Off The Edge Gardening

Happy New Six on Saturday to you all. What is Six on Saturday you ask? Can I believe my ears? Where have you been for the last century, Mars? I suggest you take your rocket ship over to Mr P’s planet, our commandant’s home, and it will all become clear. Let us proceed.

Earlier in the week we were visited by the feisty storm Eleanor*. A sleepless night left us feeling a little battered the next day. The windows are streaked with brine, the recycling is in Somerset and plants are looking slightly stunned. This morning I smiled when I noticed a desiccated hydrangea bloom dangling from the telephone wire outside our bedroom window. Today it has been sliding one way, then the other, like a floral tightrope walker.

A couple of weeks ago I was kindly given a coreopsis by one of my esteemed clients. It was an unwanted gift. Not for me, you must understand, for them. It was very welcome for me. During the recent skirmishes it was somehow robbed of its pot, which has not been found, and left embarrassingly naked from the waist down. My dysfunctional gardener solution was to bung it in this oversized pot until I get around to sorting it. Is that sirens I can hear?

Apparently there is an awful lot of coffee in Brazil. There is good reason. It is warm and the sun shines. There is just one coffee plant in my back garden and it is looking a little the worse for wear. It has been living in the house (quite rightly) but was sent outside to sit on the naughty step as it had an aphid infestation. Then we (yes “we” ) forgot to bring it back in again when it got on the nippy side and a tad breezy. Silver lining – there is no sign of white fly.

That has got the weather stuff out of my system. Let us move onto something else. Oh yes, some agapanthus seed heads. I love seed, a little too much perhaps. But so does our leader The Propagator, and a mention will keep him happy.

My other half loves spider plants. I don’t. As we live in a democracy (at the moment) I concede to this adoration. It could be much worse. So he keeps on propagating them, rather they keep propagating themselves and he pots them on. Or divides them. Many moons ago he read how they clean the air or some such nonsense (unfortunately for me, possibly true nonsense). There is now at least one in every room of the house. I took one off his hands and planted it outside. It will die, I hoped. It hasn’t. It just looks even uglier. Surrounded by weed and manky apples precisely sums up my feelings. Yuk.

What a gloomy selection of photos, not to mention the doomy text. That is not the way to start the new year. I will finish with a picture to raise the spirits a little; crocus and Jetfire daffodils emerging through the violas. Not long ’til spring, but until then, let us enjoy what we have.

Thanks Lord Propagator for emotionally blackmailing me yet again into submitting my SoS, and of course for hosting the meme (yes I said meme again). Fingers crossed for next week!

* I have generally found that whenever I moan or gripe about my life, indulge myself in self pity, things are inadvertently brought to my attention to put me to shame. And quite rightly so. If I am feeling ill, I read about someone far poorlier than I am hopping up Kilimanjaro with a smile on their face. If I am feeling hard done by, I hear of some underprivileged soul doing kindnesses to those more fortunate than themselves. And if the weather is getting me down, I am shocked by TV clips of blizzards and droughts and floods and general devastation the experience of which is far from mine. Therefore please bear in mind that I am fully aware of the pathetic nature of any weather system that might befall us here in the UK and our embarrassing inability to cope with it. It was a pretty windy though.

New Year’s Pelly

Happy New Year! To those of you who are here intentionally, to the glam rockers who just happened by after googling “gold platform boots” and to the poor souls who thought that Offtheedge was a place in North Wales and are now terribly disappointed, come on in, you are all welcome. Although a little late in my good wishes at least it wasn’t never. To everyone I wish lots of wonderful things; sunshine and puppies and aphid free roses, and definitely no storms which are beginning to get on my nerves now whatever their stupid names might be.

I am fully aware that this “I might not be working but I am certainly not having a break from blogging” is beginning to look very much like my “I’m having a little break from blogging”. Rest assured, normal service will resume soon. I blame the twiglets.

Here is a pelargonium that didn’t want to miss out on the celebrations. Whether it will have any petals left after the storm is debatable.

Check List

Christmas disco – who doesn’t?

Champagne and salmon – every time

Thoughtful gifts – so lucky

Skype with family – worth waiting for

More indulgence – why not?

Pub with neighbours – fun and laughter

Baubles full of gin – afraid so

Twiglets – it’s the law

Breakfast with friends – perfect

Walk in the woods – naturally

Ready for the new year – definitely!

The Christmas Zebra – A Cautionary Tale

One Christmas, whilst attending St Saviour’s School for Troubled Children, we were tasked with creating a festive scene in a biscuit tin. No wonder we were troubled. I approached this project very seriously, devising a detailed schedule which if adhered to would ensure success. It was as follows:

My mother had to be persuaded to buy a tin of biscuits.
The contents of which had to be eaten (by me).
A scene of international artistic worth had to be created.

These plans were scuppered almost immediately. My mum “conveniently” had an empty tin saved for an occasion such as this. Stages 1 and 2 were now redundant, so I skipped straight to Stage 3. I spent many hours (minutes), possibly with my tongue poked out, constructing a tableaux of such finesse and passion that my teacher’s heart would surely weep and my class mates would coo with jealous admiration and give me their chocolate mini rolls. The finished work of art consisted of my favourite alpine chalet music box with cotton wool stuck to the roof, more cotton wool shoved around it, a sprinkling of glitter and various plastic animals dotted around at jaunty intervals. I was very pleased with my work and off I strode to school, carefully carrying my masterpiece, the glimmer of a confident but modest smile on my lips.

This glimmer did not have a chance to grow. When I saw the other contributions my confidence waned. In fact it evaporated completely. Their offerings were shocking. Full advent scenes with mangers complete with gurgling baby Jesus, a full compliment of visitors complete with gifts and the heavenly host in full angelic glory. It crossed my mind that some parental help had been involved. Although to be honest I am unsure if any assistance in that department would have benefited me much. Whilst gazing in disbelief at these Sistine facsimiles and wondering if I could demand a drugs test, I was mortified to hear some of the other children laughing. I turned to see that a small group had gathered around my Huntley and Palmers, pointing and laughing. “How stupid is that? A zebra has nothing to do with Christmas!” they cruelly chortled. My head hung in shame, my face reddened and another bubble was burst on the way to adulthood.

Luckily I have many bubbles in my armoury.

A few weeks ago I found, abandoned in the bargain bin, a herd of Christmas zebra. Surely after all these years the world would have caught up with my forward thinking? It seems not. So I rescued this one, I am ashamed to say I left the rest to their fate. I am not one to hold a grudge, but to all you giggling spiteful little urchins, this one is for you; a beautiful, glistening, stripey, Christmas Zebra!

Happy Christmas and a Wonderful 2018 to you all. Whether you are stripey or speckled or just plain brown, I wish you love and kindness and lots of laughter. Just not at the Christmas Zebra. xxx

Six on Saturday – Santa’s Selection

Welcome to my festive Six on Saturday, a meme nurtured by our own horticultural elf, Mr P.

Actually, using the word “festive” is about as seasonal as this blog is going to get. There will be no mistletoe or holly, carols or mince pies, in fact it is singularly unfestive. Don’t get me wrong, I love love love Christmas. I am saving all my glitter and magic for tomorrow (she boldly says) (you may be disappointed, don’t expect The Sound of Music).

Anyway, here goes. My first is a rather soggy Salvia leucantha ‘Midnight’ which is cosied up close to the kitchen door, along with a few others of the chosen few. Not at its best, but who can complain about a December bloom?

Next we have a pathetic example of alpine gardening. The intent was good, but the neglect surpassed it. The pebbles are rather attractive though, so if I were you I would concentrate on them.

Now the brugmansia bud from last week, fully unfurled. Silly, but in a good way.

Another battered salvia is next, this time Salvia confertifolia, bravely soldiering on.

An apricot wallflower, practising for the spring.

Lastly a waxy euphorbia, clutching at raindrops.

Thanks Mr P, and many happy seasons greeting to you and the SoS gang.

The Crypt

Today (the last day of work before my sabbatical don’t you know) was a “don’t venture into the crypt to investigate that strange noise” kind of day. The drive to the Mantle Estate was thick with what would be romantically described as lilting mist but was in reality fiendish fog. The House of Hammer would have been proud. The weather didn’t matter, I had a lovely day. Some work was done but that was incidental. Lunch was a bag of Twiglets all to myself (their Lordships don’t approve, bliss), Lancashire cheese and crab terrine. Presents were exchanged (but with great restraint not opened) (they may have been shaken), some inventive wrapping was done by Lady M (a secret) then a surprise visitor arrived with his mini-me’s to bring more festive joy. My journey in reverse was just as hazy, with a stop off to buy some proper free range eggs for our Christmas breakfast. I am indeed a lucky lass.

Octopus Lichen

Today I was pruning out the demon canker from an old apple tree. This fungal disease is systematically munching through its aged branches. Although disfigured by this nibbling, it is blessed by a natty outfit comprising an assortment of lichen, including this one. North Devon has a lot of lichen. I am definitely not an expert (at or in anything) but I presume that our propensity in the South West to damp and mild weather is in the lichen’s favour. Our low levels of pollution also help. To further your education I have extensively researched (I googled “disc lichen” and scrolled down a bit) and have come up with Lecanora chlarotera as a possible identification. Unfortunately it doesn’t seem to have a common name. As the brown discs remind me of an octopus’s suckers I thought we could called it the Octopus Lichen. Apparently it is quite common. Not that I have noticed it before. Which is probably more to do with me than the lichen.

Losing Battle

There is a splendid multi-stemmed myrtle in Max’s garden. Cinnamon peeling limbs, glossy evergreen leaves, heady white blossom and bull’s eye berries; year long it gives joy. It would be perfect, if not for one flaw. Beneath its canopy, and further still, it flings its fruit densely and indiscriminately. These germinate like sturdy cress, pushing woody roots deep. Today was spent pulling these invaders from their nursery. However it is a losing battle. There is no doubt that they will return en masse, all in the blink of any eye. Some you win, some you lose. Happens from time to time. Just to remind us who is in charge.

Month

As I count down the days to my sabbatical month* I find myself feeling a little sad about the things I am going to miss. Like the early morning sun illuminating the dew on a succulent lampranthus.

* Actually the last week of December and the whole of January which of course, if we are going to be pedantic about it, is a little more than a month but who is counting? You are? Why I am not surprised? On reflection, there is a very good chance that it is indeed a month to the Lizard People of Jupiter or perhaps the Ents or even the Clangers, which in my book still counts and I am, after all, making the rules.