Off The Edge Gardening

Reminisces

My yearly trawl through reams of digital photos, deleting and labelling as I go, has begun early. Not only does this attempt to impose some kind of order into my life give the illusion that I am in control, it also gives me an opportunity to share some of these snaps and the reminisces they invoke. And I don’t have to go outside.

This picture of brace of crab apples was taken on a December meander around the gardens of Chambercombe Manor, not far from where we live. I do love a crab apple and often recommend them when asked for advice on a small tree for the garden. Beautiful blossom, abundant fruit, good autumn colour, wildlife friendly with few pests or diseases to ruin the party. Near perfect.

Six on Saturday – Immobile

There have been happenings this week. Those who have missed out on recent events can find all the juicy details in my post A Different Boot. Ok, it’s not terribly juicy, but I was trying to entice you in. Will this accident keep me from my Six on Saturday obligations? I think not. I am made of much sterner stuff. It would take something far more catastrophic to stop me contributing to The Propagator’s worthy meme. Oh, and Saint Propesa of Caversham told me to pull myself together, stop whingeing and get SoSing or feel the brunt of his wrath. So I have. There may however be some bending/deviating from the rules which I generally adhere to like gorilla glue. In the circumstances I think I should be allowed a little leeway. If you are in the slightest bit interested in how this all works, and quite frankly who wouldn’t be, check out this caring soul’s site for details of how to join in and who else is ~~trapped in his evil grasp~~ involved.

First we have a view from my front window, looking out, which I expect you had gathered. The scaffolding is still in place and yesterday we had even more put up, an extension out over next door’s roof so the builders can render the chimney in safety. I suggested holding the renderer by the heels whilst it worked but it was vetoed. Something about health and safety. Wimps. We asked to keep the cracked chimneys when they were removed during Phase 876 of the work. The plan is to use them in an imaginative and innovative way in the garden. Yes, we will stick some pots in the top.

Next we have a view from the rear door, the scaffolding has gone, horrah! It is all looking rather empty, but that won’t last. A short stride up the steps into the main micro-garden and there are at least a million pots that need to come back down to the relative warmth of this little courtyard for the winter. Looking for volunteers…..

Now we have my beautiful jacaranda tree. The Borrowers would definitely recognise this as a tree, however most normal sized humanoids would view it as a nondescript plantlet. It is all relative. This is my number one specimen, Big Daddy, which is why it has been brought into the house for the winter. Anther one, which I affectionately call “squirt”, will have to tough it out in the big bad world. No room at the inn.

From a tree (yes it is) that lives in the house, to a house plant that lives outside. Not this actual plant, but another, less lush looking one. We have a lot of aspidistras in the house. Too many. They belong to my OH, dragged around with him from house to house for the last forty years. At all too regular intervals he splits them to make more and they magicaly appear in new places around the house. We also force other people to take them. “Sorry no biscuits, but please take an aspidistra with your cup of tea?” They are like tribbles. In amongst the herd are a couple of variegated specimens. Whether this is a sport or there more than one variety, I have no idea. I won’t bother asking. Up until very recently I didn’t realise this variegation was a good thing. I may be warming.

Enforced immobility has opened the door to other more gentle activities. I have mentioned before my surfeit of garden related books. It is also true that I am an avid reader. However I rarely read horticultural books. Sometimes but not often. As it happens I am reading two at the moment. An upstairs book, Alys Fowler’s Hidden Nature, and this one, my downstairs book. This has sat in my pile for a while. Partly because I want to give it the careful attention it deserves. Now I have the time. I have read several of Richard Mabey’s books and enjoyed them immensely. Having dipped my toe (one from the good foot) in yesterday, I have no doubt that I am going to love it just as much as the others.

And now a warning: I am about to get serious. Perhaps even a little sloppy, maybe sentimental. Number six is a get well soon bouquet from my next door neighbour. Not only neighbour but friend, the wonderful Michelle helped me and OH in our hour of need. I am sure she won’t mind but I going to share this perfect yellow rose with everyone who has sent me good wishes and bad jokes. For the friends near and far, real or virtual, who took the time to comment and sympathise. All hail the positive power of the internet. It is also for the NHS staff at North Devon District Hospital, who did their jobs with efficiency and kindness in equal measures and smiled while they performed them. Superheroes, every one of them.

An eventful week, but certainly not all negative. Stay safe everyone.

A Different Boot

Wouldn’t it have been grand if it had happened whilst snatching a kitten from the path of a speeding train, or maybe free-climbing the Shard for a worthy charity, perhaps tackling some fiend who had just stolen a dear old ladies handbag and had sprinted of into the distance, or even during some extreme gardening? But I didn’t. I fractured my foot because I was under the impression there was only one step to go at the bottom of the stairs and there were two. Counting was never my strong point.

Apart from the obvious, “foot heading in a direction that quite frankly is not natural” another unfortunate issue was that I was wearing what I like to call my “lounge wear”. Others might call them (perhaps more accurately) “tatty old mismatching pyjamas”. Yes I am quite aware that it was 2.00pm, and at this time of day only true slovens and nightworkers are still so casually dressed. However it was a rain-stopped-play day and I had earlier, at an almost respectable time, changed out of my genuine PJ’s into my LW. Not certain though if I had brushed my hair.

I will save you the gory and dull details, I am sure your imagination will fill any gaps. Just in case you are struggling here are a few key words to help you along the way. Agony, attempting to get into car without passing out, leaning against a wall outside A&E like a one-legged sobbing stork whilst OH tried to find a wheelchair, being taken pity on by an ambulance driver who managed find a wheelchair and kindly took me to reception, waiting, triage, waiting, doctor, waiting, x-ray, waiting, prognosis, waiting, groovy boot and crutches allocation. Out with the golden, in with the storm trooper.

If like myself you are rather a curious creature, you will be wondering who else was in the waiting room. Luckily (yes irony) I had plenty of time to study them. There was a teenager wearing sports shorts and a blazer with a rugby induced ankle injury (far cooler than me obviously), a young woman with a broken finger who could still text at the speed of light, a workman with a broken arm and a moody wife, a farmer who had broken his wrist last month and hadn’t noticed, and a man in combats with a badly cut chin. My favourite fellow waitee however was a charming little girl who had stuffed toilet paper up her nose and couldn’t get it out again. Her reasoning was very sensible I thought, she had a stinky cold and was fed up with having to wipe it all the time. Almost two minutes of arrival she began to ask of everybody and anybody “why have we got to wait so long?” and was still doing so when I was wheeled off to the equipment cupboard. Hopefully, for the sake of all, she was soon whisked off to the nose vacuuming department.

Onto the actual damage, I have an avulsion fracture to the talus and navicular bone, possibly more problematical is that some of the tendons are also damaged. It appears that my injuries are very similar to those of our very own Torrington Tina, although she got there 5 weeks before I did. We have been comparing notes. I am not sure “great minds think alike” is applicable in this case. There will be no gardening for me until next year and then I must take it easy, “avoid uneven surfaces” might be a tricky one.

One last point, you will be very pleased to hear that I gave my business card to the doctor in the fracture clinic, seems like he needs a gardener. He knows of course that he will have to wait for a few weeks, but I told him it would be worth it!

Retreat

Last year I was captivated by a short series on television called Retreat: Meditations from a Monastery. It consisted of three hour long programmes about the day to day life of three Benedictine monasteries in the UK. The commentary was minimal, the effect mesmeric. I then read a fascinating book about Julian of Norwich, a 14th century anchoress, written by the wonderful Janina Ramirez. I know, who would have thought it? I can read! Since then I have had a compulsion to get away for a couple of days, on my own, for a peaceful and perhaps reflective time. I didn’t want it to be structured or themed. I certainly didn’t want to be bricked up in a cell for the rest of my life. I wanted to make the rules and break them if I felt the need. Chocolate was to be involved. The thought of a little self-enforced solitude (and hopefully be able to get stuck into some serious writing) sounded idyllic. To suit myself; eat when I was hungry, sleep when I was tired, have a little company when needed.

And that is just what I have done this weekend. I didn’t wear a watch all weekend, when I went for a walk I didn’t take a camera, there was no social media. And it was wonderful.

Thanks Mr and Mrs Bun, it was just perfect.

The Force

There I was, happily sorting fallen leaves into alphabetical order, not a care in the world, when suddenly I was overwhelmed with the sensation that someone was watching me.

Glancing to my right I stepped back, startled. Could it really be true? Peering through the gate was none other than Yoda of the Roundhouse, Jedi Master and champion bone chomper.

“The force is strong in you” he woofed.

“Surely you don’t mean Ground Force?” I replied.

“No dimbo” he snarled “The Force, you know the light side as opposed to the dark side!”

“Oh, you mean the trowel floating and the secateur sabre?”

“Yep, that’s the thing.”

“I see. So how are things with you?”

“Not great at the moment, the dark side is strong, we need more good guys, come and help”.

“I am free this weekend, but I have to be home by Monday”.

“Fine, we should get things sorted by then”.

“I’ll fire up the Millenium Ford Focus”

See you next week.

Tonics and Barks

As he does most Sundays, this morning OH trundled off to buy the papers. He returned some time later with crisps, beer and this book (oh and the papers). That is what I call fine shopping.

I am sure I am not alone in owning a significant number of gardening books, some might say too significant. In recent years I have slowed down my purchases, veering towards the more specialised, the ancient and the pretty. This RHS tome, written by Deni Brown and first published in 1995, is one book that had up to this point alluded me. An initial, excited and therefore non-focused and random, flick through the pages shows it to be a comprehensive and wide-ranging encyclopedia. From abelmoschus to ziziphus, history, geography, design and uses, much is covered. Of course names may have changed in the last twenty-three years, reclassification is the nature of botany, but this doesn’t bother me, these things are easily checked.

The quotation on the title page struck me as something as relevant today as it was in mid-19th century America. Something we should remember, something we should keep close.

Six on Saturday – Tempus fugit

Pay attention impetuous youth! All you downy-haired saplings listen carefully to what I am about to say and take heed! The rumours that Old Father Time presses his foot firmer on the gas with each passing year is in fact a painful truth. Was it really a week ago since the last Six on Saturday? Hard to believe. Quite why this acceleration occurs is a mystery to me. I am sure it has been pondered in scientific papers and debated long into the night by academics. Whatever the reason may be, I don’t like it. And rest assured I will be making an official complaint to the management. Talking of highest authority, our SoS CEO The Propagator might be able to shed some light on this annoying phenomena. If not he will definitely be able to explain the modus operandi of this Six on Saturday malarkey. Anyway I haven’t got time to hang about. It will soon be next Saturday.

To begin we have a viola, one of my favourite winter bedding plants. That is once you come to terms with the fact that it often stops flowering over the worst of the weather and you start wondering why you didn’t chose cyclamen or primulas instead. Then, just before your patience wears dangerously thin, it bucks up its ideas and flowers its pretty little head off. I planted some yesterday (including this darling) in the Belfast sink at the front of our house, before which I had rammed in 12 orange and 12 purple tulip bulbs. In my mind’s eye these will make a dramatic display in the spring. The truth of the matter may be quite different.

As well as sorting out one of the planters I also cleared some of the rampant geranium and replaced it with an ompalodes and an epimedium. I am a huge fan of epimediums, sometimes known as barrenwort or bishop’s hat, so it has been a great mystery (to myself only, no one else is the slightest bit bothered one way or the other) why I haven’t acquired one before. I say acquire because this wasn’t actually bought. It was half inched (with permission) from Lady Mantle. Autumn colour in herbaceous perennials is often overlooked as a bonus.

I am sure that many of you are well acquainted with the common bindweed, which has the great accolade of being my favourite weed, although I am also very fond of enchanter’s nightshade. As a child (and even now when I get the chance) I loved to pinch the back of the flower and catapult the bloom out into space. I find pulling up the long brittle roots very therapeutic, a challenge and conundrum. As they don’t start into growth until quite late in the season, much else gets a head start which is very thoughtful. They are good fun all round. These days all bets are off when they get to the stage of flowering; a quick tug and a telling off and all is well in the world again. If only it was so simple to solve other global problems. This one is growing high in the hedge, out of reach of my twitching hand, and was looking very pretty in the sunshine today. It was awarded a stay of execution until I find something to stand on.

When grown well Trachycarpus fortunei, known to its pals as the Chusan palm, is a fine and dramatic specimen to grace the garden. Here is the rub. This specimen is not grown well. It is crammed into a pot, fair bursting at the seams, situated in the windiest position of the garden. It is not happy. It is ugly and angry but defiantly continues to produce new fan-like leaves, which before too long become burnt and ragged. Sad really. It should be rescued by someone kinder.

To add insult to injury, the poor palm has to share it’s already cramped living quarters with a tatty old ivy. Where this Hedera helix came from, I have no idea, possibly snaked in from somewhere close by. In part variegated, the rest reverted to dull type, it too is struggling. Now they are inseparable in their agony, a chimera of pain. I think I might be getting a little carried away. Swiftly onwards …….

We will end on a happier note, Fuchsia microphylla, the small-leaved fuchsia. Also in a pot, but a quite different story this time, it has been tended to and adored. Although not entirely happy with the stresses of the searing summer, it is now relaxed and healthy. At the moment is has both fruit and flower adorning it. Even better. Talking of fruit, if you fancy a challenge take a look at Mr K’s SoS, he has posed a little puzzler for us all.

That is it! Done and dusted. See you all in the gloaming.

Double Vision

A couple of months ago Lady Mantle was invited by Max for lunch. This was the first time that one of my clients had visited another. It got me to thinking.

When I lived in Bristol, before I saw the horti-light, I used to visit a hardware shop not far from where I worked. It was a traditional, fork handles/four candles kind of place. Packed from floor to ceiling were pots and pans and sandpaper and scissors and mothballs and other such treasure. Quite why I was such a faithful fan I can’t remember, possibly I was going through my string phase or needed to bolster my collection of galvanised nails. Behind the counter sat one of two youngish chaps, both with a similar demeanour of “don’t bother me unless you really have to and then don’t bother me”. They were fine once you got to know them, but were definitely disciples of the “treat them mean and keep them keen” school of customer service.

One day I was in another part of town, in desperate need of some WD40 (we’ve all been there) and I remembered that there was another outlet of this same store close by. Perfect, my penetrating oil and water-displacing spray deficiency sorted. As I crossed the threshold I stopped in my tracks and looked about me in disbelief. It was exactly, I mean exactly, a carbon copy of the other shop. The same size, the same stock in the same position and behind the counter (which was identical) the same grumpy man who gave me the very same look of disdain. Surreal. I poked my head out the door, just to convince myself I was where I thought I was. Yes. Fearing the ridicule of Laughing Boy I continued as if this absolute attention to doubleganger detail was all perfectly natural, made my purchase and left slightly disturbed by the whole experience.

When her ladyship said she was visiting I fantasized about how wonderful it would be if, after lunch and small talk, she was invited to look around the garden and found a carbon copy of hers. There would be no looks of disdain though. Just laughter at such jolly ruse. It wasn’t real life after all.

Six on Saturday – Autumn Antics

It has been a rather discombobulating week, with midweek shenanigans and not much work. The little work I did proved to be rather beneficial, it seems that I am no longer in denial about the onset of autumn. It appears that I have caught up with everyone else, just in time for winter to rear its, potentially, ugly head. This week I have enjoyed being wrapped up against the elements, the drizzle didn’t bother me, the urge to tidy was strong and truly enjoyable. So much so, I worked in my own garden yesterday, before the “weather” arrived and I was reluctant to come in when it did. Today I will be celebrating the autumn garden. Well my autumn garden anyway. Six things in fact, which is just as well as this is Six on Saturday time again. Swan on over to The Propagator’s site to discover what it is all about Alfie, where to send your blank cheques and read contributions from other ~~mugs like myself~~ SoSers.

First we have more from the Bed of Anarchy, which on reflection does sound like a death metal band. The late flowering cerise cosmos are supporting themselves on the now monstrous Lycianthes rantonnetii. This Paraguayan nightshade is also commonly known as the blue potato bush, neither of which are particularly decorative names, and has grown to its predicted 2m in one bizarre growing season. Whether or not it will be allowed to stay is the subject of heated debate (with myself and therefore could run for weeks). It may be located to someone with a more appropriately sized garden.

Next we have some pyracantha fruit, admittedly looking quite beautiful. I may have mentioned it before (perhaps one hundred times) but I am not a fan of prickly plants. And they know it. This one, purchased by OH, is in a pot and has viciously stabbed me on numerous occasions. Intentionally. It knows it is quite safe.

Now for a newbie to the Heavenly Horti Family. This is Salvia ‘Phyllis’ Fancy’ gifted to me by my old friend Hero. I have long loved this salvia; hardy and long flowering and of course dreamily delicious with its violet calyx and tinged white flowers. It was necessary to prop her up against the scaffolding for a spot of industrial chic and the fact that she is rather floppy. At present she is banished to the naughty corner, as she brought a cargo of unwelcome whitefly with her. All the same, a lovely present.

Onto more fruit, this time of the honeysuckle. These strawberry jelly orbs are tasty morsels for hungry birds, fresh flowers are opening on a daily basis and it is quite thornless. Am I making myself clear?

Now we have a slightly battered flower of the osteospermum that never sleeps. A slight exaggeration perhaps (moi?). The Beasts stopped it in its tracks, but after a rather harsh chop back earlier in the year and some encouraging words it has come back fighting. Always a joy.

Lastly we have Salvia leucantha, doing a fine impersonation of a purple wet dog. It has been featured before, but realistically this is going to happen more often as the year progresses. I am hoping that rather like myself, your memories are more patchy than photographic.

That’s it! Another SoS completed! Thanks Mr P for your leadership. Same time, same place?

Thelma and Aunty Louise

One of the many benefits of my job is that, whether I’m looking for them or not, I acquire new friends along the horticultural way. As a matter of course my employer ends up becoming my buddy as well as my client. Perhaps I should warn people of the risks involved before they take me on.

Tomorrow I am going on a road trip with Nancy Nightingale. We are going all the way to Cardiff to what I believe is called a “gig” in modern parlance, after which will be staying at an, almost inevitably, dodgy hotel. The band is a Swedish sisterly duo called First Aid Kit and one of their songs is on my “imagined” greatest hits album. This is in partnership with my esteemed singing teacher who sings over my mistakes. My Mum, with tongue firmly ensconced in cheek, said “if they need a break you could always take over”. It will be risky to rely on them to need the toilet on demand, we may need to plan a stage invasion. I just have to work out how to get a step-ladder through security.

It should be a fun couple of days, involving music and plants and laughing, some of my favourite occupations. However, I am a little nervous. NN is a fully paid up, card holding, Rock Chick. I am, a rather scruffy, definitely uncool gardener. This presents one almost insurmountable problem. Seriously folks, WHAT AM I GOING TO WEAR?!!!

This Tibouchina urvilleana, gifted to me by one of my clients turned friend, the lovely Penny (Mrs Fish). She headed south for the summer and hasn’t returned. And I miss her and her gang.