Six on Saturday – Celebration

On the face of it there hasn’t been much to celebrate recently.  For quite a while now.  Most of the reasons, and there have been a fair few, have been, and are continuing to be, well documented.   Too many commas?  Perhaps.  In our little corner, just to add some spice to the mix, we have a new leak at the back of the house and our boiler threw a hissy fit on Tuesday and will not be fixed (at the earliest) until Monday.  Good job it isn’t cold and wet and miserable, that would be truly horrendous.  Wait a minute ……..  Still, where there is life and a multi-pack of kettle crisps there is hope and there is generally something to smile about in the garden.  My Six on Saturday will therefore be a celebration.  I will not be thwarted.  Not this week anyway.  If you would like to read the rest of the gangs’ contributions, a lovely optimistic lot they are too, pop on over to The Maestro Prop’s site to find out what is going on across the globe and beyond.

First we have a primula, and a rather lovely one at that.  It has been left to its own devices and, as things do, it has bulked up in a pleasing way over the last few years.  I don’t remember planting it, but this means little.

Now the seed head of Micanthus nepalensis, its contents jettisoned.  The skeleton a reminder of what was and what is to come.

A large piece of this rosemary snapped off a few weeks ago.  “Helpfully”, and yes the inverted commas are significant, my OH tidied up the broken piece that was sheltering a friendly snail.  Although a little battered, the flowers are defiant.

Well hello Muscari latifolium, please feel free to grow and become the beauty you are destined to become.  No need to be shy, we are all friends here.

I love the fiery red that some of the Pelargonium cordifolium var. rubrocinctum leaves have turned this winter.  Although this could possibly indicate stress, unhappiness or indeed despair, I dismiss this negativity and just enjoy the show.  Harsh, and not in the slightest bit fair.

And to conclude I will share something that is not lurking in my garden.  I hope I am forgiven.  Let me take you to the romantic setting of an industrial estate on the edge of Bideford, not far from the recycling centre and around the corner from the furniture warehouse.  It was here, after 34 years of unwedded bliss, myself and OH had a civil partnership.  It was very low key, just ourselves and our witnesses, the glorious Lord and Lady Mantle.  We then scooted off to the Burton Art Gallery for lunch.  As would befit the ocassion, myself and OH had chips and beer whilst the Mantles enjoyed galettes and fizz.  The sun shone.  It was lovely.  Although to be honest Lady M. could have looked a little jollier.  I am also slightly concerned that it was the registry office we visited and not Screwfix …..

Stay well friends, keep your chins pointed towards the sky and don’t lose the faith.  ‘Til next time.

My Delight

Many years ago the only tomatoes grown at Cliffe were Gardener’s Delight.  When I took over I rebelled (I know a surprise) and we extended our range significantly.   But still we grew Gardener’s Delight.  Because they are delicious.  Yesterday at Nancy Nightingale’s I sowed seed whilst she hacked back.  I sowed San Marzano tomatoes, radish and spring onions, courgettes, melons and marigolds.  And Gardner’s Delight.

You didn’t expect Nancy to have understated labels did you?

Six on Saturday – Between Storms

Are we still hanging on?  Hope so.  Welcome to another Six on Saturday.  If you need to know more or you would like to see what the others are up to, and quite frankly you would be daft not to, pop over to The Maestro Prop’s site and all will be revealed.  A tricky week, but it has passed.  Shall we proceed.

We’ll kick off with Paeonia mlokosewitschii, conveniently known as Molly the Witch.  Every year she puts in an appearance, but she is yet to flower.  This year, or perhaps next, might be her inaugural season.  It doesn’t really matter; it is always good to have a witch in close proximity.

On to Lachenalia quadricolor, which by some kind of Disney miracle I have managed to keep alive.  So far anyway.  I bought it last March at the HPS Lecture Day.  This flower is far from the ideal, but still it makes me happy.  It reminds me of a giraffe and that can only be a good thing.  My mum loves giraffes.

Next is horticultural fleece on the washing line.  The storms unceremoniously peeled it from the plant it was supposed to be protecting.  It had become a pathetic wet mess, only kept from blowing away by the amount of rainwater it was holding within its fibres.  I hung it on the line to dry, along with its similarly inept colleagues, during our short respite.

On to a crocus.  Fabulous!  Just look at the delicate purple veins on the blue-white of the embracing petals, their deep violet bases leaching upwards.  Doesn’t it make your heart beat a little faster?  I don’t want this flower to do anything else; no opening, no ripening.  I want it to hold tight onto this moment, it is perfect as it is.

The Exochorda x macrantha has decided to have a little bit of a bloom.  I don’t mind.  Although not my favourite, it is rather nice in its virginal simplicity.  Just nice though, no quickening of the pulse.

Lastly, an ever-faithful stalwart of my SoS, Tibouchina urvilleana, which is tucked in under a tree.  For extra protection, it was supposed to be swaddled by one of the previous fleecy offenders.  Seems she shrugged off her constraints, like the diva that she is, and have a tentative attempt at flowering.  Again, all to my benefit.  Make the most of it gal, you may well have to be rewrapped very soon.

All done.

So long, farewell, auf Wiedersehen, adieu
Adieu, adieu, to yieu and yieu and yieu.

Bit Sad

I miss seeing all the clients I haven’t been able visit because of this dire weather.  Today I popped in just to catch up with Zeus.  We had a good wrestle, two cups of coffee (just me, you don’t want to see him caffeined up), a chitty chat with his mum, a wet wander around the garden looking at everything that needed to be done once it stopped raining and then I left.

Zeus is looking a bit sad because I was going home.  I was a bit sad too.

Three Tales

Tale One

Many years ago, when I was still afraid of my own shadow, I accompanied my OH to a posh event in the Victoria and Albert Museum in London. Some of his discoveries were being displayed in an exhibition, he had been invited to the opening night and I was his Plus One. Of course, it was not just we two. There was a veritable plethora of historians, archaeologists and other non-specific museum types, all in their best bib and tucker looking like scary grown-ups who knew all the answers. After a short while of silently (on my part) mingling, OH excused himself and left me “rabbit in the headlights” within the throng. In the short time that he was away several people approached me, I was after all a lone young woman in her early twenties. In an attempt to strike up a conversation, their opening gambit was without fail “what do you do?”, “I’m a secretary” I replied. I might well have said I assassinated intellectuals. To a man, they hurriedly made their excuses and dashed off leaving me befuddled and embarrassed. In way of compensation, some might say over-, I proceeded to eat fist fulls of canapes and guzzle the free plonk. It comforted. There was however a saviour in the midst, and I will never forget his kindness. He was perhaps the most distinguished person in the room, a man of great knowledge and an expert in his field. I had met him previously when he had been in Bristol to visit one of OH’s digs. Seeing me marooned in a unfriendly ocean, he took me under his wing. He talked to me at length, explaining to me the significance of some of the displays, involved me in proceedings and, most importantly to me at that time, treated me with the respect that I, and all people, deserve.

Tale Two

A couple of years ago I met a friend at RHS Rosemoor, who to spare her blushes will remain anonymous. OK I will give you a clue …. “TT”. Yes, you’ve got it. I had brought my lovely neighbour along for the ride as she had never been to the garden before and was keen to visit. Chatting over tea and cake, possibly before we had even set off around the garden, TT had been reminiscing about her days as a radiographer. My friend, ever inclusive, turned to ask my neighbour if she worked. “Oh” she said “I am just a nursing assistant at the hospital”. Without pausing for breath, she was swiftly corrected “Never say you are just a nursing assistant! A good NA is worth their weight in gold and the whole system would collapse without them. It is a job to be proud of.” My heart swelled with pride. My neighbour relaxed, there was no hierarchy here. She had been shown the respect she deserved.

Tale Three

Today I came upon a conversation on Twitter that suggested that to presume a woman was a secretary was demeaning. It rankled. As gardeners we are often patronised, dismissed as mere muddy frippery. Which also rankles.

Surely we all deserve a little respect, whatever we do to eke out a living on this troubled planet.