Tag: calendula

A Sad Sign Of The Times

Jackie had a reasonably smooth shop this morning, after which she worked in the garden until the temperature became too hot. The Co-op was selling bedding plants, some of which she naturally bought, although she will have need of

all her pelargonium cuttings in the greenhouse.

After lunch I took a tour with my camera and deposited some debris into the compost bin.

Even these white daffodils turned their backs on the bright sunlight.

The younger tulips in the patio pots are in hot pursuit of their elders,

more of which are fully opened;

others continue to grace the Rose Garden

and the foreground of this view from the concrete patio leading towards that area.

The species Lilac Wonder attracted a rather small bee,

This is time of year when, before coronavirus, we would have visited local bluebell woods, however we do have

plenty of our own.

Lavinia Ross spotted pot marigold calendulas in yesterday’s post. Here is another variety of the genus for her.

Our Magnolia Vulcan is now coming into bloom.

Camellias brighten many views like this one of the Brick Path;

they form a sympathetic backdrop to the red Japanese maple;

and come in a variety of hues.

Spirea sprays spread across the Palm Bed;

pieris leaves flame over the lawn;

self-seeded Erigeron has leaped to cascade from the Kitchen Bed obelisk;

and spring daffodils nod to summer snowflakes across the Cryptomeria Bed.

Caterpillar-like catkins wriggle on the tips of Weeping Birch branches.

Tiny epimedium blooms cast their shadows on the West Bed.

The borders of the back drive contain unusual daffodils, sympathetic snapdragons, and vinca colour-coordinated with honesty.

The far end of this drive stands opposite the car park of The Royal Oak which bears a sad

sign of the times, advertising their spring menu for which no-one is able to stop and enjoy until the pandemic rules are relaxed.

This evening we dined on tempera prawns with sweet chilli sauce, diet garlic bread, and fresh salad with which Jackie drank Hoegaarden and I drank more of the Mezquiriz. We had planned a houseful for Easter so stocked up on items such as these before panic buying had cleared the shop shelves.

Could You Have Done That If You’d Tried?

Last night Andy drove us home from Spice of India in Danni’s car. We were some time getting under way. Perched on the front passenger seat, I was unable to fit the seat belt. Now, this is a fairly automatic task which doesn’t normally require too much attention. Stretching out the belt with my left hand, I passed it to my right, and groped for the receiving slot. The slot was unreceptive. Thinking my aim must be awry, I had several stabs at it. To no avail. In the gloom of the car park, I peered at the stubborn fixture. There seemed to be a coin therein. A search for a nail-file ensued. One was produced from a handbag in the back. Andy prised out the offending item, which revealed itself to be a button. It seemed, as was subsequently confirmed, likely to be one from my back trouser pocket. Andy dropped it on the floor. We didn’t find it. Could you have done that if you’d tried?

Today’s gale force wind was even stronger than yesterday. The North West of our garden seems to suffer the most.

As I wandered around today I noticed an untied rose stem hanging down from its arch, one of the struts of which had been blown loose. I refixed the the arch and tied the rose back up. The buds on that particular section had remained intact, but others had been torn off. One rested on the Ace Reclaim bench; another hung by its neck.

Nearby, an as yet unidentified clematis clings to the helping hands of a fir tree, and the magnolia Vulcan risks blooming. Clouds, too, were sent scudding across the sunlit sky, giving us alternating light and shade, which meant for shadows to appear and reappear, never in the same place. This can be seen in the two bench seat shots. In the first, foliage had been blown into position, not to return for the second.

The weeping birch was not permitted to droop its flimsy filigreed branches for long before they were tossed aloft.

Flames of a yellow Japanese maple flickered like those of the red one pictured yesterday.

A solitary, hungry, bumblebee, struggled to gain purchase on a cluster of heucheras. It had about as much success as I did in keeping it in focus.

We have what I consider to be an invasion of cow parsley, which also bent its back in the face of the violent gusts. I am all for pulling it up before it drops its seeds, but, unfortunately, the head gardener has overruled me, and I am no Alan Titchmarsh. Jessica, too, had found these plants attractive. She collected seeds from the wayside around Newark and scattered them in the orchard, where they rapidly germinated, flourished joyfully, and spilled their seed in turn. It took us several years of taking out the tops to eradicate it.

The pink-leaved pieris on the lawn shelters under the protection of the Nottingham Castle bench,

and low-level plants like calendulas smile in the sunshine.

Another rhododendron has battled its way through the North Breeze jungle next door. It is probably grateful now that it is surrounded by brambles.

This evening we dined on Mr. Pink’s exquisite cod and chips and Garner’s pickled onions. Jackie drank Hoegaarden, and I finished the Bordeaux. It wasn’t a good idea to ruin the taste of the wine by contaminating it with the vinegar from the onions, but it had been open a day or two, and may soon have tasted of vinegar itself. Alternating it with water helped a bit.