THEY SIMPLY CAN'T STOP GROWING!

We have a funny, contradictory idea about nature. On the one hand, we admire it for simply being there - for being 'natural'. On the other, we can't quite trust it. We worry it will take over. We worry it will die! Both! So we tend it and water it and prune it and . . . sometimes it works and sometimes it doesn't.

In my garden, the 'doesn't' rules ok. I'm too erratic to keep things in good order. Never able to keep the right 'term' in mind. Whether it's short, or long or medium that's needed - I'm bound to be looking at the ones which aren't.

Upshot - on the whole, my garden looks after itself.

These tiny Tete-at-tete Daffodils are growing  in a pot with a . .
 bother, can't remember it's name.
This is their third year but I'd forgotten about them
- until they came up!

Poor garden. Not only does it have to look after itself because I forget to be doing anything when it 'needs' me but there are also times when I consciously leave it to its own devices. It's interesting. I like to go round and see what happened while I was looking the other way.

This post is a mixture of 'goods' and 'bads' and always (to me) 'interestings' - things which happened while my back was inconsiderately turned.

This is a collection of pots that I put on a wire stand in the autumn..
The Sedum cape blancas were, at that point,
 bits which had been broken off their parent plant by a cat which likes to walk on it.
They've rooted!

These little sedums have done well on their own but, lurking out of focus is a tiny parsley which is not happy at all. I know I should be hanging my head in shame but I'm not. I'm being impressed. It's alive!

Wherever there's earth, free-wheelers are likely to drop by on the off-chance. The little green plant shoving one of the sedums aside may be a cowslip. It might be a foxglove. Either way, I'll tenderly lift it out and give it a home of its own.

That's what I did when a little balm seedling arrived last year - I put it in its own pot. Erm . . . and forgot about it. It remained small. (This is a very tiny pot. Pictures can decieve!) It had no room for roots, it shrivelled. I thought it had died. It hasn't. There it is  - small, determined, healthy leaves - and a clutch of fox-glove-or-cowslip babies have moved in too.

The Canterbury Bell is a 'spare';
an understudy to the ones which I planted out in the autumn.

These three inch pots are too small for the cowslips in them. Terracotta pots look nicer than plastic ones and, I would guess, are better ecologically, but earth in them dries out quickly. With virtually no rain or root-room, these little cowslip plants have gone into suspended animation. They don't die but they aren't growing either. I'll re-pot them soon. Promise.

Here's another example of wonderful resilience.

These two leaves belong to two, very small cyclamen plants - the kind which have tiny white flowers towards the end of summer.

When I was digging in the autumn, they fell away from a clump I was moving so I sat them on the earth in a pot . . . and they are growing. 'Course they are! It's what plants do!

Over the winter, all sorts of things drop in by chance.
Leaves, of course. Snails - often!
And, in this garden - baycorns.
(Like little, brown and speckled, chocolate eggs.
See the one here?)

Hellebore seedlings

But not everything is left to chance.

Last year, I bought a hellebore. I was excited. I'd been enchanted by pictures of hellebores on other garden blogs. But when my hellebore flowered, I decided hellebore flowers are rubbish. If I had a true sense of aesthetic, I would have thrown this one away - but I'd heard that hellebores easily self-seed . . . so I put the flowering plant in a pot, filled a tray with potting compost, put the pot on the tray and left it there . . . and it has been there ever since - looking odd but . . . I can now confirm, hellebores are happy to self-seed. Now, of course, I will have to work out what to do with a ready supply of plants I don't like! (Fortunately, I think I'm alone in disliking them so they will probably find welcoming homes!)

My friend the lupin!

Not, of course, that all these hopeful extras which drop into flower-pots and seed trays are prepared to co-exist with what's rightfully there. This was a wonderful, over-wintering lupin. Slugs have treated it like a cut-and-come-again salad source. You can see the poor thing's scars. You can see its energy and determination to survive too. Yet another replacement-leaf is unfurling!

Sometimes, of course, plants really do die. The rhubarb which came up excitingly early last year succumbed to moluscular attrition. It couldn't get higher than a few inches. It stopped trying. It died. It rotted. I dug it out and threw it away . . . except for a piece which was under nasturtiums at the time.

It's laughing at me!

I could explain why I left these bulbs here . . . but . . .

Nature, I am pleased to say is tough!

(Which is just as well - in my garden!)

Twiittaa

SEED TIME

We’ve come back to the time when I like to use this blog as a proper diary - noting when what happens . . . happens.

It may not make gripping reading but, when I look back at photos from the months of germination and early growth - the boring little pots on my uninspiring window sills . . . I get all moved inside . . . sort of ‘wow-ish’. So, here we go . . .

Black Basil: I’ve never grown this before. It’s supposed to be tougher than the usual kind of basil, specially selected/developed . . . dunno . . . for the British climate. Although the leaves will be black, it will, hopefully, taste the same as the proper Italian, green leafed, kind. (Except I’m hoping it doesn’t taste exactly the same. I’m hoping snails turn their noses up at it.) (Do snails have noses?)

A special kind of sunflower: (again, new to me). We were given seeds for it at the Garden Media Guild event. Instead of a tall plant with a massive flower on the top, it should be a tall plant with lots of smaller flowers up the stem. We’ll see! The instructions say to put one seed in each pot and I had space for only one pot . . . but the plant came up almost instantly so I’ll do more in a few days time. (Incidentally, the seeds don’t look like sunflower seeds so I hope they put the right ones in the packet!)

As a P.S. - I’m finding the growing medium interesting. We needed only a small amount of seed compost but the bags were big so we bought a middle sized one of ‘multi-purpose’. When I opened it, I was a bit put out . . . all these bits and bobs and twiggy bits . . . might be good for bigger plants but it didn’t look right for seeds.

But it seems to be rather good for germination after all. Everything is coming up very fast. I’m being run away with!

As you may have noticed, it’s very moisture retentive. A couple of years ago I bought potting compost that had tons and tons and tons of sand in. It dried out and solidified and was generally, frustratingly, horrid. When I saw this, I was worried it might have opposite problems, be too loose and stay soggy rather than moist . . . but the seeds are happy so - so am I!

WINTER COLOUR

The light is turning. I potter out. It feels more like autumn than winter. It's not crisp - it's dull. But there is colour.


The cultivated primroses have had most of their petals nibbled but the middle of a flower is always interesting.

The cotoneaster berries have been falling and falling. There are few left now and the leaves aren't specially interesting - except for an odd, special one which stands out from right the other side of the garden.

The swiss chard has been munched for months but its colours stay vibrant.

And nestled under fallen bay leaves - a baycorn.

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All pictures for this post were taken today - February 19^th 2012.

AMARYLLIS

In the spirit of today-ness . . .

Don't these look like crumbly shortcake biscuits, stuck together with raspberry jam, floating against a red curtain? A spectacular magic show?

Given the amount of walking up and down in front of trays of bulbs, looking at pictures, you'd have thought I'd have noted its name. (Or, having noted my lack of method over the years - perhaps you wouldn't!)

Such an elegant sweep! I've always admired them. This is the first time we've had one.

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TODAY IN MY GARDEN

How's that for a scintillating title?

I’m not in a word mood -  but I like to keep a record of what’s happening and when - so this is a picture post. Photos taken in a not very good light - but photos taken only a few minutes ago. That’s what makes them special.

I'm gradually disentangling the Clematis Armandii
from the Fatsia and the other plants and bushes
it has embraced throughout the winter.
This little strand is welcome to support itself against the apple tree.

Earlier today, this flower was open. Only because it is evening have the petals closed.

This year's blackcurrant buds look much the same as last year's. But . . .

My emotions are always touched by the apple's combination of sturdiness and delicacy.

The flowers of Honeysuckle Graham Thomas have turned out to be a bit of a disappointment but the leaves are always a delight; they are of such a very pleasant shade of green. In the sunshine, they are lighter in colour and lighter-hearted than in this photo - but that's winter afternoons for you!

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DIGGING UP THE CHOISYA

I had been planning a post about plants kept for reasons of sentiment rather than sense - plants which dwindle for years but which were given into our keeping by friends, or brought from elsewhere, or which were bought in specially happy times so we want never to let them go. Then Anne Wareham wrote an article for The Telgraph about much the same thing and it seemed silly to replicate what she says (even though it's not likely there's much of an overlap between our readerships!) so I abandoned that post.

However, her last paragraph gave me the dynamite I needed for action.

"It is decision time -" (she says) "and the really important thing is to do whatever you want to deliberately. So that even if you are still looking at a miserable, half-dead plant, you do at least know why."

That Choisya Sundance which hugs the ground outside the house; an embarrassment whose leaves are pale and stuck together and eaten and brown and thin. I know why I've let it linger. It's because I want a tall, substantial, bright and sunny, eye catching plant that makes me happy every time I see it. No sentiment involved - just wishful thinking.

Right.

I picked up my fork, marched to the plant - and lifted it.

It came out without a murmur. No digging. No wrenching. Fork in. Plant out. Poor thing. Its roots looked strong but their hold on the earth was . . . absent.

Before bunging it in the brown sack of garden waste the council takes to mash up, sterilise and compost (I use it for thick twigs, cordyline leaves and tomato plants) I peeled back some of the leaves.

This is the other side of the chrysalis at the top of the page.
Features like the line which looks like a spine
 (but which presumably, isn't) are clearer in black and white.
The front end is buried in the threads which are, themselves, white.

I wasn't expecting a chrysalis. About half an inch long, black, and in a soft nest of white threads. My neighbour, Lucy Corrander, put it on iSpot to see if anyone knows what would emerge. Difficult . . . but - maybe . . the moth Silver Y (Autographa gamma) . . . ?

I didn't think this was likely to be the main culprit so I peeled back another stuck-together leaf.

This!

Some kind of sawfly? And, my could it move! In the picture, it looks as if it's stopped for a munch. It hasn't. It's racing for freedom, for cover, for who knows what? But, whatever it was, the wind caught the paper I'd put it on for the sake of the photograph. Off went the sawfly. Off went the chrysalis.

Gone.

I felt sad for the chrysalis. Alarmed about the sawfly. I've got enough unwelcome beasties in the back garden without bringing in more as part of a misguided nature hunt.

I closed the sack and stuck it in the shed to wait for the council van. No more escapees please!

And now what? My garden seems to have been taken over by miners and sawflies. It's a very sheltered garden. We rarely get frosts. I have no fire indoors from which to collect ash. No space for a bonfire. Can't dig up everything! Who will win?

___

For more information about Ann Wareham's garden at Veddw House - click HERE

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BLOOMING NUISANCES

While everyone else is celebrating their gardens in bloom, what I'm most aware of is the pests in mine - the blooming nuisances.

My garden has been specialising in miners. They have taken up hard-eating residence in so many plants, I can't keep up with cutting off affected leaves.

I'm uncertain what to do about old leaves on the ground. I've left them for the over-wintering of insects. And there's the contradiction. It's all very well being ecological and nature friendly and all that - but you don't get to choose your guests and quite a few of mine are unwelcome. In some places, I've scooped away winter ground cover. In others, I'm nervous. Lots of bulbs have their green spikes well above ground but they are still new. If we have a frost, I'd be sad if they were zapped.

But sawfly have decided my garden is a well stocked hotel and I suspect they are just waiting to leap out of the debris / surface earth at the first sign of spring. Indeed, I don't think they've stopped munching all winter.

I took this photo at the beginning of December. From the house, I could see the leaves of the blackcurrant bush were in trouble. They were not having a happy autumn so I went to investigate. This little chap was curling the edge of a leaf and tying itself in with silken threads. It did not like being disturbed and was surprisingly speedy.

Because it is on a blackcurrant bush, I took it to be the larva of a Blackcurrant Sawfly but, when I looked them up - they have clear, black dots - which this doesn't. Maybe the dots come later. Anyone know?

All the leaves fell. Buds for next year arrived. They look fine. Fine and healthy.

I'm nervous though.

Look closer.

Threads.

Of course, it might be that a spider has taken a wander but . . . .

Something's been at the bulbs I didn't get round to re-planting after my autumn dig. (Mouse?)

And something else is nibbling holes in the red veined sorrel.

The Choisya Sundance is turning to mush.









I'm thinking
of giving up and digging it out.

A nasturtium leaf is providing shelter for quite a large grub of something.

One of the bay plants is providing sustenance for a couple of other creatures. (Bay leaf cutters killed of a couple of the very small ones.)

But, but, but . . . despite the feast the caterpillar I showed in a previous post was making of the rainbow chard before the weather turned wintry (though not very wintry) tulips are coming up in its shelter. I doubt the caterpillar will bother with them. (I doubt it's still there. If it is, I think it may have gone underground.)

I'm looking forward to frost. I wish I didn't try to be creature-friendly. This garden is small. This garden is too small for all of us - me and the miners and the eaters and the carvers and the mushers - and I think it's me that's being edged out!

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P.S. Apart from the photo of the sawfly larva, which was taken on 9th December 2011, all photos were taken today - January 15th 2012.

RHS SNOWDROPS

It's a day when flowers are in the news - there are too many of them.

The big story was set in train when Dr Tim Rich of the National Museum of Wales (and the Welsh Rare Plants Project) and Dr Sarah Whild of Birmingham University  went out  to count them in the streets of Cardiff. They found 63 varieties instead of the anticipated 10 to 20  - or 20 to 30, depending on who tells it.

There seems to be similar confusion over whether these are flowers in general or just wild ones, nevertheless . . 

The Royal Horticultural Society is getting excited too - if that's the right word. Maybe 'disturbed' or 'agitated' would be better for it's sent this photo of snowdrops at Rosemoor in Devon. They are lovely to see - but we shouldn't be seeing them yet.

Snowdrops flowering three weeks early

in the RHS gardens at Rosemoor in Devon.

If plants flower before pollinators emerge, seed cannot be set. One doesn't want to be over-dramatic but, long term, if this happens to plants we value for food, and it happens over and over again, it could mean there will be less to eat - and fewer seeds for next years flowers . . . so fewer flowers . . . less food . . . serious stuff.

We're not going to eat snowdrops, nor yet the wallflower in my garden which thinks it's a bush and currently has thirteen beautiful flowers . . .

This is what my wallflower looked like on 21st December 2011
 and it is flowering happily still on January 11th 2012.

but, while appreciating the unexpected loveliness of a blooming January  - you can see the problem . . .

P.S. Pat at The Squirrelbasket also has a post about surprising winter colour.

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