Festive Jewel – derrickjknight

Dead-Heading Roses

Our Covid vaccine reactions dissipated overnight.

I carried out a lengthy dead-heading session on the morning of this Cold. Overcast. Wet. (COW) mid-June day.

Here are a selection of the beneficiaries of my labours. Keen readers may spot some spent buds I have missed. If so, I do not want to know. Each image bears a title in the gallery.

Martin took the dead blooms from Wonderful Grandparents because it was unsafe for me to reach deep into the bed.

Soon after 3 p.m. when we set off for Ferndene Farm Shop to buy salad, sausages, and eggs rain set in for the rest of the day enabling me to produce a variant acronym: Cold. Overcast. Wet.

Here are a pair of pictures of the shop from through the car windscreen;

another of Holmsley Passage;

and one along Bisterne Close.

When viewed through the open passenger window I was able to focus

on a tree draped in honeysuckle,

and two different cornuses.

This evening we dined with Elizabeth at The Royal Oak, enjoying friendly, efficient, service and excellent food. The ladies both chose a very tasty Caribbean chicken curry and rice, while my pick was a fish and linguini dish which I relished. My sister and I each selected baked Alaska for dessert. Elizabeth drank non alcoholic Peroni, Jackie Diet Coke; and Merlot for me.

Roses Coming Into Their Own

This morning I recovered two pictures for the post: https://derrickjknight.com/2019/11/19/the-dental-riskits/

After lunch I carried out a weeding and dead heading task before

photographing a few flowers, each image of which bears a title in the gallery. Scented roses are now coming into their own.

This evening we all dined on Jackie’s tangy lemon chicken and colourful savoury rice with which she drank Dellie Venezie Pinot Grigio 2022 and I drank more of the Rioja.

A Bunch Of Roses

This largely overcast morning Jackie spent weeding and planting; my contribution was dead-heading and a little clearing up.

After lunch I picked a bunch of roses.

Later this afternoon I posted https://derrickjknight.com/2022/05/23/a-knights-tale-1-a-sneaky-weekend-2/

This was an attempt to tidy up the series. For the first 3 episodes of the tale I had incorporated sections like this first one into my daily diary posts. I wanted to take them out and keep them apart from what I had been doing this century. Now I’ve got myself into a muddle because I don’t know how to get the revised ones in the right order and retain the earlier complete posts under another category. I guess I’ll figure it out. I hope that at least is clear.

This evening we all enjoyed further helpings of yesterday’s Chinese takeaway with which Jackie drank Tsing Tao beer and I drank more of the Shiraz.

A Negative Tattoo

The day dawned dull yet dry; the air cool and cheerless. Nevertheless

Compassion rose, its neighbouring geranium palmatum; rose Penny Lane and her accompanying clematis Dr Ruppel flourished well enough as I made my way into the garden to gather up clippings from the Head Gardener’s morning graft.

After lunch I carried out an extensive but by no means exhaustive dead-heading exercise in the Rose Garden.

Absolutely Fabulous, For Your Eyes Only, Créme de la créme, Laura Ford, Festive Jewel, a pink rambler, and Aloha are among those that received attention.

A little later we visited Otter Nurseries where we bought another wooden bench. This was the last one in the store. It was the display item. As it was already at a reduced price there was no discount, but there was a bonus. Because it was on display we did not have to assemble it ourselves and it will be delivered tomorrow because we couldn’t fit it this form into the Modus. In football parlance this was a result.

Afterwards we continued into the forest where

beside the tidal lake at Beaulieu, a swan family were taking their cygnets for an outing, and

a human family were feeding the ducks.

Outside the Abbey two pregnant donkeys dozed and one dined on hedgerow while her son grazed for his own dinner.

Outside The Oak Inn at Bank ponies gathered on the green

and wandered in the woodland.

One in particular bore a negative tattoo of an intriguing mud pattern.

This evening we very much enjoyed an Indian Takeaway meal from Red Chilli, a new outlet in Old Milton. My main course was probably the best King Prawn Naga I have ever tasted; Jackie’s chicken biriani was equally good. My special rice was very good, and we also liked the sag poneer. There was so much that we have enough left over for tomorrow, including the plain paratha which we didn’t even unwrap. The whole meal passed what we call the poppadom test – if they are good, the rest will be. Mrs Knight drank Hoegaarden while I drank more of the CEO.

For The Bees

Between stints in the garden today, which varied from overcast-gloom to sun-bright, I finished reading Chekhov’s engaging story entitled ‘Teacher of Literature” (1894).

Essentially tracing the journey from childhood hardship to the consequences of unearned comfort the tale is told with human insight and with delightful bucolic descriptions. I will not reveal the changes in the main protagonist’s thoughts, but I accept the judgement of translator Elisaveta Fen that ‘The theme is among Chekhov’s favourite ones – the emptiness of mere material prosperity with no prospect of change, [and] the tedium of provincial life….’

There is no drawing to this story in my Folio Society edition.

My first spell in the garden, before lunch, involved clearing, bagging up, and transporting to the compost bin the refuse from the Head Gardener’s weeding and clippings.

The air was brighter after lunch when I weeded

another of the narrow brick footpaths between the Rose Garden beds. Silent woodlice slipped away from my scraping tools, and the water feature bubbled whenever the sun peeped out. Once again the path was too wet to sweep clean.

Even after another night of rain, many floppy blooms are beginning to raise their heads. Here we have the prolific peach-coloured Doris Tysterman; Festive Jewel, Aloha, and For Your Eyes Only in various shades of pink; the white Créme de la créme; the blushing Shropshire Lad; the prolific Gloriana; a rambling Ballerina; the aptly named Peach Abundance; a spreading Perennial Blush; and rich red Ernest Morse.

The elder shrub Sambucus nigra now rivals Altissimo in height.

While I wandered around with my camera Jackie, from her perch in the Weeping Birch Bed, pointed out the buds on the sculptural New Zealand flax.

Some three or four years ago our friend Giles, who has his own welcoming wildlife garden, gave us a twiggy stem of Vipers Bugloss with which to attract bees.

This boon for bees now dominates the far end of the Back Drive and lives up to its magnetic billing.

This evening we dined on tender baked gammon; new potatoes, carrots, cabbage, and piquant cauliflower cheese with which Jackie drank Hoegaarden and I drank more of the Cabernet Sauvignon.

More Garden Assistance

Early this morning we shopped at Ferndene Farm Shop for three more 60 litre bags of compost and another tray of bedding plants.

This afternoon we were treated to a most welcome visit from Danni and Ella.

Our great niece made straight for her box of mice that hide under the TV, after which she dragged Jackie into the library where

the toy box lives.

She found a paper bag with which to go shopping. Her Mum was the willing shopkeeper.

The story that came next required an equal amount of rapt attention from mother and daughter.

There was time for a few bubbles to be blown before the contents of the tube found their way to the floor.

Because of lockdown at Easter we were overstocked with eggs which could not be distributed. Ella was the happy recipient of a chocolate Bunny which she was generous in sharing.

After a while, our great niece was happy to wander in the garden.

She offered assistance in sweeping paths and watering plants.

Danni joined her at times.

Individual members of the above gallery bear their own titles – Compassion rose; day lily; pink rose; Welsh poppies beside an owl log; a red climbing rose with a blue clematis; yellow rose, Summer Time; pink Festive Jewel; Gloriana, For Your Eyes Only and Summer season sculpture; and Florence’s basket of bacopa.

When it was time to return home, Ella refused to say goodbye because she didn’t want to leave.

Later, Danni e-mailed me her photograph of me watching Pets2 with Ella on Netflix. I don’t appear terribly impressed, and Ella’s interest soon waned.

This evening we dined on Hordle Chinese Take Away’s excellent fare, with which Jackie drank Hoegaarden and I drank Cotes de Gascogne Merlot Tannat 2019.

Meet Nugget Junior

This morning while gardening Jackie photographed

rose Emily Gray, a highly scented rambler gracing

the back drive border out of sight in this shot;

clematis Doctor Ruppel climbing the weeping birch;

a row of blue irises with the bonus of a yellow stowaway in the bag of bulbs;

Nugget,

and his son Junior, still not qualified to wear the red jersey.

After lunch I managed the photoshoot.

On the kitchen corner of the patio we have delicate magenta gladioli Byzantinus blending with deep blue verbena Vectura and pink pelargoniums,

in turn reflecting similarly hued diascia potted above cascading Erigeron.

Nearby stands this peach rose we inherited.

Ornamental alliums of a number of varieties are gradually un-peeling throughout the garden.

Nugget attempted to encourage his son to feed from the suet pellet tray, but the youngster was deterred by my wandering around

the vicinity of the wisteria arbour.

I therefore focussed on this from above, showing how the rose Paul’s Scarlet and the clematis Star of India are poised to replace the fading pale blue blooms.

Later Jackie came in for her camera when Nugget and Junior both occupied the tray. Unfortunately they were gone by the time she returned.

Later, Nugget left Junior to his own devices while he flew off with a pellet for the next brood. Apparently robins are such prolific breeders that they can produce 3 to 5 clutches of up to five eggs a year. As soon as the youngsters earn the red jersey they are chased off by their father, so Junior will soon go and find someone else’s garden.

The marigolds in the Oval Bed continue to proliferate.

In the Rose Garden For Your Eyes Only is bushing out nicely, while Gloriana towers above it;

Schoolgirl vaults the arbour;

and flamboyant Festive Jewel,

sprightly Summer Wine and middle-aged Madame Alfred Carriere

carelessly cavort in concert.

This evening we dined on minted lamb steaks, boiled new potatoes; crunchy carrots and cauliflower; and firm Brussels sprouts with which Jackie drank Hoegaarden and I drank more of the El Zumbido Garnacha, Syrah.

An Appeal For Help

This morning was wet and dull.

Light rain glistened on the dimly lit garden foliage seen from the bedroom windows.

After lunch the sun smiled down and spread a little joy.

It was warm enough for Aaron to mow Mistletoe Cottage’s lawn wearing a T-shirt.

I wandered around at ground level noting roses including

Peach Abundance,

Margaret Merrill,

and Festive Jewel:

fuchsias such as Delta’s Sarah:

and the flowering pieris piercing the lawn.

Iris Reticulatas have penetrated the Weeping Birch Bed at the point where the honesty blooms are giving way to the soon to be transparent seed medallions.

Brightly burnished blowflies’ metallic blue bodies mutated into rusty red.

In the meantime Nugget continues his parental duties. So diligently is he zooming backwards and forwards to his nest which may well be in the garden of North Breeze, that he has lost interest in hiding. If his family is domiciled on our neighbour’s property, we will not consider him disloyal because we know that avian boundaries are not the same as ours.

“Where’s Nugget?” (76)

This afternoon, in order to prevent bigger birds from snaffling our robin’s food, Jackie had wired up the outside of their feeder, leaving a robin sized access hole.

While I watched the news this evening, Jackie sat with a glass of Heineken on the patio.

Suddenly Nugget perched, chirping, on the back of the chair next to her. She turned. They made eye contact. Her familiar cocked his to one side and continued tweeting.

“What is it?”, Jackie asked.

A pause. She then said “I know. I’ll come and sort it out.”

He flew ahead of her, stopped in the centre of the path outside the kitchen window, and continued to call until she got up and followed him.

Still flying ahead of Jackie, he perched in the wisteria, waiting while she removed the chicken wire from his larder.

He flew past her head, chirruped his thanks, entered the container, and sped off to feed his brood.

After this we dined on roast pork, chipolata sausages, piquant cauliflower cheese, carrots, broccoli and cabbage with which Jackie continued her Hoegaarden and I finished the Fleurie.

None Of That Nonsense

Late this afternoon rain had brought abandonment to the first day of the fourth Ashes Test match, but here it was reasonably warm and sunny.

Jackie, hindered by Nugget, continued planting, while I wandered around the garden.

Clematis Marie Boisselot, in her third flush, has now toned down her blue rinse.

Other clematises, such as Polish Spirit,

and the tiny white campaniflora, have weathered the storm.

A Lidl pink one still climbs the arch spanning the Brick Path beyond the pelargoniums flanking the Nottingham Castle bench.

Here are some of those pelargoniums.

Begonias are in their prime.

Fuchsias, like these two chequerboards, continue to thrive.

Mama Mia, Absolutely Fabulous, Winchester Cathedral, Festive Jewel, Crown Princess Margatera, and Hot Chocolate are all examples of roses still holding up their heads.

Long shadows streak across the tiny lawn.

Honesty and Hollyhocks are displaying seed pods.

Earlier in the summer Aaron moved the miscanthus from the edge to the centre of the Palm Bed. It has survived.

Pelargoniums drape many of the hanging baskets.

Petunias and bidens are equally prolific.

The New Bed and Elizabeth’s Bed still offer much colour.

The first of this set of pictures show cosmos and echinacea alongside Elizabeth’s Bed, the second is of the Weeping Birch Bed, and the last two lead us towards the house.

Now, “Where’s Nugget?” (14)

Jackie can’t settle to drinks on the patio without taking a trowel to stir the pudding for her little friend.

This evening he looked askance at her first effort and

took up a stance on a stone above some slate chips as if, like a stroppy toddler, to say “I don’t like that dinner. Get me something else”. I can assure you that the Head Gardener had none of that nonsense from her own children.

I certainly didn’t turn up my nose at our delicious dinner of spicy pork paprika, mushroom rice, and runner beans, with which the Culinary Queen drank Hoegaarden and I finished the Shiraz.

The Watchers On The Shore

Today’s weather was once more clear, bright, sunny, and cooler.

Bees continued collecting nectar throughout the garden. On my walk around I captured them on bidens, and on the more mature blooms of Festive Jewel.

Crisp young examples of the latter await their turn at contributing to the queen’s larder.

Tomatoes continue to ripen in readiness for ours.

It is a good thing I was not using film in my attempts to catch the myriad of fluttering snowflakes in the form of Small White butterflies while they swirled through the air. I settled for those landing on a poppy head and on a verbena bonarensis. Another took pity on me and perched on a petunia.

Orange crocosmia Emily Mckenzie brightens the Dead End Path and pink sweet peas dance in the Weeping Birch Bed.

Our Bishop of Llandaff in the New Bed was eaten by a vole a couple of years ago. Its deeper red companion has survived.

Another plant that has proved impossible to grow in the various beds tried by the Head Gardener is the gaura. This one is thriving in a pot.

Lady Emma Hamilton produces multiple flushes.

Rows of small begonias sparkle on the borders of beds like these alongside the Heligan Path.

Nugget darted in and out nearby. I am beginning to wonder whether he associates the click of the camera with the clink of a trowel.

One of the pictures above should provide a clue to today’s “Where’s Nugget?” (9)

Late this afternoon we took drive into the forest.

The only sign of life on Hatchet Pond was this pair of swans.

The others must have heard that members of an excited family were feeding the birds beside the nearby Beaulieu River.

Kite surfers and sailboarders struggled on the Solent at the end of Tanners Lane, where they were watched by a young man on the shore. I suppose I made it two watchers so I could legitimately borrow the title of Stan Barstow’s novel.

This evening we dined on Lidl’s rack of pork spare ribs in barbecue sauce; the Culinary Queen’s flavoursome mushroom rice; and the Head Gardener’s tender runner beans, with which Jackie drank Belgium’s Hoegaarden and I finished Tesco’s finest Chilean Malbec.