Magnolia ‘Marwood Spring’

Magnolia Marwood Spring

Not only is today the Spring Equinox it is also the International Day of Happiness. Doubly good. Spring is my favourite season, striving for happiness my favourite occupation.  Of course IDH is really about creating happiness, not indulging in it.  This ‘spreading of the happy’ has fringe benefits.  As gardeners we do our best to nurture both the utilitarian and the beautiful.  By doing this we make others happy as well as ourselves.  It warms the soul.  Appreciation, being able to inspire and educate, enlightening others to the joys of the garden, all make the hard work worthwhile. Springtime is when it all starts to become visible, when the shoots show, the seeds germinate, the plans become a little clearer.  It is a time of optimism and, yes, happiness.

Now it just has to stop raining.

This is a picture of probably the best magnolia in the world, ‘Marwood Spring’.  Taken by categorically not the best photographer in the world.  It is far more beautiful in real life.

Sinister

Magnolia stellata

As I was practising my arpeggios with Nancy Nightingale earlier today, a thought suddenly crossed my mind. “Nance” I said “It has just occurred to me that we have a lot in common, we both make our living from doing something we love.” “Yes” she agreed “Consider the fools that don’t!”  And we laughed in a sinister manner, throwing our heads back with gloating glee.

Many years I go, I used to visit an acupuncturist who had only recently arrived in the country from his native China.  Once the needles were safely in place, and he had a captive audience, Dong would quiz me on the vagaries of the English Language.  These would be words or phrases he had heard throughout the previous week and had puzzled him.  He was puzzled a great deal.  I would do my best to explain why training shoes were called trainers, or why people said sorry all the time.  The receptionist said that usually there was nothing but hushed voices coming from behind the closed door, when I was having my treatment there was raucous laughter. The best medicine they say.  On one occasion Dong asked me what “sinister” meant.  I was stumped for a while.  I can’t remember what I said, but I wondered how this word had come into his world.  Quite why I didn’t ask, I am not sure.

There is nothing sinister about this Magnolia stellata, quite the contrary in fact, it has something of the ethereal about it.  The balance has been redressed.

Very Small Mercies

It was just as well that there were piglets and tree surgeons at the Farm today.  There was little else in its favour.  Wet, muddy, cold, miserable.  And I’ve got a stinky cold and a leak in one of my boots.  This has made me even wetter, muddier, colder and more miserable than usual.  A gorgon. Unlike the little piggies, who are absolutely adorable, although still quite shy.  I am looking forward to scratching their rusty backs and feeding them apples.

The tree surgeons amazed me with their aerobatics and for a while I forgot the constant mizzle/drizzle/rain whilst I studied their craft.

A bonus was the antics of Misty the lamb, who’s mum sadly rejected her.  Watching her snuffling her breakfast, catkin tail wagging furiously, put a smile on my face.  For a moment.

ps  You will be pleased to know that Mrs Duck is sitting firm.  This is even more incredible as not 3m away from her nest the builders have been jack hammering a trench, the debris lifted by a clunking digger and put into a rattling tractor for removal.  Let’s hope it is worth all her trouble. And earache.

Wills the Cat

This is Wills, Lord and Lady Mantle’s cat.  Although I have tried very hard to become his friend, he is so far resistant to my charms. Incredible I know. If he is feeling particularly tolerant I am permitted to stroke him for a short while, although this cannot compete with the affections bestowed upon him by his loyal servant, the Lord of the Manor.  Much to Wills’ despair, I refuse to abandon my wooing and these continual attempts are treated with utter disdain.  I have become used to his cruel rebuttals.  Not really.  They are very hurtful.  Furthermore, today he was in a particularly fine strop as their ‘ships had been away and he was feeling slighted. In a very vocal manner.  To my uneducated ear it sounded like foul feline cursing, although far be it for me to cast aspersions upon his, up to this point, faultless character.

He may be grumpy, but look how beautiful he is, his slick black fur against the verdant grass.  I wonder what he was thinking as I took this photo:

a) Seen any mice head this way?

b) Shouldn’t someone be mowing the lawn? My delicate little pawsies are getting damp.

c) Not you again! Go away and leave me alone or I will call the police.

d) I have made a terrible mistake and beg you to forgive me.  Please be my best friend, for ever and ever.

I think I know which it was …..

Start

We have eventually broken ground at Nancy Nightingale’s.   A rough border shape was marked out, and we began the task of removing the terrible turf.   As we were wheelbarrowless (a terrible affliction) the sods were piled into a trug and transported across a 100m assault course (including steps) to be formed into an igloo at the end of NN’s mother’s garden.  Whether permission had been asked for this structure I am not sure, all I do know is that she insisted we wore balaclavas. As suspected the soil isn’t great, claggy, low humus content, rocky, a bit icky looking.  Strangely it was absolutely packed full of worms, who I would imagine are desperately trying to escape. We have been removing the larger stones, and bricks, and wood, and rags, as we work.   It was slow going, back breaking work, but playing Name that Tune and Chuck the Rock into the Pink Bin certainly helped us along.

By the end of the morning we had completed almost half, I measured the garden using sophisticated satelite data and out of 16 Gilly Paces and we have completed 7.  During this time Nancy developed an unnatural affection for the half moon, so I have loaned her it until my next visit, in case she gets the urge to continue on her own. Can’t imagine it would be half as fun alone. Who would she play games with ……

 

Dafty Duck

Spring is definitely in the air.  Time to cut back, tidy all the detritus, let the new shoots emerge unhindered by the last year’s has beens.  At The Farm on Thursday I was merrily pulling defunct crocosmia foliage when I had the distinct feeling that I was being watched.  Then I spotted the culprit, so well camouflaged I was almost upon her, Mrs Duck.  She didn’t move.  Not one iota. Her beady eye watched my every move, but she was not shifting, not even an inch.  This made me wonder, in fact made me certain, she was sitting on a brood.  Right outside a holiday cottage, which is going to be occupied in a matter of a few weeks.  Perhaps 200m from the pond.  Oh dear. This probably isn’t the best place to set up a nursery.  We looked up timings, 28 days from lay to hatch.   Apparently they rarely leave the nest except for a quick snack and a leg stretch.  We might just get away with it before the Easter hoards arrive.  Otherwise there will be warnings and vigils and great expectations.

But now I am worried.  She is vulnerable here. Foxes roam, stoats are active.  She can’t be moved. It is all down to fate now, and that fickle queen isn’t always kind.

Saxifrage

saxifrage

I have absolutely nothing to say.  Except if it doesn’t stop raining very very soon I’m going to have a hissy-fit.  And also, here is a saxifrage.  It is getting fed up too.  Although, to be honest, it doesn’t look that way.   In fact it looks very pretty, for a delicate little plant that is getting soaked to the cellulose every day.  Perhaps I should try harder to put on a brave face.