Off The Edge Gardening

Esteemed Client: “Remember that beautiful pink tree peony I told you about?”

Humble Gardener: “Yes, is it flowering yet?”

Esteemed Client: “It is, but this year it seems to be yellow”

Humble Gardener: “…………”

One Japanese primrose is incredible, a carpet of them is phenomenal.

Of course I had heard the stories, but I dismissed them as folklore.  Surely it couldn’t possibly be true, it was just idle gossip.  And then this week I saw one for myself, I rubbed my eyes in disbelief, it was in truth an immaculate hosta.  So apparently they really do exist, it was not just a tale our parents told us at night to send us on the fast train to dreamland, just as generations had done before them.  This dry spell has meant the tedium of trudging throughout the garden, arms stretching under the weight of watering cans.  However one great advantage to this mini-drought, notwithstanding the gardener’s mood enhancement, has been that our friends (obviously said with irony) the molluscs have not thrived, affording the emerging foliage a good head start.  Perhaps though we should remember this hole free moment, it is unlikely to last.

Blurry, blurry, very very blurry, its very blurry.  Tired, tired, very very tired, I’m very tired.

Back tomorrow with a larger selection of words.

Honesty, it really is the best policy.  Especially when they seed themselves so generously around the garden.

Today I have been digging.  I am not a great advocate of digging generally, but sometimes it is necessary, and this was one of those times.  Luckily I was ably assisted by a strong young man who showed an admirable interest in the soil.  We talked about its importance, how if you look after your soil it will look after you, how both historically and currently it is abused and polluted, how easy it is to enrich and renew, how we owe it to the world do just this.  We also had a “who could find the longest root of bindweed” competition.   I am far too cag-handed for this highly skilled undertaking, so am uncertain why I suggested it at all.  It was doomed to failure on my part.  My unerring competitive nature I suppose.  Unfortunately my measly attempts came in 4th and 5th behind the whippersnapper.  He could have been a little more discreet in his victory.  So after three hours I left him to it and went home to have a well earned siesta.  Hope he managed without me!

In theory these pretty-in-pink bellis are weeds.  They weren’t planted amongst the aubretia, they were never an integral part of some clever or imginative scheme, they purely seeded themselves in this appropriate spot, arriving without announcement.  However, as they make such an enchanting combination, in this instance we will refer to it as “spontaneous gardening”.

“You are my sunshine, my only sunshine
You make me happy when skies are grey
You never know, dear, how much I love you
Please don’t take my sunshine away”

Yesterday was a day of poor decision-making, dismal actually.  The first error came early, when I  thought a supermarket sandwich would be a treat, it wasn’t.  When I needed some sustenance it let me down badly, I think it was salami and cheese although this is not certain. It was everything a sandwich shouldn’t be – limp, tasteless, sweaty.  My final error was that it would be far quicker to take the back road home, it wasn’t.  After partaking in what is known as rush hour in these parts, I then joined a slow-worm of traffic behind a driver who can’t have seen the “back to national speed limit” sign after Muddiford.  However the middle mistake was the worst.

I had just emptied my trug after a rather enjoyable morning gardening at Spotty Dotty’s.  I was looking forward to my lunch time sandwich (mistake) and about to go and eat the aforementioned undelicious meal when I was diverted.  Some in my head demon said “why don’t you go and look at the river that gently meanders past the bottom of the garden and work out where you could dangle your hot pasty feet on a sunny day”.  Due to my extreme body dysmorphia (6ft super model with 36″ legs) I thought that I could easily step over the fence.   Instead I tripped on the top wire and fell headlong into a patch of nettles.   No need to weep dear friends, although stung over 90% of my body I was otherwise unharmed and, if we are looking on the bright side, well and truly stimulated.  My pride had suffered a great big ding but as no one had seen this sorry event could be kept on a “need to know basis”.    After my dramatic arrival I thought I had I better go and look at the river, there was some minor pain and major tingling occurring by now.  Somehow the moment had been ruined and I decided to return my lunch (sigh).

So I made my way back and on the way noticed a lone wood anemone (see exhibit A below) , a perfect photo opportunity.  Reaching for my camera, I was mortified when there was a gaping hole where it should have been.  It must have fallen out of its pouch when I fell (sorry got over fence in an alternative manner).  So back I trudged to my favourite patch of nettles, this time armed with a large stick, to search for my camera.  Nothing.  I walked back to the river carefully CSIing each side.  Nothing.  At great risk to the remaining unscathed 10%, I flattened the nettles.  Nothing.  I extended my search to another patch of nettles. NOTHING.  Stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid!!!!

Time was running short and as I was due somewhere else there was nothing for it but to cram down my sandwiches (awful) and set off to my next job.  Luckily this was just across the road.  Just before I left I thought that I should have one last look, this time with my glasses on.  Perhaps it was where I got a dock leaf to salve my wounds.  NOTHING.  Perhaps I missed it at the original scene of crime.  NOTHING.  Perhaps I am getting rather grumpy.  DEFINITELY.  Stupid, stupid, stupid STUPID.  I even asked George the cat to help, he just looked at me and said “no you are too stupid”.

Then a brain wave.  Perhaps it was already lost before I had fallen.  Now there’s a thought!  Let us rewind, where had I been?  The last photo I had taken was of George in the shrubbery (exhibit B below).  A brisk walk back to the border, with a little more optimism in my heart, and there it was, in the middle of a geranium, laughing.  I didn’t care that it was mocking me, even George was sniggering, I had found my camera.  Of course now I would have to confess to Dotty exactly what the trampled area beyond the fence was all about.  I will be blaming wildebeest, I am sure she will believe me …….

 

Yesterday I spent a fair proportion of the morning traipsing about the farm watering all and sundry.  As I sat down to eat my lunch the heavens opened and a heavy and prolonged rain shower ensued.  This was not forecast, it was quite shocking.  I think it may have been my fault.