Adamant

I am in the midst of turbulent times.  There have been adventures to be enjoyed, and they didn’t disappoint.  Next were events that had to be full-on faced, and so they were.  Some challenges are yet to come, and these will present demands anew.  Today, the eye of the storm, allowed me a healing day in my garden.  There were other claims on my time, but I was adamant.  This is what I was going to do.  And rightly so.  Now I feel ready to face the foe and the friend alike.

Six on Saturday – Rush

The Prop he will explain. In a big rush, in fact I didn’t even take the photos. My little brother did. But they are from my garden. And he is good, so only a splattering of words are needed. Even better. Here goes.

Alien euphorbia

Holding up the shed.

Ouch!

Remember this?

Alpine snake

Five o’clock shadow.

I’m off, adieu!

Kittens

A heavy shower has caused me to run for cover, us witches can’t be too careful. Bored after all of two minutes, I thought I would use my enforced captivity to share this little beauty with you. Up until last week I had forgotten what it was called. The fine folk of Twitter knew. They know everything and more. It is Synthris missurica. I will however be referring to this North American wildflower by its common name, kittentails. Naturally.

Button Moon

Today was my first day working on Button Moon.  It would have been daunting was it not for the omniscient Pickle who guided me in The Ways of the Moon.

  1.  The Pink Pig is not pink nor does it look like a pig.  This is inconsequential.   It is the best toy in the world and belongs to Pickle.
  2. The path down to the lawn is slippery.
  3. The Pink Pig belongs to Pickle, and only Pickle.  Contrary to appearances, it is not a muddy tribble.
  4. Ensure great care is taken when heading down to the lawn, the path is extremely slippery.
  5. You must throw the Pink Pig (neither pink nor porcine) on a regular basis whilst continuing to work or it will be moved to the perfect trip position.
  6. Beware of the slippery path en route to the lawn.
  7. Sometimes, although left at your feet, you will not be allowed to pick up PP, a wrestle must ensue. Pickle is always the winner.
  8. If you are heading to the lawn, be cautious, the path is slippery.
  9. The Pink Pig is Pickle’s great love, even though it wheezes like an asthmatic goat.  Forget this and you might as well forget everything.
  10. Don’t blame me, I told you it was slippery!

I think that was the gist.  Now what was that about the path to the lawn?

Six on Saturday – Pressure

As the weeks proceed this Six on Saturday malarkey is getting a little easier.  This is in part due to the season, but it is also because I have begun to pay more attention to my own garden.  Without wanting to get all slushy and sentimental about it, I must thank the King of Prop for making apparent my wicked and neglectful ways and setting me on the road to enlightenment.  Enough of that balderdash, if you want to know more, pop on over and see what the rest of the fan club have been up to. Shall we get this show on the road?  I think we should, it will be Sunday soon.

First of all we have an ethereal wood anemone,  Anemone nemorosa ‘Robinsoniana’.  This was a gift from the lovely Robin and Edwina Hill at the wonderful  Andrew’s Corner garden on the edge of Dartmoor, which coincidentally is open tomorrow under the National Garden Scheme.  Get there if you can!  Gift is a slight exaggeration.  In truth they had little chance of escape when I instigated my Lovely Plant Acquisition spell.  This is how it works: you stand over a plant and say in a very loud and pleading voice “I really, really, really, really, really love that plant”.  If you wish you can make a “woo woo” sound at the same time.  Of course, like many gardeners, they are generous folk and pretended to fall for my enchantment.  If you visit you might well see this one’s mama.

Next we have the emerging shoot of a rodgersia.  Hairy, unlike my legs.

tulips

These little species tulips, live in the Belfast sink in the front garden.  Which was a bit of a surprise.  I had forgotten that I had planted them and as the pixies seem to have stolen the label I have no idea what they are.  Yes, I know, again, after all I drone on and on about the importance of labelling, blah, blah, blah….. Well tough luck, its my party and I will cry if I want to.  Or indeed, not label my plants.  Note to any client that might be reading this.  This blatant flaunting of procedure is only allowed by me.  Full, accurate and comprehensive marking of all plants (in bestest handwriting and indelible pen) must be maintained at all times.  Hypocrisy, moi?

You may recognise this one.  It is the osteospermum that never sleeps. Through hell, high water, and a Devon winter.  Today I chopped off all its blooms, took cuttings, repotted it and wished it well.  Same for its dusky sister.  Harsh but fair.

Mukdenia rossiiNow we have the shiny little hands of Mukdenia rossii, a treasure in the saxifrage family.

Zaluzianskya ovataLastly we have Zaluzianskya ovata, also known as Star Balsam.  I know which name I will be using.  Beautiful in bud as well as in flower and, as its other common name Night Phlox suggests, night scented being pollinated by moths.  A little stunner.

Thanks King of Prop, see you next week, that is if I’m not too busy gardening trying to keep up to standard.  Now that cheeky Mr K has got fancy peonies in bloom, I’m going to have to up my game.  The pressure is on.  Adios!

Anti-climax

Like most households we have designated jobs.  OH looks after bins and recycling, I am in charge of duvet changing and jokes.  Until today.  OH made a joke and it was rather good.  Although this is not to be encouraged, the relevant union has been informed, it did make me chuckle.  It went something like this:

Me:  Got to get up and shave my legs, today will be the first shorts day of the year.

He:  Don’t know why you bother, I thought you were a gorilla gardener.

It turned out to be a bit of chilly squib.  All started OK.  I slathered myself with factor 30, dressed in shorts and vest top, took a baggy shirt to wear for when it got too hot and found my summer hat.  The sun was shining, bees were buzzing, come on heatwave, do your worse.  And it did.  It was a shamefully disastrous scorcher.  At approximately 10am the sea mist enveloped the garden and stayed put until home time.  All that effort for nothing.  The joke was good though.

This Erythronium ‘Pagoda’ cared neither if my legs were hirsute or if the sun shone.  It was too busy being beautiful in the dappled shade.

‘Orrible Orchid

It is a good job there isn’t an equivalent to the Hippocratic oath in horticulture.  But surely I am not alone, on occasion, to hoping that a plant will just give up the ghost and die?  That by ignoring and neglecting it, with perhaps the odd withering look, the victim will simply pop its clogs.  This orchid was a gift, from who and for why is lost in the mists of time.  We have had it for years and it has been in dire need of repotting for most of those, but I have chosen to turn a blind eye.  My heart is cold to this poor unfortunate.  It flowered once and has never bothered again.  Who could blame it?  Until now. Just to spite me.

The other day a neighbour gave me another orchid, again a gift, because it was “looking at her in a funny way”.  For some masochistic reason I accepted it.  Now I have another orchid to mistreat.  Happy days.