Why has my gardening blog gone dry? Is there nothing happening in the garden in september?

The garden has been stolen from me...

Cold wind is blowing... the old walnut in the meadow has gone yellow. The branches look darker, almost black, by contrast.

How much of a garden life is in the present, day to day activity, and how much is in the expectation of a thousand tomorrows?

I will not be here, one year from now. The garden was stolen from me. We are not to be joined any more... I will be leaving... soon, so much sooner than I thought. The link was broken, and I am a leaf in the wind. All the plans, all the dreams have been crushed and made dust.

I will be leaving next June.

The garden that I dreamed will never be, and the garden that is here, now, does not feel mine any more... so I think, a garden does live in the tomorrow... it would be to painful now, going out, being there alive and whole now, and think... "A year from now... no more...". Better to cease that link now, while the cold wind blows...

If I have to leave my garden, I wish I could leave now... in this dying autumn day. Not in spring... not in summer, with the flower buds growing, and the life sap running. Oh my dear Garden.

The one thing I cherish, the one meagre consolation, now that the garden was cut lose from my heart is that for the first time in 15 years I can see the fierce beauty of a windstorm... without fear.

Oh my dear Garden...






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http://theponyproject.blogspot.com/

The weather has turned cool and autumn is here. The kitchen garden has a devastated look about it, except for those beds that have already been cleaned and turned, and new things planted. Also the tomatoes are looking at their very best. Planted late, too late, they are in full production now - many green ones will not be ripe in time, obviously. Of the three varieties we have planted "Benaris" is a complete winner. A tall, vigourously growing cherry tomato, sweet as syrup. "Dasher" is insipid by comparison, which is a scandal,considering that being an F1 hybrid the price of the seeds is considerably superior. "Hoffman Rentita", a bush tomato, is neither here nor there. Clearly a very productive variety, but not as tasty as we could wish. May be the weather here is not hot enough to allow larger tomatoes to ripe properly.
The provencal pumpkins needed the provencal sun, clearly, and it is doubtful if they will manage to complete their job. They are large and beautiful, but stubbornly green. Powdery mildew has devasted the foliage, so their future is not bright.I had so lovingly planned a winter of pumkin pies, pumpkin soups, roasted pumpkins, pumpkin tortelli and ravioli... Alas, it was not meant to be. Next year I will humbly plant some local variety, and spray diligently with soap and bicarbonate. It is said to discourage powdery mildew. The zucchini went down in glory to the same disease, in glory, because they produced so much that I will be happy beyond words not to see another zucchino for at least 8 months. We still have a full basket of them to eat... help!

The runner beans have been good and steady, if not spectacular in taste. I will have to think if I want to plant the same again. They already gave me a nice pocket of seeds, and tomorrow their little patch will be cleaned and hoed. The beautiful Basella rubra, loftily named "The Spinach of Malabar" shared their wigwam, and is looking lovely now that some sun is actually reaching it. I lifted one of the four plants, tobring in for winter. It IS a perennial, in theory. I wonder if it is possible to keep small plants from one year to the other. I have as yet no fresh seeds from this year plants.

The chilly peppers did amazingly well, despite being smothered by the pumpkins. I have a whole basket of them to dry for the winter. The few leeks that I have planted in may are smallish but look very inviteng. Their inevitable doom will soon come,in the shape of a leeks-and-bacon pie.

The garden needs going over as well. Not planted for autumn, it is looking rather squalid right now, despite the hydrangeas late blooming and the steady performance of my lovely sunflowers. Too much is missing, but I could not plan and sow all the necessary things this year, with all that needed to be done. Next year, I will do better!

Some plants must be moved, some will be planted in the new spaces that I will dig in the next weeks. All sorts of things are growing on in their small pots, bulbs are coming in from the GC and from catalogue orders, seeds are accumulating on my desk from exchanges with other gardeners. Some will be sown now, some in autumn. The porch is being made ready to shelter seedlings and potted plants.

I fear the long winter to come and yet I rejoice in the tidying up and digging of the garden at the end of summer. There is a sense of cleanliness, a promising hint of things to come that is almost as exciting as the feeling of spring. I know the long sleep of winter is between us and the flowers of april, but the heart does not. The freshly dug earth is ready for the new beginning.

The sorting of the huge mikado pile came to an end. God be praised. Life can now resume its due course. Amen.

I am indeed looking forward to Pia Pera last book, "Contro il Giardino" (= against the garden). A blood curdling title, to be honest, but I have a feeling I will like it.

Third day on the meadow with hubby, trying to sort out the huge wood pile we inherited from the butchery of every single tree that provided a bit of wind shelter to the garden (I am calm, no I am really very calm, shredding twigs, cracking boughs and extracting long heavy chunks of tree out of the pile is a fantastic way to vent aggression). It is like trying to sort out a mikado 2 m high, 8 m long and 4 m wide, where every stick is crooked or forked, the ground is slippery with rotten bark and Fallopia baldschuanica has tied a final knot on the packet. Amazinly enough, it's fun, if a bit overwhelming. The shredded twigs are a wondefully nice tactile material, even better than shredded bark from the GC and the first lot, mixed with grass clippings, is already hot in the compost heap. It will be a great material to mix with greens in the compost. I am looking forward to the lovely smooth black stuff that will soon result. Three days of work, perhaps we managed one third of the pile. One cubic m of shredded bits, and a huge pile (not much smaller than the original one, for some reason) of larger branches to be dried and broken for firewood.

I really love my compost heaps. I love composting a lot, I cannot understand gardeners that do not compost at all. I even had a heap in the old miniature little garden.
I love the physical work involved, turning it over with the fork again and again, airing it, keeping it fluffy and sweet. I love the careful composition, somewhat close to cooking, greens and browns, wets and dryes, nitrogen, air, water. You can feel it live, and the ground with it, afterwards. I didn't always understand this quote in one of my favourite garden quotes books:
"I find that a real gardener is not a man who cultivates flowers; he is a man who cultivates the soil. He is a creature who digs himself into the earth and leaves the sight of what is on it to usgaping good-for-nothings. He lives buried in the ground. Hebuilds his monument in a heap of compost. If he came into theGarden of Eden, he would sniff excitedly and say: "Good Lord, what humus!"- Karel Capek, The Gardener's Year, 1931
I was too green (but not yet green fingered enough) to appreciate this truth. You need to make a garden on heavy clay before you get so obsessed with humus. I am now, but in a very pleasurable way. I delight in the process of improving the ground.
"L'orto di un perdigiorno" by Pia Pera is a wonderfully inspiring book in that sense. I am not saying the the book is more educative than other gardening books I have read. But it has a poesy, and a livelyness to it that put the heavy chores of gardening in a different perspective. It had a leavening power for me. It touched me, and my way to conceive the garden, and changed it. It is a great debt. I have met Pia Pera, twice and briefly, a very intriguing lady, naturally graceful, delightfully soft spoken. It came as a surprise to me when I searched for her books on Amazon and I stumbled on the scandal of "Lo's Diary", another of her book, quite a different story. I have known her in such a different light, but I rejoice in the surprise. I like lady gardeners with some intrigue in their history.

The weather has turned grey and rainy, definitely autumn is nearly - or already - upon us. May be this is why I started poring over autmn planted bulbs. Tulips, alliums, anemones, and all the rest. Snowdrops and daffodils I have in large numbers already, they cropped up by the hundres when digging the blue border and the exotic corner,and were moved to safer places. out of harms way (hopefully... but the with the garden in such a fluid state there are no real safe places).

I ended up ordering a collection of purple-black-mauve-white tulips for the purple border, and some alliums (Allium christoffii, and a. "Ivory Queen", all the real giants were too expensive) and came across a rather funny description in the Avon Bulbs catalogue:
Tulipa "Royal Virgin", fresh and white
Tulipa "Black Hero", tall dark and full bodied
That gave me a good laugh, it sounds like something from Barbara Cartland, and I just had to have them. I must plant them together and be ready for a thickening dramatic plot. May be "Romance" should be planted close by, along with her sisters "Emotion" and "Eternity", and I am sure there must be something out there named "Royal Wedding" (an oriental poppy perhaps?).

I am helpless when it comes to plant names. I know they are mostly only clever commercial strategies, and yet they get me every time. That must be why I so easily remember plant names. They charm me and they tell me stories, and I am costantly enraptured in their chatty magic.

There was a period where I listed plants for a "snow-garden", a garden where all plants had snowy and icy names. Vita Sackville-West made the idea of white garden fashionable, but there are so many white gardens, I wanted something with a further twist.
It is amazing how many things out there are called "Snow Queen" "Snow Bird" or "Snow White", but there are also some more unusual things, like "Snow Showers" (a wisteria) "April Snow" (a rhododendron), "Snow Flurry" "Snow Prince" and "Snow Wreath"(all azaleas) even a "Snow Thimble" (a foxglove). Nor was snow to be alone in this cold company. I was ready to include Lavatera "Ice Cool" and Brunnera "Jack Frost", rosa "Iceberg" and many many more. I had covered two whole pages of names. Of course choosing plants just for the name must be a bit daft, and the snow garden never came into being (but who knows), but I had much fun weaving it into my imagination.

So far apart from the Hydrangea quercifolia "Snowflake" and "Snowqueen" the snow garden is limited to one small and beautiful plant combination, Bergenia "Silberlicht" and Sedum "Frost Morn". Silver light on a frosty morning... a poem in the making. It would be worth planting them together just for the names.

I also liked the idea of a gothic garden, dark plants and dark names, Colocasia "Black Magic", anthriscus sylvestris "Ravenswing", tulip "Queen of Night", Iris "Superstition", Cotynus "Velvet Cloak", Aliceara "Dark Warrior", Canna "Black Knight"... and I could go on and on and on.
But some of these names are deceiving. Ceanothus "Snow flurries" is blue, and Zantedeschia "Black Magic" is yellow. Liars, liars! Even my beloved "Frost Morn" blooms pink, but there, the name refers to the variegation of the leaves.

Today, an old garden wish came true: I have a garden shredder, a wondrous machine that gulps down twigs and stems and turns them into little debris that the busy composter community can more easily and speedily process into nice dark matter. The offer was nice (99 €), the reviews for the product were incouraging and we gave it a try, so far to our satisfaction. Asgatec EH 2501 is a remarkably silent machine, diligently purring, whirring and crunching its way through twigs green and dry, tough erbaceous stems and fleshy roots. I am looking forward to the smoother compost that will be produced with this nice "predigested" material.

On Sunday a visit to another private garden, a very lovely little thing with countless herbs and a very engaging collection of handmade ceramic creatures and decorations scattered among pots and flowerbeds. The owner of the garden herself makes these, and they seem to really belong in the place, integrating with a vibrant grace that garden art very seldom achieves.

Some plants that really caught my attention are the beautiful, absolutely unforgettable, modest Tagetes tenuifolia "Orange Gem". Unforgettable and modest? Is that really a contraddiction? It shouldn't. More and more I come to appreciate "modest" plants in the border. Perhaps because I alway ignored them and I am now really seeing their importance. But "Orange Gem" is a brilliant little plant, in all senses. As a tagetes it should have a long flowering period, the flowers are very small, though, and simple, not the terrible overblown pompoms that beddding tagetes are mostly carrying nowadays. And they are numerous, a mantle of fire sparks over the fine, dark, thread like foliage. And the scent... of course all tagetes are scented, but it is a fact that most of them smell of old pharmacy. This one is lovely, spicy and citrusy, and while all tagestes are theoretically edible, this is the only one that ever made me consider tasting it at all (which I didn't, I behaved). Chiltern offers the seeds, and it comesin several colour strains, including "Lemon Gem" and "Tangerine Gem". Definitely in my next year list.

Another plant that stirred my curiosity is Tulbaghia violacea, or garlic plant, which may be remiscent of chives in general habit, use and colouring, but is definitely more fetching in appearance.

Finally another very interesting herb is Stevia rebaudiana, or Sweet leaf, a herb considerably sweeter than sugar, and theoretically of real interest for diabetic people. It is not available in Europe for food use, and only allowed for garden decoration (for which purpose it is actually rather unspectacular) . Modern studies denies the old bad rumours about the secondary health effects brought about by the use of the plant, and it would seem that the opposition to its introduction is of merely commercial origin. A pity. For my part, I will suggest to my diabetic mother to look it up, and give it some thought. The fresh leaf is astonishingly sweet, with a very thin aftertaste of liquorice, that may or may not be disturbing in the kitchen depending on the use. Wikipedia has a fine entry about the plant.

The ground for the future blue border is now done and ready for improving and planting. It was horrid, full of stones of all sizes, two tree stumps buried under the grass but far from rotten, and the usual rubbish. Some people grow flowers in their gardens, my landlady's family grew rubbish. To each his own! I removed various old beer bottles, some whole, some broken. I fear by now they will not germinate any more, and the beer tree will remain a dream.
Well, I piled all the smaller stones in one heap, and by the end of it I had so many that I thought I could as well "gravel" the new path and steps with them. I scraped off all the topsoil from the path then scattered the stones on it and "set them" with some of the horrid yellow clay of the subsoil.It ain't pretty but it will serve, for the time being. At least I can walk on it withoud getting all muddy. In autumn I will transplant two plants that are in the ways on top and finish the path there. I am not sure what to do with the steeper part of the bank, may be I will cover it all with thick black plastic sheets, and plant something evergreen in holes. Something like cotoneaster, though, thickly covering and undemanding. A few gardens away there is a whole bank covered with it, but full of weeds, therefore the plastic idea. Weeding in there could become terribly difficult once it is planted all around.

The ground has been fattened with compost, and seing the results of other gardeners, I also burie all our old newspapers in it. I was never one for using paper in the garden, I thought I should give it a try. Prejudice never did any good to anyone. Now it all sits under a thick mulch of grass clippings. This border is in full sun until 1 pm, and dappled shadow until 5 pm, then full shadow. It is very sheltered from the wind, and I am wondering if the oakleaf hydrangea should be moved down here. It surely suffers from the rough exposure ofits current place. I think I will give it one more season to adapt, and see how it does. It han been pruned back now, all its beautiful flowers battered from the wind and faded before time.

The brugmansias are growing at an amazing rate and three of them have already been repotted.

Keeping the seeds from "Moulin Rouge" is proving a race against the greedy birds. I arrived too late at the first seedheads and found only a heap of empty shells on the ground. I am more wary now, I just hope that cutting the flower heads earlier does not compromise the seeds future.

When I planted the squash seedlings in late may, I had two left over that I did not feel like killing. They were planted near the fence, in a part of the garden still quite messy, in somewhat poor ground. I did not expect a crop of Jack o' Lanterns from them, just a bit of greenery. The whole fence length is full of nettles invading from the other side, the pumpkins would sure look better. They did very well, even if they are not as huge as those in the kitchen garden, and they smothered the nettles for a good length of the fence. They proved invaluable, because when the female flowers started opening on the "official" plants, there was not a single male flower available to pollinate them: luckily there were a couple already in the fence plants and I was able to hand pollinate with a small brush. It is a curious feeling to know that I have been the mean of conception of my 7 nicely growing squashes. I hope they will refrain from calling me Daddy. Now the fence plants have counterattacked the nettles on the other side (a wild meadow) and there are long vines weaving here and there... and two nice Jack o' Lantern are growing amid the wilderness.

"White Wave" is a relatively dainty H. macrophylla with crisp, clean lacecaps in dazzling pure white. It´s a very old variety, a french hybrid from V. Lemoine, 1904. The original name was "Mariesii Grandiflora", and like its sister breed "Blue Wave" (formerly "Lilacina"), was born from an open pollinated seed. The ray florets are beautifully designed, flat and simple, not overlapping, like a heraldic flower, and their pure white takes a sort of mother of pearl shade in combination with the pik/mauve/lilac/blue of the fertile florets in the middle. It is listed as a 1,5-2 m plants in some books, but mine does not seem to make any headway in size, despite being very healthy and blooming generously. It is considered a reliable plant, cold and disease resistant.

"Mme Emile Mouillière" a direct descendant of "White Wave", shares the same attibutes of antiquity and well proved resistance. The other parent was H. serrata "Rosea", one of the very first varieties imported to Europe (in 1880), and one of the oldest known mopheads. "Mme Emile Mouillière" was presented in 1909 by E. Mouillière and is generally considered the best (white) mophead hydrangeas for the garden. It is very hardy. It has the realtively rare ability (for macrophillas) to bloom on new wood, so that even after the worst spring it is seldom without flowers, and it does just as well in shade or half shade, with vigourous growth and very dark healthy leaves. The flowers are pure white, initially, then assume a pinkish shade, the central eye of each floret pink or blue. The flowers last very well into autumn assuming green and crimson shades as they age. If it has a defect, this is, in my opinion, in the somewhat irregular and lumpy shape of some of the largest flower heads, I guess there is nothing perfect in this world. It is still a very good plant.