Season's Greetings

Hope Santa is kind to you all and that 2012 brings us good weather, good crops and good laughs.

Hello, one and all. I know it's been a while, but I've been following all your exploits avidly, I just can't seem to leave comments. I tried the help forum but got lost with advice about cookies and caches and browsers. As a bit of a luddite, I have only a very vague notion of what these things are and have no idea at all how to delete them etc. My idea of deleting cookies involves packets of chocolate digestives. Anyway. I hope you're all enjoying Summer. It's been so rubbish here I tell myself it's a warm Autumn rather than a wet Summer. Still the veg are loving it and we're loving the veg. So far we've had Wilja potatoes, Sweet Candle carrots, Boltardy beets,Little Gem lettuce, Bunyard's Exhibition broad beans (a lot of alliteration here) Micro cabbage, Kelvedon Wonder peas, Crystal Lemon and Superbel cucumbers, and Taxi and Defender courgettes. Also an unidentified so-so tomato which is definitely not Gardeners' Delight as stated on the packet. But everything else has been delish, and highly recommended.
There's been a disaster on the fruit front - the pear trees which were laden with promise have dropped nearly all the fruit. Weird weather? Hungry? Anyone got any ideas?

It's long past my bedtime so I'll love you and leave you. Take care y'all. 

Hi ho, hi ho

Good morning peeps! Tis I! At last I feel moved to to put digit to keyboard, tho' I suspect this is a delaying tactic. It's 7.15 and I start work soon.
Last night the wind dropped away so went down to fleece the baskets (300 down, 150 to go). Had a look in the glasshouses and then spent the next two hours watering. Seems the automatic system is playing up and lobelia, ageratum and African marigolds were near unto death. Some of you might say thank God for small mercies but you don't have to deal with the ravening hordes who'll descend on us soon. Talking of which, it's open day soon, so I better get on.
 Lots of love(which is what I thought lol stood for) .

That Was The Week That Was

All too often, work seems a little humdrum, and I have to remind myself that if it was fun, I'd be paying them. But this week's had variety, achievement and even a little learning. Not bad for February. The Powers That Be agreed to replace the door between the orchard and the walled garden with a wrought iron gate and the Future Jobs Scheme lads have made a lovely job of it. The public enjoy getting a glimpse of the garden and sometimes stop for a chat and a bit of advice, which is nice. It also allows us to see out and so feels less hemmed in.
Tuesday was a lovely day, the lull before the storm, and having seen the forecast I cracked the whip and we spent the day doing all the digging that should have been done in December. So good to have the ground prepared at last. Then I had a day out and about, inspecting the flower beds in the far-flung parts of our empire. Some are small in proportion to the spaces they're in and frankly, look ridiculous, so they're the ones we'll cut next year. We're also going to create wildflower meadows where at present there are boring big stretches of grass. I've wanted to do this for years and now it's an idea whose time has come. The public will, I hope, understand the argument for increased bio-diversity and the managers will see the savings.
Then I had a day doing Health and Safety training. I was dreading it, but we have a new trainer who was such an improvement on the previous death-by-power-point guy that it was enjoyable, informative and motivating. So next week I'm going to take a good hard look around and sort whatever I've let slip over the years.  Did you know, in outdoor work, most fatalities are caused by people falling from heights, and most of those are from heights of less than two metres? So next time you clamber on a wobbly chair, or even up a steady ladder, make sure there's someone else there, then you won't end up like the chap who fell on to spiked railings and bled to death. Be careful out there.

The Beginning of the End?

Stumbling and blinking I emerge from my lair, lured out of hibernation by the promise of Spring. Course, it's nothing of the no such which, but last week at least was bright and dry so it was time to crack on with pruning the orchard. It makes me feel so happy to be up among the branches  that I think fruit trees must exude some  sort of goodness. They certainly respond to a spot of TLC, seeming to breathe a sigh of relief when you cut out the deadwood and remove the damaged and diseased branches. After you take out ingrowing shoots, making a goblet shape which allows light and air to get in there and prevent blackspot, you step back, admire your handiwork and know you've done a good job.
The younger trees need a bit more encouragement, tipping back the leaders and pruning side shoots to make fruiting spurs. While I'm making all these little decisions I slip into a sort of meditative state, and by the end of the day I'm chilled, sometimes literally, so a cup of tea and a wee bonfire is in order.

This is my favourite job in the entire gardening year.

Days of Auld Lang Syne

To-day in Scotland it's Hogmanay, which is not, as some might think, a drunken revelry (that comes later)
but is rather a time for reflection, and clearing the decks in readiness for the New Year. Bills paid, amends made, my mother would spend the day scouring the house and doing an enormous washing, for come the bells, there must not be a speck of dirt in the house. Just before midnight, even the ashes were raked from the grate. A window was opened, to let out the old year, then the front door, to let in the new. An uncle soon appeared, to ensure our "first foot" would be male, laden with food, drink and fuel, shortbread, whisky and coal.
Everything that happened at New Year was supposed to be symbolic of how the year would be and so much stress was placed on seeing in the bells at home with your loved ones that the English tradition of gathering in Trafalgar Square seemed very alien and not a little reckless. But times change and now Edinburgh has become so famous as party central that you have to buy a ticket for the Princes Street celebrations. From my house, I can see the shimmer of the fireworks and a moment later hear the "Crump!" Indeed, if I drove five minutes down the road I'd have a terrific view of Edinburgh Castle, but old habits die hard. Do I really want to be out on the streets come the bells? What would that presage?
Happy New Year!

Cabin Fever

Oh snow, not again. Am snow scunnered. Sorry to drop into dialect, but sometimes English is just not enough. I am not annoyed, irritated or fed up, I'm scunnered.
Right, that's that off my chest.
Last week was spent doing some serious number-crunching, so to cheer myself up I indulged in a spot of retail therapy, courtesy of you, the tax-payer. I ordered four apples, a plum, a pear and a cherry for the potager. The apples will be trained as stepovers along the central path and the plum, pear and cherry will, eventually, be fans to make a lovely backdrop of blossom and fruit. I know it's a gamble, given the precarious state of local government finance, but although you should live each day as if it's going to be your last, you have to garden as if you're going to live forever.
So thank you, fellow tax-payer, your generosity is appreciated. I also ordered some young perennials. Potted up and grown on, I'll sell them at our open day and the profit from that will more than cover the cost of the fruit trees. El Jeffe is talking about having three open days next year. Not sure if that's economically sound, but who am I to question my superiors?
Well, it's stopped snowing, so I'll go and clear the drive. May you all have a wonderful Christmas, and a happy New Year. Lang may yir lum reek!

Morning Rush Hour
This is actually a picture I took last year, cos my phone and netbook are not speaking to each other. Something to do with Mercury being retrograde, I'm told, but it's all magic moonbeams to me. Anyway, this latest batch of snow is much deeper and still lying on the trees. It's so deep we're closed to the public so I've not had to rescue anyone (yet). Most of the gardeners have been seconded to the roads department and despite working their socks off to clear roads and pavements, they're still being subjected to dog's abuse from the very people whose cars they're pushing out of drifts. Honestly. So if you see some yellow coated homunculi spreading grit or shovelling snow, please don't throw things at them, or swear, or tell them it's all their fault you can't get to work.
The good news is the greenhouses are still standing, only five panes cracked. Last winter two unheated houses and two netting tunnels collapsed under the weight of snow. It was a horrific sight, all that broken glass and tortured metal, it gave me an inkling of how devastating earthquakes and the like must be. If it felt that bad seeing my workplace destroyed, how awful is it when your home's in ruins? This brings me to something that's been preying on my mind a lot. The plan to evict council house tenants if their income enables them to rent privately horrifies me. How evil to destroy people's security of tenure and turn housing schemes into transit camps for the poor. You may have been brought up to not play with those dirty schemies, and don't understand anyone wanting to live there, but believe me, the vast majority are decent, hardworking people. Why they should work to line the pockets of private landlords is beyond me.It's obscene and will turn housing schemes into ghettoes and I'm surprised that it's caused so little comment.

The Bard of Govan

Hello again, sorry it's been such a long time, but the talk is all about cuts and if I hear the phrase "tough decisions" once more I may forget I'm a lady. It's just too, too dismal for words. So I cheer myself up by singing a little ditty I once heard on a late night bus in Glasgow. I've translated it into English as well as I could, and I hope you get the gist.

I'm a wee, wee Weegie and true to my roots,

I love the clatter of tackety boots

 And I still recall the last dying fall

Of the ships on the Clyde at New Year...

I'm a Red Clydesider, I stick to my guns

And I ne'er trouble trouble until trouble comes

But if you get my back up against a wall

I'll  "gie ye the nut", stick my knee in your balls

Cos I get a bit bolshy if you give me a fright

And in Glasgow even hippies have to learn how to fight

For we know about trouble, we know about grim

And we know that the main thing is never give in.

They can beat you, they can batter you,

You just keep coming back,

Keep your eye out for the weak spot then into attack.

And if your still defeated though you've tried your best

Remember - the greatest revenge is 

Success!

Sad though it is to say goodbye to Summer, I'm trying to focus on all the things I like about Autumn. The colour of the Virginia creeper is one of my favourites and the crunch of beech mast underfoot is another. Then there's the winemaking, redcurrant, plum and elderberry are bubbling away and as soon as there's a frost I'll gather rosehips. The Egremont russets are ready to eat and the pears are almost there. So it's not all bad, despite the dark mornings. Talking of which, I'd best be on my way, I've got 5 minutes to get to work.(Ah, the pressure, the pressure!)

Memories Are Made Of This

Just a wee picture showing the overall layout of the annual border with the veg beds in the foreground.

Easy Does It

We've been quite busy growing the winter bedding, pruning, weeding and re-arranging the areas where we keep the shrubs, but every day I find myself just standing and staring at the big annual border I sowed in June. This is the "hot" section, with eschsoltzia, cosmos and Shirley poppies which I love to watch unfold. It was all a bit of an afterthought when it became apparent that the planned herbaceous border wasn't going to happen, so I just drew drifts with sand and sowed hardy annuals in a rainbow pattern . Easy Peasy. Now I'm thinking I like it so much it might become a regular feature.

Went up to town to-day to buy wine-making supplies. While there I thought I should avail myself of some of the delights of the Festival, but there's so much on offer you feel saturated just reading the programme. I reckon the best show in town can be enjoyed by watching the ebb and flow of  humanity: the look-at-me's, the wannabes, the ninja- like black-clad techies. But I dragged myself away from all this and visited  the Impressionists' Gardens, courtesy of the National Galleries of Scotland. It includes work by pre- and post-impressionists, from Corot to Klimt and recognises the debt owed by artists to horticulture. One Monet in particular stood out, and I envied the gallery attendant as he can spend from now till October looking at it. This Berthe Morisot, "Child Amongst Hollyhocks", was new to me and has embedded itself firmly in my all-time favourites list. I am that little girl! After Edinburgh the exhibition transfers to London. If you can, do yourself a favour and spend the day with these paintings, I know I'll be back.

Lammastide

Lammas, the third quarter day of the year, was traditionally the celebration of harvest and came under the dominion of the sun god, Lugh. So it seems appropriate to pause and count my blessings. The potager has lived up to its name and given us wonderful peas, carrots, beets, onions, shallots and leeks, with potatoes and beans still to come. The Future Jobs Scheme boys did a magnificent job of preparing the ground, trenching and barrowing in innumerable loads of manure, and the results have been impressive. A nice by-blow has been Ped's conversion to growing veg, he's planning raised beds and has meantime sown some phacelia to green manure his garden.
The hanging baskets have also been outstanding this season, Fi1 did a great job of them and she and Jesus have looked after them well. No, she's not become a Holy Roller, Jesus is our summer temp from Spain.
At home it looks as if the celery is going to be the top crop. The walnut trees in the park have set well and I hope that later on we'll be enjoying homegrown Waldorf salad.
A phrase I haven't thought of for years comes to mind, my old school motto : Ah, qui'l est bon, le bon Dieu!

 

Just Another Day in Paradise

Welcome to Bub and Kyna, your wit is much appreciated, and also to anyone else daft enough to read this.
Anyway, I was reminded that I'd promised to give a talk to the local horticultural society, they asked for a "day in the life" sort of thing. Now I'm bricking it. Naturally socially inept and retiring, ten years of living in a park has left me shy to the point of sociophobia. Sometimes I wonder if I'm a touch autistic, but my son assures me I'm no worse than most. Still, although it's not till November, I think I should make a start on my talk.
My day begins at 7.30, which I think comes under the heading of "Cruel and Unusual Punishments". It took me ages to get used to it but now I can see that it's often the best part of the day, except when it's dark and dreich and thoroughly horrid. At least my commute is short, two minutes or so and I'm at the Walled Garden where my hothouses are. At this time of year I get an enormous waft of perfume from the honeysuckle growing to the left of the gate, while last month the wisteria repaid all the time I've spent pruning it with spectacular amethyst flowers.
As I come in, I check out the pears' progress. They get the benefit of the south facing wall and are a mass of white blossom in Spring and dripping with the best fruit I've ever eaten in Autumn. There are cherries and plums as well on the east wall and apples and more plums outside. There was a peach, I'm told, and vines but the old range of glasshouses where they grew has fallen into such disrepair that we're forbidden to go in there. Of course we ignored this, so The Boss had the place nailed shut.
It would be wonderful to restore these, but various clerks of work have tried and failed even before the current crisis. Ah well.
As I enter the first greenhouse, I hear the piteous wail of Chocolate the Nursery cat. She sounds as if she hasn't eaten for days, but this is belied by her shiny coat. She's very affectionate, loves a cuddle and even if it's only cupboard love it's a nice welcome to work.
My minions join me and we get stuck in. One of the girls waters the hanging baskets so she sets off in her van to do her rounds. We have an automated irrigation system but there are always dry patches so whoever's on at the weekend does the watering and gives the plants a foliar feed while the others issue plants to the area squads who descend on us like pillaging hordes. Well, some do, others come in, look around gormlessly, and say, "Eh, you've to give us the plants for King's Park." What kind of plants, we ask. "Eh,...marigolds?" What kind of marigolds? Shrug. African Marigolds? French Marigolds? Shrug.Calendula? They start to panic. Big ones or wee ones? Yellow orange or red ones? By this time they're looking like rabbits caught in headlamps so we take pity on them and tell them what would look good together and how many they'll need and suggest a few dot plants for added interest. By this time it's nine o'clock and time for teabreak.
Well I think that's enough for now, it's ten o'clock so I have to go and lock up.

Kelways' Peony Valley

 

Wish You Were Here?

As it's quietish at work, I took some time off and headed down to the West Country. I have many happy memories of a dippy hippy summer there when I was 19, travelling round the area by local bus which is a great way of exploring. Now that I'm an old lady, this time I took a little more than the sleeping bag which was all I needed then. My only regret about that holiday was not spending more time in Wells, so I made a leisurely tour of it, and ended the day with Evensong in the Cathedral. Magic, if that's not too heretical a word.
Then I visited Kelways, THE peony people. I've already placed an on-line order with them, but couldn't resist buying just one more and some iris. I popped in to their trials ground, which was a dreamworld of colour and scent. Led, literally, by the nose, I wandered happily, finding another two varieties to add to my list, Coral Charm and Felix Supreme. Life as a public sector employee feels very insecure these days, and my house is tied to my job, so maybe it's foolish to invest in the garden but I can't help it. The next day I went to Hestercombe, a beautiful place which has a wonderful landscape and a formal Lutyens/Jekyll garden, pictured above. And yes, I couldn't resist some bargains in the shop, galega, sisyrinchium and another iris. With the car now resembling a greenhouse, I trundled back up the motorway then home through winding Borders roads.

Exception

Recently we were discussing "The No Brown In Town" rule on Edith Hope's brilliant blog. How I   wholeheartedly agreed, having always thought that brown carex in particular was vile. To-day however, I realised there was one brown I'd never be without - Bronze Fennel. It's been a mainstay in my last three gardens, where it fills me with joy to see its feathery new growth each spring. The rabbits love it too, but are easily deterred by leaving the old stems in place for a while. These stems then make wonderfully aromatic kindling.
Mmm. Have to go and see a man about Brown Trout.

Leaf it out

The garden seems terribly quiet now those rackety squaddies, the Praestans Fusiliers, have completed their tour of duty. It's the first time I've grown these gorgeous scarlet tulips, but from now on there will always be a place for them. I bade them a fond farewell like a Victorian maiden watching the garrison leave town. To the regiment!
Meantime, I'm learning to appreciate the textures created by the (entirely unplanned) juxtaposition of foliage. Could I be developing Good Taste? Fat chance. Round the corner my rescue rhoddendrons are billowing masses of Barbara Cartland pink and Papaver orientalis Brilliant is hovering in the wings.