Off The Edge Gardening

Sharing

A near perfect day at The Farm. Only ice cream, a visit from David Essex or the news that Mr and Mrs George were providing an on-site masseur for employees would have improved it.

The weather was perfect, not too hot to work without getting an attack of the vapours, but warm enough to strip off a couple of layers and soak up the healing rays. The gardens were looking great, though I say it myself. Actually I didn’t say it myself, one of the visitors approached me and told me so. The rabbits seem to have lost their appetite for newly planted treasures, with evidence of only minimal snacking. Moods were buoyant. There may have been whistling. Not by me, as it is very unladylike.*

Then I spotted the worm in the apple.

Those of you who aren’t on their third pint of sangria (there must be a few surely?!), will have noticed that it was actually a caterpillar. Perched atop Leucanthemum ‘Crazy Daisy’. Munching. Instantly I was transported a couple of years** into the past, to my days at the correctional institution, where I could hear my biology teacher describing caterpillars as “eating machines”. Not an ideal guest for the herbaceous border.

This little fellow was a stunner, Kawasaki green and plump as a sausage. But gorgeous as he was he couldn’t stay there. I don’t mind sharing, but please not the Shasta Daisy. Nor was he squished. He was relocated to the meadow where hopefully he would find Michaelmas Daisies to quench his appetite. Or perhaps in turn he fed a hungry blackbird. He did look quite delicious.

* I can’t whistle. I really, really want to be able to whistle. Especially to wolf-whistle. Many have tried to teach me. They lie by the side of the road in a crumpled heap.

** Ant years

Proverb

Proverb of the Day: Never get between a man and his meadow, especially when he is wielding a recently sharpened scythe.

I didn’t. Now the cut wildflower hay is laying in state for a couple of weeks, spread on the ground from whence it came. This will allow the seed to ripen and spill on the earth, ensuring that the cycle continues.

Look out for a guest blog coming soon, all about meadows and the lovely like.

Invention

I may have said before (on several occasions) that my favourite gardener is/was the late, great, Geoffrey Hamilton. He appeared as a gentle soul, he loved wildlife, promoted organic growing before many of the others caught on, and most charmingly, was a proud inventor. Whether it was making cloches for a fraction of the price charged by retailers or making “rocks” out of tufa, he always had a cut price alternative to a problem. He was a true man of the people.

The garlic harvest at The Farm this year was very pleasing. Champions one and all. They need to be fully cured before storing and the damp North Devon air was not assisting in the process. So our our modern equivalent of Mr H, YMG, made holes in the bottom of past-it tenner’s and pushed the stems down through. Here any moisture would drain downward, hastening the drying process. Ingenious. Yet again necessity is the mother of invention. And all for nought.

Lack of Lilies

I was reminded the other day by my blogging friend, the indomitable Mr K at Rivendell Garden Blog , that I am sorely lacking in the lily department. Quite why this has happened is puzzling. The gardens that I work in all have them, many bought and planted by myself. They do well in planters and I certainly am not shy about pot culture. I have even written about them for The Country Gardener magazine, extolling their virtues. It certainly is a mystery.

As luck would have it a catalogue arrived yesterday, with pages and pages of glorious lilies for sale. Now I understand what the problem is. I can never quite make my mind up which of these beauties to grow. Decisions, decisions ……

Land of the Giants

I’ve always loved stories that involve mini people living in the world of mega people. These include Mary Norton’s classic The Borrowers and the 1960’s American TV series The Land of the Giants. Giant safety pins as grappling hooks, sleeping in match boxes, finding enormous crisps to snack on and escaping from hungry cats (using aforementioned grappling hooks and elastic bands), all enchant.

Today at The Farm I thought I was at last living my dream. I rounded the corner to find the Alcea ficifolia in full statuesque bloom, standing at least 2.5m tall. The monstrous size of these fig leaved hollyhocks has been somewhat of a surprise, but I love them. The spires, covered with saucer like blooms of palest yellow and white, both with a central grass green blotch, are a dramatic sight indeed. Each time I spy them I smile, perhaps giggle a little. Whether or not they suffer these wet winds is uncertain, but if they fall they may be of some use. Perhaps some little folk will gather the flowers and make a flotilla of boats to sail away on the newly formed rivulets.

Perfect Partners

I had a day off today. A day off from gardening anyway. Not however a day off from garden ephemera.

The weather was forecast “dire” getting “dire-er” later. So we went for a little jaunt to the seaside, another seaside from the one we have already. Like true British tourists, we didn’t let a little persistent drear dampen our spirits, our clothes maybe, but not our spirits. We were headed to Westward Ho! In the ten years we have lived in North Devon we have never visited this large village just twenty odd miles away. That was about to be redressed.

In the gloom there was little to cheer about. The grey tide was almost fully in, the souvenir shops were closed, the restaurants were closed, the inflatable shark shop was closed. We were beginning to understand just why the bus stop queue looked so miserable. All we wanted was a cuppa and somewhere to hatch Plan B, but there was nowhere to lay our behinds. Had the civic society been warned that we were on our way, along with rumours about OH’s unfortunate pilfering addiction? All was not lost, eventually we came across a little cafe, The Rock Pool, and entered an oasis. It full of all the jolly folk that had previously been “missing presumed non-existent”. We sat at the last remaining free table and enjoyed sensibly sized mugs of delicious coffee served by “just attentive enough” staff and best of all …….. they had hand lotion in the ladies lavatory.

Things were looking up. We found a charity shop on the high street (also full of friendly locals) where I purchased two books, one on herbs and spices and Graham Stuart Thomas’ ‘Perennial Garden Plants or the Modern Florilegium’. It was worth the trip just to read the word “florilegium” and henceforth say it as often as possible.

Next we went to Bideford, to the wonderful Cafe du Parc for our lunch. Afterwards we wandered through Victoria Park to see if the Grow@Jigsaw glasshouses were open. This wonderful enterprise teaches the more vulnerable in our society new skills and shares with them the healing powers of horticulture. In the process they produce fruit, vegetables and plants for sale, both commercially and to the passerby. That was me, the soggy passerby. We bought a punnet of new potatoes, an enormous bunch of beetroot and a couple of shiny courgettes. And I just couldn’t resist an unnamed geranium, it was whispering to me each time I passed.

The coreopsis and linaria in the photo above was taken in yesterday’s intermittent sunshine. Perfect partners, don’t you think?

Iris ensata ‘Moonlight Waves’

An altogether satisfactory day at the Mantle Estate with a plethora of subjects for discussion. Being so spoilt for choice it has been difficult to decide which highlight to share. Should it be:

Top tips on getting raspberry jam out of a pale blue linen shirt two minutes before Lord Mantle was due to head north on a top secret assignment.
The deep-pink hedgerow-tangled dog roses or perhaps head-heavy floribundas.
The first dragonfly pupa emerging from the pond, unfurling in a mesmeric floor show.
Zantedeschia flowers the colour of night.
Digitalis lutea, the yellow foxglove, with its buttercream blooms.
Slasher’s fine hedge trimming and alpine strawberry harvesting.
Her Ladyship’s near perfect sandwich construction.

No, none of the aforementioned made the final cut. The winner was the enchanting Iris ensata ‘Moonlight Waves’, whose lime tinged flowers manage to combine the characteristics of solid and elegant. A little like me, I delude myself.

Salvia argentea – The Silver Sage

Salvia argentea, the Silver Sage. Do I sound like The News at 10.00? If so it should go something like this:

First I will tell what is coming: we will be featuring Salvia argentea, the Silver Sage. Then I will cover the main story of the day which just happens to be Salvia argentea, the Silver Sage. Half way through the programme, just in case you have forgotten, I will remind you that we have been focusing on Salvia argentea, the Silver Sage. And then, to sum up what has happened, I will yet again jog your dodgy memory that we have been talking about Salvia argentea, the Silver Sage. But, because I have filled all available time with fluff, you are none the wiser about this delightful, southern European short-lived perennial.

The only difference is that this furrisome delight is worth repeating, over and over again. Unlike most news items.

Taxing

Today I did my tax return. It is not particularly complicated and the on-line submission is relatively straightforward, especially if you are paying attention and not distracted by someone blithering on in the background. The figures involved are rather petty, I am computer literate and love a good spreadsheet, but all the same it took me most of the day. The result wasn’t to my liking, but then I doubt it seldom is. Anyway it is done and well before time. I could get used to the role of Head Swot. Mind you I haven’t actually paid it yet, they will have to wait for that. The money is much safer in my bank account, who knows what the government are planning on spending it on. I’m guessing it won’t be “peace, love and understanding”. But less of such doldrums.

Now I feel frazzled. I need some florific respite.

This callistemon, or bottlebrush, enjoyed the weather this week rather more than the gardener. As it comes from Australia, whose climate is considerably far removed from North Devon, it must have thought “about time, some decent temperatures!”. Mind you, it didn’t do much in the blistering heat, except perhaps a bit of photosynthesising, oh yes, and producing these incredible flaming flowers.

Nameless

There has been another label malfunction. This little veronica is nameless to all but its close relations. The use of a non-permanent, water-soluble pen when labelling this little beauty was perhaps a mistake. Let us not beat about the bush, it was daft. Of course if I had realised any writing was going to disappear at the first hint of drizzle then I would have relegated it to list making duty. Probably. If I was in rush I may have used it as a stop gap until I had found a better one. Then wouldn’t remember to go back and right my wrong. Most likely. These things happen. Tell me why then, when I find yet another label as pure as the day it was born, I look at it, tut a little and stick it back next to the plant that it once named? Perhaps for the time when, having a more appropriate pen primed in my pocket, the person who bred this adorable cultivar is passing and tells me its full name? Ever the optimist.