Off The Edge Gardening

My dear mama always says of me “you do one job and make half a dozen others”.   You might think this a little harsh, but it is generally true.

Last week I noticed an uninvited colony of greenfly on one of our roses.  You may think this means that we have many specimens, we have two.  Fifty per cent aphid rate.  I halfheartedly squished a few, but realising the extent of the infestation, and having a gap in my oh so busy itinerary, I decided to make a garlic spray to zap the little blighters.  So I crushed some cloves in a Kilner jar, poured over boiling water and set it aside to seep.

After a pint of piña colada and a snooze in the hammock I returned to examine my alchemy.  How bizarre, it seems to have turned blue!  Well that is a turn up for the books.

Just as any Totally Modern Minnie would do, I checked out this strange phenomenon in the well thumbed pages of the Encyclopedia Google.   And what did I discover?  The sulphur in the garlic reacts with copper in the water, creating a greenish blue hue.  Wonderful, except …… do we really want copper in our drinking water?

So I messaged our water company and spoke to a very nice Water Quality Scientist called Adam. His customer relation skills were outstanding.  His powers of humouring exemplary.  No giggling when I told him about the aphids, no chortling at the garlic solution, no guffawing when I mentioned “blue”.  I thought it best to keep the piña colada to myself.   He admitted it was the first time he had had a call like this, but said that on occasion people call to tell of water running blue from the taps.  I felt like a lightweight.  Apparently copper can be present in relatively large quantities in our domestic supplies without ill effect.   My mind was set to rest.

As a reward for his kindness, I left him with a top tip, telling him how to treat his greenfly problem if ever he should get one.  He did his best, but still managed to sound distinctly underwhelmed.  It was all I had to give.

I have bought a new lens for my posh camera.  So I can look closer.  And be more personal.  It is not however a posh lens.  In fact it was quite cheap.  Possibly too cheap.  We will see.  It may involve practice and patience.  Oh dear.

For those of you bored by yet more bluebells, to liven things up a little, I have invited a guest star to the tableau.

Drum roll please …..

At great personal expense (two apples) and especially for your delectation, here is the lovely Pip to further enhance the already splendid scene.  He is looking very fetching in a matching 80% dark chocolate brown mane, tail and coat set.

I hope you all agree, it is a very pleasing combination.

An interesting start to my day.

I was driving along in my automobile, my baby beside me at the wheel.  That last bit isn’t true.  I was all by myself, heartily accompanying “Daniel O’Donnell Sings Iron Maiden”. Mind you, one is never alone with the big O’D.  If my memory serves me correctly, at the time he was doing a fine job of a Gaelic version of The Number of the Beast.

But I digress, let’s get back to the tale in hand.

I was on my way to the Mantle Estate, enjoying the scenery and wishing I could whistle, when I spotted a fat little lamb jammed between a gorse bush and the fence.  So I did what any good citizen would do, no not film it and put it on social media, I attempted to help the innocent chap.  I screeched to a halt (after having a bit of a ponder and checking my mirrors beforehand), leapt out of my car like a springbok, did a judo roll whilst changing into my Wonder Woman outfit (which has been languishing in my car boot for such an occasion), arriving at the poor distressed mite with a “ta da!”.  He was so overcome with emotion all he could say was baaaaaaaaaa.

Releasing Larry was the easy bit.  This involved a technique similar to the one implemented when I got caught in the turnstiles after the 2012 Kemacott United v Mortehoe Town derby.  A very disturbing incident, I still have dreadful nightmares.  After extensive research this accident was thought to be caused by one too many pasty sandwiches.  As I had no goose fat on me, a rooky mistake I know, we had to forgo that stage.  Still it worked.  He was liberated from his thorny prison.

Then the trouble began.  He did not want to return to whence he had come.  If you were being generous you would say his mother was nonplussed, I would say she was verging on the disinterested.  So I chased, I cajoled.  I strongly suggested the enormous gap below the gate as an entry solution whilst he preferred to stick his head through the wire, getting stuck again.  I even shoved a little.

At this critical point a hero arrived to help me in my endeavour.  That is if an old men in woolly hats that look at you in a skewy way are your idea of a superhero.  Woolly Hat Man, it has a certain ring to it.  After the obligatory “where you live then?” he picked the little blighter up and chucked him, unceremoniously, over the fence.

Right, then, best be off.

We may now be engaged to be married.

You can all be bridesmaids.

My kind of lawn.

A few months ago I was dismayed to hear someone on the television, allegedly a wildlife expert, say “I hate grey squirrels” and then proceed to character assassinate this creature who never asked to be introduced to this country and is just trying its best to survive like the rest of us.  It is not evil.  The problem is that it is more adept at living, reproducing and therefore colonising this land than our native Red Squirrel.  Unfortunately.  It may be an anathema to our fauna, and often to gardeners, but to “hate” is emotive and counter-productive.  This is especially true when espoused by someone who should know better and has a fair amount of influence.

I spent a large enough proportion of today digging Spanish bluebells out of Max’s garden.  Much has been written about this interloper, often snarling, bitter texts.  There have been those who defend this Iberian import, but mainly the reviews are toxic.  Unfair perhaps.  True they are thuggish compared to our natives and hybridise at the drop of a hat, a very real threat.  But I don’t hate them, even though I have ached my back removing them today.  They are just doing what they are programmed to do.  Yet again another problem caused by the “oh so clever” humans.

After work, actually a little before “after work”, Max’s Dad asked if I would like to go for a walk in the woods.  How could I refuse?  So we did.  As you do.  And I am very glad I did.  It reminded me how much I love this habitat.  We need to protect it.

Sumptuous carpets of bluebells:

Interspersed with orchids:

And stitchwort:

And nature’s sculpture:

It’s a hard life, but someone’s got to do it.