Recollection and reflection

polemonium

This dreary weather has caused me to reflect.  Not in a maudlin way, but in a curious self-scrutinising manner.  As I said, it was raining.   I got to wondering quite why I blog.  It is after all a rather bizarre occupation. Sharing your thoughts with a virtual audience made up of strangers, acquaintances and friends from across the world is surely a little odd.  Some of these folk have names, some have voices, some watch silently.  I have no wish to educate, there are plenty worthier than me to fill that void.  I am no expert, but neither am I a novice.  I have no wish to preach, or dictate fashion, or influence.  So why exactly do I do this?  The fact that my Mum checks every morning to see if there is a post is not a valid reason, after all I could just email her, or even phone.  Then it dawned on me, the answer is obvious, I do it because I do it.  I started and now I can’t stop.  It is called inertia, I believe.  That is all.  Except I enjoy it and it is mine and I can do what I want, within reason of course.  And that is enough.  Well I’m pleased we sorted that out.

On such a dismal day I have resorted to memories from last summer.  This is Polemonium caeruleum, Jacob’s Ladder, a European native which was used by the Ancient Greeks to alleviate toothache and by 19th century physicians to treat rabies.  It is a charming, trouble free, violet beauty and everyone should grow it in their garden.  Oh dear, it seems I might have just “educated” and “influenced”.  Don’t worry, it won’t happen again.

Tadpoles

Clematis integrifolia

Over the last couple of weeks three very welcome packages have dropped onto our door mat. Firstly my Hardy Plant Society seed, secondly my Royal Horticultural Seed and thirdly my Hardy Plant Society Seed.  Yes, so good they named it twice.  For those of you not in the know, I will explain.  Each year the HPS and RHS provide a number of packets of seed for their members, at a nominal cost, which you must select from a tantalising list of temptation.  An additional option offered by the HPS is that for an extra £1.50 you can receive 20 further assorted packets.  These I imagine are made up of the unloved, the lost, the underdogs. Surely this offer would be irresistible to any green blooded gardener?  Well it is certainly is to me.  It is like a horticultural lottery, who knows what the gods of chance will deliver to your muddy hand?   What new chlorophylled delights will you be introduced to?  And let us not forget that re-homing the rejected is a noble pursuit.

In the interim between order and delivery I invariably forget what I have requested.  This is possibly because I have whittled my choice down from 374 “maybes” to the designated 20.  You don’t always get your first choice as they are served out on a first come first served basis, so all arrivals have an element of surprise attached. The last package containing the truly unchosen is pure, random, revelation.

Today I sowed some of my new seed including the wonderful Clematis integrifolia.  I have grown this scrambling clematis before, with its wonderful pixie-hat violet-blue flowers.  The world definitely could do with a few more. Good luck little tadpoles!

First Day of Term

Rhododendron bud

This day, the 32rd of the year, has meant many things to many people.  On this date, had they still been alive, Clark Gable, Stanley Matthews and Muriel Spark would have been blowing out candles on their respective birthday cakes. Contrarily, Mary Shelley, Mondrian and Buster Keaton all took their final breaths.  In 1884 the first volume of the Oxford English Dictionary was published (A to Ant, you would have to wait quite a while for “zebra”).   In Turin, Puccini’s opera La Boheme was first performed, whilst in 1920 in Canada the Mounties came galloping across the horizon for the first time.  1st February 2017 and it was Back to Work Day for me.  It is unlikely that this will go down in the annals of history, but still I was ready for it.  I would have been far keener if it was not for the after effects of a cold, namely a rip-roaring, gut-wrenching cough.   It is always the same with me, a gentle cold for 2-3 days, an evil cough for 2-3 weeks.  Still I am glad to be back and full of enthusiasm, looking forward to catching up with gardens and their owners.

This rhododendron bud is pumped up for action.  With its snowy eyelashes, it is primed for the year ahead.  And I for one, can’t wait.

Horror

Soleirolia soleirolii

Directly outside of our back door there is a small courtyard, jammed with pots, a small plastic greenhouse and a bench.  A set of red brick steps lead up from this area, to the main garden above.  A couple of years ago I fell down these steps.  I was carrying the dried washing and attempting to stroke Fat Ol, next door’s cat, at the same time.  A classic case of multi-tasking gone wrong.  There is no doubt in my mind who the villain is here, Mind Your Own Business.  No I am not being rude, I slipped on the invading tyrant Soleirolia soleirolii,  the scourge of many a garden. I have been fighting a battle with this monster ever since.  Sadly, I must confess that I am coming a very poor second in this contest.  It is invincible, Stephen King should make a film about it.  I am not exaggerating as to how cruelly encompassing and relentless it is.

So it made me chuckle when I saw this sign at RHS Rosemoor.

Soleirolia soleirolii

It may have been a chuckle, it may have been a sob.  Hopefully this label was educational rather than celebratory!

Corked

corks

Brace yourselves folks: today I worked in my own garden.  But there is more shocking news: I worked in my own garden in the morning and in the afternoon.   I have been worrying about getting up early when my sabbatical ends next week; “less action, more sleep” has been my catch phrase throughout this extremely short month.  It might be tricky getting back into my old routine. There may be a few wardrobe malfunctions and dramatic wheel spins out of the drive.  No need to worry, there was help at hand.  Very kindly next door’s builders began knocking out mortar just below the bedroom window at 8.00am this morning.  Luckily the incessant banging could be heard all through the house, so no lolling about in my PJ’s, outside was the only escape.   Remind me to thank them.  They could have chosen a better day, it was grim and grey and blustery.  Safely thermalled up, I ventured forth into the wilderness we call “garden”.

At a vague point in the dim and distant past, we were somewhere I can’t recall where someone equally as mysterious had used corks to dress their pots.  And I can’t remember quite why they had done this.  Was it snail deterrent, a weed suppressant, a bin?  Anyway, we thought it brilliant. Again, quite why I’m not sure.   Unfortunately this meant that we had to increase our wine consumption in order to replicate their ingenious idea.   Sometimes it is necessary to suffer for the cause.  Just a minute, that might have been the reason we thought it was so great.  Today, however, it didn’t seem so clever.  One of my, self-allocated, jobs was to give the pots a late winter MOT.  As you may have gathered we have a lot of pots.  What we lack in garden space we make up for in container ambition.  We are not quite as potty as some, but still we have plenty to be getting on with.  So in turn the four acers, liquidambar, callistemon, Forest Pansy, two oleander, three bamboos (1 golden, 2 black), sophora, brugmansia and magnolia “Heaven Scent” underwent the following treatment.  They were weeded, pruned where necessary, the first couple of centimetres of compost scraped off, a handful of pelleted chicken manure scattered and fresh compost applied. But of course before this could be done the dratted corks had to be removed, then when all was done those darned things had to be returned.  To ring the changes I thought I would amend the previously random design to a sunburst affect.  I was rather pleased with the result.

Later, as the southerly wind got into her stride, OH said to me “did a cork just fly past the window?”.  Oh well, that is the transient nature of art.  Mine anyway.

Rebels

Daphne bholua 'Garden House Enchantress'
Daphne bholua ‘Garden House Enchantress’

There have been complaints.  There have been mutterings that John’s comments are longer than my posts.

Be careful what you wish for.

Yesterday I cranked up the new charabanc and chauffeured a select few to RHS Rosemoor.  It couldn’t have been a better day.  A glorious morning, sunglasses on, unruly passengers sedated with liquorice and blackcurrant sweeties, hyper-drive engaged and off we headed down the frost edged roads of Devon.  Soon, with little if any screaming, we safely landed and those of us who had remembered our membership cards entered with little drama.

After obligatory reviving coffee, we headed out into the sunlit garden, trying hard not to squeal in anticipation (that might have just been me).  And what a treat we had.

We had cleverly (fluke-ily) coincided our visit with a sculpture exhibition.  So our horticultural journey was interspersed by octopuses, birds of prey and dinosaurs.

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But it wasn’t all metal, plastic and carved wood, as wonderful as it was.  There was plenty more to see.

Around every corner a parrotia was in full flower, hellebores were getting into their stride and the snowdrops were not waiting for the appointed Snowdrop Day. Daphne bholua ‘Jacqueline Postill’ filled the air with syrup.  A cultivar new to me, Daphne bholua ‘Garden House Enchantress’, was equally as fragrant, also being enjoyed by an early rising honey bee.  The sarcococca and witch hazels were in full flourish, my favourite being the dusky Hamamelis × intermedia ‘Diane’.

Hamamelis × intermedia 'Diane'

And we watched staff lay out the new Devon heritage orchard as the sun thawed the icy ground.

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Then I spotted a shrub at the back of a border, a mystery, one I didn’t recognise, the label hidden by vegetation.  I really needed to know what this was.  Really, really, really.  Being the evil temptress that I am, I encouraged (mainly by pinching) one of our innocent party to investigate. Just as he was returning hot foot from his illicit foray a faithful RHS employee appeared.  To this day I can only imagine she teleported in as I was on full security alert. We even had a warning sound (“hoot, hoot” since you ask).  But there she was, suddenly scolding. Of course she was quite right, you shouldn’t walk on the borders, for all sort of reasons. I confessed that it had been all my doing and I had persuaded the Perp to do the devilish deed.  I am not convince this helped.  As it is, I can’t remember the name that he shouted out to me.  My head is yet again hung in shame.

Soon after we spotted this flowering cherry, two pink flowers, standing proud and rebellious amongst the white. Surely we need a rebel, every once in a while.  Or perhaps more often.

Prunus

I can’t tell you the exact name of this tree as I couldn’t read the label properly.  Strangely there were no volunteers to venture forth and uncover it.