Mostly Tulips But Also Periwinkle, Spiraea, Lamium & Ivy

As I dash around doing my late-day garden rounds, flashes of bright colour skim my peripheral vision, and though I know they are tulips which I planted with anticipatory passion last autumn, for a fleeting moment, I forget their identity and succumb to magical thinking that this swirl of pink, purple, peach, and white comprises a sentient presence of some sort. Garden fairies, perhaps? Here's hoping these shining, bright goblets of varied hues in our front garden bring respite to weary workers returning home via cars and buses rumbling past.

Also: Candytuft (Iberis sempervirens), Heuchera 'Stormy Seas', immature Lawson's cypress

Purple Dream Lily-flowered Tulips were mostly dug up this past autumn during my planting for this season's tulip display, but a few escaped my spade and graciously made a reappearance, though with slightly faded and smaller blooms. If an impressive presentation is desired it is best for fresh tulip bulbs to be positioned each autumn. However, to get a few more seasons from your tulip investment, plant them in a bed away from the public eye so if the flowering is lacklustre, it at least won't have the spotlight but still be enjoyed. It's best to dig them up after the foliage died unless they are in an area that gets no summer irrigation as to prevent them from rotting. Store in a cool, dark place until needed.

Miss Elegance Triumph Tulip is a favourite choice of mine because of its midseason blooming, ruffled edges, and delicate shade of pink.

Next season I will showcase them in pots as their smaller stature would benefit from the loftiness provided by containers.

Dordogne Single Late Tulips have huge pink and apricot blooms on tall stems.

They look gorgeous cradled in the fresh, green growth of the lavender hedge.

The golden tones of Dordogne tulips complement the colour of Blue Parrot Tulips perfectly as they bloom at the same time.  Next season, I am planning to plant them closer together. 

I always wanted to recreate a horticultural scene glimpsed several decades ago when we lived in California and have retained in my visual memory since then. The sight of a lushly planted expanse of evergreen periwinkle sheltered from the heat in a shady spot had caught my eye because the small blue flowers sparkled with a silky sheen as if they were stars in a night sky, all cool and welcoming. Like many perennials, they took time to meet the challenge I presented to them, and now, about five years after their planting, the original five plants have made an area of about 150 cm (5 ft) by 300 cm (10 ft) their home. The blooms have been going for the last two months! Their glossy foliage forms a beautiful ground cover year round.

Lamium galeobdolan is another perennial case in point. Several years ago three plants were placed a few feet apart. They are now covering a much larger space. Like periwinkle, their long stems root into the soil. The spiraea is drooping over the lamium, the lamium is grazing the driveway's low wall, and sweet violets have self-seeded themselves in the angle between wall and driveway. Great show!

Ivy covering perimeter fences, shed, and pergola has been duly given its spring clipping. And yes, it is yet another perennial case in point. There were a few plants scattered here and there ten years ago upon our arrival, and now lots of eyesores are covered in calming dark green, giving the garden much needed 'green bones' and privacy. If those benefits weren't enough, its berries are an excellent source of winter food for birds. It does need around 3-4 clippings a year and watering during the dry season to do as well as it has.

À la prochaine!

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Book review: The Tulip by Anna Pavord

Spring Break 2019

Souped-up Garden, the blog, that is, is taking a break because our potager is budding, sprouting, warming up, chirping, and turning green like the dickens demanding intense gardening focus. See you in April!

Late Winter 2019: Colourful Gardening Accessories, Decorative Blown Glass Flowers, Early Blooms & Cat

Time to mosey down to the neighbourhood plant nursery . . . most certainly . . . but with a list please, said my adult to my inner child.

Sturdy but still flexible gloves, chitting potatoes, blue-flowered sunhat & flower seed packets

Chartreuse sabots! I knew the size of the old pair was too large, but I had no desire to hobble on one leg to try on a better fitting pair, or so I thought, until I spied a slim, portable bench placed strategically near the racks of shoes. So not only did I snag probably the most beautiful colour available, I won't be stumbling over my own sabots this season. Not to mention I will be treading on the most cushiony peau de pêche (peach skin!) with which these lightweight sabots are lined.

From the vantage point of my lounge chair under the ivy-draped pergola

Stained glass is a great love of mine. If I had my way all the windows in the world would be stained glass as nothing is more merrier than dancing light. But I make do, as in this case, with Museum Selection's (same place where I ordered that wonderful, blue-flowered, linen hat in the first photo) trio of blown glass flowers. From the online catalogue's photo, it seemed that they would be fairly small and delicate instead of the flamboyant, large beauties they turned out to be. The pansy is bursting with many colours.

The bluebell is more demure, but still, what a charmer.

I stuck it in a large tub of blueberries

Though the pansy and bluebell are gorgeous beyond belief, it is the foxglove that exerts a trance-like influence upon me as I find myself peering into swirling depths of seemingly liquid burgundy longer than an industrious gardener should be doing.

Though our 'lawn' has been cut several times already, I do try to spare the dandelions because insects including bees appreciate them for nectar and pollen, especially during this time when there is little else blooming. The perky english daisies (Bellis perennis) however are all over the place as their kind is wont to do, so I leave a selected expanse of them alone. It's easy, even for me, an avid and knowledgeable gardener to take nature for granted, as in what we see is what is, for example how pollinators are attracted to flowers. Sure enough, chemistry, that is, colour and scents are no brainers. But how about this?

Pollinators are attracted to flowers by chemical and structural features. One of these structural features may [be] the interaction of light with regularly arranged, microscopic surface features. The ray florets of Bellis perennis have distinct microscopic furrows produced by cylindrical, transversely-striated cells. Under laboratory conditions these surface features produce diffraction patterns which may attract insect pollinators. However, under natural light conditions these effects are lost, indicating that such features are unlikely to attract the natural pollinators of Bellis. In Bellis, pollinators are likely to be attracted by the contrast between the capitulum's ray and tube florets. (Source)

Triumph tulips (Seadov) have those characteristics of red nail polish, that is, being remarkably shiny and deeply pigmented, but just in their case, also being as soft as a spring breeze.

Heather is just past peak bloom & rose foliage is sprouting as are calla lilies

Blossoms on the peach tree are opening. Each day I peer into their centres, hoping to see a tiny peach. When I do, then I know I do not need to worry any longer about a surprise freeze killing the blooms before they can be pollinated.

A well-loved garden colour combination of mine is pink and blue; the former is provided by a plum cherry tree while the latter by flowering rosemary.

View from the east side of our house towards the front garden

Dirac the Cat has many places where he naps, but sleeping on the sous sol potting room's padded window sill is one of his favourites. Bags of potting mix wait patiently while I get around to making up flats and pots for seedlings.

Spot the lounge chair! Clue: it's the same colour as the peach blossoms

À la prochaine!

Leek Comté Beef Crème Fraîche Lasagne Smothered With Béchamel

I have a thing with and for lasagne. My long journey, torturous and doubtful, but eventually arriving at a happy ending, was told in this old post from 2013. Not surprisingly, since France is the home of béchamel, white pizza and lasagne are not hard to find here. Because my natal city, NYC, has such a strong Italian culinary influence, I stuck stubbornly to tomato-based pizza and lasagne. Until recently, that is.

I also have a thing with and for Comté, that is, when it is well aged. I described my infatuation in this post.

Ingredients
makes nine roughly 7.6 cm (3 inch) squares
a 25 cm (10 inch) x 25 cm (10 inch) x 4 cm (2 inch) ceramic pan was used

Comté, aged 20 months or the oldest you can find, 230 g, sliced thinly or grated
Crème fraîche, 200 ml (6.8 fluid oz)
Beef, minced, lean (I used 5% fat), 350 g (12 oz)
Leek, one, large
Lasagne noodles, 15 (I used egg-enriched)
Salt and freshly ground black pepper

Béchamel 

sauce, see below

Béchamel 

sauce
Butter, sweet, 120 g (8 T)
Flour, white, 12 T
Milk, whole, 1 litre (34 fluid oz)
Salt and freshly ground black pepper

The night before, prepare the beef, leek, and the béchamel sauce. This can be done the same day as assembling the lasagne but it's less hectic if done earlier.

• 1) Saute beef in a skillet over moderate heat while stirring, about a few minutes. It doesn't need to be fully cooked, but most of the red should be gone.
• 2) Trim the tough, dark-green tops and the roots from the leek. With a sharp knife, slice vertically almost to the root end. Splay leaves open while rinsing under the tap. Be sure you get all the dirt out. Slice thinly and put into a skillet with a nice knob of butter, and braise, while covered, till tender, about ten minutes.
• 3) For the sauce, heat the milk till hot, but not boiling. Meanwhile melt butter over moderate low heat in a saucepan, add gradually the flour while stirring, and let bubble for several minutes, while stirring once in an awhile. Do not let the butter brown. In a steady stream, pour the milk into the butter and flour, while stirring. Turn heat up a bit to bring to a simmer. If there are lumps, then whisk well. Heat over low flame till smooth and thick. To reuse, reheat till the sauce is fluid.

Put the prepared food in covered containers and refrigerate until needed the next day.

Preheat oven to 180 degrees C (350 degrees F). Five stacks, each containing three noodles, will make four layers. One stack of three noodles are placed in a large frypan and covered with boiling water (I use an electric kettle). Cover with a lid or a plate. After a few minutes, remove them and put them in a bowl of cold water. They should be limp but not fully cooked. Put the next stack of three in the frypan. If necessary, that is, if it is taking longer and longer for the noodles to soften, then replace water with fresh boiling water. Meanwhile start making layers with the noodles that have been parboiled.

Coat the bottom of an oven-dish with some crème fraîche. Divide the cheese, leek, and beef into four portions. Use one portion of the cheese, the leek, and beef for each layer. Use one tablespoon of crème fraîche for each layer. Arrange a layer thusly: three overlapping noodles followed by crème fraîche by Comté by leeks by beef. Salt and pepper the layer. Keep making layers until the remaining three are done. End with noodles. 

The sauce was piled on and on and on and then some. Because of the oven dish being so full, I tucked a sheet pan underneath. It turns out that wasn't necessary because the sauce was too thick to bubble vigourously. Bake for around thirty minutes, until well browned. The top should be puffy and when inserting a knife into the centre, it should easily go right through the noodles.

After being cooled for around fifteen minutes, the lasagne was cut into nine squares. The sauce behaved in a generous manner, filling up every nook and cranny, resembling a custard in texture, and if that wasn't enough, embracing the Maillard Reaction like a champ.

Surplus pieces of cooled lasagne were each put into its own cozy ziplock bag and frozen. There's a nice pile of them for future meals! Though this dish was wonderfully earthy, I still felt like a queen. After all, it contained the King of Cheeses.

À la prochaine!

Southwest France Walks: Return to l'Oisellerie

Located just south of Angoulême, the grounds of an agricultural high school with its vineyards, fields of corn, ancient former falconry where The Calm One has presented interactive science displays, and shop selling products grown/made on the premises is becoming a favourite place of ours to visit. Also our tootling around in Zoe The Electric Car usually brings cries of solidarity from the younger generation which in turn brings a smile to our faces. This little jaunt marks our resuming nature walks since we stopped this past autumn. Yay, spring is around the corner! Late winter is a great time to spy mistletoe way up in the bare trees. How fitting is the Navajo name for them: basket on high.

Death by Mistletoe? Mistletoe species grow on a wide range of host trees, some of which experience side effects including reduced growth, stunting, and loss of infested outer branches. A heavy infestation may also kill the host plant. (Wikipedia) Their berries are eaten by birds and their sticky seeds dispersed via avian beaks. They also do explosive seed dispersal on their own accord. Mistletoe species are not fully parasitic, hence they are referred to as hemiparasites since they do have leaves for photosynthesis. A particular tree (see below photo) caught my attention because at first it appeared to be an evergreen tree pruned a la nuage (in the style of clouds). It turned out to be a dead tree probably killed by a mammoth mistletoe invasion. Though the commercial wood industry may not be so fond of mistletoe,  a symbiotic relationship exists between it and various species of insects, mammals, and birds:  Like people, the butterflies of these species use mistletoe for courtship rituals. After courting and mating in the mistletoe high in the canopy, the adults leave their eggs behind in the mistletoe. The adults of all three species drink nectar from the mistletoe flowers.

Seen in the above photo are lots of high voltage wires. On one of the concrete pylons was a plaque decrying any communion with said wires, regardless where they may be, including on the ground, or you will be zapped. No idea what the emphatic No. 10 means, but can't help thinking that some British denizens of a certain London street address could relate to potential danger hovering about them.

Deciduous trees let in sunlight, enough for this solitary dandelion with its young, edible leaves to flourish.

A small part of the fencing resembled to me—a former student who studied nursing way back in the previous century in a sprawling public New York City medical centre—a dismantled hospital bed, adding an unexpected aesthetic touch.

Some trees are showing signs of waking up from their wintry sleep, the peach tree with tiny buds flushed with pink in our garden, and this conical lovely, suffused with gold.

Besides grapes, corn is also grown which feeds the school's milk cows. The seeds are coated with red pepper so as to deter birds from gobbling them up before they can sprout. Chez nous, in our potager, we resort to covering individual beds with horticultural fleece to protect a newly sown crop from birds. Since the corn will be planted late April/beginning of May, what is this nicely green field?

It is just tufts of grass taking advantage of the marks left by the combine harvester. The dry stalks from last season can be seen.

On our way back, we passed several narrow lanes off our trail's right. I have to wonder if they allow access to thickets so materials can be collected to make the woven wood fencings seen nearby.

As we approached where Zoe the Electric Car was parked, we caught a glimpse of the turreted falconry and low farming buildings.

À la prochaine!

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L'Oisellerie

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!

Hot Caramel Apple Juice

Winter will be over officially this coming March 20, so there is still plenty of time to bake bread and make delightful hot beverages. Coming in after doing gardening on a day with brisk winds and a chill in the air, I warm up with some Hot Caramel Apple Juice. Topped with whipped cream/salted caramel sauce and flavoured with vanilla, it's a fragrant joy to sip.

Ingredients are in bold: using the mug from which you are going to drink as a measuring cup, fill it up an inch (2.5 cm) from the top with apple juice. For each serving, put a tablespoon of cream and a teaspoon of sugar, brown or white in a saucepan. Over a medium-low flame, dissolve the sugar in the cream while stirring.

Add 1/2 teaspoon of vanilla and the apple juice. Bring to the desired temperature. Meanwhile whip up some cream.

Pour into a mug, top with whipped cream, and drizzle the salted caramel sauce (store bought or homemade). If the day is particularly cold and windy and you are a bit frazzled, feel free to add more whipped cream and caramel sauce when they eventually melt into the drink. I did.

À la prochaine!