Irreconcilable Differences

Spring in my last garden.

We live a somewhat nomadic lifestyle, mostly due to work.  Our houses've been chosen for us by other folk, all of them people who love beautiful homes but don't really garden.

Remarkably, I've been given some great spaces.

We've never stayed long enough for me to complete my grand vision of the moment.  But then, maybe gardeners never finish their vision.

In spite of these arranged marriages, in spite of whatever lessons & challenges the gardens themselves put in front of me, I loved them all.

Until now.






I first saw our current garden on the day we moved in.  Originally a double lot, its Edwardian designer had been uninspired.  In the 21st century, someone bisected the garden with a fence - house, garage, & surrounds on one side, uninspired beds & paths on the other.  At a later date, they got notions of building the Great Godawful, so put up another fence, with the house & surrounds taking up 2 thirds of the half & the garage part taking up a third.

Don't hurt your brain over my reckless use of fractions.  It'll make more sense in the photos. 

The neighbours defeated the planning permission, but the dissection of the garden remained.

Mlle DoodleFace as a puppy 2 gardens ago.

Needless to say, I was less than thrilled.

Hating my garden is as ill-fitting as hating my dog, a crime against nature.

But because we're moving, because this garden will soon not be mine, I can rend garments, gnash teeth & roar the myriad sins of this place.

Confined to a respectable 6, of course, for my present audience.




1.  A place divided.

Not long after we moved in, my family quietly went behind my back (lest I be disappointed) & asked if, since planning permission had been denied, could we have the whole garden.  The landlord said he'd only lift the fence that separated the house & surrounds from the garage, adding the caveat he could put it back with a month's notice.

Which meant leaving the concrete posts.  I put up an arch to insinuate the post line was intentional, artistic even, then wrapped the concrete in chicken wire to grow sweet peas & the errant self-seeded old man's beard.  

From the house toward the fence.

No amount of sweet pea can cover that much ugly.

From the fence toward the house.

2.  The Forgotten Trio - 2 apples & a cherry

These guys've featured here before - I'd hoped one of you would say this was a quirky British fruit tree technique.  Y'all disappointed me on that one.

In the photo above, you can see how closely they're planted to the post line.  Remember that for later.  

The Trio w/Mr Big Nose in the background.

I suspect these three were heeled in & forgotten.  I sometimes wonder who bought the trees, who heeled them in.  Were they an unwanted gift left to languish or a project abandoned by death or relocation? 

However the Forgotten Trio got here, the solution is obvious.  Fortuitously, as tenant, I'm exempt from killing trees. 

3.  Elder vs Acer

Long before the Trio arrived on scene, someone planted an absolutely gorgeous acer under the yew.  All was well until an elder seeded itself between them.  As the elder grew up, the acer grew horizontally until it joined hands with the Forgotten Trio of fruit trees.

I've been hacking at the elder in stages (CFS, remember), hoping to reduce it to the skinny vertical wands (also remember, hates to kill trees).  Once it wakes up for the summer . . . even if I'd managed to vanquish the elder, it'd take years for the acer to reclaim it's natural form, if indeed that were possible, considering the age of the thing.  The prognosis here is dismal.

Acer under the Elder burden.

  

4.  Walls do not a home . . .

So, remember how close the Trio is to the sweet pea post?  The marriage of acer & Trio give that part of the garden an 'interior wall'.  The rooms formed by the cement line & the 'interior wall' are each one twelfth the size of the original Edwardian space.  They contain trees & a short hedge.

So, not cosy pub snugs, but cells.

The house & surrounds side of the posts is basically paved pathways, brick outbuildings & small borders.  We have a garden, but not even the dogs want to hang out in it.

O, for the days when Big Nose & I hung out in the orchard 4 gardens ago.

5.  The Wisteria/Apple Tree battle.

Some people are less than fond of (hate) wisteria, but the vines I've lived with were always well behaved, so also well cherished.  And who doesn't love an apple tree?  So, is there a complaint here?

Moriarty & Holmes going over the waterfall.

When we moved in, the wisteria foliage not only smothered the apple tree, its growth whips formed a woven mat across the lawn, up the yew, even squiggling inside the garage windows.  (Those aren't dead limbs on the ground, but wisteria tendrils creeping, creeping, creeping toward me dreaming in my bed.)

I gave it a late pruning & hoped for the best.  Both tree & vine lived & bloomed.  The wisteria got its midsummer pruning, plus we had apples enough for everyone.  But as Fred, a French Gardener pointed out, either the tree or the vine will die first.  What happens to the survivor?

The wisteria got pruned on time this month, but realistically, this is a several year project which I know will not be continued because of the . . . 

6.  Mind boggling neglect.

This garden languishes because no one thought about it for years.  When that happens, this happens:

The Burgeoning Heap.

Taking over such a neglected space, I'd enough brambles et al without battling the Burgeoning Heap on the other side of the fence.  The only time it got my attention was when bits of it lept into my side to throttle my pots.  

In late summer, the Burgeoning Heap produced fruit.  Perhaps other eyes would've caught it sooner, but only then did I realise there was an apple tree inside the BH.

My son chases a much younger Mr BigNose thru 3 gardens ago.

Thus named, six things that defeated me.

This garden, given a blase design & left to flounder, needs things I can't offer it - time, energy, ruthlessness.  Let's hope a better gardener comes its way.

As for me, I blithely skip toward the next garden, shaking the dust of this misbegotten place from the hem of my waterproofs.  

As to you, scamper over to The Propagator where you'll find his more optimistic Six, plus many other blogger links in his comments section.

See you next garden!

No More Snow, Please

Old man, Mr Big Nose loves the snow.

Most mornings, Big Nose & myself walk along the school route.  See that young fella there with his head down, the one whose expression says he'd rather be in bed?

He'd be yet another anonymous school lad if it weren't for snow mornings.  The merest of white dustings & suddenly, he's cheery, chatty, not able to stand still.

Before emigrating, I battled mountain snow for years, & fervantly hate all snow now.  No clue why this boy chooses to share his snow glee with me, of all the dog walkers he sees.

Snow.  Bane of my existence.

1.  Snow will be tolerated on the holly.

It does look nice w/that dark green foliage.

2.  But look at my poor foxglove.

Long-suffering foxglove.

3.  The bergenia managed a brave face.

O, the indignity of it all.

4.  And I suppose the fatsia seed heads are actually improved.

Looking more alien than usual.

5.  But the snow brought it's no-good friend.  

Ice!

Confined to the glass top of the patio table.

The glass top has since been brought inside.

There'll be no sitting outside today.

Not exactly the hot seat.

6.  The witch hazel only lightly dusted.   

Snow witch.

Not that it worries about snow.  Actually, there's barely any snow on the witch hazel, but it's having such a great blossoming, it deserved to be featured here again.

Love at first sight.

So there are my Six.  Rather than end on a snow note, I leave you with something I love.  You may remember a few weeks back, I told the story of my crooked cherry tree.  The sight of it in full bloom, growing through a shrub, well how could you not give your heart to something like that.

As always, I remind you to visit  The Propagator who'll have his own Six, plus hosts links to a vast array of Sixes in his comment section.

Six Reasons to Six on Saturday

Let there be bulbs & buds.

There've been a few Sixers lamenting that they've nothing but buds, bulbs & more buds to post in their SoS blogs.



Personally, I can't get enough bud & bulb photos.  But then, I also enjoy folks' holiday snaps, so my opinion is suspect.






Last week, CFS had me on house arrest with orders there'd be no writing.  Not a bad sentence, since it was lashing outside.  Plenty of time to contemplate the boon that is our SoS community.

We all have different skill levels, obsessions, time & energy, so SoS works differently for each of us.  The fact we keep coming back - & in some cases, only to read, not to blog - means it does work.

And that's my offering for this week.  A half dozen reasons why I SoS.


1.  It's global.

Globe trotting in slippers & pjs.

Regardless the weather or my health, I visit gardens from 4 continents - FOUR - every week.  That means seeing in their natural environment, trees & plants that could never grow in my climate.  Learning far away methods for growing things that will survive in my garden.  Being reminded of places I used to live.  Seeing that the joys & woes of gardening are fairly universal.





2.  Getting out of the rut.

We once lived in a village where most of my neighbours grew the same flowers - valerians, roses, dahlias, the occasional maverick pansy.

Poor little rejects.

I'm a little slow off the mark, so for my first village fair there, I donated a couple of trays of gazanias to the plant table.  At the end of the day, not a single gazania had been sold.

Conversely, after 3 months of SoS-ing, I've 11 pages of plants I'd like to grow.

While there's no way all those ideas will make it into my garden, that many options stoke the creativity - which in itself, is benefit enough.






3.  Coaxed off the turnip truck.

Long way from home.

I emigrated about 2 decades ago, but've not completely switched gears to this climate, its diseases, pests, plants & wildlife.

Growing carrots, spuds & maters in containers just seems wrong.

But SoS as a virtual garden club has my back.  I want fresh cherry tomatoes?  Revel in my containers.





4.  Seasonal reminders.

Tools of the trade.

Following along from that, my seasonal rhythms are still in Appalachia - all my February gardening chores there started & ended with snow.

While SoS gently nudges me into GMT, even natives of hardiness zones 7 - 9 can appreciate the call to prune, plant, or harvest in the appropriate season.





5.  Erudition.

My gardening ethos is decidedly up-the-holler => plants are beautiful, useful, spiritual.  In my previous life, I could rattle off the medicinal qualities of a plant, its various common names, plus any & all folklore attached to them.  Just try mentioning a recipe in your Six, & I'm all over it.

Not sure how you pronounce that one.

Having said that, I've resisted calling out plants in the dead language, even though I'm old enough to remember Mass being said in Latin.

Not so, our other intrepid SoS-ers.

As a result (& without study on my part), I now recognise the Latin names for grasses, poppies, honeysuckle & witch hazel.




So if anyone knows of something more efficient than the Google method of learning Latin names (i.e. an actual book), please do let me know.


6.  Respite for my poor, non-gardening family members.

I swear I'm listening.

Me: (looking at my Twitter feed) Wow, that's some hellebore.

Son:  I take it that's a flower.

Me:  (turns laptop for him to see)

Son:  Oh.  That's . . . pretty.

Rinse.  Repeat.

Respite from hearing garden talk.

Except when I'm talking about Six on Saturday.

So that's my no-bud, no-bulb contribution for this week.  I'd love to know why you Six on Saturday.

Do take yourself over to The Propagator who has his own Six, plus hosts scads of other SoSers in his comment section.  Go on, don't you forget now.

Thanks for stopping by!

Pickled shallot recipe.

A Matter of Perspective

Mizzy BunnyButt at the pond.

As well as colour & sun, all my summer photos spill beyond the borders of the lens.

<=  Take a look at Mizzy BunnyButt next to a pond in our last garden.  

By contrast, my winter garden photos are of the small joys, puzzles & surprises.  Here's a few from this week.

1.  I've been relocating aconite with every move for 10 years now.  Not having seen its sassy little face in my garden for 11 months, I feared it simply hadn't survived.  You cannot imagine (or maybe you can) my joy on stepping out the back door one morning to see this delightful prodigal.

First aconite.

2.  Equally cheery are the garlic chives sown as seeds last year.  I'm hoping we'll see blossoms this summer.

A few years ago, I read an article that said weeding to bare ground deprives your garden's ecosystem of travel routes from earth to plant to infinity.  As a result, I consider it a virtue not to over-weed my pots.  Even so, this one could use a slight tidy.  Very slight.

Garlic chives in their little weed pot.

3.  Something which has caused me pause this week are the lilies inherited from my son's uni days.  Most've been planted in the bed & show no signs of life, nor do they appear to've been robbed by the fox. The potted ones, on the other hand, are striking forth.  I'll definitely be watching this space.  

Look out, here we come.

4.  Another puzzle comes courtesy the candelabra primula.  They did well in this spot over the summer, but now look like they want to go walkabout.  I'd worked & composted the soil before planting last year, so this really surprises me.  Any suggestions?

Candelabra on the move.

5.  It's only January & there's a broken egg under the bird feeder.  Although pigeons & doves breed all year round in warmer climates, I thought it too early here for them to start.

My dog's hair being next to it made me think a nest'd been knocked about by the wind or a predator.  

Broken egg & DoodleFace hair.

After taking several photos outside, I scooped up the egg & brought it inside with hopes of getting a better photo.  Once given a proper look, it's obvious that the Doodle hair wasn't part of a nest.  

Brought inside for a photo shoot.

6.  I've been watching the buds on one of my favourite plants, the sorberia.  You can bet I did a little dervish at the sight of its leaves coming out.     

My delight faded when I couldn't get a good photo - the leaves were always blurred.  Then I noticed that the ground (which was about a metre below the branch) was in perfect focus.  I needed a backdrop to change my camera's perspective.  

It took a few permutations, figuring out how to hold the hat & take the photo - I even tried balancing the hat on my knee because my one-handed photo-ing wasn't very steady.  Eventual success.  

Aren't they lovely, lovely leaves . . .

Have hat, will sorberia.

What'll snake across my path next week?

Thus comes the end of my Six on Saturday.  Do run over to the creator of this hashtag, The Propagator for his Six, as well as links to many other half dozens in his comment section.

Hope to see you again for the next Six to take my fancy.

Week of the Wet

Cedar covered in droplets.

I don't know about the rest of you, but the wet is starting to get to me.  On the bright side, it's become obvious I could never be a mud wrestler, so there's one less thing on my bucket list.

As to the garden, everyone out there seems pretty happy about the weather.  Such as . . . 

1. . . . the mushrooms in the honeysuckle pot.

Happy little mushrooms.

2.  The bleeding heart seems to've woken up.  I don't remember the name of this dicentra, only that its leaves were supposed to have a silver cast to them, contrasting with flowers that were a deeper red than other bleeding hearts.  It failed on both counts, so will be left behind in this garden when I go.

Wakey, wakey sleepy head.

3.  There's also buds on these unknown little things.  They got rescued in my last garden from under a cordyline that'd sucked all the nutrients out of the soil.  They're quite prolific, whatever they are.  Any pot I stick them in, they fill in coupla seasons.  Last summer, there were only 3 plants in this lot & look at them now.  Wildfire, they are.

Poor nameless orphans, but dearly loved.

4.  Years ago when I lived in Galway, fuchsia was the go-to plant for covering up ugly spaces - then promptly neglected to turn ugly themselves.  I've inherited a few in my various gardens over the years, & those stepchillen taught me that, with proper care, they can be stunning.

Even so, after the Galway uglies, the sight of a stranger fuchsia still raises that urgh feeling in my stomach.  The only way these annual babies entered my garden last year was as a free gift with a plant order.  I stuck them in my tree pots & tried not to get too friendly with them.  

To be honest, though, how can anyone with a heart feel repulsed by that sassy thang? 

The last fuchsia blossoms & a fading snapdragon.

5.  Like many of you, I've been pruning, only I do it a little at a time lest I anger Demon CFS.  Wisteria, elder, apple, none have escaped me.  Even the yew's had a bit of the back & sides.

A certain SoSer whom I shall not name & shame, has given me tripod ladder envy, especially when battling our old & incredibly grumpy wisteria that's  currently throttling the apple tree.

All this photo needs is a tripod ladder.

6.  What I should prune but will not, is this lovely little cherry tree.  It'd either self seeded or more likely, been planted by a squirrel under an enormous hebe in my last garden.  

The now vertical trunk grew horizontally along the ground, then turned upward to get sun.  The landlord's 'gardeners' would trim it within the hebe shape.  Where the 2 o'clock trunk suddenly becomes small branches denotes the time I came into its life & stopped the annual decapitation.  

So now this large hebe globe had a cherry tree sticking out of it.  For 8 months, I wondered what to do about the situation.  Once we moved, it'd not have me to protect it.  The tree itself answered my question by blooming.  

Have you ever fallen in love with a tree?  Head over heels, I confess.  So I crawled my hag body into the small space under the hebe, dug like an archaeologist unearthing a rare find, then pulled out the cherry tree & hoped for the best.

Here it is, 2 years later, crooked & thriving.  Which I hope it'll do until I find my forever home where it'll get planted in a spot even ancient-crone-me can see from a window.

My cherry crush.

So there's my very damp Six.  I'm very glad you stopped by this week.  Do go over to The Propagator for his Six & links in his comment section for a dozen or so more Six on Saturday.

Snowberry shrub covered in rain.

New Year, New Growth

Wildlife water bowl.

It's been another wet week.  All this rain gave me plenty of opportunity to see posts about what's growing in other gardens.  Between showers, I compared notes to my own space.

While the freesia are still asleep & the clematis has no noticeable new growth, there are a few things happening out there.




1.  I admit, I've been worried about my witch hazel.  When it dropped its leaves early last year, I told myself the move had changed its signals.  Then all these great photos of yellow & orange & red squigglies appeared in my Twitter feed, convincing me my tree had died.

But hello!

Witch hazel tutu blooms.

2.  The leucojum has had its first blossom.

Leucojum not yet fully open.

3.  I've been keeping an eye on the sweet peas, self seeded & . . .

Self seeded sweet pea next to the toadflax.

. . . 2017 survivor.

Old man pea.

4.  The greatest joy of week, proof positive the daffs have survived Brer Fox.  (You can read about our Neighbour From Hell saga here & here.)

The Brer Fox repellant worked!

5.  The kerria surprised me with a blossom in the middle of its many wands.  The smudged yellowgreen bits below the horizontal stem are leaf knobs getting ready to open.  This is the kerria overshadowed by the elder tree, which I've been pruning back, so hopefully there'll be more vertical & less horizontal this year.

Oh kerria, you yellow face delights us.

6.  Mlle DoodleFace pointed out a new hole under the fence, this one too small for Brer Fox.  I keep filling it in & it keeps getting opened again, sometimes by Mlle DoodleFace herself.

The new rat-sized hole.

Mizzy BunnyButt (who tends all things rodent) sent a memo about some big heavy stone to be lodged in there quite soon.  (As you can see in this photo, there were no blossoms on the witch hazel earlier this week, so WOW, eh?)

Mizzy BB inspects.

All these new things in our new year.

So once again, thanks for stopping to see my Six on Saturday.  Please be sure to visit The Propagator for his SoS plus links to many other garden peeks.

Tuckered Mlle DoodleFace.