Off The Edge Gardening

Blissful

I’m sure someone can tell me what I am doing wrong, but I can never keep anemones for long. They flower beautifully, then disappear to the great herbaceous border in the sky. If I am particularly lucky they might reappear a few feet away from where they were planted, usually in a totally inappropriate place. The next year I try again, full of false hope. Some people never learn.

Once they flower I excuse any heartache they may have caused. The ethereal violet-blue blooms are especially forgiven.

Blissful.

Six on Saturday – Sunshine and Shouting

First of all I must thank our glorious Six on Saturday leader, The Propagator of Lurve, for arranging this beautiful sunny day. Take a look at his blog and all will be made clear about the SoS sect. You may well come away more puzzled than before. One or the other. Anyway, this clement weather, subsection 3b “on a Saturday”, has been a long time coming. I suppose our guru needed a little practice before he got it right. There is no need for me to whine on about the depressing rain or snow or gales or drizzle or anything actually. People might begin to believe I am a happy, carefree kind of gal. Here I was, proud recipient of the double whammy, inclination and opportunity, what could possibly go wrong? But I had forgotten about external influences. More specifically, a neighbour firing a nail gun intermittently all day, irregularly enough to make you jump a meter in the air at each shot. In between times he was hammering, or shouting at his son, or they were both hammering or shouting, all on top of an enormous shed/store for artillery at the bottom of his garden. Cheers mate. Happy sunny day to you too. Due to said suspect weapon stash I decided not to complain. Not to him anyway. Thanks for being a shoulder.

Let us get on with the job in hand, or it will be Sunday before we know it and I will be on the naughty step again and that Mr K will be pointing and giggling. First of all we have a Japanese Maple, Acer palmatum, one of several we have in the garden. All in pots. Mainly brought from the greatly missed Woolworth’s for three shillings and thrupence. The new foliage is a joy.

Secondly is a little alpine sink, which I replanted his last week with Sisyrinchium ‘E K Balls’, Scabiosa ‘Blue Jeans’ and Polygala chamaebuxus. It had become overgrown and rebellious. Now it is tamed and under my control. I almost believed that when I typed it. We all know different.

Next is Viburnum x burkwoodii, an inherited shrub which battles on in the front garden, abused by weather and ignored by gardeners. Until today. Earlier in the week I visited some friends at The Round House in Ilfracombe. One friend told me that, along with Daphne ‘Jaqueline Postil’, this hybrid was their favourite winter into spring scent. Today, working in the front garden, the fragrance was incredible, both near and far. How did I miss this?

On to the obligatory tulip, this time Tulipa ‘Blue Diamond’. Not blue, no diamonds. Pretty though.

Now for a trio of white fritillaries, Fritillaria meleagris ‘Alba’. This is a strange time of year, my gaze is intent on summer and I sometimes forget to appreciate the spring flowers that have struggled through such horrendous weather. Although not as dramatic as its checkerboard brother, this albino sibling, with just a little blush on the shoulders, is a lovely light in the border.

And finally we have Fat Ol posing by a primrose. Such a handsome lad and a great “help” to me in the garden. Cat Help, that is. This entails throwing himself in front of my feet causing me to do a cha cha cha in order to avoid standing on him, scratching posts in a virile manner, meowing at a pitch just above high C, insisting on attention when he wants it but ignoring me when I want it. The usual.

Thanks to El Prop for another week of Six on Saturday and of course the good weather. Same time, same place?

Alone Again, Unnaturally

It is not often I am alone at work. This is not a complaint, quite the contrary. I enjoy company when I garden, in fact I encourage it. A bit of chit chat is rarely a bad thing. Today, however, I was on my own for the best part of the day. Except of course for Max, a bathing blackbird, a few bumble bees and a whole load of seagulls. Without exception they are rubbish at gossip. Max only ever wants to talk about sticks and chasing seagulls and bumblebees. The blackbird was only interested in getting to those awkward parts just under the wingpits. The bumblebees determined on finding a feast. The seagulls intent on mocking and taunting poor earth bound Max. Hopeless. Luckily the sun shone, the buds plumped and the weeds pulled easily and I made do with rather interesting conversation with myself.

Revenge

For now you will have to make do with a pretty picture. I have to rush off to see if any revenge is in order. Yes, it is yoga night.

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.

A Sunny Day in the Garden

Now I remember why.

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.

She 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.

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.

A 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.

Driving 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.

Once, 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.

Quietly

Quietly, in the background, things are moving.

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.