Off The Edge Gardening

My natural style is carefree and careless.  I try to make my posts light-hearted, fun and hopefully a little bit cheeky.  Although acutely aware of the existence of Quentin Tarantino I prefer to spend most of my days a la Doris Day.  Occasionally however I feel the need to write something a little more serious, perhaps without a happy ending.  This time it was inspired by my fellow blogger Under the Pecan Tree (link to the right).

In truth I should have written about this gentleman before.  A quiet and unassuming man, I had been told he was a talented wood carver.  As it was my other half’s special birthday the following January, and thinking that a year would be ample time, I asked if he would create something special for him.  Lots of secrecy followed, with furtive phone calls and visits.  We poured over books and magazines but when I set my eyes on a picture of The Green Man I had no doubt what I wanted the subject to be.  The Green Man; a mysterious spirit of nature, connected to both paganism and early Christianity.  So I left the craftsman to it, I was confident and excited.  Glowing with the warm and slightly smug feeling you get when you are hatching a surprise for someone you love.  Something which will be unexpected and wonderful.

In the August it was my birthday.  Unpacking my gifts from my other half I found a wood carving, a beautiful arts and crafts stylised tulip.  I looked up and said “Ian?”.  Of course it was, and I cried good tears.  At the same time as I was planning my surprise for him, my man had been planning a similar surprise for me.  As soon as I could I called to thank Ian and begged forgiveness for the stresses inflicted by our demanding family.

Come January, the revealing of the wonderful carving above (apologise for bad photograph) was met with similar joy.  At long last we could all come clean.  The dreadful/delightful deception was over.  Poor Ian, not only had he the pressure of producing two separate pieces of art, he had had to juggle the pair of us for months.  He didn’t complain, he just smiled his gentle smile.

He died suddenly a few months later.  He truly was a gentle and talented man.  And sadly missed by a world that could do with many more of his kind.

After the yesterday’s gales it is a miracle that there is single leaf left on a single tree.  This bashful beech however wasn’t quite ready to reveal all and has clung tightly on to her folial underskirt.  Not for long, though, not for long.

I’ve been snooping again.  In truth I rarely stop.  On reflection perhaps the word “snooping” is a little harsh.  The word might roll deliciously off the tongue like a cough candy twist but it also suggests activities that may well be of interest to the local constabulary.  I will try again.

I have been showing a notable interest in the indigenous population of my community and studying their horticultural activities in the immediate environs of their dwellings.  Actually …

I have been snooping into other peoples’ gardens again.

This particular front garden announces itself from afar.   Bold and defiant, it is a dahlia lovers dream.  If you don’t like dahlias grown en masse, then hard luck.  No nampy pampy single flowered or delicate species here, just “read ’em and weep” ornamentals.   Cactus, waterlily, decorative, all here in their understated glory, proud and unabashed.  Not for everyone I am sure, but personally, I love it.  All Power to the Dahlia!

With extreme generosity I have given myself the rest of November off.  It is a buffer zone of decadence between the past and the future.  This does not mean that I will stop posting, just that I will be continuing in the rather random fashion I have utilised over the past three months.  Then the fun begins.  Lined up in the wings, snorting with anticipation, are new missions (I have chosen to accept them) to challenge me.  Wondering what they have let themselves in for, new clients are awaiting my first spade strike.  My travels will take me not too far and only a little bit wide, but I will promise you tales of daring-do.  The highlight may be handsome pig named George.   You will have to wait to see said porcine pin-up but you may meet his dust bathing colleagues.  Always leave them wanting more.

“There’s rosemary, that’s for remembrance.” (Hamlet, iv. 5.)

Today was my last day at Cliffe.  As expected it was heady mix of tears and treats, fun and goodbyes.  We toured the garden and discussed the occupants, we drank coffee and discussed the good times.  We talked about the future and reminisced about the past.  Returning to the Potting Shed after lunch at Hero’s house we discovered a plastic container on the doorstep.  Within this mysterious container were definitely (not probably) the best muffins in the whole wide world.  After a long debate as to where these scrumptious cakes could have come from, Hero, as clever as ever, suggested the clue might lie within and we should eat every one to find the answer.  This was either an ingenious act of martydom or a cunning plan towards gluttony, not really sure.  After some intensive detective work the perpetrator was discovered and TT was found guilty on all charges.  What a star and a reminder of not only the amazing people I have worked with over the last 8 years but also the many wonderful people I have met because of the garden.  Proof that there are enough good guys out there to kick the bad ones into touch.  Hopefully I have told the ones that matter what I feel about them.  If not, forgive me, I always meant to.

So the disco balls were packed up and I climbed the hill to give the medlar one last hug and a few words of farewell.  It has been good, very good.  Thank you.

Over the past 8 years I must have taken the short walk further up hill onto the Coastal Footpath less than a handful of times.  Myself and Hero often talked about taking our lunches up to one of the benches to enjoy a change of scenery, but it turned out to be all talk and no action.  We were too comfortable in our customised Potting Shed and the prospect of more “up” in our lives not tempting.  Now coming to the end of my tenure, and feeling a little nostalgic, I decided to wander up to see what I had been missing.  Darn it!

It is wet, it is miserable.  Although dry I too am mildly miserable.  This calls for a little bit of emergency sunshine from the archive.  And a bee.  I’m feeling better already.

As I am afflicted with an extreme case of nosy-itis it is impossible for me to refrain from examining other people’s front gardens when I am dawdling down the road.  More often than not there is something interesting to spy on, all visible from the street without having to resort to stalker status and causing them to release the dogs.  Sometimes I am intrigued by unusual colour schemes or planting combinations.  Sometimes a mystery plant gets me wondering or a special specimen gains my admiration.  Sometimes I am disappointed by neglect or excessive hard landscaping.  The front garden as a forum to show off your gardening prowess has diminished in recent years.  They are being converted into hard standings for cars or are so “low maintenance” that it would be stretching the parameters to call it a garden anymore.  This saddens me.  It has been proved that paving over your front garden exacerbates urban flooding, this is due to the decrease in soak-away and resultant increase in run-off.  More than this, any reprieve from harsh tarmac and concrete will surely only improve our environment aesthetically.   Not only for ourselves but our neighbours and the curious creatures that walk past your home.

This autumn flowering camellia with its downward facing pink flushed blooms came in both the “mystery plant” and “special specimen” categories.