Off The Edge Gardening

It is not my imagination, there is definitely some plumping up going on in Larchland (the one of undoubted European descent).  Only a faithful follower would notice the subtle swelling of the dormant buds, the aura of awakening.  Only a true devotee would peer so closely, with such optimism and growing impatience.  However, as Phil Colins nearly once said “You Can’t Hurry Bud”.

Lucinda and Lionel are not bad people, they have just got in with the wrong crowd.  They are sharing their lives with thugs, delinquents and ne’er-do-wells, a veritable band of rogues.  I can understand the attraction of these villains, they are powerful, persistent and often glamorous, they promise vigour and strength.  They are enchanting and charismatic.  Their numbers include the statuesque and well-armed Acanthus spinosa, bear’s breeches, whose roots tunnel to Hades where Charon (as a welcome change from all that rowing) holds on tight to ensure you will never be rid of them.  To some just the mention of their name brings on palpitations and flashbacks of attempts to relocate this admittedly attractive miscreant.  The dark and determined Opiophogon planiscapus “Nigresens”, lilyturf, is the designer’s favourite with its black grass like leaves that add drama and contrast to the garden.  The fact that where you plant it for optimum effect is never quite where it wants to be so surreptitiously crawls to its place of choice before attacking the other occupants with a horticultural sledgehammer.  We mustn’t forget the fragrant temptress Lemon Balm, with all her promises of health and healing.  Her virtuous ways lead us to unwise oblivion and while we sip our calming tissanes the enchantress colonises the whole neighbourhood.  The exotic master of deception must be Houttuynia cordata, the multicoloured foliage of cultivars may look fun and frivolous, but do not let the chameleon plant fool you, now you see him here, now you see him everywhere!  Perhaps the most despicable of them all is the baby face Aster.  On the surface its delicate purple blooms captivate whilst below ground its ever searching roots will not be held back, tranforming your plot into a field of daisies.  On Friday I traced the roots of a lemon balm, up valley and down dale, under clumps of daffs and crocuses, through shrubs and dormant perennials, and back again.  Admittedly it was a rather fragrant job, I may well have succumbed to her intoxicating ways.  In fact I even took some home, rest assured she will be manacled to a pot!

Today I was mesmerised by the sight of tadpoles, warmed by the spring sun, wiggle their way out of their jelly gaols.  This was their first fight, the struggle to escape their bounds.  There will be many more battles and few will live to maturity.  To watch this spectacle was incredible, a first for me and I was absolutely thrilled.  Perhaps I should get out more.

Essence of daffodil.

It is always heartening to find wildlife in the garden.  It seems like an affirmation, confirming that we are doing something right.  Although I have no documentary evidence, I would guess that wildlife rarely thinks “I love to see a human in my backyard”.  We are generally stomping around like big unfriendly giants with no regard for anything else, destroying habitats and homes.  This was the second toad sighting at the farm today.  George’s mum found the first one in front of the house this morning (the screams were heard in Barnstaple) and a well-known superhero duly relocated it.  Obviously it was her lucky toad day as she then found a second one beneath a large piece of slate outside one of the cottages.  This vaguely heavy object (you should have heard the fuss) was being shifted by the aforementioned superhero and an unsuspecting passing decorator pressganged on route to paint the cills.  It did cross my mind it was the same warty chap (the toad not the painter) who had found a new resting place, resting his ears and perhaps doing a little yoga to get over his earlier disturbance.  As he looked a little peeved I decided it was best not to attempt a kiss.  Mind you I’m not sure toads turn into princes, I wouldn’t want to risk getting an earl or even worse a baronet!

Not every day is an adventure.  Some days are just fine; not wonderful, not dreadful, but fair to middling.  They are comfortable but not glamorous, like your favourite winceyette pajamas.  They are days to ease through, to gently wallow in.  Today was a day like that.  The sun shone and the sky was blue but I worked mainly in the shade.  I was never unduly cold or hot.  Although of course I worked very hard there were no daunting tasks or pressure projects.  My horticultural excellence didn’t shine, nor did it dramatically fail.  My lunchtime sandwich was a little stale but the peanut butter cookies and chocolate biscuits donated by my esteemed clients redressed the balance.  My commute on the country lanes was uneventful, I just avoided (not literally) the beer delivery lorry but met a tractor at a wide spot in the road.   So today if you want tales of adventure you will have to go elsewhere.  Me?  Well I was very happy for the fact.

Take one pink and frilly rhododendron, early flowering and most welcome, wash down with some gentle spring sunshine.   Before long your step will develop a distinct bounce, the corners of your mouth will unavoidably turn upwards, your heart will lighten and the world will seem a better place.  Repeat whenever possible.

Sometimes very bad things happen to very good people.  In the last few weeks tragedy has visited  two special friends.  More than anything I want to make things right, but I can’t.  I want to extinguish their scalding pain and replace it with the warmth of hope.  I want to mend their crushed hearts and to salve their savaged souls.   I want to syphon away their anguish and let them sleep the sleep of the content.  I want to show them that there is goodness in this cruel world.  Without delay; it cannot happen soon enough.  But I don’t have these powers, all I have is impotence and frustration.  So I do what little I can.  I send them love and strength.  And I offer them a picture of starlings murmuring in the sunset.

Some days a pair of secateurs will not suffice.

This is Menziesia ciliicalyx var. multiflora photographed last May in the wonderful garden at Andrew’s Corner.  I had never heard of it then, I haven’t seen it since.  My job is a continual education and most days I am reminded just how ignorant I am.  I was quite taken with this ericaceous beauty.  The name, however, needs a little work.