Mr Bun should know that it would take more than a few measly wheelie bins to keep me out. I’ve got past a lot worse. I’ve got past a lot worse here. In fact, just for fun, I leapfrogged over each in turn and then back again.
And if I had known this beauty was waiting for me, I would have done a double back flip as well. Perhaps only a mental one.
I’ve had camera problems for several weeks. My Canon work companion had been abused too many times and was, quite understandably, complaining. Close encounters with mud, rain, dust, compost heaps and concrete is not good for any camera’s health. The lens had been scratched and the internal and external workings had become a little sluggish. It is possible that I am on a list concerning camera treatment. I seem to make a habit of this kind of cruelty; some of you might remember the Lord Mantle in the Pond and the Nasty Nettles incidents.
No time for sentimentality here. Mr Defunct was cast aside; a new model ordered. It arrived last week, with a little controversy in tow, being left outside the front door by the courier during a four hour torrential downpour. At the wrong house. Perhaps he thought he would do it a favour by getting it used to the life it was to expect with its new owner. Luckily it seems to be none the worse for this stormy arrival. Starting how it means to go on.
I’ve been blogless this week. There are various reasons, most of them associated with ennui and apathy. These things happen. To tied you over, here is a Inula hookeri thinking about flowering.
Welcome to another Six on Saturday, I hope it finds you well and happy. If you would like to know more about this worldwide phenomena then pop on over to meet our host The Propagator (a little bit like The Terminator but marginally less violent). Shall we proceed? We don’t want to give that Welsh chap anything to moan about.
First, we have the ever faithful Osteospermum ‘Double Berry Purple’. It struggles through each winter cruelly exposed to the elements, whether wet or cold or windy or all three, with little more than a shrug. A trouper and one to have on your side.
Onto another stalwart of the garden. However much I mistreat this gallant soldier it fights on regardless. It is dragged it out of shrubs, the roots are wrenched from the ground and shrivelling spells are cast. Still it displays its virginal flowers to prove my ineptitude. Never one to let you down, I give you, drum roll please, the indestructible (through fair means not foul) bindweed!
Next, we have Erysimum linifolium ‘Variegatum’, probably. It grows in a narrow gravel border that edges the slabbed area. Although it is flowering well at the moment, contrarily, I chose to present the foliage which I think is equally as lovely. I notice that someone has taken a cartoonish nibble out of one of its leaves. Now who could that have been? Hands up please, or should I say tentacle up?
Now we have Bletilla stricta ‘Alba’ which although growing healthily has been a great disappointment. This year, as well as last, it pretended to flower, causing great excitement, but the bud disintegrated into nothingness. Any ideas folks? I have fed with tomato food, which as you know isn’t as daft as it sounds. Oh yes, and there this little chap who I thought was quite beautiful. Unless he is called The Emerald Bud Chewer. I might go off him then.
I don’t have much in the way of bedding plants, but these little trailing verbena turned my eye whilst shopping for essentials. Surely no one could argue that this little darling is not essential!
And finally, more excitement in the garden. After five years languishing in pot showing no inclination to do anything of merit, my Agapanthus inapertus ‘Midnight Cascade’ had got not one, but two flower spikes. I have changed my name to Thrilled of North Devon. That is unless the dreaded Emerald Bud Chewer comes its way. I have installed 24 hour security.
Another week over, take care my friends, and stay safe.
I went for a walk on Hilsborough today; a hill that looms between ourselves and the sea. It is National Trust land and a nature reserve, and at the top is an ancient hill fort, although to the untrained eye or uninformed this is not obvious. I was on my own, OH was otherwise employed doing something mysterious in the garden. It is usually best if I vacate the house when he is doing something mysterious, especially if it is in the garden.
I have walked up this hill many times, although possibly not as many as I should. Today the grass that flanked the accent was meadow-like, dotted with umbellifers and buzzing with life. And there were foxgloves, hosts of foxgloves. As I was unhindered by a co-walker, I headed off my normal route, down an unmarked path and into the woods. I have always felt at ease amongst trees. But as the way began to drop steeply a voice in my head whispered “never give up the high ground”. Naturally I ignored this whining and ventured down, down around a silty series of hairpin bends. “This would be great on a mountain bike”, I thought, which is odd as I have never even owned a bike and am a commensurate coward. Just bravado. It is as well I didn’t say that out loud or I would have had to suffer sniggers.
I passed gnarled thorn trees and banks of ferns, hopped over exposed roots and bedrock erupting effortlessly from the ground and admired lichen and wildflowers. Every so often glimpses of headland and sea were spied through the sycamores. It was still unfamiliar territory, with signposts that told me little except I was on a road to somewhere. And the “going down” was still “going down”. Which of course means “going up” at some point. Life is unfortunately like that. Eventually things began to look familiar and I was striding my way home. I hadn’t doubted it for a moment.
Earlier, before I set off on my expedition into the unknown, I reached a viewing point and looked out to sea. When I was a child my Dad worked in Canada and the USA for several six month stints and we would all miss him terribly when he was away. At the beach I would look out to sea and wave in what I imagined to be the right direction, as a reminder that his family were at home thinking of him. I always think of this when I stand facing the mighty ocean. And I still miss him.
Although this time I could just about glimpse Wales in the distance, so I waved to my Mum and John instead. Not together of course. That would be very scary.
Flower, bee, pollen.
The End.
Another Six on Saturday and, with a little help from my friends, specifically my blogging mate Jude, I have discovered the link button in this “oh, so moderne” block editor. It seems fair to have used this newly discovered facility to direct you to Jude’s site where no doubt she has also, or is about to, produce a Six on Saturday. To catch up with the rest of the gang, pop over to The Venerable Prop’s site where you can feast on sixes from across the globe. Top tip: don’t try to eat them all at once, a few nibbles then return later for more goodies is how I avoid indigestion. I would recommend being especially cautious when approaching any contribution from a certain Mr K, he can be rather spicy.
One problem solved, another found. This seems to be my mantra. Now I am experiencing “the infuriatingly disappearing tags”, any ideas anyone? Don’t pass this off as fluff. It is an emergency. My frustration resulted in a bad word or six and a reversion to Classic Editor in order to sort it. Mind you, I have always been a classic gal. I have no remorse.
Shall we proceed? I think we should, it’s nearly Sunday.
First, we have another newbie to my gang, Fuchsia ‘Eruption’, seen here getting acquainted with the rhodohypoxis. I’m very fond of this form of fuchsia, which I like to call The Dangly Group, although I have suspicions there may be something more official.
Now Calendula ‘Neon’. This photo is possibly over-exposed, as it was taken during a full-on sunny abberation. But I liked the way it turned out, radiating solar energy with a patient bud waiting in the wings.
Aeonium ‘Zwartkop’ was a gift from Lady Mantle. Is it still called a gift when you ask for it? Not sure. I am pretty certain she was thinking of giving it to me anyway. We shall never know. For those of you with wicked minds, you know who I am talking about, I did not steal it.
Rose of no name. Fragrant, beautiful and a pain in the posterior.
On to Primula capitata ‘Noverna Deep Blue’, with a wonderful dusting of farina on indigo flowers. This is kept in a pot and circulated with the other seasonal favourites. When its glory time is over, it will be hidden around a corner with the other has-beens. Until next year, when it will hopefully shine again. If only life was like that. Glory then rest, repeat. I could live with that.
And finally, Aquilegia canadensis with its delicious St Clements bloom. I love it.
That’s me done, another week all sixed out. Stay safe my friends, its not over yet.
It is always special to see once of your babies doing well. This Iochroma australe was grown from seed and now, with its pale sister, is thriving in Max’s garden.
I do wish I had kept one for myself. It could have elbowed its way into a corner somewhere.
On reflection it probably is for the best. Sometimes you have to let your young ‘uns go, to spread their leaves elsewhere.
It was predicted but you never can be quite sure, I have been disappointed before. As we slept it started, but in the morning it was hard to say quite how much had fallen. A morning at The Buns, planting in mainly mizzle with a little drizzle, showed just how little it had penetrated into the soil. It would have to try harder. And this afternoon it did. Proper rain. Welcome rain.
I’ve always enjoyed sleeping. Would it be immodest of me to say I’m rather good at it? Well I am, it would be my Mastermind specialist subject. That is until recently. My meagre superpower has abandoned me. In the past few weeks, months even, I have woken early, wide awake with no glimmer of sleep on the horizon.
There was no change this morning. At just before six I was up and about, full of beans, top of my game. I spent the two hours between rising and leaving for Nancy Nightingale’s, watering the garden, catching up with emails and the weekend papers (mainly looking at the pictures) and preparing for the day ahead, all whilst the nightbird dozed upstairs.
As I grabbed my work bag and headed out, I thought “I don’t think I’ve got my house keys. No matter, I won’t need them” and I pulled the door closed behind me. Something felt amiss. I looked down. Bare, naked feet. I had forgotten to put my shoes on.
Oh dear. Someone is going to be grumpy.
Off The Edge Gardening