Six on Saturday – No Complaints

It has been a very pleasant week. I was back at work after a enforced sabbatical due to car troubles. A tooth was filled without the need for anesthetic or tears. I’ve caught up with all the present generations of my family. Tomatoes are ripening. The weather has been benign and the mood high. No complaints at all. In fact I’m going to attempt a whole Six on Saturday without a gripe. If you wish to meet more of the gang and our mentor, pop over to Jim at Garden Ruminations and all will be revealed. I think we had better get on with the task at hand.

This Geranium pratense ‘Plenum Album’ has been flowering for a few weeks now. I don’t remember it being in bloom for quite so long in the past. It is the brightest white with a suggestion of pink around the central boss. Nothing to moan about here.

The label in this sweet pepper says Golden Cal Wonder. Someone sack the labeller. Or perhaps give her the benefit of the doubt and blame the adorable piskies who often play such pranks. On examining the other pepper labels I think this must be Kapla. There are only two so no intensive detective work was necessary. Disaster averted, contentment reinstated.

I bought this fabulous Plectrantus argentatus last year and over wintered it in the greenhouse. This year I have taken several cuttings and planted the mother plant in the garden, where it is thriving. It appears that it is now called Coleus argentatus. God bless the botanists. This non-moaning might be more tricky than I imagined.

Salvia patens is the pure blue of heaven itself, which in this case has been enhanced by the romantic lens I used to take the photo. If you believe that, you’ll believe anything.

In your face tigridia. Brash, gaudy, unsophisticated, screeching “look at me!” from the border. Fabulous.

Finally, we have another in my series of bee bum photos. This little chap is enjoying all this glorious purple gladdie has to offer. It makes my heart sing.

All done, not a complaint to be found. I’m exhausted.

Six on Saturday – Tomatogeddon

The rain that we so desired arrived with unseasonably windy weather, which had categorically not been invited to the party. Whilst most of the garden suffered no ill effect, including sunflowers and dahlias which are wedged so tightly into place they can barely move, the outdoor tomatoes came crashing to the ground like a delicious row of dominos. I dashed out into the tempest, did my best to rearrange and balance, placing bricks on top of each individual pot to weigh them down. Five minutes later they were flat on their faces again. Pulling the blinds across, I decided that the best course of action was to ignore their histrionics and leave them be. Here they stayed until the next day when they were righted and examined. Amazingly, there appeared to be no damage; all fruit firmly in place, all stems intact, Tomatogeddon had been averted. Thrilling stuff, don’t you agree, no doubt soon to be picked up by an indie film producer and made into a cult classic. If you want even more excitement, pop over to Jim at Garden Ruminations and find out what the rest of the Six on Saturday gang are up to. Which reminds me, shall we proceed?

This hydrangea is a cutting from a much loved specimen in our ex-front garden in Ilfracombe. It has done very well in our new garden, in spite of being quite different conditions. Just goes to show.

Dahlia merckii has begun flowering in the shady border. I wasn’t sure how it would get on with lack of sun, but it seems to be coping relatively well. A little tardy both starting into growth and subsequently blooming, which is hardly surprising. Definitely worth the wait.

I saw the parents of this Eucomis bicolor recently in Welsh John’s garden. They are significantly larger than this fledgling, hopefully, the shape of things to come. Shamefully, I noticed the withered leucanthemum after I had taken the photograph. It has now been dead headed and cuddled.

The self-seeded Cuphea lanceolata have returned, which is fortuitous. I must apologise to those I promised seed to last year. Unfortunately, whilst carrying several precariously balanced seed containers into the house to finish their drying, I tripped and dropped the lot. Clumsy, moi? The more obvious I managed to rescue, the rest went up the hoover.

The first cosmos flower has arrived. Nothing to do with me.

One of the fallen was ‘Orange Banana’ which although unmistakably “orange” is far from banana like. Earlier in the week one fruit was a better name-match, slim and gently curved. I ate it. Sorry about that, it was delicious.

There we have it, another Six complete. Upwards and onwards.

Grumpy Cat is Dead, Long Live Grumpy Cat

Grumpy cat has been informing me when the eggs/lasagna/chiffon sponges are ready for many years. I am very fond of him. I have an affinity with those of the grumpy persuasion. Lately, I have come to doubt GC’s accuracy but have been too polite to point it out, for fear of offence. After all, what is a couple of minutes between friends. He had a work related incident several months ago and possibly was feeling the effects. When I came to use him the other day he refused to work at all. Nothing, no ticking, no movement, just that stare, the one that wheedles into your bones and refuses to be shaken. “Grumpy cat is broken” I told OH. “Ah” said OH. “Ah?” I questioned. “Didn’t I tell you?” asked OH. “Tell me what?” beginning to wonder what horrors were about to be disclosed. “I dropped him” says OH, swiftly followed by “I’ll get you another one”. Wise man.

Some internet trawling, a few days wait and GC Jnr arrived Chez Nous. Perhaps a little lighter in colour, maybe a little wider in girth and definitely much cleaner, but the same indomitable expression. All is forgiven.

Do not fear, GC Senior will be retired to the home for broken but sentimentally significant artifacts. For a while anyway. Until I get one of those heads on.

Six on Saturday – Toastie

The weatherman on our local TV channel, a dapper chap called Derek, described yesterday as “toastie”. I liked that. There is something comforting there, something reassuring and innocuous. Toastie can never be daunting or oppressive. The fact that it also suggests delicious warm and melting sandwiches exacerbated this impression. Perhaps Derek was guilty of understatement, but his words placated me for just a moment.

For various reasons it has been a bizarre week, some of which I blame on a full moon and the possibility that I have inadvertently been mean to an evil fairy. However, the bad must go with the good. It is the nature of things.

If you wish to visit more Six on Saturday-ers, which after all is why we are all here, then pop over to Jim at Garden Ruminations and you will be rewarded. Shall we proceed?

First we have a wonderful lacecap hydrangea, a cutting from a shrub in Peggy’s garden. It lives in a very large pot in the shady front of the house and is going from strength to strength. The elephant in the room is that it is a elephant in a pot and surely can’t be happy for much longer constrained, however large the container.

This potentilla may have a ID label but I haven’t bothered to footle about to find it. Squeezed on all sides, it has struggled through to produce this beautiful bloom. Hopefully there will be more, now it has found the light.

Peach. I know. Proud. The fall will follow shortly.

This little white agapanthus does a splendid job to lift the colour-full border. I am a great fan of using white to rest the eye, in fact I might I have said it here before. Repetition is a speciality.

Now we have Rudbeckia ‘Irish Eyes’, which is a seedling I failed to plant out last year and languished in a pot over winter. Now, safe in the bosom of the border, it is eventually coming into its own.

Dahlia ‘Bishop of York’ was given to me by Welsh John, twice. The first tuber rotted in the greenhouse over winter, a supposed safe space. This second one was left in the ground, well mulched, and has come back happy as a bishop could be, or perhaps even happier.

All done, another six. Stay cool, those who need too. Stay warm, to the rest.

Not A Fall

Yesterday I had a little mishap at work. I was carrying a large trug of woodchip in order to mulch a recently planted crab apple by the pond, which I was transporting from a pile by the polytunnel. High ground to low ground, makes sense. Or does it? As bad luck would have it, I stood on a loose piece of rubble which caused me to lose my balance and that darned demon gravity catapulted my poor vulnerable self down three stone steps, prevented by going any further by a short wall. On my bouncing way I hit another retaining wall, dislodging the coping stone with a part of my body which could have been knee, arm or back, considering later examination of injuries.

I was on my own. I had left my phone up in the cool of the pergola as it was over heating. My first thoughts were, that wasn’t very clever. My second thoughts took a quick mental road trip around my prostrate form. Wrist? Sore but fingers still move. Leg? Sore, but foot still moves. Elbow? Scraped but not badly. Hand? Bit of blood but nothing serious. Back? Feels a bit twisted. Head? A smidge confused. Stomach? Feeling a little bit sick. Third thoughts were “Well, the cavalry isn’t coming, so you better see if you can stand up”. Up I staggered, picked up my glasses (not broken), abandoned the trug (not a drop spilt) and my tools (none of which had impaled me) and slowly headed to shade, a cool drink and an assessment of the situation.

My assessment was that I had been extremely lucky, I hadn’t hit my head, I hadn’t fallen into the pond/lake, I hadn’t broken anything (except the wall) and, although a little battered and bruised, I will live to fight another day.

OH said “you would have been alright if you had landed on your bottom”. That helped.

But please don’t call it “a fall”, it was a perhaps inevitable accident given the nature of my job. Falls are what old infirm people have and they generally are not carrying large trugs of woodchip. I’m not read for “falls” just yet.

One thing I will take from this, apart from trying to land on my bottom in future, is that my phone will be with me at all times. Just in case I need to call for the cavalry.

Six on Saturday – Le Tour

July, who’d have thought it? It will soon be school holidays (better journey to work for me), Peggy’s birthday (cream teas, always good), rain, Tour de France (niche, I know). Oh, and glorious gardens. If you would like to admire some of these wonders then pop over to Jim at Garden Ruminations who hosts our frivolous gang. Shall we get on?

I always struggle to take a decent photograph of Salvia ‘Neon’, perhaps my camera isn’t up to the job, perhaps it is a user problem. Today I attempted by stealth and have pretended to take a picture of a nigella in an attempt to capture the salvia’s incredible luminous pink. Failed again.

This is the first sunflower in our garden to bloom. Is it camera shy or just rather rude?

Another Pollies daylily in the garden is Hemerocallis ‘Yabba Dabba Doo’. I bought it for OH a couple of years ago. He never mentions it. Perhaps he thinks I bought it because he reminds me of Fred Flintstone and is wounded. I like FF.

Geranium palmatum and a feral calendula make an unlikely but harmonious couple.

There is a nursery not too far from here that has a fabulous range of the more unusual and I am like a moth to a flame. This Salvia fulgens was bought last year and now it is rewarding me. I had a little flutter the other day, a few more beauties that I can’t pretend are for clients.

Dahlia ‘Labyrinth’, what can I say? Crazy, in the best possible way.

There we have it, another six, another Saturday, another month. And its raining.

Fist Pump

I was talking with Welsh John yesterday about how we can all make a difference in this world. However small it might be, every positive action counts. All those little pluses add up to one humdinger. You get the gist.

My neighbour, a bachelor with one of those jobs that however many times he explains is still a mystery to me, has recently had his garden landscaped. It is the thing of horticultural nightmares. As the work proceeded I quizzed him, trying not to judge or sob too loudly. As he explained the three patio areas, the vast expanse of plastic lawn, the fire pit, barbeque area and the night lighting, he must have noticed the tears rolling down my face. “I will be having some planters around the edge” he explained, trying to console me. “Then you must employ me to plant them up for you”, I insisted. At least I could make some kind of attractive privacy screen between our gardens.

This spring the time arrived for action and I duly visited his pristine home to make plans, notepad and sharpened pencil in hand. It soon became apparent that his knowledge of gardening was basic. Or perhaps a little below basic. His interest was on a similar level. When asked what colours he liked, the answer was “green”. OK. He wasn’t really into flowers. OK. Do you like tropical. “Not really” Bamboo? “No” Ferns “Oh, I don’t mind ferns, what are ferns again?”. “Not too tall, or too big, I like to see over the fence.” There goes the screen. My mission was to create a green, low, planting scheme with no flowers. Unlikely.

I ordered a variety of gorgeous foliage plants and snuck in a fair amount of bloomers. Carefully squeezing past the black Porsche to the equally shiny garden, the beauties were duly planted, watered and instructions given for not blasting them out of the ground with the hose on full power. He was happy.

Yesterday, I passed a tomato plant over the fence to him, which he had said he was keen to have a go growing, like his grandfather had done in the past. Whilst chatting and checking on the state of his garden, explaining about dead heading and weeding, he suddenly exclaimed with glee “I’ve got a bee on one of my plants!”. I leapt in the air, fist pumping in a way inappropriate to my age, exclaiming “My plan worked!” . It’s a start. And it made me very, very happy.

These photos are of my garden; tall, colourful, floriferous and full of bees. This would not suit everyone, including my neighbour, but his more ordered planting will similarly offer some sanctuary for wildlife and some nicer views for next door. Every positive action counts.

Six on Saturday – Honest

I am sat here thinking about what happened this week, something of interest that I could share with you. Nope. Nothing comes to mind. Nothing of note. It rained, it sunned, I worked, I saw a kingfisher. It was just fine. And it also seemed a little bit overwhelming. You know – weeds, blackfly, slugs, weather; battles that we accept are part of our gardening lives, but also forget how challenging they can be. My resting state of optimism was battling to find the air. Just a blip in my cartwheeling world, I am sure. Head down, keep going, all will be well and there will be more joyful skipping. If you would like to find out how the rest of Six on Saturday gang are getting on, pop over to our leader Jim and all will be revealed. Less burbling, more sixing!

Earlier today my OH looked out the window and said “I like daisies, they remind me of you”. I think he meant wild and common. Unlike this Leucanthum x superbum which, although not rare, is very definitely much more civilised than I am.

Certain plants will follow an untidy gardener around the country. This is one of them, Linaria purpurea, and very welcome it is too.

The Woolies acers are doing well in their pots. If I ever tell you that I have planted them in the ground then you will know that I am planning long term. Not ready yet.

Dark leaved orange/red flowered dahlia. A monster.

Where did this little scabious come from? I sowed some white scabious seed so perhaps this is an aberration. Or perhaps the white was the freak.

Today a dragonfly was in the garden. Our plot is an estate oasis surrounded by plastic grass, hard landscaping and “garden rooms”; God forbid if your kids or dogs got muddy! The sighting of this golden ringed dragonfly (I looked it up) made me very happy. Good will out. I’m counting on it.

And, after all, I saw a kingfisher, surely that warrants a skip!?

Six on Saturday – Special Day

This year I am determined not to get despondent on the Summer Solstice, as is my wont. I will celebrate and wear flowers in my hair and live in the glorious moment, I may even frolic a little. Then we can begin rapid the descent into winter and gloom and despair. As usual, I exaggerate, although I do feel a little pang of, I’m not sure what to call it, perhaps mild dread. Of course our Sosers will be celebrating, or otherwise, some solstice or another, pop over to our leader, Jim at Garden Ruminations, and find out if it is all uphill or all downhill from here.

I am very fond of both salvias and dahlias, both of which are beginning to shine. This is a rather blurry (more breezes, honest guv!) Salvia ‘Nachvlinder’ along side a dahlia seedling from last year.

A calendula self-seeder, always welcome, seldom weeded.

This Salvia microphylla ‘Trelissick’ was grown from HPS seed a couple of years ago. How true to type this is I can’t say, but I am rather fond of it, especially the fluffy pink bits.

I’m growing lots of new (to me) tomatoes this year. One of them is Blue Beauty which is, to my mind, both beautiful and blue. The problem is, when is it ripe? And also, most importantly, does it taste good? I will report back.

This Thalictrum aquilegifolium has had to battle to find a space, but it found a way through the melee. It probably needs moving in the autumn, whether or not I remember is another matter.

Hemerocallis ‘Nona’s Garnet’ needs no praise from me, just take a look at it in all its fabulous, elegant beauty and gasp in delight.

That is your lot, happy summer solstice to you all. Nearly Christmas.

To Mary

Words are rubbish. They fail me continually.

When heartbreak happens to people I care for, words refuse to help. I want to soothe, to reassure, to find a way forward, all to no avail. This is pure arrogance. But still, words are all I have. That and flowers.

Without doubt, my dear Mary, you have other things to focus on at the moment. However, a compulsion forces me to attempt a clumsy embrace.

You should know, and I am remiss not to have said before, that you and your fabulous husband, Ant, left a lasting impression on my young self. You took me to your hearts and treated me with respect, kindness and with love. I will always be thankful.

This is faint comfort for your loss, Mary. You must continue without him in body, and that will be hard, but I know that you will be together in spirit, always.

with love.