Six on Saturday – the Frozen One

Let’s be honest, hands up, who wanted to do a Six on Saturday today?  Not me.  But as I live in fear of a) being called a wimp and ridiculed even more than usual by Mr K and b) the wrath of Our Commandant Mr P, here I am.  Expect a lot of white.

There are many tender plants in my garden.  They are what I like to grow.  I’ve not got a proper greenhouse.  This is not grumble, after all I’ve got other things that people with lovely warm greenhouses don’t have, like gold platform boots and good strong calves.  Frosts are here rare, snow is as common as hen’s teeth.  Well Henny Penny bit me on the bum this week.  Days of heavy frosts followed by a layer of snow and freezing winds.  The whole point of pushing limits in the garden is the hint of danger, not necessarily for me, but for the plants.   It remains to be seen what has survived and what has not, and this could take months to materialise.  You pays your money you takes your choice.

The thaw has begun and today this little primula has been exposed from beneath its blanket of snow.  Looking a little squashed but not unduly bothered.  The Tracy of my garden.

Next we have tulips, pushing their noses out of the snow.  I have no doubt that soon these will be jollying up the front of my house.  That might well be the kiss of death.

Next the hellebore of previous weeks’ SoS, face harshly pushed into the frozen ground, crushed.  Like my heart.

Now Digitalis lanata looking like a plate of over-cooked cabbage.  Unlike the self-seeded monbretia around it, who haven’t turned a leaf.  Hmph!

Look closely and you will see a crimson shoot of Paeonia mlokosewitschii reaching like a hand from an icy grave.  Takes more than a little snow to stop Molly the Witch.

This dreadful weather has brought wild birds closer to our homes, looking for shelter and food.  It is a moral dilemma for us as we have many cats in the neighbourhood and we don’t want to set up a feline snack bar.  The teasels however have been attracting goldfinches, lovely to see pulling seeds from the spiky heads.  For those of you unsure, this is an artist’s impression, spookily accurate don’t you agree?!

Thanks again Mr P, hope you all have a good week!

 

 

 

Snowy Beast

It has begun.  The snowy beast has arrived.  Two days, very unfashionably, early.  How rude!

Last night, not long after returning from yoga, all chilled but warm, my neighbour rang.  “Look out the window!”  There is was, where all had been clear half an hour previously, now there was a carpet of white, with more falling.  This morning we were woken early by excited children playing outside.  Unless they are of the ski-ing persuasion, I doubt whether they have seen snow before.  On the National News they said that it has snowed in Rome for the first time in six years.  No mention of Ilfracombe at all, I am sure it has been just as long since a proper downfall. Very remiss.

Later we walked into the town, to panic buy crisps and gin.  We passed well-wrapped families clutching boogie boards and leading puzzled pooches on their way to Hillsborough for some surf sledding.   Deciding on a slightly safer occupation, we had a leisurely lunch and wandered around the harbour before the trek back up the hill.  There were smiles on faces and more than the usual “hellos” and “good days”.

Snow on the seaweed, not something you see every day.

Diversions and Poor Decisions

The day started with a van parked across our driveway.  I should have taken it as a sign.  But I didn’t.

When I win the lottery/premium bonds/marry a Rockefeller the first thing I am going to do is employ a chauffeur.  The thought of never having to worry about driving a car again is a fantasy of mine.  I passed my test late, in my 30’s, and on my third try.  My friends at work edited the congratulations card each time, from “I knew you would do it first attempt” to “Nailed it this time” then “Thank goodness, we are getting bored now”.  They even kept the same celebratory balloons, by the time I received them they were a little wrinkled and deflated.  I knew just how they felt.

I am not a confident driver, but needs must and although a little cautious I don’t think I do too badly.  This morning, half way to The Mantle’s estate I came across a road closed sign and indeed a closed road.   In a mini-panic I called His Lordship, who suggested I took the road to Kentisbury Ford.  I took the road to Kentisbury, surely that was close enough?  It seems not.

The fact that there were no other vehicles on this road should have been given me a clue.  But no, like a lamb to the slaughter off I headed into the abyss.  A few country lanes, child’s play.  Since moving to North Devon I have had plenty of practice.  One skinny road is pretty much the same as another.  And all would have been fine if I was driving a Four x Four rather than a Ford x Focus.   At first it wasn’t too bad.  A drainpipe road, no problem.  A narrow stream of ice running down one side, easily avoidable.  Then at the top of the hill, I screeched to a halt, when I spied this.

No No Nanette, was my initial reaction.  Then, I need to get out of here fast before a tractor hurtles towards me with some of those spiky things on the front.  A quick reverse into a field (yes the gate was open) and I was heading back down the hill past the frozen stream to the pretty hamlet below.  I pulled over to make another phone call (no signal obviously) and spotted a rather lovely church.   As I am a sucker for a pretty church I thought I would have a quick gander before I headed off to who knows where.  My coat was in the car boot, in my haste I didn’t open it to full extent and the lid came crashing down on my head.  Ouch and double ouch and darn it.

Not a soul in sight, I gathered my addled self together (I didn’t cry but almost) and opened the latched gate into the churchyard on which a sign told me I was being filmed by CCTV.  Well that will give them a laugh, I thought.  This wonderful sundial, dated 1762 reminds us to “Watch and pray Time steals away”.  True, I had better get on.

Back the way I came.  This was without incident except a little more reversing to let a smarty pants in their Land Rover Poser Edition pass.  When I reached the main road I discovered a testosterone fuelled meeting of machines.  Tankers, JCBs and lorries of unspecified use and lots of high viz.  By this point, with aching head, traumatised by curling rink road, I was not in the mood for buffoons gesturing at me impatiently.  I pulled up, turned off the engine and got out of the car.  My temper was quickly diffused by a chirpy chappy from Swansea, who pointed me in the direction of a much better route, ie the way I should have gone in the first place.  Perversely this way had two lanes, no ice and other drivers.

When I eventually arrived at The Mantles, a hot coffee was thrust into my hand, sympathetic noises were made, poorly head rubbed gently and all was well again.  Brambles were thwarted, nettles extracted, ivy destroyed.

And the way home.  Not a problem.

It’s easy when you know how.

 

Frozen

Fresh out of school, dungareed and open-hearted, I packed my bags and headed off to college in Kent.  Although it proved to be path I was not destined to follow, with the wonders of hindsight it was time well spent.  Those that I met, similar in their innocence, have proved to be some of my most faithful and forgiving friends.  Silver lining and all that.  One lovely lass was from Scotland, often unintelligible, especially when catching up with her Walton-like family on the corridor phone.  We pooled our resources, she was the Cold Weather Expert, I was in charge of Warm Weather.  She advise me on traversing snow with elegance, I recommended sun creams and re-hydration techniques.

Now I need her advice, or an equivalent horti version.  Frost, we aren’t used to it.  It is a foreign land.  This solid earth, all day long, not shifting even in the sunshine thing.  I bought some fleece yesterday.  I am afraid that the horse may already be frozen.

Six on Saturday – The Chilly One

It is no co-incidence that the acronym of Six on Saturday, is SOS, dot dot dot dash dash dash dot dot dot, if anyone is listening please send help, preferably Tom Hardy.

In reality, I enjoy participating in this meme, both the challenge of submitting my post and joy of reading others’ offerings.  This weekly event is presided over by Prop the Collie who keep us sheep in order, and don’t we need it?  We are a disparate group.  There are contributions from across the globe and perhaps even further afield, I have my suspicions about The Haribo Kid.

Let us begin with Narcissus ‘Tête-à-Tête’, my go-to daffodil, which are bulking up well in a planter in the front garden.  Simple and delicate, bright and reliable, just like yours truly.   I am also very fond of Jetfire, in my racier moments.

strawberries

Secondly we have three little strawberry plants, transplanted into a great big pot earlier this week.  Over the last few months, weather and illness permitting, I have been ferrying a generous donation of terracotta from Bill and Benjamina.   Due to the last ditch attempt of this season to actually be a bit wintry, unfortunately ever since planting they have been frozen in stasis.  Their roots are now petrified in granite-like compost.  I do hope they forgive me.

Secondly we have a pot.  This is one of several purchased at Fish Pye Pottery in St Ives and for that very reason it is a great favourite.  At the moment a pelargonium, unprotected in this freezing weather, is doing its best to stay alive.

Cerastium tomentosum

Now we have Cerastium tomentosum, otherwise known as Snow in Summer.   It grows on top of the wall between us and our neighbour and is often the soft blanket that is leaned upon whilst gossiping or on which milk or cake or other contraband is rested.   I believe that next week we may well be getting Snow in Winter again.  Perhaps.

Melaleuca alternifolia

As luck would have it, our next subject also has the common name Snow in Summer.  This wispy wonder is Melaleuca alternifolia, perhaps better known as the narrow leaved tea tree.  It has many medicinal properties, antibacterial, anti-fungal, antiseptic, antimacassar (ha!).  Don’t eat it though, it is poisonous.  I suppose you can’t have everything.

I’ve always wanted a pair of sculptures to guard the front door, perhaps lions or greyhounds, standing proud and dignified.  Of course if you want to display that class of statue it is best to have an adequate standard of entrance.  Lacking in the palatial department, required compromise.  Instead I have pot feet, and to make up for lack of grandeur I have not two but three.  One elephant, one lion and one bit player in Star Wars.

That’s it, another one completed, how is the chart looking Mr P?

 

Odd

I did something very odd in my garden today.  No, not gardening, although that is a little unusual, I sat on the bench, in the sunshine and I drank a cup of coffee.  I have never been one to sit in the garden.  It makes me twitchy, remembering things that need to be checked or jobs I should be doing.   Whilst I sat I looked through my seed box, making decisions, decisions, decisions.  It was rather nice, I might well try it again.

This full-face is the hellebore that was in bud last week.  Please note the intentional hazy tone to this photograph.  Hours of picture manipulation have produced the resultant air of romance and one too many gins.

Velour

We moved Lomatia ferruginea last year, Max’s Dad and me, dragging it unceremoniously across and up the garden in a plastic garden waste bag.  Past azaleas and rhododendrons, we pushed and shoved, until it reached its new home, next to a sheltering privet hedge.  Previously it had been stifled under the canopy of a Cornus kousa ‘Porlock’, with little sun and no room to grow.  It is always a little scary to move a large, established plant, especially one that is on the tender side.  In this case, it has been successful.  The fresh veloured foliage is a sure sign that this South American member of the Proteaceae family has settled down nicely in the new neighbourhood.

Plan B

Today I made cheese scones.

It was set to be a beautifully sunny day, and as my Tuesday is now my Thursday I didn’t have to go out to work.  Why on earth, you may well ask, was I messing about in the kitchen and not out in the garden doing the myriad of jobs that have stacked up in the foul weather?  The answer is quite simple.  Before I had a chance to voice my plans, the OH grandly announced that he was going to do gardening today.  Now myself and himself have been together for eons, our relationship has worked, in part, due to the fact that we do not work together.  Once, in younger, more innocent days, we tried.  The result was rather messy.  Whether making lasagne or putting together a flat pack or decorating or cleaning or gardening, it is much safer to go solo.

Over to Plan B.  I did some writing and I made soup for later and lunch for us both.  Still he was faffing.  “Don’t overdo it” I feigned concern “you can always finish off later in the week”.  But he persisted.  So I made scones.  I was very pleased with the result.  Unlike my previous attempts these actually look like they are supposed to rather than the beer mats my previous ones resembled.

See the funny little one in the middle?  That one has a name.  It is called Cook’s Perrogative.  Or should I say, “was” called.

At 3.15 I was allowed out, to grasp at the shirt tails of the day.  Still, beggars can’t be choosers.  The question is, will there be enough time to rearrange everything that he had done?