Off The Edge Gardening

There are hydrangeas and there are hydrangeas!

Today Lionel asked me what I thought about when I was weeding.  This made me stop to think. In fact there may even have been one of those awkward silences.  Unusual.  A gap in the conversation doesn’t often happen when I am in the room.  It was a fair question, what do I think about when I am weeding. The weeds? The meaning of the universe?  The shopping list?  How to spend the £1 million Premium Bond win which will be waiting for me at home?   In truth I can’t remember thinking about anything much, except perhaps “surely not another bit of couch grass”.  We then spoke about meditation and I wondered if this intense working of the soil is in fact a form of that ancient discipline.  A time when the muddled brain has a chance to realign.  There have been many mysteries solved and problems resolved whilst weeding.

These Mountain Ash berries were providing an early feast for Mr Blackbird.  Better appreciate their tangerine beauty whilst we can.

All things come to those who wait.

You have got to admire this little lobelia, its pretty powder blue flower boldly growing through the mottled pink ajuga.

On the reverse of this lovely yellow pompom dahlia there is ….. another lovely yellow pompom dahlia.  This is most likely a case of fasciation, a curious phenomena which causes elongation and distortion of stems and flowers.  This anomaly could be caused by a genetic mutation, hormonal imbalance or even an infection, it is difficult to pinpoint.  I have never seen it take this form before, but as a mere beginner in the vagaries of the world this means little.   However, it would be remiss for me not to mention some suspicions I have had for a while.  There have been some strange goings on at The du Mauriers.  The odd muffled explosion from behind locked basement doors,  a fluorescent glow emanating from the greenhouse, regular deliveries from Boffins-r-Us, matching neck bolts; it might all be a coincidence but ……….

It is blue and it is a berry. It won’t be long before it is no longer a berry or blue.

One of the hardest of tasks for many gardeners is to remove perfectly healthy plants.  By their nature they are nurturing souls, sensitive to a fault and to destroy is not in their nature.  It doesn’t matter that the plant in question is in the wrong place, a horrendous colour, swamping everything else, just darned ugly, it is sacred.  Don’t tell me you fell for that nonsense?  We love nothing better than to pull trees up with our bare hands or perhaps rip them out with our teeth on a particularly wearing day.  All just for fun.  The truth is somewhere in the middle of these two extremes.  Sometimes tough decisions have to be made, especially where space is limited.  Take the point in question.  We have a tiny garden.  These crocosmeia are very pretty.  However they are not pretty enough, there are other more attractive prospects waiting in the wings.  They hold no emotional ties as they were here when we arrived.  And they are too invasive by far.  They are doomed.  When I gather the strength and the inclination, they will be dug out.  As anyone who has tried to remove these South African corms before, that will not be as easy as it sounds.  Next year I will probably be writing a parallel post.

Above is one of the new borders created this year at The Farm.  It is a large triangle situated at the entrance, the “hello look how wonderful and exciting we are” spot.  Up until last autumn it contained a half dead tree of unknown identity, a manky palm and the obligatory mophead hydrangea. All were removed; pronto, forthwith, without delay. The ground was dug over, various bits of bailer twine and agricultural ephemera removed and spent mushroom compost dug in. From the moment the first replacement plant went in there has been an ongoing battle raging between us (the goodies) against the twin evil nations of the Zombie Rabbits and Hell’s Chickens (the baddies).  Each week I return to this spot and pick up the plants they have scraped out of the ground and left to die or the shredded leaves they can’t be bothered to eat but have caused the demise of the young specimen.  My shoulders drop a little, a few tears drop, then I mobilise the backups (cannon fodder) and we start all over again.  So, at the risk of tempting that darned harpy Fate, I would just like to say that all things considered, it is looking pretty good at the moment, perhaps we are winning.  All this has been done incredibly cheaply growing from seed, using plug plants bulked up in the greenhouse and other such bargains. There you are, I have blown my own trumpet. Upwards and onwards!