Little Boxes Made of Ticky Tacky

Dignity restored.

It's been a fortnight since the Beast from the East swept in during our Great Migration.

As with every move, something vital isn't in the box I thought it was, my favourite (insert household item) doesn't fit, & there's a list of niggling repairs to compile for the agent.

But with the snow gone, every afternoon, you'll find me in the garden.




1.  Potting shed.

Our previous houses've had multiple outbuildings - sheds, garages, sometimes even an apple store or outdoor flush toilet.  Our new place had this:

A bit of fencing propped on top of a slide.

But alas, this fine structure wasn't for us - the landlord hauled it away.  (The proper shed in the photo belongs to my neighbour.  Note the terraces for later.)

Levelling the base area.

Our potting shed'll go in the same place.  I chose plastic over a cement or stone base so we can take it with us when we move (hopefully to our forever home, this time). 

There's about 4" of loose, dry topsoil, then paving stones underneath.  Might've saved a quid or two if I'd poke around a bit first.  On the other hand, not sure how even the pavers are.  Once I realised they were there, I worked on smoothing the topsoil rather than digging them out.

A weed barrier goes under this grid, but for now, it's easier to put it in place & get it level, rather than measuring & remembering the math.


2.  Abscondment explained.

Besides abandoning their survivalist's shed, the amount of stuff left in the house suggests the previous tenants did a runner.  When levelling the shed space, I found critical evidence to explain this dead-of-night departure.

The murder weapon.

My family remains unimpressed.  One callous soul even reminded me of the bones I dug up in a previous garden, how they also set my mind to murder.  Turned out, I'd unearthed someone's dead dog. 

Imagination's like a muscle, you know.  Gotta exercise it.


3.  Fennel

We've never had a terraced garden before.  It'll probably become our veg patch, but for the moment, I keep staring at it like a love sick puppy, taking in the details.  Here's a little beauty growing in the masonry.  It smells of anise so I reckon it's fennel.

Growing in the cracks.

4.  Hollyhock

Under one of the trees at the top of the terrace, I found a hollyhock that looked as if someone had yanked it out of the ground & flung it there.  It was still alive, so I tossed it in a trug that had melted snow in the bottom to rehydrate the thing, then forgot about it.

The next day it was still alive, so I stuck it in a nearly empty bag of compost, splinted its broken stem with a Magnum stick & some packing tape, then propped it against the fence. We'll see how it goes.

Patient's recovering well.

5.  Rt Hon Lady BossyBoots

Your one appeared in our back garden unannounced.  A bit forward for a Brit, but not for an Appalachian, so no offense taken.  She asked what trees were in my potted forest.

BossyBoots

Before I can open my mouth, she spews a list of her own trees, & why's that fig back here - move it to the front garden, do you feed it there's your mistake, neverfeedafigit'llneverfruit, they love to suffer & that hollyhock's just a wild (dismissive flick of the hand), tiny (grimace) green flower, you won't like it, I have purple hollyhocks I'll give you, granny's bonnets, that's what you need, did you know your house was a cannabis factory?

I'd hoped for murder, but a grow house.  That'll do.

And she was IN my back garden, Mr Propagator, so she counts as one of my Six.


6.  Kickass Compost

Thus explained, the 10 bags of this stuff the last occupants left beside the back door.  Rumour has it the entire crawl space under the house is full of it.  I've not found access to the crawl space yet, but if I do, I'm going in.   

Contraband.

Apparently, it's an hydroponic mix.  I've been researching how to use it in the veg patch.  My initial searches included the word 'cannabis' which led me to blocked sites.  Might have to have a word with our resident hacker.

Until then, does anyone know whether this stuff needs cut to work in the garden or can it be used full test?

Cuttings still hanging in there.

It's been an interesting move.

Best of all, the garden feels good.  A few weeks ago in this very blog, I let loose on hating my garden .  I was only able to do that because we were leaving the damnable place.

Now this week . . . well, during one of my rests, I sat looking at the witch hazel, the last of its crinkly red flowers drying out for seed.  I thought, move that to 11:00 & it'll be perfect.

So I did.  And it was.  This garden feels good.

I'm not alone in this feeling.  If you want to read more gardeners in love with their patch, head over to The Propagator for his & other stories by the half dozen.

See you next week.

Beastly

Mulch underlay or recycling . . . 

Ah, the sound of packing tape ripped from cardboard.  The essential trawl of local take-away options.  Mlle DoodleFace doing zoomies with a gigantic poster tube in her mouth while Mizzy BunnyButt climbs a Seuss-ian stack of clothes.  Mr BigNose sighs from a safe place on the couch.

Yes, it's done.  My worldly possessions, the critturs & family've been shifted to our new locale.

I desperately want to explore the garden.

Alas . . . moving coincided with the Beast from the East.  The new garden hides its secrets under snow, so your first tour will be to see how the travelling plant show survived.







1.  First order of business, feed the birds.

Dinner's ready!

In addition to the feeder, we've sprinkled raisins outside the dog area, & piked some fine apple halves.  Our water dish still hides in some unknown box.  Prayers've been offered for its resurrection.


2.  The Little House

On the day, the movers gave me untold grief about what they referred to as my Little House.  Any advice I offered on how to manhandle it  - something I'd done myself, I might add - they immediately disregarded.  Only an idiot would own such a stupid thing, & they certainly weren't listening to an idiot.

Ill treated composter.

It didn't surprise me to see how unceremoniously they dumped it in the new garden.


3.  A new dearly departed.

Not a pet this time.  For all the movers' dyspepsia with me, initial inspection of the potted forest reveals only one fatality - an Asian pear (in this photo, the horizontal stem).  The tall vertical sticks are bamboo cane to ward off bulb-eating fox.  The short stub of a twig near the label (about the same height as the daffs in the pot), that's what's left of the trunk.

Formerly known as an Asian pear.

This particular tree failed to thrive last year.  On calling the nursery for advice, it was determined that the tree, not myself, was at fault.  A free replacement arrived at my door in November.

Prior to the move, I'd thought the original still had life in it, but seeing how easily it snapped, perhaps a bit optimistic.


4.  Frozen Fatsia

On moving day, our last plant load happened close to midnight.  My thoughts were on duvets rather than dahlias, so it wasn't until the next morning I saw the spider fatsia.

This poor fella needs a fainting couch.

I've wrapped the pot in fleece & cover the plant itself at night.  Hopefully it'll perk up when the weather changes.


5.  Optimistic future.

For all the drawbacks to snow, it does give the garden a surreal, exotic feel.  The ordinary looks familiarly unfamiliar, maybe like we do in fancy dress.

Snow-improved lavender. 

The day before the move, I lifted a failing lavender & stuck it in a pot, rather than leave it behind to some unknown fate.  With the bare stems coated it snow, it suddenly looks like it has its whole future ahead of it.  Which I suppose is what even dying things have.  What else would be ahead except the future?


6.  Lovely in death (or dormancy).

And just look at dear creeping Jenny, herself tucked in for winter, worthy of a Victorian death portrait under her bonnet of snow.

Sleeping Jenny waiting to creep again.

So there it is, a week of delaying gratification.

Apple delights.

Next Saturday, the landlord comes to discuss the garden.  There's rumours of weed barrier & pea gravel, so I'll use the week to fortify my alternate plan.

Until then, there's a community of wonderful gardeners featured at The Propagator whose own Six on Saturday haven't a speck of snow on them.  Run over & find out why.

See you next week!

Onwards to Horticultural Glory!*

Bags are packed & ready to go.

It's Saturday again, time to write about six things gardening related, however tenuously.  If you've a place where you garden - no matter how small, how new, how neglected - why not share six things from it that grabbed your attention this week?


As to The Writing Closet itself, we're moving house.


In terms of the actual grunt work, I've been relegated to a mostly supervisory post, which affords me time for our weekly SoS confab - to read, comment on & re-tweet Sixes go leor.


But first, let's check in on the moving team.






1.  Container plants.

Gardeners have pots, but because of our frequent moves, mine are occupied mostly by trees & shrubs.  I used to plant & lift my roses with every move until one of my favourites nearly died on me.

I promised, if it lived, it could stay put.  It lived & I kept my promise, resolving that in future, nothing goes into the ground unless I'm willing to leave it behind.

Of course, some pot dwellers languish.  If nothing perks them up, they get slapped into the ground & I do a You-Better-Feckin-Live dance around them.

Watch this space.  Workshops on dance gardening are coming to a venue near you.

Back in the present, we knew a night flit was in the offing, so this year's garlic crop joined my little potted forest in planter bags of their own.

In the van queue, w/Mlle DoodleFace checking the All Clear.

2.  Cuttings

In addition to sinking pot haters into the ground, I plant anything that populates on its own, then lift a few when I go.

Having said that, I always take cuttings.  Rarely if ever do they survive, but other Six-on-Saturday-ers such as Fred & Chicu have encouraged me to have another go.

Here I am, once again, attempting the Great Cuttings Challenge.

Ever the optimist.

Curry plants, purple sage, buddleia alternifolia, plus a late-contender weigela because there were pockets left in the tray.  All easy propagators, so surely some of those babies'll live.


3.  Don't forget us!

Of course, my gardening crew's coming, too.

Mr BigNose, Mlle DoodleFace & Mizzy BunnyButt

This shot was only possible because of the Dreamies on top of the hat box.  Bribery rates right up there with dance gardening, in my experience.


4.  The Crypt.

Until we reach our forever home, no pet gets left behind.  That includes the dearly departed, of which there are four.  The first 3 are in their burial urns (decorative planters), but our most recent loss, 15 year old Bast, didn't quite fit inside the one we got for her.  She's currently on a weight loss plan.

Weight loss chamber.

Her crypt is properly secured from fox, corvids &, dare I say it, the dogs.  A collection of star shaped aquilegia, a handful of bulbs, & we'll forget what's happening underground.

Bast, pushing up columbine & various bulbs.

5.  Beehive composter.

Feel free to scoff at this one.  We sacrificed utility on the altar of an outdoor painting frenzy.

No, Big Nose, we're not going to take it apart.

6.  And importantly, the shed innards that someone forgot to pack up.

Whose job was it to empty the shed?

Once the shed's empty, we're off.  Apparently the new landlord's been slicking up the place since last we saw it, so I'm ready to be impressed.

The great, late Bast in the hammock 3 gardens ago.

Impressed or not, Tim Hewitt advised I go onward to horticultural glory, & so I shall!

For more rooted SoSers, tarry over to the Propagaor for his Six on Saturday.  In addition to his week's efforts, there's always a coupla dozen links to other garden blogs in his comment section.

Onward!

* Quoting Tim Hewitt's comment on my last week's blog.