Gardening Matters

Yesterday is History.

Tomorrow is a Mystery.

Today is a Gift,

that’s why it’s called a Present.

A.A.Milne

(I only found this quote quite recently and liked it so much I decided to share it here. It answers my current state of mind exactly and I will try to remember it whenever sadness overwhelms me.)

From the Daily Telegraph
Chelsea Pensioner Ron Wilkins enjoying the RHS Chelsea Flower Show
Credit: Paul Grover

This past week I’ve been watching the Chelsea Flower Show - the 106th show - on TV both during part of the day and for another hour and a half in the early evening and what a magnificent show it was once again. I have never been there myself, not even when we lived in London; not only is it very expensive when you consider the cost of the ticket, but adding travel cost and an overnight stay make it even more exorbitant during show week. On top of it there are the crowds, I’d probably faint if I were forced to move slowly through them. TV is fine for me, you get a much better idea of the show gardens and the presenters explain and showcase the most interesting aspects, and the most spectacular plants. Of course, the gardens are indeed ’show’ gardens, there’s little that’s transferable to your ordinary plot; bridges, buildings, verandahs, walls of water, broad steps, massive trees, tender and/or oriental and African plants aren’t usually to be found in your average back garden.

Chelsea gives a gardener endless ideas and much inspiration and I’ve been sitting, fingers twitching, brain itching and the gardening nerve twanging incessantly, almost too restless to stay and watch rather  than go outside and get weeding. What with Austin gone and Paul being slow and lifeless, I must do much of the work myself. I’ve been given the names of two gardeners who might be interested, one actually telephoned and left a message. You may ask ‘so why haven’t you interviewed them’? B-e-c-a-u-s-e  that means sacking Paul. He is so depressed and silent and, yes, lifeless, that I feel sorry for him. He is also extremely hard up and needs every penny he can earn, although I don’t actually see that he earns what I pay him. Both new chaps are probably more expensive, but I’d make them work for their wage or sack them; I don’t know them, so sacking them isn’t as unpleasant a task as sacking Paul, whom I know well.

Acc. to the presenters the fashion in Chelsea this year has been for naturalistic planting, lots of various shades of greens, relaxed, not the usual clumps of three, five or seven of this, then another parcel of three, etc. of that throughout beds. This year the same number of plants has been used but dotted around, mixed with each other. One thing which impressed me no end is that flowering weeds have been allowed in too, in certain ‘wild’ gardens, or at least the sort of plants that a fastidious gardener would so designate. Old Gardener began to ail last year, took frequent breaks and forgot to weed in the more hidden areas. I myself couldn’t do it because of last year’s back problems, so things got overlooked and the results are only too obvious this year. Large patches of perennial weeds have taken over and smothered the few wanted plants left from previous years. I have had a go myself this spring but there’s no way I can get on top of it all without help. So, round and round I go: dismiss Paul and employ one of the new chaps? Maybe I should chicken out altogether and move to a smaller house and garden.? How sad that would be but my decision making motor needs serious oiling before it can run smoothly. So, round and round for the moment . . . . . .

This is a miniature clematis which all by itself has no impact, but planted under, and
letting it thrust its way up and through, a recumbent juniper looks rather spectacular.
I had it in a pot before, with a small trellis, but it was hardly visible.

Gentle Everyday Life

Amelanchier in blossom

The high thin whistle of returning swallows and martins swooping joyously in the sky is everywhere, it is definitely spring. Finally. It’s still none too warm and I haven’t taken tender plants, the lemon and olive trees and ferns out of the conservatory yet but no night frosts have been forecast for the next week and I might risk having Paul carry them outside when he comes on Monday. I usually do this in the middle of May although there is always a warning not to do anything rash before the end of this month. In these ‘Franklin’s Days’ beware late and destructive frosts, thunder and unreliable weather.

According to a Devon legend, the sharp frosts which sometimes occur at about this time are the revenge of one Franklin, a beer-brewer put out of business by competition from cider. He therefore vowed his soul to the devil in return for frosts on each of the three Franklin’s Days around May 21st hoping that these would kill the apple-blossom and ruin the cider crop.

It will also be time to strim swathes of spent daffodils before the beginning of June. So many plants die untidily, leaving a horrible mess for several weeks but as they need the dying foliage to replenish their stores of energy to produce next year’s flowers we must put up with the yellowing flattened carpets. Having lost old gardener I am in a bit of a pickle. There is no way I can do all of it myself, certainly not the really hard jobs like dealing with compost, with digging, pruning trees and shrubs. I have an area of nasty plum tree suckers. Old gardener cut down the tree last autumn but the suckers have spread and infested a large patch. I have no idea how to get rid of them. It’s a problem. If I can find someone to dig them up and maybe poison the remains I could level the area off, put in what is known hereabouts as a “water feature” (very fashionable, a kind of fountain with a built in pump which allows for the water to rise and fall and produces a pleasant sound) and use bark chip or gravel to cover the earth. There is a very beautiful acer in the same bed which I want to keep. A water feature would be just the thing to set it off.

I am gently forcing myself to meet people, for lunches at a cafe, supper at the pub, a movie being shown at the village hall, a coffee here and there, a friend popping in for an hour, a poetry reading evening, and so on. Very mild, non-threatening and non-tiring entertainment. I think it must be doing me good. Once Millie is gone I won’t have the automatic daily conversations with other dog walkers.

Talking of dog walkers: I was in the High Street the other day on my way to the surgery when I passed a man and a woman standing by a gate, gossiping. I said “good morning” as I was passing them. The man turned, said good morning back and then: “Ursula? It is Ursula, isn’t it? I didn’t recognise you without your dog.” I expect I shall have to get used to people do a double take. Having said that, a long time village acquaintance came down towards me as I was going up a steep lane the other day. Again I said good morning; she stopped, looked at me closely and said “I didn’t recognise you with your head down.” Hm, have I become a changeling? It is said that mortal children are often substituted for a changeling during May, perhaps that goes for some adults too?

Love, Affection, Feeling Fond

Here’s a question: Do we only truly love those by whom we feel loved or can we love without expecting a return? (Forget about unrequited young love from afar, I don’t believe there’s much substance to that, but you may, of course, think differently, particularly if you follow some of the greatest poets both in antiquity such as Ovid and Dante and more recently, Goethe, not to mention modern popular music.

I was thinking of love because of Millie, of all things. Remembering Beloved, with whom I was both in love as well as loving him deeply, unquestioningly I thought at the time of our lives together,  I now think that the fact that he loved me as deeply did no harm to our close and harmonious relationship. Many of you use blogposts to describe how warmly you are enmeshed with your families, children and grandchildren. Long may it continue and may you never be disappointed. That kind of relationship needs work, tolerance and understanding each other’s needs and preferences. My own family is not as successful at this as yours.

But back to Millie, she had a serious stroke the other evening. She has recovered now, at the time I thought the end had come. While I sat comforting and nursing her for the many hours it took for her to return to a more stable condition I realised, by and by, that with her death the last common link with Beloved would disappear too and that there would be nobody left by whom I would be loved unconditionally. I am not comparing the love of an animal to the love of a human being but, in my opinion, it comes at least halfway up the scale. I have more affection for animals than some humans.

Quite definitely we feel affection for good friends. But here too the fondness must be returned. For how long can you be friends with someone who ignores you, behaves in an off-hand manner or treats you badly when it suits them. Some people are natural door mats but I’d hope you are not among their number. If your friend refuses to accept your friendship in the spirit in which it is offered, change your friend.

We can, of course, grow fond of those whom we employ. Old gardener has worked for me for many years, we toiled together, sat and chatted (me listening to him more than the other way round since he became deaf), we got tired together, drank tea, admired the results of our labours, gossiped, sniped at others; in other words, we were on very friendly terms and I was very fond of him. And now my dear Austin, Old Gardener, will  garden no more. He is very ill, his strength gone, his good humour vanished. He is in the clutches of a pair of nasty cancers,  neither treatable; I shall miss him and his penchant for indiscreet gossip as well as his pleasure in telling long stories about life in the bad old rural days. I am not sure that Austin was as fond of me as I was of him but that doesn’t seem to matter in this case. It matters very much more in the case of Paul, whom I have also mentioned here several times in the past. Paul is back with me for the time being. I doubt that Paul is fond of anyone, maybe his mother, but no one else. He is a serious depressive and that depression allows him no room for anyone else but himself. I am sorry for Paul but I am not fond of him. I need a return which he is at the moment unable to give.