Winter Garden Flowers & Café Au Lait

Our urban garden with its golden bed of wind-swept daffodils was strongly blurred behind fogged, rain-splattered kitchen windows this stormy morn.

It's fairly gloomy and has been for months. To cheer myself up I went into my office and peeked out of that window since it's partially protected from rain by a shutter positioned in awning mode, and lo and behold, daffodils in all their bright splendour!

I then realised Eli the Cat was out and about. When I went to fetch him I took my camera because the other day I had noted the luscious burgundy staining the potted sedum's outer leaves . . .

. . .  not to mention their yellow blooms. Its companion, late-summer-blooming pink heather has long since faded to white, but its dark green, needlelike leaves adds a nice contrast to the front garden display.

Upon our return, before I warmed up and cosily steamed up the kitchen at the same time by making café au lait, I towelled off the very wet Eli the Cat, including his paws. Drying him off is not only good for keeping Eli in good nick and not having mud tracked throughout, but also cats get upset when they smell their own fur, which they do when wetly odoriferous, because if they can, other animals not as friendly as moi can too. 

(Ingredients are in bold.) Café au lait is a lovely, lovely, lovely hot drink with a smooth but slightly airy texture. Though fairly simple needing no special machine, it's not just a coffee diluted with lots of milk as its strong taste is still present, but a bit more mellow. It's made by pouring separately and simultaneously one thirds hot, strong coffee, that is, a lot of coffee in proportion to water (I used three heaping teaspoons of freeze-dried coffee for 118 ml/4 oz hot water) and two thirds hot, whole milk (237 ml/8 oz) into a bowl specially made for cupping both hands around the warming surface while they are supported by a sturdy foot. In this sensual manner, the bracing and nourishing beverage is slowly sipped. A spare café au lait bowl can be used to measure roughly separate amounts of coffee and milk before heating them either on a stove or in the microwave in their own pots/containers. The higher the milk and coffee is poured, the more creamy it will be. The Calm One assisted by doing the pouring which was made easier by having the liquids in small pitchers. Alternatively the coffee and milk could be heated together, shaken in a lidded jar for about a minute, and poured into the bowl. It still won't be as foamy as a latte, because after all it is a café au lait.

Often presented as a morning meal, a bowl of café au lait is served with tartines which are slices of bread, either toasted or not, and spread with good things, like butter and jam or if something fancier is desired, with viennoiseries rich in butter, sugar, eggs, like chausson au pommes (literal translation: apple slippers, that is, apple turnovers), pain au chocolate, pain aux raisins, croissant aux amandes, and brioche. Young children usually have bowls of hot chocolate instead of coffee. In my case, I grated some dark chocolate over mine. Freshly grated nutmeg or a mint sprig would be nice touches instead. If I remembered to take out from the freezer the remaining blueberry muffin made with our own berries from last season, I would have toasted and buttered it. I promise you and me in the very near future this will be the case.

À la prochaine!

Late Winter Garden Doings 2020

The last several weeks chez nous have been marked with increasing activity in the garden. Spades, small and large, pruning saws, a grass-cutting line trimmer, a compost-turning fork, and more are scattered here and there throughout the garden. When locking up for the night—occurring later and later each time—the order of the day is retrieving all those tools and securing them in the mudroom. The centre bed was planted two autumns ago with daffodil bulbs generously donated by a small, crowded, ten-old patch. Last spring, it sported lots of foliage, but just five flowers! The leaves were allowed to wilt completely, nourishing the bulbs therefore giving forth a prominent splash of the brightest yellow this spring. The spade below is for working the second of three to-be-pea beds. Peas need the soil to be around 4.5 degrees C/40 degrees F, so cool, not cold, but neither warm. Being without a soil thermometer, I instead flipped over a deep clod of earth and touched it. Not yet ready for planting peas. Probably within the week. Otherwise, they will sit and sulk in the wet soil, encouraging rotting. Another sign that sowing is around the corner are the sedges of cranes flying up from North Africa beginning last week.

I looked at those cheery trumpets and thought flower bouquet! And I did need a break. So out came the secateurs. First, several daffodils were cut. Then some heather.

Also a bunch of sweet violets. I needed to reach below the lusty foliage to get at the beauties as they grow up from the plant's base.

They all went in the flower brick on the mantlepiece.

Ah, the FRESH perfume of just cut flowers!

As I was fertilising the asparagus bed, I noticed a volunteer bay laurel seedling. Bay laurels are versatile, hence think of a place for them in your garden, whether as a potted herb or a hedge or a small tree. And what a gorgeous fragrance when clipped! It makes you want to run into the house and cook up a stew. I use them in all three ways, and plus, they are evergreen, wonderful for blocking out whatever needs to be. A pot was filled with potting mix, well watered, and the seedling transplanted. It will remain out of the sun under the pergola, wrapped in its own plastic-bag 'greenhouse' until its roots adapt. Right now it has to rely on its leaves to absorb moisture.

An acquaintance of The Calm One gave us lots of mini-roses. About twenty in total. I gave them a light pruning, will spray against disease like blackspot/mildew and fertilise in the near future. They will remain in their pots this season. Once I see what colour the roses have, I'll decide on their permanent locations, whether in the ground or in planters.

There are two Juniper 'Skyrockets' whose height match my own flanking a laurel hedge on the garden's west side. A month ago or so, strong winds loosened one of them, causing it to list to one side. It was the one with the widest branches so I pruned it a bit to make it as slim as its partner, and then I circled both with paving stones to provide support. So far, so good.

I love compost especially the stuff I make myself which smells like the way it looks, luscious, aerated, and nourishing. There's a nice mound that has overwintered and waiting for a good sieving. Some of it will be forked into the three beds slated for pea sowing.

These seed potatoes are red-skinned, yellow-fleshed, all-purpose, midseason 'Rosabelle' from the local garden centre and are certified disease free. They require several weeks of sitting in old egg cartons on a sunny windowsill so they can grow sprouts a 2.5 cm/an inch or so tall. These have about two more weeks to go. This growth is different from the long, white strands poking out of poorly stored potatoes. These are stubby and coloured from lavender to green or a mix. They essentially are the stems that will grow eventually above the soil, leaving the attached and developing potatoes underground until ready to dig up.

À la prochaine!

Signs of Spring 2019

Winter will be officially over when the spring equinox occurs this coming 20th of March, but there is evidence that the season is changing. Here in southwest France, trumpet daffodils bloom around this time and they are a lovely sight swaying in the breeze. But my favourite harbinger is . . .

. . . seeing sedge after sedge after sedge of glorious, honking cranes, flying in from North Africa.

About a hundred and fifty tulips were planted last fall, and I can't wait to see them strut their stuff. A bunch of late-blooming, fragrant, peach-toned Dordogne tulips were nestled in an angular crook of the front garden lavender hedge. Here's hoping they will flower together sometime in late May, early June as they each would provide for the other a wonderful complementary colour contrast.

A mostly self-seeded bed—just a few plants were put in about eight years ago—measuring roughly five feet deep and twenty feet long flanking the western side of the house is a simple expanse of fragrant sweet violets. Such expansion was possible due to their explosive seed dispersal. Mowing down the bed with a line trimmer in the autumn ensures that the late-winter blooms will be visible otherwise the lusty foliage will hide them.

I saw a large bee on this peacock-blue towel hanging on the clothesline. From its energetic 'kneading' and size I am guessing it is a Megachilid species.

It soon figured out that there was neither nectar nor pollen to be had and flew off to the heather in full bloom which at present resembles a bonsai cherry tree exuberantly spreading its branches, laden with puffy deep-pink flowers, way over its cozy, patio cut-out.

Late winter is a good time to do any tasks that can be done now so as to avert a traffic crush of garden activity come spring. Therefore six evergreen, small-leaved globe Japanese hollies along with one in conical form were transplanted from their nursery bed to their permanent location flanking the central garden path, and then were mulched with our own wood chips. Eventually two other areas which are still planted with overgrown bearded irises will get the same kind of treatment, giving some much needed 'green bones' to the garden.

The bearded irises became so packed that they spilled onto the garden path. Making sure that days of rain soaked the soil, I sliced through the rhizomes with a lawn edger, and then removed the sections with a spade.

The peas sowed several weeks ago are just beginning to sprout. Yay! Since they were planted so early the harvest should be able to be completed for the first time in the history of this garden before it gets too hot for these lovers of cool weather.

As I was transplanting our very productive blueberry bush into a bigger pot, I whispered, blueberry muffins are your destiny. If your garden soil isn't acidic and you love blueberries as much as we do, the solution is filling a pot with packaged soil mix made just for plants needing a growing medium with low pH.

À la prochaine!

Midwinter Garden 2019

There has been several sunny, not-so-cold days here and there, and when that happens, I am out in the garden cheering on the pallid buds in the daffodil bed. Ten years ago, when arriving at our new home, I began to frame the veggie beds with roofing tiles found heaped in a corner. They have served many a purpose, from preventing our trampling over the planting area, acting as slug/snail traps, allowing the securing of horticultural fleece, and adding a decorative touch.

But they do crack and splinter, needing to be replaced. So out comes the handcart on which the broken tiles get loaded. It is rolled down the garden's length for them to be stacked behind the wildlife area.

Peas need to be planted as early as possible in our climate since it will be too warm for them to flourish by the end of April.  Hence the winter mulch of chipped bark (processed by The Calm One) has been raked to the ends of two beds and the earth spaded. Within a week, the peas will go into the ground and be covered with horticultural fleece which will protect them from freezing temperatures and being eaten by the birds .

Of the fifteen, old fruit trees in less than pristine shape present when we arrived, only a few have survived from being uprooted in storms. One is a purple plum. Another is a peach tree. These two need to be doused with copper (powder mixed with water) each winter twice to prevent leaf curl. The first spraying has been done on a windless, above-freezing-temperature day.

The ivy has set a feast of berries for the birds.

Though I passionately deadhead, I do leave some blossoms to dry on their stems, like this patch of blue asters for their fluffy, white, burst seedpods and as a mulch to protect their roots.

There may be a dearth of colourful flowers, but not of bark, as in this deutzia with its striated tones of apricot and burgundy.

Both the rhubarb and asparagus are putting out buds.

Another flowering plant that escaped my deadheading shears, is a tall sedum (Autumn Joy).

At its base, is a curvaceous cluster of young fleshy leaves.

À la prochaine!

Mid-Autumn Garden 2018

November has its particular gardening tasks. I sat under the ivy-covered pergola thinking, oh my goodness, I haven't transplanted the recently arrived nursery shipment. Up I go.

Inspiring perspective offered by my humble lounge chair

Getting lots of small-sized shrubs sent allows a great choice and lower prices than can be found at neighbourhood gardening centres. Doing this in the autumn is my preference ever since a Yorkshire nurseryman informed me a few decades ago that the selection available is less pot-bound than what can be bought in the spring since whatever doesn't sell sits through winter until when purchasing pick up again as the weather becomes mild enough. Eight Japanese holly, six ball-shaped, two conical, got their own bed and were  mulched. The focus is to get transplants done several weeks before the first frost to encourage root development. Because box plants have become susceptible to disease, Japanese holly, with their small, dark-green and permanent foliage, have become one of the most favourite substitutes to create precisely clipped shapes and topiary.

Back under the pergola I go! Looking at the 'Sky Rocket' juniper which when transplanted from its nursery bed this past February at the tender height of 30 cm, I noted its height now is closer to 90 cm. Encouraged by the fruits of my past labour, I get up . . .

. . . to position 100 daffodil bulbs. This bounty came from just fifteen ones that were planted about eight years ago. That small patch stopped blooming last spring as is the way of overcrowded daffodils. So I dug them up and was delighted to see how much they propagated. Once they were placed on the prepared bed, the length of a hand trowel was driven into the soil, shifted to one side, and the bulb dropped down around 15 cm deep. After they all got done, the surface was patted down with the flat side of a spade. Around February, this centre bed will be aglow with golden blooms.

The leafy bed behind the daffodils is filled with tansy, a cover crop, that soon will be mowed down so as to mulch the soil through winter

One of the projects completed this summer—one that I wanted to do years ago—was putting plastic (a large potting mix bag cut open) over a dodgy former drain, circle it with roofing tiles, thickly layering wood chips (diligently chipped by The Calm One via our new chipping machine), and placing on top pots of shade-loving plants like heuchera and ferns as this area is situated under box elder and cherry plum trees.

After years, the ivy has taken hold and covers much of our east-facing property wall. It is a major beautifier. It need about 2-4 trims yearly so it will become a bush-like growth up to 180 cm beyond the top of the wall. When ivy runs out of vertical support, it becomes bushy and laden with berries which are wonderful winter bird food.

The narrow iris bed flanking the central path will be replaced with a selection of plants that will look good all year round and not just during May. Some of the candidates are Japanese holly, moss pink, heather, perennials like penstemon, and long-blooming annuals like asters and cosmos.

Mound of leaves covered with netting in the background will become mulch by spring

This critter with the delicately pink nose is Eli the Cat.  He found a bag full of leaves to be exceedingly comfy. . .

. . . while Dirac the Cat chose a sunny sous-sol window sill.

À la prochaine!

Sun Then Snow . . .

Though last week has been cold, I couldn't resist getting bundled up and strolling through the garden. The daffodils waved hello. How can they flaunt such exuberance? It's because last season their leaves were allowed to rot in place so as to nourish the underground bulb which became this out-of-sight powerhouse waiting to generate what we are seeing now: ornate lanterns requiring no light to shine.

Sweet violets are superb ground covers because they are evergreen shade-lovers, have fragrant late-winter flowers that can be candied, and spread readily through ballistic seed dispersal (click here to see it happening) plus myrmecochory (foraging worker ants carry the seeds back to the colony). To maximise flower visibility as the vigorous foliage can obscure the flowers, in late summer I take a line-trimmer to the beds and mow them down to a couple of inches above the ground.

Overwintered blue tansy (Phacelia tanacetifolia) cover crop has done its soil protection job well. Soon it will be cut down and forked in so it can do its soil enrichment task also.

Once ivy reaches the end of its vertical support, it morphs into a robust bush that bears fruit which nourishes birds throughout winter. There's lots of ivy chez nous. Some grows up the pergola's pillars onto its roof. There has been this one starling who I have been observing from my office. She flits in and out of the ivy, plucking and swallowing berries in a flash. Once I witnessed her indulging in a fast food feast consisting of ten berries which she ate in a New York minute.

What beverage to go with that dish of ivy berries, my dear starling? Water, preferably of the liquid kind, please. Freezing temperatures the last few days mean that ice is slipped out of the birdbaths so they can be filled with fresh water.

The daffodils and heather cheer me up each and every time I peek out my office window.

Just before the temperature dropped even further, Dirac the Cat, with the aid of fedar (feline radar set for profiting from anything) popped out to relish sunny warmth before . . .

. . . snowflakes came floating down . . .

. . . and kept coming down . . .

. . . until all was leaden grey, but with the dreariness made less by white fluff. By that time, we were inside; Dirac the Cat was munching a treat and I was sipping something gloriously hot.

À la prochaine!