High Summer 2020

A fresh spring garden, all bright green and friendly, became a lush summer solstice one which is now becoming a glorious mature profusion but not surprisingly showing signs of wear and tear. Watering, weeding, and deadheading will prolong the abundance for a while.

There are three large pots of orange/yellow calendula and deepest blue lobelia, all sowed from seed, throughout our garden. They did need to be sprayed with sulfur to combat a fungal disease called calendula smut. And they may need to be dosed again in order for them to continue flowering all through summer.

For years now social media images of a pot on its side spilling out lobelia visually simulating a small stream intriqued me, and this was the summer I finally got around realising this clever concept.

The 'stream' flows amidst cannas and dahlias. I love it so. It was just a matter of burying one quarter of the depth of an empty pot put on its side, filling it one thirds with soil, and planting by laying the roots laterally with the flowers placed beyond the pot's opening before topping up with more soil. 

It is now the fourth summer that this fragrant tuberous begonia has graced a small sous sol window sill. I hope it will bloom yet again in 2021.

Pots of miniature roses have found their home in a large tub along with a blueberry bush. In this way, not only does the display look full, when the roses are watered/fertilised so is the blueberry!

Hydrangeas are now fading into glorious subtle tones/texture and by autumn will become much like silver lace which always is a treat to behold.

The ivy topiary heart is being shaped gradually.  I just love it! Sculpting greenery is fun and gives so much joy. The structure on which it grows is a thick honeysuckle trunk that gave up the ghost nearly a decade ago. Requiring both patience and decisiveness makes topiary quite a learning experience.

Beets are putting out foliage which when thinned are added to minestrone.

Green beans are flowering. Soon tiny pods will appear and in several weeks they will be ready for picking.

À la prochaine!

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!

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!

A Frosty Morn Delights

Frost is captivating. When looked at from afar, it relaxes the mind, slowing down a zigzag of pesky thoughts enough to get to the point of wanting to go on out and get close to it. The laundry can wait. And that goes for checking email too.

Solid ice in the bird bath is thumped out of its giant plant saucer. Shards lay gleaming on the frosted grass; the bath gets filled with fresh water.

Nothing showcases ice better than the hot pink of penstemon.

There's wind ready and willing to disseminate a dandelion's pollen, but the pollen says not right this moment, but thanks anyway.

A paprika heuchera stuns with picot edging of delicate lace along with a piqué interior of dots. 

A dried sedum clustered flowerhead's swaying in the wind on leggy stems isn't hampered by a newly acquired coat of rime.

Solar lamps encrusted with white accentuate the geometrical purity of a circle and a diamond.

Within sweet alyssum's flowerhead each tiny bloom bears a close resemblance to candied violets.

Weak, wintry sunshine washes over thawed Queen Elizabeth hedge roses facing east in the front garden, fading the vibrant colour into one of old, tattered, salmon-coloured silk.

Pots of lobelia adorning a series of sous sol window sills facing west are still holding onto their blooms since June! Their icy blue fits right in.

À la prochaine!

RELATED LINKS

How frost can harm and help your garden

Early Summer Garden 2019

Though the weather is cooler than the recent Official Canicule (heat wave), it's still HOT. Therefore I am watering the garden daily in the early morning and seeking refuge under the pergola along with a hanging basket of multi-hued lobelia or in our house. Your house you say? Yes, it stays cool because of our keeping to the recommended protocol for stone houses: keep both shutters and windows closed during the day but at night while keeping the shutters closed, open the windows.

The delicate blooms of lobelia present themselves as a flurry of stars or fireflies or dust motes in a sun beam depending upon flights of imagination. They flutter overhead as we recline in lounge chairs made even more cushiony with throw pillows. That basket was gifted to me more a quarter of century ago, tagged along with us from country to country, until this spring when I noted there was a suitable hook already securely fixed to one of the pergola overhead beams which jogged my memory of the basket, now covered with cobwebs in the sous sol and sans the original chains. I went ahead and sowed shade-loving lobelia indoors late winter thinking I could make do with cord instead of chains. The material I used broke, the rope The Calm One then strung up didn't, but he thought that it would eventually break so he trotted off to the local DIY place and got some chains. It was worth every bit of trouble as it is just sublime to see.

After preparing a bed for sowing carrots, I rushed to the pergola for some relief, removing my hat to let the breeze have its way with my hair, and sipped some iced coffee.

Across the way, sitting on the uncovered part of the patio, is a pot of black-eyed Susan vine (Thunbergia alata) and a bordeaux-red ivy geranium which is waiting to be placed out in the front garden when it has filled out enough.

Down the central path, on the right, is the sprawling blackberry bush. It needed to be staked and now the berries are no longer brushing the grass so they won't rot or get mowed down before I can pick them. I see a blackberry roly poly⁠—shortcake dough brushed with butter and spread with sugared berries, rolled up, topped with more berries, baked, and served with whipped cream⁠—in its future.

The strawberry patch has slowed down considerably but is still putting out a dessert bowl of berries weekly.

Daylilies are called that because each bloom lasts just a day, but look at the number of buds! This variety's name is El Desperado. It has golden yellow flowers with a burgundy centre and edge.

Another daylily, a potted Stella de Oro which is a reblooming variety, is keeping an equally golden Thunbergia alata company on a double sous sol window sill. It's good they both can take on a full frontal sun, because that window faces south. The tuteur is one of the old dried seed pods stuck on sticks that we found stored in a wood cupboard under the indoors barbecue. If that hanging basket can be brought to life, so can these sticks!

The hydrangea on the other hand is tucked in the front garden which faces north. It's just as happy as its sun-loving peers. I appreciate that aspect of gardening so much, that is, finding the right place so each plant can thrive.

Another golden sun worshiper is this rose.

À la prochaine!