Complacency – don’t do it! For some inexplicable reason, certainly not involving excitement or adventure of any kind, I have hurt my shoulder/shoulder blade/ribs/back kind of area. After a night without a wink of sleep (well it felt like it anyway) I did not have a happy day. Pretty grumpy on the whole. It hurt to lay on my left side, right side, front, back. It hurt to cough, to move position and most inconveniently, to breathe. Not conducive to sleep. Perhaps foolishly I took some ibuprofen and went to work. It hurt to reach, to carry, to dig, oh and to breathe. Not conducive to being a gardener. All this just as spring is sprunging. Actually, really grumpy now. This chaenomeles, an unnamed flowering quince, did go some way to cheer me up. So did George the Pig’s squidged up face as he legged it across the field when this afternoon he spotted me at the gate. I know it is possible this was because he thought I had an apple for him (I did) , but it may have been that he could see my pain and wanted to cheer me up. I thought you might like a picture of the lovely flower, it may help if you have also had such a day. I will save lovely George for another day.
Great Expectations
Over the last few months I have been gardening blind, for the most part anyway. My new clients’ gardens were previously unknown to me and as such a mystery. Strangers who I needed to become acquainted with and hopefully will eventually call my friends. In an attempt not to appear a complete dimwit (quiet please in the cheap seats!) I have desperately been studying twigs and bark and interrogating owners for clues as to what various trees and shrubs might be. Many of the herbaceous perennials have also been dormant, nestling underground until warmer conditions tempt them out, and I have been stumbling across them in borders along the way, trying to distinguish the wheat from the chaff. Now as spring progresses every visit divulges a little more of each garden’s secrets and in turn inspires even more expectations. The turn of the season is slowly revealing what lies beneath and within. I had correctly identified this as a magnolia tree (such brilliance) but today, when I saw a tantalising glimpse of dark dark flower beneath the split casing, the anticipation of this tree in full bloom is almost unbearable.
Yodel
Last week I met Mr and Mrs G’s son, G Junior, and he was asked if we had been previously introduced. “No” he said “But I think I have heard her yodelling”. I would like to make two comments about this observation:
1. This is very likely to be true.
2. He seemed singularly unsurprised by it.
I will leave you to make of this what you will.
The Commonly Beautiful
In my previous mono-garden existence I enjoyed growing the unusual species, the less common cultivars, the few and far between. Any plant I hadn’t come across before was irresistible to me, I actively sought out the rare, the hard to come by. If a visiting dignitary either enquired after a cultivar, genus or even species name or asked for a cutting/seed pod, I puffed up with pride. These exotics elbowed the commonplace in the corners and, I blush to say, often had preferential treatment. Now I am working in several new gardens with clients who knowledge ranges from “haven’t a bloomin’ clue” to “clever clogs” and I am consequently receiving some serious life lessons. I am beginning to once again appreciate the “ordinary” and feel slightly embarrassed about my previous dismissal of the standard stalwarts that grace many gardens. My eyes have been refreshed and I am looking at these old favourites anew. This flowering currant, Ribes sanguineum, stopped me in my tracks yesterday at the farm. The drooping racemes of pink and white looked stunning. This was seconded by a camera-shy bee who wasn’t thinking “how common” but “how yum” as it supped at Bar Currant. Do not fear I am not completely cured, my Lust List is still being added to and I am not adverse to slipping one of my weird and wonderful friends into these new gardens. I am still not convinced by forsythia though, I will keep trying but don’t get your hopes up!
Good Morning World!
Wakey! Wakey!
Marmite
This “Barbie on a special night out” azalea is bound to divide opinion, it is a plant that you will either love or you will hate. Personally I rather admire its irreverence, its total lack of subtlety, although I could probably only cope for short periods of time. I would have to avoid any close encounters until after lunch and only then if I was sunglassed up. It does however make me smile, which can’t be a bad thing. So if asked to vote I say would definitely say a resounding “aye”! And in case you wondered, I love marmite too!
Barrel Rolling
Last week marked the grand occasion of the inaugural Rolling a Half Barrel Up a Steep Hill Championships at the Farm. For those of you who have never attempted this feat, I can assure you that it is an extremely demanding and dangerous sport, both physically and emotionally. The barrel has a contrary tenancy to veer off to one side and (in case it had slipped your mind) a hill is involved. There are prizes for first over the line, stylistic content and artistic interpretation. The Bookies Choice, Mrs G, was on top form and I am thrilled to report is now the reigning champion in all categories. Mind you the lack of any other competitors may well have had some bearing on this result. We will wait with bated breath to see what occurs next year. Applications are now open for 2016 event. Please note that you will have to supply your own barrel and these will be closely examined for any illegal modifications.
Understanding
Although on the whole I cannot praise my choice of career enough, I have to admit that gardening can sometimes be a lonely pursuit, especially for us jobbing gardeners. Literally this is often true, the nature of the job means we work alone on a regular basis, but also spiritually – the opportunity to share problems and experiences is scarce. Social media has gone a long way to alleviate this isolation but the role of horticultural groups and societies should not be ignored, they are often godsends. I am not a natural “joiner”, as a natural flitter I find it hard to commit to one thing, but I am easily bullied and MM “persuaded” me (it involved a head lock) to join the noble Plant Heritage. One thing leads to another and before you know it you are in the midst of the local horticultural social whirl. In the time between winter shut-down and summer mayhem there seems to be a plethora of events. In the last couple of weeks I have been to three such shindigs involving listening to tales from (Little Dixter), Andy McIndoe (Hilliers) and this weekend a full on Plant Heritage day at Marwood Hill Gardens. This involved knowledgeable folks educating us on the diverse subjects of plant disease, micropropation and the flora of New Zealand, raffles, garden walks, an evil and sadistic quiz, not to mention a splendid lunch the highlight of which was, and always is, an admirable fruit crumble and custard. At each event there are familiar faces, warm greetings followed by a quick life précis. You come away feeling restored, recharged, a little warmer in the heart region. There is something very heartening in just knowing these people are out there. They understand what is involved, why it could take an age to weed a m2 of infested soil, why sometimes plants die, why on occasion they thrive, why you can’t control the weather, why you can’t remember the name of that rose, why some days it just seems too much bother.
This is Magnolia campbellii subsp. mollicomata. When you stand beneath this magnificent tree, look skyward to the outrageously beautiful blooms and inhale the nectar of the gods, it is all patently clear why you and all your peers bother.
Intoxicated
Another warm and wonderful spring day on Planet Edge. It was spent planting the accumulated purchases that have been stockpiled by Lavinia, in the way us acquisitive types tend to do. Her taste is of course impeccable, including the delightfully dark Penstemon “Blackberrry”, Achillea “Cerise Queen” (from experience more Boudica than Fairy), a yet to be identified campanula which could quite possibly be C. takesimana and a purple agrostemma. Seeds were sown of a white form of the Flanders poppy, Cosmos bipinnatus and Anemone multifida. As I plied my trade in all four corners of the garden the scent of hyacinth, intensified by the gentle caress of the sun, was so heavy you had to push your way through it. Diverting, sometimes over-whelming and definitely intoxicating. Well it put a daft smile on my face anyway!
Bad Dreams are Made of This
I am a prolific and adventurous dreamer, both sleeping and awake. Last night I had one of my more traumatic nocturnal episodes, an energetic feature-length sci-fi thriller, involving aggressive aliens (in the guise of humans, it could be anyone, trust no-one) pursuing me through city and country all the while attempting to shoot me with specially adapted and deadly TV remote controls. Although admittedly sounding more Benny Hill than Blair Witch, I awoke feeling rather disturbed and discombobulated. So today working at the edge of a misty moor, I was a little perturbed to find a kitchen knife lying on the wall, blade pointing threateningly in my direction. I asked why it was there and was told “ah yes, I meant to bring that in”. Later I came across this gun resting on a weed filled plastic pot, lined up in my sight. Again I queried it, “oh yes, we found it in the garden”. Just as I was leaving the prongs of an ancient fork, long parted from its wooden handle, were raised in my direction. I put my foot on the accelerator and sped off up the hill. It could be anyone, trust no-one.
Off The Edge Gardening 