Off The Edge Gardening

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.

The day has been blustery and unstable, veering from sun to hail to sleet like a out of control shopping trolley.  Luckily it was not a gardening day, it was a writing day.  I have been writing about medicinal plants.  So what do you want to know?  Sea buckthorn fruit is good for burns and was used extensively to treat the victims of Chernobyl.  Monarda is good for excessive flatulence.  The epithet “officinalis” was used by Carl Linneaus to denote a plant used medicinally.  Galantamine hydrobromide is a chemical found in narcissus bulbs and is used to treat Alzheimer’s.  Primrose flowers can be made into wine.  What do you mean?  Wine is medicine!

When asked if I had room for a new client, I explained that regretfully I was “full up”.  When I was told that the garden was situated in Exmoor National Park and hadn’t been touched except by chainsaw and strimmer for 6 years, I conceded that it would do no harm to take a look, with the intention of putting it on my reserve list.  When I visited on a clearest blue day, driving past black-eyed sheep ducking under gates, across a shamelessly idyllic ford, up snowdrop edged hills ominously signed “check your brakes”, down skinny lanes to a place just past “the back of beyond”, I began to wonder if with a little juggling I could perhaps fit them in once a month.  When I was shown around the neglected site, eyes darting from mature magnolias to fragrant Viburnum bodnantense, Japanese acers and ancient fruit trees, extra oil had been liberally applied to the already slippery slope.  When I was told that the cherry tree shown above is known as The Magic Tree, I took out my diary and booked them in.  When I learned that this is because it is the only place you can get a phone signal, the dye was well and truly cast.