A few drops of rain yesterday. I was hopeful for a reprieve, but ultimately it was inconsequential in the scheme of things. A pathetic effort. No need to shelter or to wish waterproofs were at hand.
This trollius is a moisture lover. It should be in a complete sulk. At the moment it doesn’t seem to be complaining too much. Those stamen are being flaunted outrageously and defiantly. Long may it continue.
This afternoon I had a short break from jack-hammering/mattocking/dynamiting the ground to extract couch grass, brambles and ivy. Wandering around the garden I came across what I think might be Hydrangea macrophylla ‘Ayesha’. This shrub had been squashed between closely planted trees and was therefore reaching for the sky, the only way was up. Just one flower, due to my formative pruning in the autumn, but showing great promise. I am optimistic that next year it will be quite splendid.
I have been strong until now. But today, I must confess, I succumbed to that most unforgivable of outbursts. In my defence I was living it and it was hurting. Anyone would weaken under the circumstances, crumble like a rich tea in a hot cup of tea. All was fine until mid afternoon, at this point things started to go wrong. The crescendo that had been slowly building reached its apex. It was then the heinous crime was committed. Although all alone On Button Moon, I suddenly exclaimed to the daylilies and anyone else who cared to listen “It’s too bloomin’ hot!”.
It was done. Please forgive me.
The Thai basil just shrugged and said “bring it on!”.
Until recently I wasn’t a gaillardia fan. It was nothing personal, they just didn’t rock my world. Bit nondescript. Non-committal, that was me. Take them or leave them. Did someone mention an American daisy often used in bedding schemes? Sorry I nodded off, don’t bother repeating yourself. Their merits had never been discussed with my peers, or even on piers. To my knowledge I had never even said the word out loud.
That is until Mrs Bun introduced me to Gaillardia ‘Aristata Tokajer’. Held aloft on sturdy stems, marmalade and lemon curd flowers shout “ignore me at your peril!”. Very popular with pollen beetles too. I am fine company.
When I stumbled over the word Mrs Bun giggled. A little cruel I felt. I think it was revenge. Possibly deserved.
Beware, I am in a ruthless mood today. Inhabitants of the garden that have not been performing to my exacting standards have been extradited to the green bin. Oleander that has never flowered, promised once but was only joking – Out! Dead stick thing that has been in extensive care for so long the label has rubbed clean – Out! Scrubby grass with no aesthetic merit whatsoever but for some perverse reason I have always felt sorry for – Out! OH has been hiding.
I feel cleansed and ready to write my Six on Saturday. We are semi-anarchic group led by Prop Guevara, take a look at his manifesto and all will become clear. You will also meet others in this band of merry folk.
My first offering is Bidens ‘Firelight’. I am fond of bidens. They seem to like me too.
Next we have Impatiens puberula, which earlier this year I transferred from its pot in the back garden into a large barrel in the front garden. After an initial period of homesickness, it has settled in very well, spreading dramatically and beginning to flower well. It is not surprising that it is a little ragged around the edges. The very un-British weather we are enjoying hasn’t really suited this native of cool moist forests in Nepal.
You can have too much of a good thing. This Verbascum chaixii, the nettle leaved mullein, has done too well. After it has flowered, in the autumn I suppose, it will be lifted and divided and shared to all and sundry. In the meantime it is providing a feeding station for bees, no caterpillars spotted yet.
Catanache caerulea ‘Alba’, or the white cupid’s dart, is next. I grew this from seed last year. The joy of seeing a flower bloom that you have propagated never diminishes.
Now a watsonia seedling, a bit of a tender Terry, it was one of the many I was worried about earlier in the year. It is not flowering as prolifically as it did last year, but I can forgive it for the harsh treatment it withstood. The colour is wonderful.
Sat on the steps earlier, worn out by my tyranny, I felt that I was being watched. Glancing sideways at the pot of begonias to my right, I saw this little chap, who kindly stayed in position whilst I dashed inside to get my camera. As for the rest of the plants, you can all relax now. For the moment anyway.
That is that. All done. Thanks for your leadership Propman. Next week perhaps …..
These are days of few words. Achillea ‘Terracotta’ and associate. All is well.
Sometimes it works out just dandy.
There was a problem with my dahlia order. Last autumn I selected a modest amount of mainly species varieties, plus one cultivar. These would arrive in the spring as rooted cuttings, young and adorable. Time trickled by and I began to wonder if I had been stood up. I emailed, I was placated. I was let down again. I emailed, they confessed. Some of my order was not available. This did not surprise me, it has been a difficult year for growers. We agreed on replacements. Still I was a little forlorn as I was looking forward to growing merckii again. There is always next year. There is always, always next year, that is one of the wonderful things about gardening.
Now that little problem had been sorted out, I was told they would arrive forthwith. Great news as I was going away for a long weekend on Friday morning. Like a child waiting for Christmas, each day I rushed home “are they here?” only for my little face to fall when I was told “not yet”. Thursday snuck up and still there had been no box of horti-bonbons delivered. There was no other option, I would have to pass the potting up task to OH. Not ideal. He would try his best I am sure and beggars cannot be chosers. Then, a tap at the door. It was 9.15pm who could that be? I had told Tom Hardy that I couldn’t go to the pictures with him that night, but he has been known to be rather persistent. It was none other than my neighbour from across the road and he was clutching my parcel. Before he had time to explain, I grabbed the packet, yelled some suitable platitudes and dashed to the shed to get the compost out. Before long they were all potted up, well watered and given some suitable words of encouragement.
Let me introduce you to my charming crèche: 2 x Dahlia dissecta, 1 x D. purpuseii, 1 x D. sorensenii, 2 x D. campanulata and 2 x D, ‘Candy Eyes’. They might not all have been first choices, but each and every one of them is most welcome. Although, a merckii would have been nice. You are right, I must move on. As Luther Vandross once sang, you should always “love the one you’re with”. The following morning I would set off for Somerset knowing that they at least they had been planted the right way up.
On Saturday we visited Wells and The Bishop’s Palace. A glorious day and an equally gorgeous garden. And then, as if to rub salt into the wound, who should be blooming its little heart out in one of their sumptuous borders? Yes, my almost, nearly, should have been me, Dahlia merckii. Next year, definitely next year.
Off on my adventures for a few days, can I leave you in charge of watering? Thanks!
One of my first tasks on Button Moon was to pick out the weeds from a sowing of wildflowers. I was stumped. Wildflowers. Weeds. Aren’t they the same thing? I was worried that my dumbfounded look was not impressing my new employers. Pickle the Jack Russell looked disappointed at my reticence. The silence was awkward.
Inaction was not an option. I did my best. We decided that the perennials were a disaster, mostly nasturtium and dandelion. The annuals more promising. Some were obvious, I shimmied around others.
This linum survived, as did many others. All beauties, none of them weeds, as few of us are in our mothers’ eyes.
Off The Edge Gardening