Introducing – Barney and Betty

I’m always a little nervous on the morning of a new job, but I suppose there is no surprise there.  Do you ever grow out of First Day of School Syndrome? Not in my case. The inevitable “getting to know you”, “will they think I’m crazy?”, “do they like straight lines?”, “am I wearing the right outfit?” “who is their favourite member of One Direction?” “what is their opinion on cotoneaster?” stage must be endured.  Always a little daunting.

This morning was my first visit to Betty and Barney’s garden.  They live along the coast with their lovely girls Bammette and Bammesha’s.  They are not strangers to me, Betty is my yoga teacher.  There is a lot riding on this, revenge could be painful.  Here is a quick précis of my initial findings.

Things I didn’t expect, most of which pleased me greatly.  I will leave it up to you to guess the one item that is less than ideal:

  • I didn’t get lost.
  • It is a surprisingly large garden, long and relatively flat, a joy indeed.
  • Hidden at the bottom, through a bamboo glade, there is a fast running stream.
  • A tree peony.
  • An asian pear tree.
  • A monumental rosemary, bay and lavender.
  • A snail bush.
  • Neighbours with magnolias and pine trees which are close enough to “borrow” but far enough away not to shade.
  • Two young sea buckthorns.
  • Sunshine.
  • The remains of a dry stone wall used as a mulch on the borders, industrial chic perhaps?

Things I did expect and wasn’t disappointed:

  • A wonderful welcome
  • Happy helpers
  • Good fun

The mud pies, although offered, were politely declined, as was the Yukky Stone Cake.  Perhaps next time.

 

Six on Saturday – For Joy

Today is damp and dismal yet again.  According to the Met Office, and they are quite trustworthy, Devon was the wettest county in the UK in March, being the recipients of a generous average of 192.5mm of precipitation.  Yep, a lot, unless you are reading this in the Amazon or monsoon country when I expect you are thinking “moaning minny” and I wouldn’t blame you one iota.

This morning the incoming tide carried the mist with it and then the rain began in earnest.  Oh the wonders of a maritime climate!  It is also, of course, time for our Six on Saturday contributions.  Headmaster Propagator will be expecting our homework, and he is too cute to fall for my feeble excuses anymore.  Therefore, I will not shirk my duties, but you will forgive me if I put a little twist on proceedings.

Yesterday afternoon my Aunty Joy died.  She was a couple of months short of 102 years old and had lived independently up until the last year or so of her life.  Nothing to complain about there, a long and healthy life is a blessing indeed and I am aiming for one myself.  Still, sadness is inevitable, celebration most necessary.  Don’t worry, there will be no gloom here, just beauty and devilment, which is so much more appropriate.  I believe she would have been thrilled to be written about, so this week’s Six on Saturday will be for the wonderful Joy.

It was only recently that I discovered that her real name was in fact Irene.  I was rather shocked.  Had she been a secret agent, was she in a witness protection scheme?  No, her pseudonym was given to by her doting father because she brought him such joy.  My dad called me Gin.  This is true, but not for the reason you are thinking.

My first photo is of course the lady in question aged, I would imagine, about 2 or 3 years old.  She looks like an urchin fallen straight from the pages of Dickens novel.  For those who know me, not unlike yours truly.   Dishevelled, hair in the air, mud on the pinny, looking defiantly into the camera.  And just a little bit faded.

London PrideShe was a London girl, born and bred, and proud of it.  To recognise that, we have Chas and Dave singing ….. not really, I’m not that cruel, here we have Saxifraga x urbium otherwise known as London Pride.

rosemary

Joy was very fond of Italy.  She visited frequently, took Italian lessons and recounted tales of her travels, including walking on the glorious beaches eating gelato.  This conjured up, to the little girl that I was, the most exotic images I could imagine.  Actually, sounds pretty attractive to me now!  This prostrate rosemary represents Italy.  I couldn’t find a picture of an ice cream, they don’t last long enough around here to be photographed.

pelargoniumA couple of years ago I bought her a Pelargonium called Joy.  In Joy’s later years she was quite hard of hearing and had a hate/hate relationship with her hearing aids.  I was never quite sure if she understood that the plant had the same name as herself, or not, as it comes to pass.

Fuchsia macrophyllaDriving was not Joy’s forte, I believe it took her 7 times to pass her test and then it might have been on the proviso that she only drove to the shops and not very often at that.  She drove a natty purple mini, for a while anyway.   For that reason I have included a “mini” purplish fuchsia, Fuchsia macrophylla.

roseOnce, as a wet behind the ears lass from Cornwall, I travelled across London with Joy during the rush hour.  This was Joy’s world and took the pushing, shoving and general chaos all in her stride.  A kind gentleman offered me his seat, much to her astonishment and amusement.  Apparently no one gave up seats to anyone during the rush hour, NO ONE!  I must have looked so terrified, uncomfortable, unqualified, that I melted even the hardest commuter heart.   Joy loved roses, we bought her one for a birthday and she would always report back on how well it was doing.

We will finish with another photo of our star of the day, taken at the end of 2014 with the ceramic poppy she was so proud of.  This was one from the installation at Windsor Castle, a sea of poppies, one for each of the UK fallen in the First World War.  Including Joy’s doting dad.

Shall we celebrate this strong, resilient, funny, kind woman who I was so proud of?  I think it would be wrong not to.

Thanks for keeping us all in order Mr P, could you do something about the weather for next week please.  Pretty please?

 

 

 

Busy

Being “busy” seems to be the curse of our age.  “I’m soooooooo busy” we all cry, too busy for this, too busy for that, checking schedules, consulting diaries, sighing.  My inkling is that what this really means is “I am sooooooo important because I have so many hobbies/responsibilities/such an interesting life/endlessly trying to impress my peers that I would completely freak out if there was a gap in my diary in which I could do whatever I felt like at that precise moment”.

I haven’t blogged for a few days.  Quite frankly I couldn’t be bothered.

This honey bee was busy supping at azaleas in yesterday’s outrageous sunshine.  Hopefully not at the expense of friends and family.

Shame

To my shame, I have been a bit grumpy this past week.  Things have annoyed, offended, irritated me.  Not just once, but several times, different incidents, same reaction.  I have felt hard done by, unfairly treated, disrespected, misunderstood.  People haven’t reacted how I wished they would, I haven’t had my own way, my toys were unceremoniously thrown.  A cactus.

Today I remembered a tale that Lady Mantle had told me earlier in the week.

Last weekend they were travelling north to attend her Mother’s funeral.  The snow had melted just enough, the farmer having ploughed the rest, to let them escape.  The drifts had been a worrying obstacle atop of sorrow.  On the journey they stopped off at Cribbs for a break.  When they returned to the car and attempted to continue on their way, the car had other thoughts.  “What a nightmare” I said.  “Well yes” she replied “but as we were waiting for the rescue vehicle we noticed a woman nearby crying, it seems she was in the same situation as us.” But not quite.  Her Lovely Ladyship approached the distressed woman, offering help.  The headscarf gave it away.  It transpires that she was on her way to her next chemotherapy session, had popped to the shops for a moment and on returning her car wouldn’t start.  When the Mantles’ help arrived they asked if there was anything he could do to help her, and he did as much as he could.

What I so desperately needed pointing out to me, over the last few days, is that there is always someone worse off than yourself, kindness is as precious as riches and there is much goodness in the world.

Shame on me.

Six on Saturday – An Easter Parade

It is cold and miserable.  Yet again I did not want to go outside to take photographs for Six on Saturday.  Yes, I know I am a gardener and should be hardened to these things, but there is only so much dreariness a gal can take.   Then I had a little word in my own ear “Whoa now Neddy!  Less of that negative nonsense, slip off your marabou kitten heels, pop on your sparkling wellies and get your petite little rear out into the gloom.  Most importantly stop your incessant wingeing about the weather”.  And it worked!  I might try that again.  So just for you and our own Easter Bunny, The Propagator, (who will be handing out chocolate eggs to his favourite SoSers this holiday time) here is my Six on Saturday.  Yet again sharp focus has been forsaken in pursuit of the perfect art form (it was bloomin’ cold and I was therefore in a hurry).

Shall we proceed?  Some might have heard on the bloggy grapevine that last week I was hobbing with the nobs at the Hardy Plant Society AGM (unfortunately no oaty biscuits were involved).  Here I was honoured to meet the real life, not a robot after all, and champion blogger JK.  As reported by said supergrass, I may have purchased a couple of plants, but in my defence all but two were for my Esteemeds.  The best two of course.  I am a sucker for a salvia.  When I spotted this tall and handsome Mexican, Salvia gesneriiflora, our eyes met across the crowded room, my elbows went out and he was mine all mine.

Pteris umbrosaMy next purchase was a fern.  Now I generally have a problem with ferns.  I love them but find it tricky to distinguish one from the other.  Mostly.  There are some exceptions.  But not enough.  This little lovely is labelled Pteris umbrosa, the Jungle Brake Fern, from Eastern Australia.  However, it doesn’t look like any of the corresponding pictures on-line and isn’t mentioned in my new HPS Ferns book.  Perhaps it is because it is a youngster.  Any ideas anybody?  Nice to see it has made a new friend.  And that friend seems to have left a little gift.  How kind.

Hylotelephium spectabile Now we have a rescued Hylotelephium spectabile, found in the front garden being stifled under a carpet of ivy.  At the “do” last weekend Julian Sutton spoke at great length about plant names and how they have changed over the years and whys and wherefores and ifs and buts.  From both a scientific and a horticultural viewpoint.  This is a case in point, up until very recently it was known as Sedum spectabile. I am unable to comment on this change as after JS’s talk I was left feeling a little sorry for the botanists.  They need love too apparently.  And I have a blogging friend, the wonderful Diversifolius, who is one.  She also sells seeds!!!

BlueberryThe blueberry seems intent on flowering.  This is a good thing of course, flowers mean fruit, but only if they are pollinated.  There are not many pollinators about at the moment, and can you blame them?  I’d be snuggled up somewhere warm and dry too.  So I may have to help things along.  You never know the sun might come out and the insects with it.  I sincerely hope so.  It will be a squeeze getting into that bee costume after all my Easter eggs.

Last Sunday I potted up all my new bulbs, received earlier that week.   I’ve stored them underneath the bench, which might offer a smidgen of protection.  I know, going soft in my old age.  Nerine, leucocoryne, zephranthes and bessera, all putting down roots.  I am going to plant the chasmanthe direct into the garden, once the soil warms a little.  That will be August then.

ostrich eggsAnd finally, a couple of goose eggs, a gift from the Head Gardener at Marwood.  Apparently each one is the equivalent of four hens eggs.  That is some egg.  And I’ve got two!

Don’t forget to pop over to The Prop’s to check out all the other Six on Saturdays, and perhaps even be tempted to join in yourself!

Happy Easter to you all.  Anyone fancy an omelette ?!

 

 

 

Trolley Dash

Actually we didn’t dash, we dawdled, but Trolley Dawdle doesn’t sound quite as good.   The rain was doing its best to scupper all hope of any gardening, so Max’s Dad and myself resorted to Plan B.  B stands for “better”, that is “better shopping”.   This was our first visit of the year to Marwood Hill Gardens and although we only got as far as the plant centre, en route we sneaked glimpses of camellia and magnolia magic.   The trip was a great purchasing success and by the time we reached home most of the seriously bad weather had shifted eastwards.  What is more, we came away with an unusual bonus, but you will have to wait a while to find out exactly what that was …..

 

Prickly

As far as prickly days go, and there is no doubt that is exactly what today was, it was a good one.   At Bill and Benjamina’s, a month or so ago, men with machines carved through brambles at irregular heights before dashing off in their white van to some other garden needy of petrol and posing.  This left a vacancy for some fool (sans machine but with a Ford Focus to make a juddering getaway) to untangle these spiny constrictors from their unfortunate supports and dig up the already shooting and determined roots.  The lucky gal who won the contract was little old me!

Still the sun shone and I made headway on a job that will take weeks to complete.  At the end of the day I admired the pile of cruel brambles, ivy, self-seeded trees and a proportion of a rampant ornamental salix.   Halfway through the afternoon I made a small diversion, attempting to rescue a hacked at hydrangea (hedge trimmer I am guessing), half dead but with potential to be something special.  Long before B&B took residence, the garden was planted by a woman, now in her 90’s, who obviously was a keen dabbler in the green arts.   Who knows what beauty this sickly hydrangea might turn out to be?  While there is life there is definitely hope and while there is hope I will continue to dig up those darned brambles.

The shot above caught my eye just as I was leaving.  This garden has many hellebores, most I imagine are seedlings, they form carpets beneath the trees in a range of colours and sizes.  The narcissus positioned perfectly in the foreground.  I believe there are horticultural treasures waiting to be found here, beneath the detritus.