I have my favourites. There are quite a few. But one that is forever jostling, elbows akimbo, to reach the front of the queue is the crab apple. Undoubtedly I have mentioned it before. There is no question that I will feature it again. All hail to Malus sylvestris, Champion of Trees!
Forgive me, I am going off the horticultural piste again, but rest assured it will be fleeting.
Today I watched the inauguration. Under duress. It was an important moment, I was told. So I sulked and half read my book whilst barracking from the cheap seats.
When the shenanigans were almost over they rolled out the religious representatives, ensuring that God was on their side. A rabbi spoke first, forgive me I didn’t make note of his name. As I imagined they were all on the pay roll I paid scant attention. Then I caught a few of his words “A nation’s wealth should be judged by its values and not its vaults.”. Wise words. Let us hope others were listening.
Bergenias, now there is a problem, do I like them or not? Well, the jury is out having a cup of tea and a lengthy chat, possibly not about the issue in question, and definitely not in a rush to come to any conclusion. These robust perennials, also known as elephant’s ears, have always left me a little perplexed, I feel I should like them but can’t quite get up the enthusiasm.
This morning, as I was waiting “patiently” for my beloved to reverse out onto the road without knocking down the over-stuffed green bin, I dawdled over to my neighbours’ house. Some might call this nosy, the harsher might even say trespass, I call it checking all is well. Lifting a mishmash of cordyline leaves and its own foliage I revealed the shy flowers beneath. I don’t blame them for cowering, this aspect is north-, in the teeth of the icy wind, east. Peering intently to see if I could solve the quandary, my head admitted that they are indeed very pretty, especially at this bloom-dearth time of year, but my heart was silent. Strange.
Does anyone remember elephant’s foot cakes? Enormous profiteroles the size of a, well an elephant’s foot. They scared me. A custard slice, or doughnut, or even apple turnover, yes please. This was just too much to take. I feel a little queasy just thinking about it.
That in turn reminds me of neighbours from my early childhood who had, and I can barely spit the words out, an umbrella stand made of an elephant’s foot. I thought it gross at the tender age of five, I find it abhorrent now.
Did this trauma put me off over-sized cakes and sturdy plants? Perhaps. I like my elephants whole. In a world where tens of thousands of elephants are killed each year for their ivory, we should do whatever we can to make sure they remain that way.
So I started with a flower and ended with conservation, not quite the road I thought I was on. Amazing where a bit of wittering will take you.
Here I am, having a quick windsurf in the waters off Porthgwidden Beach in St Ives, Cornwall.*
* May contain a little fib. I will let you decide which fact might be untrue.
Honey I’m home!
And who was here to greet me? None other than my recent acquaintance, Mrs Stinky Sick Migraine. Her visit left me unable to do anything today except languish in self pity. This unwelcome guest would not take the hint (“be off with you”, “must get on”, “hasta la vista, baby”) and hung about until slightly earlier this evening. A wasted day.
I am going to use this wonderful Podocarpus salignus, admired in a Penzance public garden this weekend, as a metaphor for my day. Droopy, blurry and green.
Off on my travels for a few days. Thought you might like a sunny geum to keep you warm while I’m away. See you soon!
When I told a certain Devonian gentleman which road our new house was on he said “gawd, its rough up there!”. Or I think that was what he said. We had some initial communication problems. He refused to talk to me for the first 6 months of our acquaintance, examining the floor and muttering when I attempted dialogue, trying his hardest not to acknowledge my existence. My heinous crimes were being a blow-in, a female and having the cheek to be a head gardener. After this silent initiation, in which I refused to participate “Beautiful morning!” “How are you today?” “Nice to see you again”, and he realised I was not a monster/idiot/wimp, he rarely stopped talking. Very fast and very broad. I used to watch his lips move in the vain hope I would get more clues as it what he was talking about. As the weeks went on it began to make some sense, either he stopped laying it on thick or my translate-ometer kicked in. Generally his diatribes were concerning the private lives of local folk and their septic tanks. My lips are sealed. When pressed as to exactly what he meant by “rough”, he explained (again this is an estimate of meaning) that when the wind blew we would know it. How right he was. At this very moment the wind is howling outside like a low budget horror film; whistling, rattling, moaning. This morning as I forced my way out of the front door, shoulder to the fore, and spilled out into the fray like a champagne cork, I noticed one of my crocuses had a well developed flower bud. Needless to say I was very excited and, as is my habit, needed to share. Trying to take a photo in this weather is like trying to drink a dry martini whilst on a bouncy castle with the Samoan rugby team, very messy. This is my best attempt. I am tempted to call it art.
Looking through my photos (did I mention the heroic task in hand, yes, of course I did, although there is no harm in reminding you) it is obvious that some days I was spoilt for choice. Others, generally the rainy, dull or exceptionally busy days, I was scrabbling about, invariably borrowing from another occasion, but keep that to yourself. This photo, from the archives, I’m sorting them don’t you know, was from a very good day. I do love an achillea, especially when they are not attempting world domination, not an attractive attribute in plant or person.
Of course I’m not going to get away with it Scot free. I’m talking about this indulgent month off. There are chores to be done, chores with a capital C, Chores! Which includes sorting photos. And I take an awful lot over the course of a year, which after a little initial attention are generally left to moulder in their monthly files. So I will be deleting the dreadful, of which there are many, and sorting and labelling. Big talk. I haven’t actually begun yet, but I have considered it, which is almost as good. Here is one I looked at earlier and thought about titles and places. Then I went and had a well earned rest.
I excused myself for buying this Festuca glauca ‘Intense Blue’ by pretending that I would pass it on to a client. This of course never happened. What happened instead is that I suggested to Lady Mantle that there was a really nice plant available and it would look great in a pot outside her front door. So her Ladyship went shopping, bought two and planted them with violas in large pots, outside her front door. They look very nice. Then sadly this one didn’t have a home to go to, so I adopted it, and I put it in a pot outside my front door, with violas. It also looks very nice, especially in today’s thick Devon mizzle. Funny how things turn out.
Off The Edge Gardening