Gardening in the Time of Covid-19, Part III: Returning Sounds, Sights & Smells of Nature

On the 45th day of lockdown (Confinement Jour 45), I find myself sitting under our urban garden's ivy-covered pergola to rest after completing a garden task, realising though always pleasant, it is even more so. Birdsong has little competition from traffic noise. True now as before, after a rain, petrichor permeates throughout, but at present, before the rain and its fragrant aftermath, the air is already wonderfully fresh.

Looking through the sous sol's potting room's window with its coloured glass bottle collection towards the ivy-covered pergola

Then there are the moles. One of their many dirt volcanoes can be seen in the below photo's upper right corner. Why have they entrenched themselves for the first time in the ten years since our arrival? My guess is the lockdown-related decrease in vibrations caused by street traffic including fewer trucks rumbling down one long side of our garden flanking a refrigeration depot's entrance has attracted these industrious soil diggers. After some research I have concluded there are three perspectives on having garden moles:

1) Get rid of these dangerous, disease-carrying, dirt-dragons/rodents as quickly as possible with poison. (Call our extermination service for an estimate.)

2) Be humane to both these annoying critters and your lawn. Trap and release them. (Where? Regardless of the lockdown, if released they will either come back or bother someone else.)

3) Co-exist. They bring benefits too like aerating the soil (those mounds of theirs are excellent with which to top up veggie beds), eating tons of detrimental grubs, and fertilising the soil. As our 'lawn' is mostly English daises and moss, and their mounds though plentiful are not disturbing the roots of bushes and plants, this perspective has become mine.

Centre: osteospermum; heucheras of varying hues: clockwise, paprika, Georgia peach & tirasmu; lavender pot: lantana

This past late winter, an acquaintance of The Calm One gave us many a potted miniature rose. At that time, the floral donation was leafless. All got a good pruning. Then I had to wait a few months to see what colour blooms they would have. Out of around fifteen, only a couple have not yet set flowers. I do not know the different varieties' names, but they are all beauties soaking up the sun on sous sol window sills facing south. During the growing season, each gets sprayed for blackspot monthly and have a few drops of liquid fertiliser added to the watering can almost daily.

Here's a close up of a deep-pink one.

And of a tiny white rose.

Also of a gorgeous coral-coloured bloom.

A tub of two turned out to have deep red, quartered roses. Such flowers look fantastic against a complementary background of deep green, so it is now fronting a patio cutout's calla lily thicket.

Such a beautifully formed rose!

That diminutive ruby stunner has big competition though. Outside the balcony entrance's front door, curving up high over the weigela, is a robust climber, Étoile de Hollande, fragrant beyond belief, so deeply red it can look almost black, and with a velvet sheen that is mesmerising.

Here's one huge, ruffled bloom.

À la prochaine!

Pairing Roses With Ivy; Plus Lilies Of The Valley, Yucca, Tulips & Calla Lillies

Our garden seems to be the only one festooned with beautifying ivy in our quartier. Perhaps because so many think that ivy is the great destroyer of buildings? In the past, gardeners weren't frightened of its power to cover. It was well clipped. And that it what happens chez nous. I take the shears to it at least four times yearly. Its colour is quite dark and foreboding during winter, but when spring comes along, oh, such a bright, friendly green says, hello! I also hose down ivy covering the pergola and alongside one boundary fence about twice yearly. Become friends with your ivy, and the birds who eat its berries during winter when there isn't much else in the larder will thank you. In addition, roses look scrumptious against a background of ivy. 

Ferdinand Pichard (bred by Rémi Tanne France, 1921) is a fragrant, reblooming Bourbon rose. Its pink, cupped flowers are heavily striped with white, crimson, and magenta.

Next to it, is probably another old rose, but unfortunately I have yet been able to identify it. The texture and colour has a mysterious quality. Depending on the angle and distance from which it is seen, it shimmers between coral velvet and pink silk. Its blooms are quartered and huge with a stupendous fragrance. And it loves ivy.

My gardening approach is to watch plants grow so as to ascertain what the best interface with them is. In the process, I get to learn a lot. For example, ivy can gussy up a leggy rose without killing it. Of course, the rose in question is a toughie. I suspect it has been around many decades, scraping out nourishment from being planted smack next to the patio. Miniature gladioli have sidled up to it too. It seems it's a magnet for other plants.

On the first of May in France, sellers of lily of the valley take to the streets for it is a traditional practice to give said blooms to loved ones. Years ago, a neighbour gave me a few plants, and now, they have spread, covering four times their original area. They self-seed readily, and apparently learning the beautifying lesson from the ivy, they fill in cement cracks and grow around the lavender, naturally snuffing out what was once the stomping grounds of some serious weeds like thistles and bindweed.

What a delight it is to bring in a bunch of lily-of-the-valley indoors! Gradually its fragrance filled up my office with its fresh, sweet scent making me feel that somehow I am outdoors in the garden while I write this post.

When the yucca was planted here about ten years ago it had already spent nearly ten years as a potted specimen on our Grenoble balcony. In its former location, it had a wonderful view of the Belledonne range dotted with villages and church steeples. In its present location, I like to think though the view can't match what it had in the past, its robust growth is telling me that it's actually happier here because this spikey beauty can spread its roots. Providing a dramatic background, it's a perfect foil for the fluffy heads of Blue Parrot tulips.

Blue Parrot tulips are closer to lavender in terms of colour, with a bronzy sheen, however their white centres contain an irregular areola of true blue.

In the small patio cut-out, the calla lilies are flourishing most likely at the expense of the Queen Elizabeth shrub rose.

Our garden location is a fortunate one because though it is an urban setting, it is right on the edge of the city giving unobstructed sky views. Having such spaciousness overhead accentuates the coziness of the garden even more.

À la prochaine!

Tulip Season Draws to a Close

Tulip bulbs planted in the front garden last autumn were done in a frenzy because chilly winds had begun a routine of frosting the morning soil. They now are entering another stage, not of potential, but of senescence. Some late bloomers like lovely Viridiflora Chinatown, decked out in cream, pink, and green flounces postpone the moment when there will be no tulips playing in the breeze.

I agree with Dorothea Lange that The camera is an instrument that teaches people how to see without a camera. After taking numerous photographs the last six years for this blog, I more readily spot intriguing textures, as in the Viridiflora petals resembling embossed and striated satin.

Blue Parrot is closer to a blend of mauve and lavender, but still a stunner.

. . . and quite statuesque, towering over Apricot Parrots.

Sky High Scarlet cottage tulips glow in their corner of the lavender hedge.

In the back garden, ruffled Bearded Irises and elegant calla lilies provide a pleasing combination.

That's one of two green pea beds in the centre of the photo

Hairlike structures on the falls (3 lower drooping petals) constitute the beard which guides pollinators to the flower's reproductive parts.

A calla lily bud just beginning to unfurl freshens the evening mist like a slice of lime does water.

The setting sun splashes gold on bushes and lawn which is a beloved sight when my gardening day ends.

The pile of 'hay' is comprised of dried grass clippings and will be put on the pea beds for mulching.

Note asparagus spears in the lower right corner!

À la prochaine!

The Fragrant Month of May: Roses, Lily of the Valley & Lavender

Since the Queen Elizabeth hedge rose which snugly cohabits with a calla lily thicket in the patio's small cut-out faces south, it blooms first, thereby heralding months of flowering from sundry rose bushes tucked in all over the garden.

Wall of ivy, flowering culinary sage, pot of dianthus, rose & calla lilies

You may be thinking that roses and calla lilies make a fantastic combination. And you are right, but I had nothing to do with it. The lilies seeded themselves here from elsewhere and once noting that they were receiving copious watering because of their strategic location (as real estate developers, they know it's all about location, location, location!), they realised their luxuriant growth was just the thing with which to cover the rose bush's knobby knees.

They also figured out that their cool elegance . . .

would make a rose seem even more luscious.

Touched with a light hybrid tea fragrance, this bush displays its flowers in a lofty manner, way above the tangle of leaves.

The next rosy performer in the line is a gorgeous, quartered, luminous, coral-coloured knockout of unknown identity.

Though not a repeat bloomer, it more than makes up for that aspect with its potent fragrance

Our lilies of the valley were not ready for the first of May which is celebrated in France by filling vases with them.

But they are available for picking now—just one small bunch near my desk fills the office with their lemony, rosy scent.

The many lavender bushes are just on the brink of blooming.

The Calm One organising the former chaos of the sous sol storage room means during a sudden downpour I can be sheltered while seeing this:

Pots of parsley on the sill and flats of tomato seedlings on the table with iris foliage, mini gladiolus & laurels in the background

À la prochaine!

Forced Pink Rhubarb Experiment Results . . . and the last of the pea shoots

A month ago we covered up one of the three rhubarb plants with a heavy ceramic pot to provide the necessary darkness for forcing. Once uncovered, the rhubarb was indeed pink, but also white, with very small, pale leaves.

The green bits were duly blanched

That plant needs to recover and therefore will not be subject to forcing next spring. Its leaves are getting bigger and greener.

The large leaf in the upper right corner belongs to one of the unforced plants

The stalks were sliced, sugared, roasted, pureed, and frozen. The exquisite colour along with a more delicate texture will lend itself to many delicious offerings, especially to the fresh mint whipped cream rhubarb fool that I will eventually make.

Looks like juicy pink grapefruit chunks!

The large pot planted with peas gave its last harvest a few days ago.

The shoots were washed, chopped, and sauteed with some minced garlic in olive oil till tender which took a few minutes. Some leftover cous cous was stirred-in and then heaped so two wells could be made to accommodate eggs. The pan was covered and the heat turned on high for a few seconds then turned off. The pan sat for about five minutes.

Voilà! One very easy and delicious meal.

Getting close up to lilacs reveals a world of intoxicating fragrance . . .

. . . and  subtle colour.

The calla lily 'thicket' is flourishing.

Dirac the Young Cat who is approaching two years of age loves spring and vases full of flowers, especially 'bridal wreath' spirea.

À la prochaine!