Six on Saturday – Getting There

This is the last January 2025 Six on Saturday. This, to us in the Northern Hemisphere, is almost universally a good thing. Obviously, I can’t speak for everyone. There might be people out there who love drab, damp, windy and decidedly chilly weather. Each to their own. For the rest of us, far, far on the horizon, spring is lurking. Which on some days is enough. If you have time on your hands, pop over to find more SoSing at Garden Ruminations.

Photinia ‘Pink Marble’ has not got the room it needs to flourish, in summer it is jostled by salvias, dahlias and a euphorbia. At the moment it is getting a little breathing room and giving us the chance to appreciate it’s beauty.

Last weekend, when I was playing hooky from SoS, I emptied the compost bin. Although some was still a little sticky, ie not gluey, stick full, most was great. This is both a daunting and satisfying job. I am worried about who might have set up residence and take a fancy to run up my trouser leg. Once done I am reminded what a fantastic way to use up garden “waste” and treat the garden.

I can’t remember what this variegated grass is called. Undoubtedly there is a label in the pot it lives in. Another certainty is that it is cold and windy out there and I am playing my wimp card. Whatever its name, it is a stalwart in the winter garden, which at this moment in time, is quite enough.

The Hardy Plant Society seed arrived this week. And then it arrived again a couple of days later. I had ticked the “I’ll have the stuff no one else does” box. Not disappointed in the slightest. Those that need stratification have been sown and left outside. I was planning on moving them to a more exposed position but didn’t. See excuse above.

OH cleared the patio last weekend, removing all the pots and planters and giving it a good clean. Time for repotting of the acers and decisions to be made about other under performers. This lovely little stone planter needs to be replanted. Hopefully the moss will not be disturbed too much. Not sure the ladybird will take it kindly but I will be gentle and return her when appropriate.

Spring flowering Ipheion uniflorum ‘Wisley Blue’ is a little previous. No complaints here.

There we have it, another six complete. Nearly there.

Lost and Found

I have a, perhaps, peculiar notion that lost things have a will of their own. Left to their own devices they will re-emerge, “ta-da!”, when the time is right. If a cursory search is unsuccessful, it is quite clear the item in question doesn’t want to be found until it is good and ready. There is little point in wasting any more time on all fours peering under the sofa brandishing a stick. Unless, of course, the escapee doesn’t want to be found at all and then you are doomed. Which pretty much covers most bases. This theory is not laboratory tested and the more cynical of you might conclude it is because I have the concentration of a distracted gnat and have never lost anything of great value. You may have a point.

A couple of months ago, whilst working, I lost an ear bud. At the time I was clearing a row of exhausted ipomoea whose job was to climb a short length of picket fencing just outside JK’s front door. As I tugged, in a controlled and clinical way, a piece of tendril whipped past my head, flicking said ear bud out into the universe. I searched the flower bed, the lawn, under the car, in the green bag, in the compost bin and then I searched each and every one again. Then JK searched the flower bed, the lawn, under the car, in the green bag, in the compost and then, under cover of darkness, armed with a highly suspicious torch, searched again. Nothing. We did not stint on effort and this diligence was not rewarded with success. Never mind. I must be more careful in future and note that black is not an appropriate ear bud colour for a cag-handed gardener.

Two weeks later, I received a text message from Mr K. Miraculously, he had found the absconded ear bud. He had appealed to St Jude, the patron saint of desperate causes, by singing Hey Jude, channeling his inner McCartney. Lo and behold, there was the bud, defiantly in plain sight on the bed that we had both searched intensively. He would have appealed to St Antony of Padua, who is the patron saint of lost things, but didn’t know any Beatles numbers for his incantation. No matter, Jude came up trumps with the goods.

We must now talk about another mislay. Several years ago, on the way from here to there, we stopped for refreshment at a garden centre in Somerset. As luck would have it, there was a car boot sale in progress. I love a car boot sale. After a little browsing, I spotted a wooden long-handled collection box, complete with key stating it has once been used at the Bridgwater Agricultural Society Show. We were meant for each other. Deals were dealt and it came home with me, most likely along with a few plants. I decided the box was to be used to save £2 coins, which when full would surely provide a substantial haul. It has never got to those heady heights and when we left Devon it was emptied and the contents spent on frippery.

Arriving in our new house, I unpacked the box and started my collecting again. However, rather annoyingly, I couldn’t find the key. It will turn up, I thought. Surely I wouldn’t have been slapdash with this much loved possession, I would have put it somewhere safe. Definitely. Intermittent additions were made to the box but still no “ta, da!”. I consoled myself that this must be the best kind of saving, with no chance of withdrawal, except by use of violence. And I am not the destructive type. I held firm to my hypothesis.

A couple of days ago, I invested another couple of coins into the fund. Rather clumsily, whilst moving the treasure trove, I tipped the box onto its side. Needless to say, I was quite surprised when the box opened, spilling its treasure across the floor. Now, I wondered, what is that distinctly un-coinlike, object in the middle of the pile? Only the missing key! It appears that for the last three years, the box hasn’t been locked at all, available for delving at any time. More than that, the key hadn’t been lost but somewhere very safe. There is little hope for me, but much hope for my theory of the lost and found.

Six on Saturday – Reluctant

It is not getting any easier, this Six on Saturday lark. I was rather reluctant to venture out to take photos; a cold, soggy and dark garden is not the most enticing destination. However, I told myself that if there was a time when I should make the effort it was now and, not quite convinced by this argument, I took the plunge. I will not pretend I lingered long, but enough to take the shots I needed and reconnect just a little with the story. After all winter is a big part of the narrative, we should not ignore it. More SoSers can be found with our meme-master, Jim, take a look and find out more of the tale.

First a great favourite of mine, Phlomis ‘Rougemont’, which has a story attached and gives my heart a little tug whenever I see it. A gift from Phlomis Phlo and TT, this is the first winter it has stayed out of the greenhouse. It seems to be faring well.

Winter is when you realise just how scant the bare bones of the garden are and wonder if you should do something to improve this. This Pseudopanax lessonii ‘Moa’s Toes’ has thrived here and I adore it. I have got my eye on another pseudopanax at the moment. Resistance is futile.

Now is the time when we must bask in the potential of buds. Last year we had two heavily pitted apples that only their parents could love and we did. Lots of fruiting spurs could suggest a better harvest this year. However, I must not get my hopes up, there is many a slip twixt fruiting spur and fruit.

Oops, should have brought these house leeks into shelter. They look ok, don’t they?

Another bud full of hope is that of Rhododendron ‘Graziella’. It will be a few months until it flowers, but the anticipation will rise. Instant gratification is unusual in our horticultural world, part of the joy is the waiting, the looking forward, the expectation. For my part I need to focus on the moment more. Years ago I read a line in a poem “Only the wanting is perfect”, it struck a chord with me. I thought it was by Brian Patten and, although I have tried, can’t find the source. One day, hopefully.

The garden is in near monochrome at the moment. I found an exception in the shadows, a leaf from Pyrus ‘Chanticleer’, which for some reason has produced this technicolour leaf.

There now, that wasn’t too difficult after all. Hope you are all safe and well.

The Random Book Giveaway – Letters of Note and Dawn

Have you ever read a book and thought “Doris would really enjoy this” only for these good wishes to go the way of many, dissolving into the ether of apathy. This is the springboard The Random Book Giveaway leapt from, where I attempt to pair a book with someone who I think will appreciate both the book and the gesture. In short, a dating agency for the literary curious.

Before we get down to the nitty gritty, first some background to my tale.

When I was a little girl, my Mum and Dad had a post office and stores in a small village in East Sussex. This was an aberration from the norm, but not unusual as such. We moved a lot then. What follows are my memories of this time, the memories of a four year old, enhanced by whispers and gossip. From these shadows there are several seminal moments, many of which could be revisited, but the star of the show has to be Mrs Sydes the Post Lady. Every weekday morning, and possibly Saturday too, she sorted the village post on a large table in the basement of our house. Once sorted she firmly tied the various piles with string, pulling the letters taut. This whole process, whenever possible, was studied by mini-me, transfixed; mesmerized by the flapping of the envelopes being placed in piles, the sound of the string drawing tight against paper, the loading of these into the delivery bag before she set off on her mission. If, for any reason, she was unable to do the rounds my Dad took her place, pedaling around the village astride his trusty red GPO bicycle with, if I was lucky, myself perched on the crossbar. Happy pre-health and safety days, indeed.

This experience ruined me. The flames of my inherent curiosity were fanned to a conflagration. I was desperate to know what was in each and every envelope, all of which were bound to be exciting. The parcels made me faint with anticipation. Which is one of the reasons why a book containing private letters, both ancient and modern, was irresistible to me. The book in question is Letters of Note by Shaun Asher. Perfect for my Random Book Giveaway.

Before we get to the book let us talk about the recipient, Dawn. My youth was full of super cool people, I was not one of them, but she was. Dawn was confident but not cocky, her laughter was wicked but never cruel and her pink, orange and bleached white mohican was monumental. There seemed to be no-one who didn’t come under her spell, she was strong and vibrant, funny and at ease with herself. All the things I wasn’t. If all this wasn’t kudos enough, she worked behind the counter at The Millhouse, a cafe that was more cult classic than middle England, and treated all clans and cliques with equal respect and good humour.

Later, when we both lived in Bristol, our paths crossed again, inevitably tribes will collide, and our friendship blossomed. We crazy danced, we went to gigs, we played euchre, we laughed; we made a good match, her wild and forthright, me restrained and nervous. They were happy days, full of fun and craziness, but it was much more than that, it was making the most of the little we had, it was being happy with whatever that was, it was living in the moment and, rather more bizarrely, it was lambs running up and down the corridor. What should not be overlooked is Dawn’s kindness, her fiery compassion, her outrage at injustice and love for both animals and the environment. It is not unusual for me to wonder why someone should want to be friends with me. And this is a case in point.

And now for Letters of Note, which touched me greatly when I first encountered it. It is book that I read from front to end in a quite orderly and out of character way, and have dipped back and back and back and, I’m sure, will continue to do so. It will make you cry and laugh and think and possibly reconsider. There are letters from famous people and those not widely known. There are love letters and letters of dismay. There are letters of defiance and confrontation, letters of forgiveness, farewells and funny letters. There are handwritten, typed and illustrated letters. Each and everyone is special in its own way. Which is why I believed that Dawn and Letters of Note would be such a splendid match.

And, to complete the circle, Dawn sent me a wonderful letter of thanks for this amazing book. I think it might have worked.

Six on Saturday – Chilly

A deep breath everyone, we’ve done it. Congratulations Gang, we have successfully managed to complete 2024 and have moved on to 2025, in spite and despite the festivities. Well I hope we all did.

It would be fair to say that this current spell of chilly, and perhaps snowy, weather is my fault. Last week I was bemoaning the mild and clement, hoping for something more seasonally appropriate. And my wish came true. “Sorry about that” or “you are most welcome”, take your pick. I might alternate between the two. Of course, if I had known I possessed the power of wishes, I might have chosen something quite different.

The SoS task is in its tricky stage for us in the Northern Hemisphere, the sun certainly helps with the challenge, we do our best until spring. If you wish to see some Southern Summers and Winter Wobbles then pop over to Jim’s at Garden Ruminations and enjoy. Let us make a start.

First we have a dried flower head of a potted hydrangea, an adolescent cutting from Peggy’s garden. At the moment it is loitering at the side of the house, Sun Alley, moved from its previous home to accommodate the roofer who didn’t turn up.

Each winter the blackbirds arrive, presumably from their Nordic summer homes. They love the apples we throw on the lawn for them but not, it appears, the skin. Today they have apple sorbet.

A self-seeded foxglove, most welcome in this garden, is showing how the most fashionable plants are wearing their frost this year.

Another evacuee from the shady front of the house (did I mention the roofer that didn’t turn up?) is this beautiful Polypodium cambricum. I have a little fernery, all in pots, and this is one of my favourite, presumably puzzled as to what this yellow stuff in the sky is.

The goldfinches found the teasels! Obviously, not in this particular photograph, you will have to take my word for it. I had faith and they came.

Another potted plant basking in Sun Alley is this sweet little cyclamen, name long lost, that never lets me down. The contrary is true. Each year I promise to divide and repot and as yet haven’t. This year, I promise.

There we have it, six on Saturday. Whatever the weekend brings you, stay safe and warm or safe and cool whichever best applies.

Six on Saturday – Inbetweeny

Here we are in Inbetweeny Time, a time which is simultaneously “after” and “before”. It is a time of national confusion. No one is quite sure what day it is, who is working and who is not, with the added trauma of working out when the recycling should go out, as if we miss it there could be catastrophic consequences. The incessant mist doesn’t help with this temporal uncertainty.

Something that binds together this fragmentary interlude, if only we would let it into our hearts, is Six on Saturday. Today I can hold my head up with confidence and shout “It is Saturday!” If you would like to meet others that have also found a bookmark in the bewildering Inbetweeny Time, pop over to Garden Ruminations and all will be most certain. Unless of course you look tomorrow, then I cannot be sure what you will find.

First, an indication of the mildness of the weather, this Salvia corrugata is having another crack at flowering. This tender, canon fodder, is dangerously out of sync and this very fact is a little disturbing. I am under no illusion that the weather might snap at any time putting an end to all this confusion. Which I both want and don’t want at the same time.

Correa schlechtendalii is a winter bloomer and very lovely it is too. The name is perhaps a little challenging.

This odd little variegated agave, bought off a stall outside someone’s house in Newlyn, has always gone its own way. I keep threatening to divide it up but this hasn’t yet come to fruition. You’ve seen the spikes, right?!

Another correa, this time backhousiana which has grown well, if not a little wayward. Apparently, this little shrub makes a good hedge if planted with several of its siblings. I think that sounds a wonderful idea. Let me know when you’ve done it.

Another tender time traveller is Salvia curviflora. Again, how long this lovely sage has left on Planet Gloom is in the lap of the horti-gods.

Lastly, we have the spent bracts of Hydrangea aspera ‘Hot Chocolate’, three maids all in a row. Soon enough I will be pruning these off and the cycle will continue. We must keep the faith in these dark days. That is one of our jobs as gardeners, and a very important one it is too.

There we have it, my last Six on Saturday for 2024. See you next year!

Christmas Love

I love Christmas; I love giving presents, I love picking out special things that show that I care, that I’ve been paying attention, that I understand. I love Christmas; I love cooking the lunch which is more like dinner and is ready when its ready and is always “your best one ever” even though I know its not. I love Christmas; I love the lit candles on the table, the best (only) napkins and the cracker hats and corny jokes. I love Christmas; I love the carols and other festive songs and I love to sing along and sometimes dance a little, dependent on the time of the day. I love Christmas; I love the kindness that floats to the surface from strangers and famials alike, I love check-ins with friends, the reminder of why they have a special place in my heart however far away they might be. I love Christmas; I love a family get together with much laughter and feasting and even more love. I love Christmas; I love a festive family quiz and I love to win. Unfortunately, so do the rest. Game on.

Happy Christmas to you all. I hope your days are full of love and laughter and you get everything that you need and perhaps a little bit more. For those of you who are struggling, I send you strength and hope. And may 2025 be “your best one ever”. See you on the other side. xxx

Six on Saturday – Desperate

I really wanted to come out to play today. Last Saturday was my first contribution for a while and I wanted to keep the momentum going. Inertia may have been vanquished but it is a formidable opponent. This weeks’ problem was the photographs. All day the rain fell. All day my camera was at my side waiting for a hiatus. At 3.30 it happened. Still gloomy, light fading, I made a valiant attempt. Admittedly, it didn’t help that I was taking the shots during the advert break of a film I was watching. I may have rushed a little. The resultant pictures are outrageously rubbish. I don’t care. Or at least I’m pretending I don’t. If you want to find out what the rest of the SoSers are up to, enjoying exciting and in focus photos, pop over to Jim at Garden Ruminations for inspiration and education. Come on, let’s get this over and done with.

Another greenhouse flowerer is Salvia ‘Waverly’. I have been taking the covers off periodically and letting the cossetted ones breath in the damp air, keeping vigilant for a frost warning. I’m wild like that.

Here I have peaked in my inadequacy. Rudbeckia ‘Irish Eyes’ far from its summer home.

If in doubt a black concrete cat will suffice. We bought this earlier in the year from Ewenny Pottery, to dissuade the local felines from eating the birds and pooping in the borders. Of course, they all love him.

This Pseudowintera colorata ‘Moulin Rouge’ has all the potential but none of the support team. I resolve to ensure it has more space and love in the summer and perhaps it may grow a little more.

This Hylotelephium spectabile AKA Sedum spectabile is reinforcing the “wet, wet, wet” and the “out of focus, out of focus, out of focus” theme of this blog.

If anyone were to ask me, in some sort of horti-questionnaire, what my favourite spurge was, there would be no doubt that Euphorbia mellifera would take my vote. This was a gift from Welsh John. It is totally inappropriate for my size of garden, it is totally appropriate for me.

There, all done, happy solstice to you all. The only way is up, baby!

Six on Saturday – Slacker

Lately I’ve been remiss in the Six on Saturday department, possibly in other areas too. Both body and spirit have been weak. Today, before the arrival of the man to check the roof, I nipped out to take a few gloomy photos, as a way of passing a few minutes productively. It transpires that the elusive roofer had double-booked and was a no-show, he owes me an hour of his life which I will be sure to claim at some point in the future.

If I was to describe our garden in one word it would be “mush”. There are no wonderous frost-kissed leaves or hoary stems here, winter wonderland it is not. As it is tricky to aesthetically represent soggy foliage, I have brought to you a meagre alternative, dodging the squodge. If you would like to find out about Six on Saturday and the web of mystery and intrigue it entails, then pop over to Jim’s at Garden Ruminations and all will be revealed. Shall we get on, it’s nearly Christmas.

Every year our Pyrus ‘Chanticleer’ defiantly holds onto its leaves, long past most of its peers. I was convinced that Darragh would manage to persuade it otherwise. Nope.

The Salvia fulgens is still flowering in the confines of the greenhouse, peaking out from the horticultural fleece. The sight of this bloom pressed to the glass made me smile, reminding me of, as a mischievous child, pressing my nose against a window.

Earlier in the year I planted a bulb/corm/rhizome of Jerusalem artichoke, curious if it would grow and prosper. Aware of the reputation of thuggery, I put it in a pot and left it to its own devises. A little pixie cut the stems when I wasn’t looking. Not a problem. Battles must be chosen. Last week I rootled round and harvested a fine handful which I mashed with spuds. Lots left in there. I’m happy with that.

The general flurping of foliage has revealed the seed heads of Lunaria annua ‘Corfu Blue’. Every cloud.

My SoS sister, Noelle, sent me these cyclamen seedlings earlier in the year. No complaints here. Perhaps it is time to divide them up into types, I will wait ’til spring.

The last stalwart is the fabulous Salvia leucantha, refusing to rest, like a small child on Christmas Eve. Time to sleep now!

There we have it, job done. It wasn’t too painful, was it? I could quite get into this Six on Saturday malarky.

Six on Saturday – November Already?!

Seriously, November already? I’m not sure I’m prepared. I don’t mean for frosts and other inclements, I mean ready for, well, how can I put it, gloom. Each sunny day is grasped in a needy way, a life raft in a sea of drear. The garden, of course, couldn’t give a monkey’s about the weather, it seems to battle through most things. We are getting to the bits and bobs, but there are enough to create a SoS for this and perhaps a few more weeks without getting tenuous (my superhero power) or desperate. If you would like to explore our beloved meme pop over to Jim’s site and the mysteries will be revealed. Shall we proceed?

The nasturtium, uninvited but most welcome guest, is showing little sign of slowing down. Don’t ever let me down, little fellow, I’m not sure I would get over it.

Rosa ‘Rhapsody in Blue’ is having a last minute flurry, popping out a bloom every so often, just enough to keep us interested and wanting more.

Shame on me. This is Rudbeckia ‘Irish Eyes’. I grew it from seed, lovingly potting it on and then forgot it. It has every right to be annoyed with me, even more so because it is an annual. All I can do to recompense is to collect seed and be more attentive next year.

We are waiting for the goldfinches. Patiently.

Sometimes I spread myself horticulturally thin. I love my potted plants, they have their glorious moment and then are shoved into the “consider later” corner. Perhaps a little later than I should, I remember and they are rescued just in time for flowering, without any considering at all. A case in point is this Nerine bowdenii ‘Bicolor’. I think I got away with it.

Salvia corrugata. I rest my case.

That is your lot. We made it.