crew by the side of the road, all looking at their phones.  Pulling up they confessed to being lost.  Myself and Mr D went to enquire from the friendly locals, and quickly reassessed the situation after reading the sign “do not enter the black dog WILL bite”. We decided that discretion was the better part of valour and 50m down the road Mr D (quickly becoming the saviour of the day) found the sign to the garden.  Apologies for lateness and we could begin ……

The garden was wonderful.  Boardwalks and ancient oaks, trees aplenty and cutting gardens, red and yellow and blue and most especially green, our hosts generous with time and energy, stories of people and plants, ducks and geese, ginkos, giant rudbeckias, variegated petasites, pumpkins, cloches, cleome, greyhounds and fire buckets.  There was proper fun and laughter, perhaps a little mischief.  Friendships were forged.  After some sumo wrestling with MM we all managed to go home with the plants we wanted  – Myself 2, Hero 4, MM 96.  There was cake in triplicate and quiche.  There were salmon sandwiches with the crusts were removed.  Did I mentioned the adorable dog and wild cats?  A great day.  But I think you had worked that one out.

ps  The photo is for MM

pps Go visit Lewis Cottage, you won’t be sorry.  Check out NGS website for details.

ppps  Such a lovely day, thank you to everyone for making it so good.

• We did actually have a sat nav, but someone had mislaid the sat nav lead.  As back up I had an OS map and a pair of spectacles.

 

After a morning attempting to oust some more of Lavinia’s disreputable friends, I went shopping.  I am not talking spuds or sausages.  I am talking proper shopping.  I am speaking of discount store purchasing!  We have a local general store which excels in the naff, their plant centre included.  Glittered heather, 1m high plastic gnomes, plastic flowers and, I am cringing as I type this, ornamental cabbages.  All these can be found in this cathedral to bad taste.   Far worse, they do not appear to care for their plants, I would even doubt whether they actually like them very much.  It was in this very same place that I overheard a discerning customer asking a member of staff if a certain specimen would do well close to her pond.  The reply was “Sorry, I don’t know anything about plants”.   I feel we need a dramatic pause to digest this comment.  It is a plant centre and you don’t know anything about plants!

Whether or not I should frequent this evil establishment is open to debate.  In my defence I must mention that it is here I have purchased Anisodontea capensis, Edgeworthia chrysantha and Rhodanthemum hosmariense, amongst other gems.  In amongst the dross there is always the potential of treasure just waiting to be discovered.  Tucked behind, or underneath, pushed to the side, looking a little thirsty.  This in itself is irresistable.  The thrill of the horticultural chase.  Today, amongst the vibrant displays of chrysanthemums I found an Acca sellowiana and a variegated Olearia traverii.  The sublime nestling amongst the ridiculous.

Working in several different gardens for a variety of characters poses many challenges.  “Where I am?”, is one of them.  “Who are you?”, is another.  However, one of the trickiest things has been remembering individuals’ tastes and preferences.  And there are a surprisingly varied range of these requirements; they are indeed a singular bunch.  Standing in the garden centre, like a rabbit in the headlights, I rack my brains trying to remember who likes what.   This matching has to be right, disappointment is not an option.  I  feel like the MD of a horticultural dating agency.  Was it Tracey who adores yellow flowers or did she say she can’t stand them?   Does Humphrey loathe grasses or desire the prairie way?  Did Cristabel say anything but roses or any roses?  The exception is Lavinia,  as far as I can see she loves them all, the more disreputable the better.  Except perhaps for dahlias, but I am sure she just hasn’t met the right one yet.  When we come to weeding and the hazy area of self-seeders it gets further complicated.   What is Morris’s take on aquilegias, thumbs up or down?  Would Felicity scream if she saw me removing this fern or cheer?  Would Desmond cringe as I carefully weeded around another foxglove.  It really is each to his own, and of course no one is right or wrong, the problem is I have so many “eaches” who are the proud owners of so many “owns” that I can’t keep up.  Writing it down would be one option, granted, but not quite so exciting.  Surely, however, no one could object to a self seeded verbascum? Surely?

This Parahebe catarractae was flowering well today at The Farm.  Coming originally from my own garden as a self-rooted runner, it was cut back hard to help it cope with the stress of being wrenched from its mothers arms.  Seems to have got over the trauma!