Quercus petraea: Sessile Oak

I woke myself up this morning with a nightmare.  It's one I've dreamt before; no doubt I'll dream it again.  I'm strangling someone but with insufficient conviction.  I hauled my sorry a***, racked with a filthy head cold, sore throat and aching ankles out of bed and made a cup of tea and a couple of maxi-flu paracetamols.  An hour or two later and I'm feeling perky and ready for a longish walk and some fresh air.

 

Driving down the A38 listening to Classic FM on the way to the National Arboretum and the weather is cold and blowy with occasional snow flurries.  Perfect Easter Bank Holiday Monday weather.  And then this came on the radio ---->

 

 

And we walked all through the trees and as always here, found new memorials and plaques of remembrance. One tree on the outer edge of the Merchant Navy Convoy Memorial was dedicated to a teenager, a little naval apprentice who spent his 18th birthday floating on a raft after his vessel was bombed, and where he died 10 days later. 

This memorial is densely planted with 2,535 Sessile Oaks representing every British flagged merchant vessel lost to enemy action during the Second World War.  The Sessile Oak, Quercus petraea, is native to Great Britain and mid-Europe. Significant botanical differences with English Oak include the stalked leaves, and the stalkless (sessile) acorns. It is found more frequently than English Oak in upland areas that have a higher rainfall, but also the lighter soils, which it prefers.  The Royal Navy was once said to be founded on “Hearts of Oak” – a reference to the stoic nature of British seaman.

Helianthus Annuus: Sunflowers

 

Given the atrocious weather we've had across the UK since the spring, these were just about the most productive flowers this year.  Too wet and too cold for the roses; ditto all the vegetables except the brassicas and lettuces.  They take a beautiful picture though, don't they? 

I planted these directly into the beds early April and just left them to get on with it.  After years of planting in rows of seed variety, this year I simply opened up a few packets, mixed said seeds and threw them into the soil then pretty much abandoned them to their fate.  I have to say, from midsummer onwards I picked flower after flower; Russian Giant, Choco Sun, Vincent's Mixed, Firecracker, Sunburst, Velvet Queen.

 

Unwin's have a lovely little seed planting wheel guide, catch it here.  Or if your life really is too short to click on links, here it is!  And thank you UNWINS!

 

 

 

Last Dance: The Raveonettes

Don't you just love the World Wide Web?

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9TL2B-iiVhA&ob=av2e

"If this is the last dance, this is the last dance, Then save it for me baby
If this is the last dance, this is the last dance, Then save it for me baby
If this is the last dance, this is the last dance, Then save it for me baby..."

Garlic

Orlaya Grandiflora: White Lace Flower

I finished early today, and once home changed my shoes and reached for the marigolds.  Hands suitably protected from the nail crudding properties of compost, I hopped out into the garden and set to work.  Orlaya grandiflora, or white lace flower has been sitting in my seed box patiently waiting to be sown since it arrived in my RHS members' seeds scheme delivery. 

The seeds are large and prickly, rather like an oval, convex piece of Velcro.  And because I am a mother whose children have been through primary school and come out the other end I could see in these seeds the familiar outline of the common head louse.  Yes people, once our children start primary school the "Little Visitors" start making the rounds.  And don't try and pretend your children never came home with nits, either.  They're an unavoidable part of childhood, like chickenpox and sports days and night-before-requests for a complete shepherd's outfit for tomorrow's nativity.

We get two opportunities to sow Orlayas, in early autumn/ September for big fabulous plants the following summer (ht 45-60cm), or right now which will give slightly smaller plants this summer but which are nonetheless beautiful.  Sarah Raven reckons these beauties take 12 weeks from sowing to flowering if planted now, so let's get cracking... I'd give you Helen Yemm's opinion but I've lent her book to my new favourite clients.

We need to sow these seeds onto the surface of firmed damp compost then cover with a dusting of vermiculite to anchor the seeds whilst letting in as much germination-inducing light as necessary.  Seal the seed tray inside a plastic bag and drop somewhere with a steadyish temperature of between 15-20C, keeping the compost moist but not waterlogged.  Germination usually takes about 3-4 weeks.  When seedlings are large enough to handle, transplant into the usual 3" pots and plant out in early summer about 12" apart.  Once the flowers start producing seeds in autumn, collect and sow immediately, overwintering in a cold frame, for next year's crop.

Crocus describes the flowers thus,

"Lovely, pure white flowers form in big, flat-topped clusters, which resemble lace-cap hydrangeas. They appear throughout the summer above the fine, fern-like foliage. This gorgeous hardy annual has an extremely long flowering period and will often flower until the first frosts. Particularly good in wilder gardens."

Wedding Bells & Marriage Vows

"I urge you, brothers and sisters, by the mercies of God, to offer your bodies as a living sacrifice, holy and pleasing to God, your spiritual worship.

Do not conform yourselves to this age but be transformed by the renewal of your mind, that you may discern what is the will of God, what is good and pleasing and perfect.

"Let love be sincere; hate what is evil, hold on to what is good; love one another with mutual affection; anticipate one another in showing honour.

Do not grow slack in zeal, be fervent in spirit, serve the Lord.

Rejoice in hope, endure in affliction, persevere in prayer.

Contribute to the needs of the holy ones, exercise hospitality.

Bless those who persecute you, bless and do not curse them.

Rejoice with those who rejoice, weep with those who weep.

Have the same regard for one another; do not be haughty but associate with the lowly; do not be wise in your own estimation.

Do not repay anyone evil for evil; be concerned for what is noble in the sight of all.

If possible, on your part, live at peace with all."

St Paul's Letter to the Romans: 12 1-2, 9-18

Image from Cox & Cox

Easter Sunday & Pablo Neruda's The Captain's Verses

I temporarily abandoned my duvet this week in favour of vintage monogrammed cotton sheets picked up for next to nothing at my favourite junk shop.  The sheets are almost as heavy as my duvet, but are such a delight to sleep under these recent warm nights.  Imagine waking up this morning wrapped in white sheets with the dawn chorus carolling around my consciousness.  Heavenly.

The hordes began arriving for Easter yesterday afternoon, and soon we were laughing and yahooing over cups of tea and endless, endless cakes and treats.  No chocolate though, as most of us gave it up for Lent, together with "chocolate-cheese-chips", the usual alcohol, walking the bloody dogs (we screamed with laughter at this one) and "not saying the rosary every night;" to which we all nodded and thought we should have done this too... One had even given up saying the F-word, and as the F-word is merely another adjective for someone born and raised in the North, this was indeed a magnificent achievement worthy of a very large glass of Bush after lunch today.

Flowers are banned from churches during Lent and make a spectacular appearance after the Easter Vigil on Saturday night.  It is one of the loveliest parts of Mass on Easter Sunday.  I try to operate a similar ban at home, so as soon as it was light this morning I was up and out into the kitchen garden, cup of tea in hand, looking for spring flowers for my Easter feast table.  Photos to follow.

And always at Easter my thoughts turn eastwards to my homeland. 

To war zones. 

To you.

"...and that there where I am,

under rain or

underfire,

my love, I am waiting for you,

I wait for you in the harshest desert

and by the flowering lemon tree,

in every land where life exists,

where spring is born,

my love, I wait for you.

If they say to you: "That man

does not love you," remember

that my feet are alone in this night, and they

search for the sweet, tiny feet I adore...

...and your soul which I awoke

so that it should keep on singing

until the end of life..."   

Palm Sunday & Tulipa Golden Apeldoorn

I've come to realise over the years that time spent idling in my garden is not time wasted.  When I stand at the french windows in the kitchen, staring out into my garden, invariably with a cup of tea in hand, I am mindlessly absorbing horticultural details of great importance.  Early last winter I planted a drift of Golden Apeldoorn tulips into a frost-prone shady part of my kitchen garden.  I'd previously had a spreading patch of Solomon's Seal there, but had the sense at last to shift it under the hedge where it's now starting into flower.  That left me with an empty space and a large packet of yellow tulips to throw in somewhere...    

These tulips began pushing their way through the soil with their early spring companions, but it was not until they began to flower that the sheer genius of their positioning became clear.  I'd planted them in the spot that catches the first rays of sunshine mid-morning.  This little patch of buttery yellow deliciousness lights up each day, heralding another sunny day in the garden.

"Each morning he wakes me to hear,

To listen like a disciple."

Isaiah 50:4-7

Shady Areas Under The Hedge (With Corrections)

Hosta "Whirlwind" As yet unidentified hosta beginning to unfurl in a shady bed underneath the Clematis "Armandii" Apple SomethingOrOther, together with some Oxlips.  I know this hosta isn't Whirlwind because I've just noticed the real thing unfurling in a large pot in another part of the garden, and the leaf colour and markings are wholly different.  Picture to follow.

Some common Solomon's Seal (Polygonatum multiflorum) tucked under the deciduous hedge with I think, some emerging English blue bells and a few blind tulips.  Hedgey and lovely.

Prunus Warwickshire Drooper In Spring Sunshine

Though on the sign is it written

"Do not pluck these blossoms"

It is useless against the wind

Which cannot read

Japanese poem, author to be attributed

Delft Blue Hyacinths & Cowslips



On Being Dapper Happy

"My father dapper happy in a new dark suit

So glad she said yes."

Isn't that just wonderful?  Dapper happy.  This may become my phrase of 2011.  Its author, Anne Higgins, may be found here http://annesbirdpoems.blogspot.com/

After a bit of a lie-in on Saturday morning, I spent much of the weekend in the garden in the spanky warm sunshine.  I finally finished edging the path under the laundry flight path.  As part of this process I lifted the height of the pavers by about 6" and now enjoy an elevated view of both my laundry and the garden.  With sharp and crisp edges comes the desire to plant along the gravel boards with some flippy floppy edging.  That's a technical horticultural term, and I'm thinking something technically edible (even I draw the line at eating anything upon which I've trodden) with a powerful scent.  Thyme, I suppose, but I much prefer basil.  Whilst I imagine a flippy floppy edging of basil, here are some pictures.

On A Lazy Start To The Weekend

Yesterday turned out to be the warmest day of the year thus far, and that meant barbe time.  Fat, charred rib-eyes, still bleeding after five minutes resting under butter papers (I know, I know.)  Then some Triple-D inspired home-made burgers. Finally some sardines thrown on the barbe as the sun began to set across the western edges of the garden.  And too many bottles of Prosecco and chinking flutes.  We sat around the garden and talked and talked and laughed.  Happy days.

And this morning I awoke with the dawn chorus and opened the windows to let in the chilling morning air.  Then hopped back to bed to sleep until eight. 

From Cox and Cox

On Crime Scenes & The End Of Term Part 2

Less than 24hrs after Mercy Boo arrived home, look who turned up...

On Crime Scenes And The End Of Term

Merci Beaucoup Enfant Deux arrives home this afternoon for the Easter hols.  Her room is tidy, calming, restful and pretty empty.  Exactly 10 minutes after she arrives through the front door, it will look like the ransacked remains of a burgled bedroom.  I don't know how she does it.  I often wonder if she has spring-loaded her suitcases, and set them with timers to explode right on cue. 

On Sowing Seeds And Dreaming Of The Year Ahead

March belted past in a blur of airports, motorways, security checks, meetings, tense negotiations, hard work and mental exhaustion.  Physically I'm in the best shape I've been for months and my liver's positively blushing with good health and sobriety.  Lent and a big contract does that.  Early yesterday morning I threw all my laundry on to wash then stepped out into my garden just before six to give it all a thorough inspection. 

Spring has sprung in my absence and all the Delft Blue hyacinths are through although I had to wait until the afternoon for them to warm up and release their scent.  The cowslips and oxlips are flooding across the borders like a perfectly happy sunshiny smiling tsunami.  The drupes are all blossomed up and the Muscari and early Narcissi are through.  All the Spring Green Purissima and Golden Apeldoorn tulips are through; the Red Apeldoorns are almost ready to open too.  The Iris are starting into strong growth and the Paeonia Karl Rosenfield is about a foot high already.  Even the garlic, still waiting patiently to be planted, is off to a flying start.  Spring has most definitely sprung.

And this afternoon, I was back in my garden with the sun at my back sowing seeds for the year ahead.  Here's the laundry list;

Giant Californian Asters, or Reine Maguerite as I bought them at Cora last autumn

Rose Trémiére Fiesta Time, ibid.

Rose Trémiére, violette, ibid.

Shedloads of climbing Borlotti Lingua di Fuoco, from Franchi

Climbing French beans Santa Anna, ibid.

Basil,

Mais multicolore, or Indian corn, bought last autumn from SuperU

Far too many tomatoes including;

Roma - Italian variety, lovely little plum and huge cropper
Costoluto Fiorentino - huge misshapen beefsteak with great flavour and eye appeal

Marmande - another whopper beefsteak great for field growing

I've buckets more to seeds to sow, including all my odd bids of dried tomato seeds, far too many climbing beans, all the summer and autumn squashes and let's not forget the herbs and salads.  I love coming home.

Announcements For The Public Good

No, April, I'm not going to add you because you'll only give me syphilis.

Rosa Constance Spry

Just after dawn, on a cold and chilly early spring morning, this photo taken leaning out from the dining room windows.

Spring Arrives In Sunny Derbyshire

Beautiful cowslips appear first, with tulips not too far behind, with the pinks behind playing catch-up.

Last season's garlic dug up to make room for summer flowering bulbs.

Glory of the Snow, Chionodoxa Forbesii, just look stunning and fabulous.

And the mixed crocus, lilacs, whites and stripes only, make drifts of colour across the front of the raised beds in the kitchen garden. It was this time last year that I made my first pilgrimage to RHS Harlow Carr, and circling that blasted big roundabout on the town's outskirts became enchanted by these huge drifts of croaks along the roadside. I'm off up to Harlow Carr next weekend, for the tulip festival. Come with me.

On The Place Of Slate Chippings In The Domestic Garden

I did it, you know. Shifted 7 cubic tonnes of plum slate chippings. Each shovelful, each barrow load, each knackering run between non-returnable bag to dump site, nearly killed me. I staggered in afterwards, and standing at the kitchen sink as the kettle boiled I actually lost the ability to think. Ever had that happen? Then let that be a lesson to you.

Never take on a garden with slate chippings. No matter how much you love your client.