butterfly Small White – derrickjknight

Antipodean Visitors

Warm sunshine was the order of the day.

Jackie spent much time in shade tending to potted plants, many of which have survived the winter but needed shaves and haircuts.

She has suspended some of these from the lopped cypress.

My contribution to the general maintenance was a little watering, weeding, and transporting debris to the compost bin.

Our first peony blooms are appearing

as are those of roses Emily Gray

and Félicité Perpétue, both along the back drive

which also sports splendid hawthorns.

Our Antipodean visitors include the bark-shedding eucalyptus,

several sculptural New Zealand flaxes,

and the Cordyline Australis now sending forth its bud stems.

Small white butterflies flutter everywhere at the moment. This one had the decency to keep still for a moment.

Currently flourishing clematises include the bosomy Marie Boisselot;

the robust Dr Ruppel;

the novel Daniel Deronda:

and this anonymous character.

This radiant rhododendron refreshes the Palm Bed.

Nugget and Lady continue jointly to feed their brood. It is now really only behaviour that enables us to distinguish between them. For example when one drops down onto the wheelbarrow with which Jackie is working, something with wings in his beak, cocks his head on one side; inspects the offerings she has on display, and flies off in disinterest, that is undoubtedly our friend.

I am fairly sure this in Nugget perched on his favourite patio chair.

The pair of them were collecting suet pellets at this point. Unfortunately I only photographed one of them. Nugget, we think.

Later this afternoon a fledgling robin swooped after Jackie as she entered the rose garden and began tipping spent compost onto the beds for mulch. In a flash this baby cocked his head and began the investigations exactly as his father had done a year ago. Soon we really will have an identification problem.

This evening we dined on more of yesterday’s crusty bread with her wholesome soup of chicken and bacon added to the Culinary Queen’s vegetable base.

Bedmaking

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This year we have enjoyed a bumper crop on the apple tree we inherited. Previously it has produced just a handful of weedy fruit which never came to anything. I picked a few after lunch.

On this gloriously warm and sunny day, Jackie continued with the refurbishment of the Weeping Birch Bed on which she has spent many hours over the last few days. Like many of the beds in the garden, this one has been laid over solid concrete, the soil gradually seeping through the dry brick and stone retaining wall onto the gravel which we laid down a couple of years ago. Most plants were now rooted in very few inches of earth. The Head Gardener has rebuilt the wall; sifted much soil and gravel; cleared an access footpath; replenished the soil with compost; weeded and replanted, along the way digging out stray rocks, including tufa.

Experts are now dictating that asters should now be called something long and forgettable, yet the Autumn Jewel variety now settled in its new home does not bear the new nomenclature. We will therefore continue to term the plants beside the rose that has no name, facing self-seeded bidens across the brick path, as we have done all our lives.

We are enjoying a variety of the once unfashionable dahlias,

some of which,

like these euphorbia and kniphofia, still attract bees and wasps,

as, especially, do sedums, now rivalling geranium in richness of red.

This Small White butterfly rented the verbena bonariensis on a short term lease from the bees.

Geraniums, lobelia, and Japanese anemones continue to thrive;

while, in the Rose Garden, Mama Mia and Absolutely Fabulous are among those furnishing further flushes.

This evening we finished Jackie’s splendid pasta arrabbiata with which she drank Hoegaarden while Elizabeth and I drank Patrick Chodot’s Brouilly 2016.

I Really Must Get Dead-Heading

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On a warm and sunny afternoon, whilst Jackie planted in the shade, with a pit stop at Five Ways, I made my way to the Rose Garden. The Head Gardener followed me with Mum’s perching stool, placed it beside the Florence sculpture, propped up the single crutch I am now using, and left me for a while. After two further shifts of the stool I was among the roses.

From Five Ways I could look down the Phantom Path between the Cryptomeria and Margery’s Beds;

I could see more poppies on the Weeping Birch Bed; geranium palmatums attracting small white butterflies flitting to and fro; a tall red climbing rose; the Cordyline Australis preparing to pervade its bed with its powerfully sweet scent; and a laurel leaf that doesn’t look too well.

Honeysuckle cavorts with Madame Alfred Carriere atop the entrance arch to the Rose Garden,

where there are so many roses in all stages of development that I could see that I really must get dead-heading as soon as I can.

In particular the peach Crown Princess Margareta and the red Zephirini Druin now flank the Ace Reclaim Arch in the far corner.

Later this afternoon I walked from my desk in the hall through the kitchen to the sink. Not really a big deal. Until I realised I had forgotten my crutch.

Tesco ready prepared meals for dinner this evening consisted of fish pie for me and pasta carbonara for Jackie, who added runner beans to each.

Nothing For It

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I spent a considerable number of frustrating hours attempting to secure internet access today. I will not bore anyone with the details. Looking on the bright side, I decided to tackle the paperwork for my annual tax return. This went quite well until I tackled my bank statements, which I receive on a quarterly basis. The most recent batch has not arrived. “No problem.” I thought. “Now I bank on line I can take the necessary details from there”. …………… “Ah……..”.

There was now nothing for it but to wander round the garden with my camera in hand and a mobile phone in my pocket. There are, of course, less pleasant ways of spending my time.

The clematis Montana now drapes the front wall upon which a trough of blue pansies smile; the potentilla now dances with the vinca.

The sweet scent of the wisteria pervades the area beneath its arbour.

Buds of blue irises and red poppies are simply biding their time.

While I wandered and emptied a trug or two into the compost, Jackie continued replenishing soil and planting in beds and containers.

These verbascum look down on similarly hued Erigeron,

just as the cow parsley soars above everything else in the Dragon Bed.

In the Kitchen Bed’s stone urn white pansies bridge the season of faded white daffodils and that of clematis Marie Boisselot, whose buds can be observed in the obelisk behind.

The first of the geranium Palmatums, which will soon arrive in abundance, has lined up along the Shady Path in line with heucheras,

on the leaves of which a hebe casts its shadow.

Erigeron, aquilegias, vinca, alliums, and silenes crowd each other in the Weeping Birch Bed,

as do aubretia and wild strawberries in the Oval Bed opposite.

Small White butterflies flitted about.

Rosariae de L’Hay enlivens its corner of the Rose Garden.

This afternoon, until I was back on line, I continued reading John Le Carré’s The Night Manager.

Dinner this evening consisted of Jackie’s excellent pasta arrabbiata with which she drank Hoegaarden and I consumed A Dark Apothic 2015 Californian red.

Aaron Knows The Score

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We have experienced an intermittently leaky kitchen extension roof since we arrived here. The amount of infiltration has depended upon the wind direction rather than the quantity of precipitation. One person has already allegedly repaired it – not very effectively.

Sid, a very personable extra pair of hands, has joined Aaron in AP Maintenance. Today he mixed up cement and mended the roof properly.

Aaron pruned a straggly climbing rose, and cleared more of the West Bed including stripping dead and intrusive growth from another palm, and sawing off an exposed tree stump we hadn’t known was there. When I told him that Sid had spotted a cracked tile and asked if we had any more, and I had replied that we had, but I would need to ask Jackie where they were, Aaron gave her yet another title. “The Maintenance Department”, said our friend, who knows the score.

Just to show willing, I assisted The Head Gardener in her general maintenance tasks this afternoon by occupying myself dead-heading.

This is, of course, the season for showy dahlias

bright, bushy, chrysanthemums,

and snaking nasturtiums;

but I am surprised to see honeysuckle rising again in both back and front gardens.

Geraniums

and begonias cling on to life;

and fuchsias like Mrs Popple dangle away.

We have some multicoloured Rudbeckia;

the aptly named salvia Hot Lips;

and long-lived cosmoses.

The apparently everlasting For Your Eyes Only keeps company in the Rose Garden with

fresh flushes of Love Knot,

Laura Ford,

and Mamma Mia.

The Small White butterflies are still enjoying the verbena bonarensis,

and bees still gather pollen provided by such as this clematis.

This evening we returned to the Turfcutter’s Arms

for a roast pork dinner. Jackie drank Peroni and enjoyed a chocolate sponge dessert with ice cream; my choices were Ringwood’s Best and fruit crumble with custard.

“Just Like Daddy’s”

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This morning I became a veritable barber in a dead-heading spree.

I began with the prolific Japanese anemones in the front garden.

As I look out of my sitting room window each morning, I think of that excellent blogging poet Pleasant Street, who commented recently that she preferred to see older blooms alongside the fresh ones, “like life”. Although our reason for dead-heading is not vicariously to deny the effects of ageing, but rather to promote new growth, Pleasant certainly has a point. In deference to that I have left the blooms immediately in view to nature.

I also gathered up some of the branches broken by the winds. As the day continued the winds gradually returned to approach the 60 m.p.h. expected this evening.

Remarkably little damage has so far been incurred. Here are the Palm Bed;

the corners at the house end of the Brick Path;

the Gazebo Path;

Elizabeth’s Bed;

the solanum and clematis draped on the dead tree;

perked-up dahlias;

petunias and begonias in large pots;

chrysanthemums;

and rose Gloriana.

The Small White butterflies flitted around everywhere.

This afternoon Elizabeth visited and we took a trip to Molly’s Den, where I photographed a few random displays.

Not quite so random was this scene, taking me back to one Christmas in the 1980s.

Louisa would have been about six or seven when Jessica and I bought her an ironing board. “Just like Daddy’s”, was her delighted cry.

This evening, before Elizabeth returned home, we dined on Jackie’s perfect pork paprika and wild rice. Jackie drank Hoegaarden and my sister and I drank more of the Fleurie.

After The Drift

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When Aaron and Sean cleared space for the promised greenhouse, they stacked the cut branches at the end of the Back Drive.

I chopped or broke them into manageable sizes and filled two of our large orange containers with them. There is still enough for two more bags. Jackie and I took them to the dump and returned with a very large saucer for a big planter tub.

While I worked, big black bees and Small White butterflies were equally busy alongside me among the fuchsias and the verbena bonarensises in the New Bed.

From the recycling centre we went on a driveabout.

At Sway we came across a group of ponies bearing the identification marks showing that they had experienced The Drift.

When I featured this annual event, I explained that tails were clipped, collars replaced, and branding applied. This animal displays all three.

It was actually quite difficult to show the cuts on the tails because they were constantly being used as fly whisks.

Wherever the creature had rolled in the mud, it had besmirched its nice new collar;

whilst this one’s bath had obscured its brand.

We visited Milford on Sea to investigate the fortunes of Mr Pink’s Fish and Chips since its recent fire. Unfortunately it is closed until further notice.

The shingle and the rocks along the coastline were well populated, as can be seen by this shot of Hurst Point Lighthouse, the story of which can be seen here: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hurst_Point_Lighthouse

Others were bathing in the water,

seated on folding chairs,

reading newspapers, or flashing tattoos.

This evening we dined on duck breasts in plum sauce; roast new potatoes in their jackets and peppers in chillies and herbs; and crisp carrots and green beans. I finished the Fleurie.

Planting Continues

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My contribution to garden maintenance today was to accompany Aaron to Mole Country Supplies to buy more fencing materials with which he and Robin virtually completed their job; to cut the grass; and to dead head some roses. Jackie did a lot of watering.

In the Rose Garden Emma Hamilton basked in the sunshine,

and Hydrangea Lanarth White tolerated the shadow of the orange shed.

A bustling bee explored a bidens;

a Small White butterfly sought refuge in the camouflage of a petunia;

and a rather tattered Gatekeeper took a rest in the Weeping Birch Bed.

The Head Gardener had also purchased a few more plants, including

the New Guinea impatiens introduced to the chimney pot on the grass that it shares with lobelia and geraniums.

By request, for our dinner this evening, Jackie produced fried eggs, bacon, and mushrooms; chips and baked beans. Lovely. She drank Hoegaarden and I didn’t.

Gardening With A Camera

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Photographing while gardening is a hazardous business. I blame the camera’s unforgiving eye. My entertainment this morning was tidying up the Rose Garden with dead-heading and sweeping back into the beds the mulch bark that our avian friends daily toss onto the paving; and clearing up the Head Gardener’s clipping piles.

I was at risk of exposing bits I’d missed, like these few scraps of bark in this shot of crocosmia torches burning alongside the Rose Garden path;

revealing tasks I hadn’t yet carried out, like the clippings in this view through the gazebo;

or incurring the displeasure of the Head Gardener for leaving a blue bucket in this view from the circular concrete of what we think is the site of an old well.

This afternoon we continued with our usual garden maintenance activities, mine, of course, including the new camera, with which I am beginning to capture elusive insects in flight.

Small White butterflies are never still;

and bees, like this one aiming for a crocosmia, are apt to dart from one plant to another.

Included among the many varieties of fuchsia we have

Chequerboard,

Hawkshead,

and Army Nurse, this one sharing an urn with trailing lobelia.

There is also variety in the Rose Garden, provided by different types of flower, such as lilies, geraniums, petunias, penstemons, heucheras and honeysuckle, in addition to the crocosmias mentioned earlier.

Crême de la crême,

and Winchester Cathedral are among the white scented varieties of rose;

Mamma Mia is here reflected in one of the mirrors placed for that purpose.

This evening we dined at Lymington’s Lal Qilla, where, despite their being very crowded, we received our usual warm welcome, friendly, efficient service, and excellent food. My choice was king prawn Ceylon; Jackie’s was chicken sag; and we shared mushroom rice, egg paratha, and Tarka dal. We both drank Kingfisher.

With the promise of an interesting sunset on our return, we diverted to Milford on Sea. In the second shot the sky is reflected in the Modus’s roof.

The Magic Carpet

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Having spent much of the night watching the BBC’s presentation of the unfolding of the EU referendum, I wasn’t up to much this morning.

I did, however, post my day 5 offering on the Facebook nature series.

This was it. It appeared on my WordPress post Earthworks, of 29th September 2015.

I then occupied myself with dead-heading, and, after lunch, cut off more of the hedge along the back drive. Although there was very little rain, the sun made only fleeting visits, enough to encourage this

determined hoverfly to hitch a ride on the tempest-tossed magic carpet that was a single, clinging, poppy petal. As the insect rode the turbulent waves, not a slither did it make.

As so often, the evening was bright and sunny. We took an amble around the garden.

The rose Wedding Day, a prolific climber, is just coming into bloom on the Agriframes arch.

Also flowering is the rodgersia

that dominates the foreground of this view along the Cryptomeria Bed.

The Dragon Bed and the Head Gardener’s Walk are now both well established.

This evening we dined at Lymington’s Royal China where we received the usual efficient, friendly, service and excellent food, accompanied by Tsingtao beer.

We enjoyed some splendid sunsets overlooking Christchurch Bay on our return via Milford on Sea.