Front garden love, pinching out, bleeding alliums and roses: THE LUST LIST.
Hello Friends!
A huge welcome to anyone who’s joined this list on the incredibly kind recommendation of Kate Watson-Smyth. I long ago stopped apologising for the shambolic content of these emails…they are supposed to be about gardening but I just don’t seem to be able to stick to that. Instead, what follows is a lot of FEELINGS with a smattering of horticulture, and, I hope, some helpful tips for anyone who’s not quite sure what to do and when in the garden.
Sailing off the back of a lovely weekend. We are incredibly lucky with our street, who have supported one-another over the last strange weeks. There have been ‘together but apart’ coffee mornings, open air socially distanced discos, and happy birthday serenades outside whoever’s house. This weekend we had five birthdays and did a huge socially distanced birthday party in our front gardens. I have never been so grateful that I chose to save my money and buy 1m high bare-root hedging when I gave it a makeover eighteen months ago. I wavered for a long time about investing in an instant hedge, and, in the end decided against it, not just because I was skint, but also because a hedge or tree will simply establish better if it’s grown from a small plant than if it’s just plonked in as a ‘teenager’, so to speak. So the hedge is now at chest height, and our friends and neighbours can put their drinks on the wall and talk to us over it. I am now considering keeping the hedge at a height that will make our front garden open to all, instead of closed off. Perhaps I will go hybrid and cut portholes through it once it reaches head height, or maybe this is a grand case for topiary crenelations. At any rate, having the front garden, with a little bench (and yes, we wheel out the drinks trolley) has been a delight and we appreciate it now more than ever. Here are my five minute forays for this week.
Monday
Luckily tweenage kids are more adaptable than hedging, and my children are entering week eight billion and forty of lockdown with ease and acceptance. I am less yielding, veering wildly between feeling okay with the current state of things, and wanting to walk out of the house and just KEEP ON WALKING. And every time, it hits me that even this, most extreme option is not open to me. I would be stopped at the border. In desperation I clean off a bit of whiteboard and make a calendar with a countdown to June 1st (because on June 1st we MAY be able to send SOME of our children back to school on SOME days of the week). Said children will have to be trained not to touch one-another and play only in ‘bubbles’ of certain friends. Their teachers will not be allowed to get down to their level, and will hold conversation with these small people ‘side on’. I am actually not sure I want them to experience any of that but I am so unspeakably desperate that I answer YES and YES, and YES PLEASE! to a survey asking me if I will be sending them back.
It is bonkersly hot…I water and need to water again by noon. This is one of the main reasons why I have only large containers and am SUPPOSED to have as few as possible. But lockdown had me sowing ALL the seeds, so this year there are more candidates for my watering can than usual. Luckily I have a drip irrigation system for some of my containers, which has lightened the load considerably. It is set to come on at 4am and 9pm every day and it drips for an hour. I was sent this system as part of a sponsored post for Gardena a while ago and it was incredibly easy to set up. I’m now considering extending it to the further reaches of the garden, as it doesn’t seem to have attracted the foxes that I feared it would. Top marks. Recommended. Everything else is watered by hand, by dunking my big watering can into a tin bath that I keep constantly full of water. So yes, sweet peas are watered twice a day in this weather. It’s at this point I wish I had lined the terracotta pots they’re in. I also water the outside of the pots while I’m at it, to reduce absorption. The children run around in swimmers all day and I use the hose to ‘bathe’ them. Things sound pretty idyllic don’t they…I assure you they are anything but. Suffice to say, no other gardening is achieved.
Tuesday
I weed out a bit more bindweed first thing, before the morning tug-of-war with the small boy and his iPad. Friends, I HAVE managed to make him do times table tests every morning when he wakes up (AT FOUR AY EM) but after that he can frankly minecraft his little brain to bits as far as I’m concerned. It is turning out to be a rather good year for bindweed I feel. Last year there was hardly any…this year it’s everywhere. I keep going at it, little by little. I have faith. I go indoors and spend the rest of the day preparing food, cleaning and umpiring fights. Everyone is very cross and I’m aware they have caught it off me. My children have started beginning their sentences with “I’m sorry to disturb you mamma but can I ….” and it strikes me that perhaps they are frightened of me. I’m ashamed to say that in my darker moments I’m totally cool with this, but most of the time I am sickened at the thought that I have somehow morphed from a perfectly ok mother into some kind of Mrs Danvers like character.
I grab a child’s chair and take it outside to chelsea chop the sedum. It’s a glorious, meditative five minutes that consists simply of pinching out the soft tips with a thumbnail. I love it. The purpose of it is to encourage more growth from the side shoots, so as to prevent the plant from becoming too tall and unwieldy, flopping eventually and displaying a sad, empty hole at its centre.
Wednesday
Feeding is happening today. I have an alarm on my phone which goes off every couple of weeks to remind me to feed containers. It’s a simple thing which has paid huge dividends because my brain is basically mush. I use liquid tomato food (you can find a post on all the plant food I use here) and it’s important to mention that you need to make sure that the compost into which your feed is going should be damp, so that it has the capacity to absorb the feed coming its way. Just saying
I while ago, before lockdown, I spent a pretty glorious two days with Cox and Cox in Somerset where I made the acquaintance of their hanging teardrop chair (see pic) and was given a wonderful tour of the nearby Newt in Somerset gardens. We got to experience the extraordinary museum on the site (where I virtually went to Babylonstoren ) but more importantly I enjoyed 48 glorious hours on my own. If only I’d known then what I know now..that this was my very last moment of relative freedom…what would I have done differently? Probably quite a lot! Anyway, I did sit in the womb-like chair that was on display, and wish that my daughter had something to curl up inside…and because I am a lucky, they sent me one, in all its glory. So today was all about transforming a small area of my terrace…that awkward bit that we all have, full of unwanted stuff, and seedlings, and empty pots and dead plants. I put the chair centre stage, and the whole thing made me realise that if I concentrate on small, manageable things, I will be able to get through this, somehow. At the end of the day, my middle child (boy, 6 yrs old) was sitting in the chair, reading alone for the first time. I’m not sure anything gets better than that. Not saying the chair did it….but it helped.
Thursday
I wake, unable to compute the enormity of having, once again, to steer this ship forwards, without rest or respite. Am I dreaming? I’m honestly not sure any more. And then there is the evil hitler on my shoulder telling me how insanely pathetic I am, even feeling this way. What would my grandmummy say? She did a PROPER war…TWO proper wars; same unknowable shit, with the very real probability that a loved-one might die, slowly and alone WITHOUT the NHS. I cannot say the same for this situation. Big girl pants, ON. We do the only thing possible in this situation and head for my mother. I don’t need to say anything to her; just being in her presence brings me back to a space that resembles reality. There is also the fact that she loves me and supports me. That’s pretty key. We head off to a picnic spot, large enough to distance ourselves, and we eat old pizza and carrots and hummus, and my parents take the children for a walk which literally lasts 20 mins but seems to allow me back into myself again. I am reminded of the first few months and years of motherhood, when my mother and father stepped in and took up the slack (and there was much of it)… there, to hold a child when I needed a bath or a break…My father, arriving each day, on his way home from work, to read them a story. I could not have asked for more, and now, here I am again. We manage to sort out the difference between a crow and a jackdaw and that’s going to have to be good enough for today.
My mother’s garden, which is full to the brim with roses, is just about going over. We chat about our favourite roses and I decide to compile a list of everyone’s …here it is, and I want to apologise in advance for lack of pictures…Putting pictures into a newsletter is a complete bore and takes so long I’d be here until next month if I attempted it. I had a lot of messages about people’s favourite roses…a LOT. I’m sorting them into the top seventeen that got the most votes, and then it’s just a list of the rest. If you think I’ve left out a real winner, then message me here below and I’ll do something a bit more comprehensive (with pics) for my blog at some point. Also apologies for lack of French accents, oh and typos…there may be typos because I haven’t looked each of these up.
Your favourite roses.
R. Gertrude Jekyll
R. Generous Gardener
R Mme. Alfred Carriere
R. Wollerton Old hall
R. Munstead Wood
R. x Mutabilis
R. Desdemona
R. Cecile Brunner
R. A Shropshire Lad
R. Olivia Rose Austin
R. Mme Isaac Perriere
R. Gentle Hermione
R. Summer Song
R. Banksiae Lutea
R. Roald Dahl
R. Albertine
R. Penelope
And the rest: R. Etoile de Hollande, R. Miranda, R. Tuscany Superbe, R. Eden, R. Graham Thomas, R. James Galway, R. Lady of the Lake, R. Gypsy Boy, R. Ethelburga, R. Rambling Rector, R. Generous Gardener, R. Winchester Cathedral, R. Audrey Wilcox, R. Bonica, R. Heidi Klum, R. Beatrix Potter, R. Queen of Sweden, R. Felicite perpetue, R. Adelaide d’Orleans, R. Glauca, R. Roserie de la ‘Hay’, R. Westerland, R. Chris, R. Crown Princess Margareta, R. Margaret Merrill, R. William Shakespeare, R. Penny Lane, R. Wisley, R. Constance Spry, R. Snow Goose, R. Anne Boleyn, R. Mrs Oakley Fisher, R. Chales de Mills, R. Geoff Hamilton, R. Darcy Bussell, R. Harlow Carr, R. Jacques Cartier, R. Boscobel, R. Young Lydia, R. Mortimer Sackler, R. Claire Austin, R. James Galway, R. Paul’s Himalayan Musk, R. Compassion, R. Whiter Shade of Pale, R. Sweet Juliet, R. The Alnwick, R. Laevigata Coopers Burmese, R. Moyesii, Geranium
The designer choice
Some top designers also chimed in with their favourites and I thought it would be useful to highlight these.
Jo Thompson chose R. Felicite Perpetue and R. Adelaide d’Orleans. She uses them all the time and recommends them to all of her students
Matthew Wilson chose R. Glauca and R. Roserie de la ‘Hay’ (which he says is ‘bulletproof’, like his Great Aunt Frida.
Ann-Marie Powell chose R. x mutabilis and R. Westerland for their long flowering period, colour and scent
Butter Wakefield chose shrubs R. Scepter’d Isle, R. Gertrude Jekyll, R. Boscobel, R. Munstead Wood and R. Young Lydia and climbers R. Mme Alfred Carriere, R. Mortimer Sackler, R. Claire Austin, R. James Galway and R. Paul’s Himalayan Musk - all tried and tested winners for her.
James Alexander Sinclair chose R. Laevigata Cooper’s Burmese, R. x Mutabilis, R, Moyesii Geranium and R. banksiae Lutea
Friday
My dear friend Andrew has released the podcast we recorded a few weeks ago, and as usual I am flabbergasted at how unbelievably posh I sound. I laugh at myself as I listen, preparing breakfast. You can find it wherever you get your podcasts - it’s called Gardens, Weeds and Words if you feel like listening and there are lots of lovely episodes…perfect for when you’re weeding. It’s been a bit of a long week. I’m itching for some rain and text my best friend to tell her that I cannot do this. She responds, telling me that that I really, truly MUST and with that, I go out and weed the front garden.
I lurch from moment to moment, trying to give my children the balanced, joyful Friday that they deserve. There is lots of rough play on the trampoline and I go out, intent on weeding the back flower bed, only to be presented with one of my enormous, majestic, allium heads, hanging by a thread , having been savagely decapitated. I keep my cool and ask how this happened. Of course, there is no satisfactory answer, and it is at this point that I realise the actual purpose of fatigue in a human sense; to save our children… it puts us into a zombie-like state of capitulation. We cannot get cross because we are too tired. We cannot retaliate because we are too tired. We cannot become violent because we are too tired. Instead we choose the path of least effort. We tell the children that mummy is sad, and we retreat, without exacting wrathful vengeance. And thank goodness. They are only playing, and after all, we want them to play, and be joyful don’t we? I put the injured plant in a vase of water, which immediately turns pink….my baby is BLEEDING.
This letter is far too long. I am sorry. I wish you all the good things for this weekend and beyond dear friends.
I’m going to end with a couple of things that have kept me going this week.
Ann-Marie Powell’s wonderful @Myrealgarden lunchtime interviews, which I can rarely watch live, but which remain on her feed afterwards - so uplifting and joyful.
The fact that Alice Vincent’s (@noughticulture) launched an audiobook, which reminded me that wonderful, creative things can happen in lockdown - I can’t wait to listen to it.
My pittosporum tobira, which is flowering and pumping out the MOST delicious scent EVER! Here it is…the flowers look a bit old and yellow before they’ve even begun really, but that really, truly, doesn’t matter.
Wonderful friends who I have ‘met’ through writing this newsletter who send me brilliant emails with fantastic suggestions, from how to deal with mice to epic reading lists for 11 year old ‘teenagers’. I will never, ever stop being grateful to all of you. THANK YOU!
x Laetitia