musingsponderingsandrants

Parenting, profundities and humour

Hard Landscaping — May 25, 2025

Hard Landscaping

About half way?

So here is a thing about me. I love my garden.

When we moved in, in 2015, the front garden was a lawn, with a row of very large conifers behind a 3ft wall flanking the pavement. It was dark and had a couple of shrubs in it, which didn’t do all that well.

About 8 years ago we had the conifers and wall taken out and the lawn removed. We made the gravel drive larger (planning ahead for 3 plus cars, what a great move that was) and turned the rest over to a large (and I mean large) bed.

Since then I have been tending it religiously. I started with 4 trees, three shrubs, some grasses and a few perennials. I also planted some bulbs and scattered some wildflower seed in one area.

Over time it has matured pretty well. I lost some stuff and other stuff has gone mad, but generally it is doing OK.. a bit wild but sort of under control. (That may be wishful thinking on my part).

Some years some stuff does very well, and some doesn’t. Last year, the rudbeckia loved the wet spring, the salvias hated it, and this year the reverse is true. In any condition the ox eye daisies and nigella (I prefer it’s common name, Love in the Mist) always do well…. because they are thugs and prolific self seeders. The verbena bonaseiris also always do well (and are my favourite plant ever).

However, it isn’t an easy garden to manage. My main issue is that I garden on heavy clay. We added some top soil at the beginning, and I allow the tree leaves to lay each winter to rot down, and I add compost when planting. But it is basically still clay.

And so it is either a wet, sticky mess or rock hard.

After a specific quantity of rain, it has a sweet spot were it is workable, but one milliliter over and its a sticky mess and one milliliter under, it’s rock hard.

Last year we were in a sticky mess. The spring was so wet. The garden looked green and lush, however, although a lot of stuff  was badly eaten by the army of slugs. What is the collective name for a lot of slugs? Munch? Slither? Plague? Whatever the word, there was a hell of a lot of them.

This year the spring has been bone dry. And my ground is rock hard. There are no slugs that I can see! Bonus. I have had to water all my new stuff (sweet peas, some more salvias, three hardy gerberas, some sedums, and two hellebores). These were planted earlier in the season in that sweet spot I mentioned. The ground was damp after winter but not a total sticky mess.

Anyway, this year I have grown some half hardy annuals; cosmos, sunflowers and zinnias.

They have been on my front room windowsill for a couple of months and I have been hardening them off for what seems like forever.

Firstly, the overnight temperature went down to 3 degrees last week. In May. Not good for my tender plants!

And then I was waiting for rain, in the hope that the ground would soften up a little.

It rained overnight 2 nights ago. So today was the day.

I had about 30 plants to get in the ground. And it has taken me 4 hours.

I ache all over. And even now some of the sunflowers have no support because I can’t get a cane in the ground. I considered a drill at one point, a kind of pilot hole.

Anyway. They are in. And watered. And I have collapsed in a heap.

My Fitbit says I haven’t exercised today. It’s lying!

Wish my plants luck, and please pray for rain!

May — May 24, 2024

May

There is often a discussion in our house about our favourite month of the year.

We are all clear on the worst month, January, despite two birthdays, closely followed by February. But thereafter we often disagree.

I am not a winter person..at all. I can hold on in a vaguely jolly way until Christmas, bouyed along by the twinkly lights, anticipation and sense of purpose. Even with the offspring growing into adulthood, we are still all together, and enjoy the rituals in the build up and on the day itself.

We have taken to going away to Cornwall straight after to avoid the depression of that dead period between Christmas and New Year. We enjoy a new year’s body board and eat too much left over food and chocolate and play daft games.

But then I have to come home and face the reality of January. For those readers not living in the UK it’s safe to say that the dark, murky days of January; dawn at 9am, dusk by 4pm are difficult. Some people like it. Not many though. In recent years we have had no snow to bring any excitement and it’s often wet and cold and dark..the least appealing combination of British weather.

In late March things pick up a little. There are some early flowers, the clocks change and it stays light for longer. It’s a hopeful month. Early spring can be lovely; crispy and fresh, with little jewels of colour from early bulbs.

But to my mind nothing beats England in May.

There is a burgeoning. Plants seem to grow in front of your eyes. The greens of the new growth are fresh and multi hued. Cow parsley dances in the wind like choruses of tethered ballerinas. Birds sing and sing and sing.

The best May I can remember was in lockdown 2020. I am not sure we have had a May like it before or since. The sun shone nearly every day. Confined to our houses and immediate localities everything I love about May came into sharp relief.

We all had to slow down. Every day on my permitted walk the crops in the fields had grown another inch or two, hawthorn blossomed and turned the air heavy with its rich, musky scent. Bees buzzed madly over my garden of alliums and geraniums and salvia. It felt like nature got a foothold back.

But even in damper versions of May there is a beauty. Rain drops caught on new leaves. The water releasing the smell of warming earth. Snails walking down the pavements.

The light is incredible as we build to the longest day. Nature wears its new clothes with pride and abandon. There is no point trying to tame it, the weed battle is already lost.

Others love high summer, July and August, our traditional holiday months but to me the world is already tiring and dimming.

Autumn has its fans with its colours and mists and bounty.

But for me May has it all. And every year I greet it with the same sense of excitement. And mourn it’s passing.

Witness — February 11, 2022

Witness

You small patch of uninspiring mud
And tangled shrubs and broken bricks and sporadic grass
Graveyard of deflated, lost spheres
from games long over
Revealed in winter’s barrenness
What witness you have borne

Zip wiring teddies hung by their ears,
Trebuchets of poles where once beans scrambled
Paint mixed from gravel, water daubed fences
Chalk emblazoned flag stones
And shelters of sheets.

Naked abandon in sprinkled water freezing
Tepid pools deserted after one day of sliding
(For bugs and grass and rain)
Sun hats (with flaps), sun suits (with reluctance)
Surprise cricket matches (with Grandmas)
Police cars, and red cars, and skateboards and diggers.

Hot wheels on hot days out of the window
Ping pong and croquet (wood worm still allowing)
Bouncing and flipping and screaming and laughing
Tap tap of sticks and off cuts of carpet
Records broken in ruined socks.

Snowflakes on sleeves in wonder and confusion
Food sprinkled for four hoofed sled pullers
Snowman delivered by hand to the door
Water in guns and frozen in balls
And countless battles amongst boulder strewn fields

Fights with the shiny hard orbs of autumn
Harvesting melons and raspberries and cucumbers
(And strawberries, yellow and black soldiers permitting)
Birds logged and counted and nest boxes mounted
Teaching and watering and digging and planting

Muddy circles on free flapping laundry
Lost spectacles found in peg bags
Stumps and posts and nets and bare patches
Paint on tables and dollies in baths
And photos and photos and photos and photos

You small patch of inspiring mud
And exciting shrubs and useful bricks and field of dreams
Collector of lost but now returned spheres
For games still to come
Rediscovered in winter’s barrenness
What witness you have borne