After a balmy day at The Prof’s yesterday, scoffing at the Met Office weather warning, I awoke to quite a different morning. Snow! And, although not serious enough to send in the St Bernards, it was severe enough to halt any outdoor adventures for the day and for masoor dhal to be made. I’m not sure these things go together in other peoples’ worlds, but they do in mine. Inclement weather equals cooking curry. Sometimes bread but mainly curry.
I did venture into the garden to take a couple of pictures and check on the greenhouse. However old I get, and I am getting on a bit, I am always charmed by a gleaming, fresh snowfall. It is the “after ” bit that does not impress me; the slush, the sodden earth, the crumpled plants that had stuck their head above the parapet in a bid for spring and have been found to be a little premature. As it is March, I don’t think we can judge this enthusiasm too harshly.
There are, however, those who are in the right place at the right time. The Tete a Tete’s are nonchalant and the violas not bothered in the slightest, but I was particularly impressed by the oblivious crocus flowers.
Are we there yet? It seems not quite. It has turned cold again, with threat of frosts and attendant late afternoon greenhouse swaddling. Of course this is how it should be. It is February and even the most season-swindling of us all must admit that, any way you look at it, it is still winter. I hold my hands up, I am as guilty as the worst of wishing my days away, dreaming of spring. Winter can be good too (I tell myself). It can (I tell myself, again). I cannot promise wall to wall winter on cat herder Jim’s site, which is where the other SoSers hang out, some are just contemplating autumn, but I can assure you there will be garden joy. Shall we make merry?
We have been very lucky to have had two visits from Torrington Tina in as many months. This time she brought another present and the adorable Milly dog with her, a gift in herself. The “It is what it is” sign has not found its final place in the garden yet, it may move around forever, however the mood takes me. I love it. Oh, and there are also a few seasonal things doing their seasonal thing.
Next we have part of my Dust to Dust art installation. This is the remains of a frost shattered, elephant pot foot, slowly being laminated by the weather and engulfed by Achillea ‘Cerise Queen’. This achillea is definitely an empire building monarch, a little culling will be in order before the new season gets going. She will have to learn to play nicely.
I am not a galanthophile, neither am I a galanthophobe. I am, however, a covetous kinda gal and when I saw everyones’ recent snowdrop acquisitions I wanted a piece of the action. On a recent rest stop, breaking up a long journey Cornwall bound, which coincidently happened to be at a garden centre, I picked up Galanthus elwesii ‘Beluga’. I am very fond of whales.
Unless you are here under the misapprehension that this is an abseiling site, I am presuming that most of you are gardeners of some persuasion. This being the case, I am quite sure you will understand the concept of wondering if you actually did plant the daffodils (admittedly rather late) and appreciate the moment that the compost begins to crack open and reignite the faith that indeed something lurks beneath.
The violas have done rather well this year, they haven’t had their usual flowering hiatus, which lasts from a week after planting until a week before the bedding needs to go in. This year I poked a mixed bag of crocus amongst them. The result, although a little ragged, has made me very happy.
Finally, another new member of the clan. This is Rhododendron ‘Graziella’, spotted on a leg-stretching wander around the above mentioned garden centre. I was particularly attracted to the foliage and flower buds and when a gallant young (at heart) gentleman offered to buy it for me, well, it would have been rude to decline.
That is your lot for this week. Stay well and be happy, ’til next time.
Last week we had a condensed-family holiday in Cornwall. Unfortunately, The Cloggies couldn’t make it and they were missed. In spite of this, it was a wonderful few days away.
There were hypnotic sea views and brave/foolish surfers to entertain us. There was frosty sand and nurturing sunshine. There were fish and chips. There was a 1,000 piece jigsaw and a scarily giant jenga. There were beach walks and town wanders. There was a floorboard-sliding grandma and a chair-crumbling niece-in-law (baby due early April), both events executed with elegance and luckily quite safety. There were full moons and sunset skies. There was a rock pool paddling Maggie dog and a cliff climbing fox. There were slightly dubious magic tricks and a secret pool room. There were, of course, pasties and also a wonderfully bizarre tapas restaurant. There was chat and banter and laughter.
Today’s SoS photos are not what I would like them to be. Firstly, I was going to show you the results of my gardening efforts. Secondly, all shots were to be in focus. What demon thwarted my good intentions, who was my nemesis? Mizzle, that’s what. The grand scheme was to spend the morning potting up and planting out a few new purchases and them show them off with a dramatic waft of my hand. The reality is that I dashed out into the gloom, swiftly snapped some under par pictures and then dashed back in again. I’m going soft in my middle age. Still, I’ve showed up to the party and, although not dressed in my finest attire, I’m determined to make the best of it. Gentleman Jim over at Garden Ruminations will, I’m sure, have been less of a wimp than I, along with the other SoSers that frequent his site on a Saturday. Excuses over with, let us proceed.
First, an unidentified cyclamen in a pot. There seem to be an increasing amount of plants in the garden that are “unidentified”. Is this kicking against the machine, an accelerated sense of apathy or the fact they were unnamed when they first arrived? To be honest, I am not sure.
A trip out to the garden centre with a certain Professor resulted in me buying two camellia and an azalea all for £10. They are unnamed. Here we go again. One of today’s jobs was to pot them up. Use your imagination.
I’ve always wanted to grow Eranthis hyemalis, winter aconites. I found a posh pot in a posh supermarket and was unable to resist such poshdom. They are soon to be planted under the pear tree. It is on the list.
This little viola took things into its own hands and sowed itself into the pot of Camellia ‘Lady Campbell’. Her Ladyship seems reluctant to flower this year; it is as well someone is making an effort.
Next we have a euphorbia seedling donated by The Prof, well I’m pretty sure he donated it. As you can see, a blurry little friend is nestled in the dusky foliage, attempting to blend in. Back to camouflage school for you, young fella! I’m afraid he will be easy pickings for our resident robin.
Just the other day I was singing the praises of Photinia ‘Pink Marbles’ to the marvellous Mrs Bun. All summer it was swamped by salvia and dahlia alike. Is it bothered? Not in the slightest. It deserves more love and a better position. The list is getting longer.
All done for another week. The beginning is in sight. ‘Til next time, keep the faith.
Yesterday was my first day back to work after my annual winter sabbatical*. After the daunting reality of an unaccustomed early start, the shock to my system was minimal. The Prof and I’s first job was to visit a garden centre, a splendid way to begin my gardening year. There was also lots of coffee, some chat, a hot pasty and I sowed some sweet peas. All, once more, was well with the world.
Today, on my second day, the sun shone and I remembered all the good things about being a gardener. And there were donkeys. I mean, seriously, it would be hard to beat that.
* Mainly spent finishing off the Christmas chocolate and gin.
We have reached the last SoS in January and, at the risk of wishing my life away, I’m not sorry to see February on the horizon. We’ve still a long way to go before balmy days but I am feeling horticulturally positive this week, as if we have turned a corner. There is no rhyme or reason for this lifting of spirits, except perhaps the arrival of a flurry of long tailed tits into the garden. If you would like to delve deeper into the Cult of the Sixonsaturdayers then our curator, Jim will show you the light. Be careful though, don’t step too close to the flame or you will be trapped for ever, like the rest of us moths. Shall we shake a leg?
First we have a sarcococca, species unknown to me, which is a seedling from Mr and Mrs Bun’s old house in North Devon. After last week’s SoS, when Hortus B mentioned these fragrant winter flowerers enjoy dry shade, I realised I had just the place for it, under the pear tree. Which is exactly where is now is. Still in its pot, but we have progress.
On Thursday I emptied the compost bin, sorted through the contents and spread all that passed the strict criteria onto the borders. The bin was packed with brandling worms, always a joyful sign, and I dashed about rescuing all those that escaped and returning them to the dark comfort of their home. The blackbirds have been having fun, throwing the composting into the air like confetti, searching for those I missed.
I bought my garlic late and I planted it even later, it is Thermidrone. I have heard that it needs cold temperatures to enable it to split into separate cloves. It has certainly had that. Generally I am disappointed by my garlic growing, but each year I remain optimistic with a hint of the inevitable.
I sowed this lamb’s lettuce, also known as corn salad, in the autumn. It was slow to germinate but has admirably shrugged off the cold. I haven’t harvested any yet, except the odd passing nibble, which was delicious.
OH loves his aspidestra. In our former (much bigger) house they were everywhere. As we don’t have room inside, after giving lots away, the rest have had to take their chances in the wild. Not a quiver.
A few weeks ago we were delighted to be visited by none other than Torrington Tina. She ate a whole layer of our tin of Christmas biscuits. We didn’t mind because she is such good company and also brought this wonderful Echeveria lilicina as a gift. Lovely.
Deluge, freeze, deluge, freeze, deluge, freeze: what an interesting winter we are having. For the last couple of weeks it has been a mainly monochrome affair, dank and dreary, but the recent frosts have been accompanied by blue skies. Unfortunately, the sun barely touches down in our garden at the moment, just a tantalising glance which will lengthen slowly. Looking up is the best solution to the gloom. Pop over to our Memester Jim’s website to see what the rest of the SoS gang are up to, you won’t be disappointed.
First we have rimy cyclamen leaves; same old, same old. To be honest, I’m over the pretty frost now. Unfortunately, I have no say on the weather, so I am going to have to be a brave little soldier.
Has anyone seen the film Rumblefish? It is all in black and white except for the titular fish which are in full colour. This bow-headed viola reminded me of the Siamese Fighting Fish that add a little zing in an otherwise dull world.
Our dragon, blessed by the feeding birds, is guarding the pots of snowdrop, just about to spread their glorious petals. Maybe by next week.
In March I am attending a photography day course. The title is Abstract Photography. I do not know what to expect, but this picture of fleece and greenhouse might well fit the bill.
It is nearing the time when I must seriously think about cutting back and tidying the mush that makes up most of the garden. This Verbena bonariensis flower head, or is it now a seed head?, has neither succumbed to wet or cold. It can stay a while longer.
Finally, a little bit of hope on the horizon. Our kernal-grown peach tree, the one that tempted us with a twin fruitlet last year only to cruelly break out hearts, is forming some lovely plump buds. Cinnamon stems, cerulean sky, ivory buds, I’d call that technicolour.
That is your lot. Stay warm, wet, dry, whichever is appropriate. But always stay cool.
It would be easy for me to dismiss 2022 with a dismissive brush of the hand and no turn of the head. For many this has been a challenging year and when this new one comes along we are all hopeful for change. However, I have a niggling fear, somewhere just left of my spleen, that it could get worse. 2023 could make us wish for the relatively happy days of 2022. We must be very careful. Love the one you’re with, better the devil you know, the grass is not always greener on the other side, that sort of thing. Perhaps my resolution should be to live more in the moment and worry less. I’m definitely going to try. If you wish to peruse other SoSer’s end of year gardens, then pop over to Garden Ruminations and peruse away. Let’s go!
Who is this shining their bright light amongst the dead and dying? It is the white scabious, the one that knows no fear, the one that appeared as if by magic, the one that cocks a snook at winter and its weapons. Be more scabious.
Onto the poor dear Tibouchina urvilleana, caught out in the cold and frozen on the brink of glory. This time I doubt it will recover. I am a murderer.
Whilst on some non-gardening outdoor mission, perhaps feeding the piranhas (as I have come to know the local sparrow population), I noticed that the Iris reticulata were coming up. As I picked up the pot it fell into two parts. Determined not to have to deal with emergent bulbs in need of a new home, and aware that the hungry hoards were ominously gathering, I quickly tied some string around it. “Return to implement a more permanent solution” was added to the itinerary. This item is yet to be crossed off. Invisible mending a speciality.
The Ribes sanguineum ‘King Edward’ has steadfastly refused to let go of his few remaining leaves, even though we have had, as our insurance company quoted “storm force winds”. I will not go there. My fingers are in my ears and I am chanting “the roof is not leaking, the roof is not leaking” until 2023 sorts it all out.
The frosts bowed these broad beans to the ground and I wondered at my sense in early sowing. They have popped back up like weebles. Whether or not the flowers are still viable, or indeed if anyone is in town to pollinate them, is another matter.
Finally, the Pyrus ‘Chanticleer’ has eventually dropped its full load onto the garden, and perhaps a little onto the plastic grass next door. I raked up the majority from the lawn and bagged them. The rest are waiting for worm and weather to do their magic. Delegation. The beautiful Helleborus x hybridus ‘Anna’s Red’ rises from the golden leaves, it is nearly her time.
That is your lot. Another year complete. Our SoS community has had some changes but remains as supportive and informative as always. Happy New Year my friends, I wish us all good things and for us all to do good things. I’m going to try my best.
I’ve always wanted a donkey, or perhaps two. They are gentle and funny, with a smidgeon of stubbornness and exemplary ears. Fine attributes, indeed. However, it is highly unlikely I will ever get one to called my own, or Derek, or even Desdemona. I haven’t been a terribly good girl this year and, to avoid disappointment, I didn’t bother to include one (or even two) on my list to FC. I am resigned to the fact that this little felt tree decoration is the closest I’m going to get to a real Donkey friend. Which is probably for the best and is definitely enough.
Happy Christmas to you all, I hope you have your best time and enough but not too much. Sending love across the miles.
It is going to be tricky to feature anything in this Six on Saturday that does not resemble over-cooked cabbage. The ground has not thawed since last week, I am sure I am not alone, and I am resigned to having lost a fair few of my vulnerable plants. This is what happens if you push your luck, sometimes it runs out. As us gardeners know, a lost plant is a shopping opportunity. A man who advocates this very ideology is our shepherd Camellia Jim. It is as well to listen to those who know.
The bed of anarchy has had any thoughts of revolution knocked out of it. I am confident that it will rise again, with a few new members to boost the brigade.
Onto a lone bud of Rosa ‘John Ystumllyn’, frozen in time. I do not fear for the roses, they are both beautiful and resilient. Now that is something to aim for. Perhaps in my next life.
Rudbeckia ‘Irish Eyes’ is an annual which was destined for the compost bin. The petals have held their colour unlike any other in the garden. These, along with their diamante central bosses, make them eerily attractive.
Nerine bowdenii ‘Bicolor’ has been trapped at this very same point for the past week and a half. I wonder if it will ever open. The weather is due to warm slightly from today onwards, so maybe it will wait til Christmas morning. Romantic, me? Never!
This Polypodium cambricum flops hysterically at every frost and rises, Lazarus like, with the warmth of the sun. I’ve got your number, mate!
Finally Coprosma repens ‘Pacific Sunset’, rimy with frost and still standing. So far anyway.
That is your lot. Hope all is well in the rest of SoS-land. Til next time.
Off The Edge Gardening 