gravel – Page 2 – derrickjknight

Does Anyone Recognise This?

The two young heroines of The Three Peaks Challenge, each posted on Facebook today that they were unable to move. I think they have earned a fortnight’s pampering.

A surprise visit from Matthew this morning gave me a good excuse to potter about and wander round the garden whilst Jackie undertook some more serious weeding. She still, of course, gave our son the attention he deserved.

As its yellow companion across the gazebo path begins to fade, the red bottle brush plant is now coming into bloom.

We have a number of ornamental grasses in the garden, perhaps the most unusual one sporting purple seeds. Alongside this in the raised bed has emerged an interesting yellow flower that we cannot identify. It is now hard-pressed by the huge cuttings pile which will have to be disposed of soon.
As will have become apparent, many of our treasures are still revealing themselves, some still being hidden by other growth.

This leycesteria, for example, struggles to be noticed from the depths of a hazelnut tree, no doubt brought into being some time ago by a careless squirrel who had dropped his nuts.
We are never quite certain about pulling up what we think is a weed. A particular rose, certainly in the wrong place, has therefore been allowed to live as it sends out long, budless, stems which we thought must be sports.

The leaves now bear beautiful, red, frond-like growths we take to be some kind of gall. Does anyone recognise this?
After Matthew returned home this afternoon, we drove to Redcliffe Garden Centre in Bashley, to buy some more gravel. Naturally a few plants had also to be purchased while we were there.
I laid the gravel on the very first footpath we renovated.

We call this one the dead end path because it stops at the blue painted sinks before the patio wall.
This evening we dined at The Royal Oak, not many yards away. I enjoyed a rib-eye steak; Jackie’s choice was butterfly chicken wrapped in bacon with barbecue sauce. I then had a large portion of apple crumble whilst she chose an excellent and huge slice of cheesecake with ice cream. I drank Doom Bar while she imbibed Becks. The quality of the food has gone up a notch.
P.S. Jackie has established that the growth on the rose leaves is a wasp gall, more commonly attached, and ultimately fatal, to wild roses. Wasps lay their eggs on the plant, causing it to do all sorts of weird things. We will definitely have to remove it.
P.P.S. From Jackie: Wasp gall on the rose leaf and a Bartonia nuda pursh is the yellow plant. X

Sets

An unseen bird in a neighbouring garden has, for some time now kept up an incessant, repetitive, day-long warning cry. This is no doubt related to the fact that a possibly predatory crow patiently waits perched on the branch of a high tree. Perhaps awaiting a chance to plunder eggs, or to pounce on newly hatched chicks? Yesterday evening Jackie clapped her hands and shooed off the vigilant avian. As soon as it flew off the other bird became silent.
Two days ago a magpie was spotted in our garden, suspiciously close to the blackbird’s nest.

This morning the nest was empty, only its cleanliness and two downy feathers attached to a twig, indicating any occupation. There were no broken shells. Sadly, on little more than circumstantial evidence we suspect either crow or magpie of theft of the eggs.
Today I finished weeding yesterday’s bed. In the process, I found a honeysuckle and several more passion flower plants entwined among the other plants.

Trying not to replicate the McDonalds logo, I erected my own golden arches out of bamboo to give the climbers something else to scale.

Perhaps the honeysuckle was seeded from this wonderfully scented specimen, bordering the kitchen garden.

Jackie has continued her creative work. The water boy is now well established in his little corner, complete with more shells and planting.
She is now focussing on further improving the edging of the paths. In many instances, the earlier brick edges have been covered by stones and granite sets.

These have tended to be obscured by covering plants, and have not stemmed the flow of soil into the gravel. Sieving the earth from the gravel, and placing the bricks on their sides lifts the edges.
The sets will be used elsewhere, where they attractiveness is more apparent. We began with the border between the patch of grass and the long path. I was the labourer to Jackie’s artisan. This meant I searched out more sets, loaded them onto a wheelbarrow, brought them to the mistress craftsperson, placed them roughly where she would need them, and ambled off for some more. Some, in the furthest regions, were covering ants’ nests.
We didn’t quite finish the job before preparing for a visit to Danni and Andy’s new flat. Jackie drove us over to Shirley, where it is; we were joined there by Elizabeth, and all dined at a very good Indian restaurant nearby, the name of which I did not register. We all enjoyed the food; Andy drank Magners, and the rest of us, Kingfisher.

‘Trust Me, I’m A Doctor’

We began the day by transferring our waterboy from the edge of the kitchen garden to a suitable spot nearer the house. This meant two trips by wheelbarrow, one for him, and one for his shell. Before going off to Stewart’s Garden Centre we needed to make sure the whole feature would fit where we planned, and to take measurements of the depth of the water and the diameter of tube required to link a pump to the lad. By ‘we’, as usual, I mean Jackie. ‘Trust me, I’m a doctor’, said she as she performed a delicate endoscopy with a piece of flexible curtain wire. It was necessary to ensure there would be no internal blockages to impede the regular colonic irrigation of the water that would be flowing through the body.

Satisfied in all respects that our find would work we drove to the garden centre. In fact the size of pump we required was purchased from Maidenhead Aquatics, an outlet on the parent company’s campus. At Stewart’s itself, we collected the rest of Jackie’s birthday solar lights, one of which is seen suspended over the patio behind the water feature.
Unfortunately, four of the components were missing from one box of lights, so we had to go back to the shop to replace it. There was no problem with this. As we were out, we stopped off at Ferndene Farm Shop and bought six more bags of gravel.
Hordle Chinese Take Away provided our evening meal, but Jackie had to go and fetch it. She drank Hoegaarden whilst I imbibed Tsing Tao.
Afterwards we dead-headed a large rhododendron, in order to promote next year’s flowering.

It was almost 10 p.m. by the time the solar lights came on, because we are nearing the longest day. These lamps gather their power from the sunlight, but it is only triggered when the night draws in.

Ache

Bar the application of a few more bags of gravel, I finished the oval paths today. This involved first of all cleaning and weeding the brick section, then clearing and raking the gravelled line at the front. This last was the least problematic, having been in fairly regular use en route to the compost heap.

The attractive pattern of all the older brick paths we find contains a puzzle. Where rows of diagonally laid bricks abut those positioned in a straight line small triangular shapes are left. Ours always contain earth, grass, and weeds, on a bed of sand. What is meant to be there? Could it be that they were filled with pea gravel, in those days when gardeners were employed and given time allocated to maintain these labour intensive footways?
Four large bags of Chard flint were not sufficient for a reasonable cover of the non-brick sections, so we need to buy some more.

Jackie carried out her usual planting, but began the day by applying her mind and a section of plastic coated netting to producing a crow baffle. There is a squirrel deterrent beneath it, but as far as we can tell it is surplus to requirements here. Fortunately the smaller birds don’t seem to be discombobulated by the fortifications of our very own Sapper.
The female blackbird now interrupts her incubation with trips to the feeder. It seems her male consort has abandoned his family, so she has to forage for herself.

My lady then strimmed the grass and carried out more clearance around the kitchen garden, redefining the path from the decking area.

In the process she finally fully revealed a charming little water feature, the young boy of which is so much more sensitively modelled than most garden centre examples. I imagine he simply requires relocation and a pump.
We have reached the stage where there are only a few more linking paths of gravel to be renovated. This is rather welcome because there is not much of either of us that doesn’t ache.
When you have an excellent sausage casserole (recipe) a bit light on sausages, it is a good idea to add a quantity of mushrooms, which is what Jackie did this evening and served it with mashed potato and cabbage. I finished the Baturrica and Jackie drank a Hoegaarden.

Supporting Big Ben

Jackie and I began the day with a trip to Ferndene Farm shop for more gravel, for the patio corner and the path completed a couple of days ago that I am freshening up. We didn’t quite have enough for both, but I think you will get the picture.

A few more flowers were planted in the area cleared yesterday, including some Japanese anemones moved from the gravelled platform.
After this my chauffeuse drove me to New Milton for my trip to London.
From Waterloo I took the Westminster Bridge route to Carol’s in Rochester Row.

Despite the dull day, the South Bank was so crowded as to be almost impassable. The lovelocks, which have become a menace in so many major cities, have been removed from the handrails beside the steps up to the bridge.
Everywhere, as usual, cameras and mobile phones were brandished in the direction of the targeted sights.

The piper had his customary entourage of visitors recording his image. One beautifully smiling young woman took direction from her male photographer crouching low on the ground guiding her positioning of her hand for a shot in which she was to be seen supporting Big Ben.
On leaving Carol’s, I travelled by the Circle Line from St James’s Park to Edgware Road tube station from where I walked to the Akash restaurant for an enjoyable time and meal with my friend Jessie. This gave me an opportunity to exchange greetings with other friends from my favourite Bangladeshi establishment.
On the train I finished reading Desmond Seward’s history of ‘The Wars of the Roses’. From the very first paragraph of the author’s introduction we are dramatically drawn into this description of the fickle family feuds over the throne of England that occupied the country during the last decades of the fifteenth century. The maps, chronology, who’s who, and dynastic family trees that supplement the well researched and lively text make a good job of unravelling the story. I only wish I could hope to remember it all.
I moved on to Victoria’s Park, a novel by B. J. Haynes.
Jackie met me at New Milton station and drove me home.

The Heligan Path

Last night, with Giles, Jean, another Jackie, and Paul, we were entertained, first by Windmill Swing Band, at Milford on Sea Community Centre. This was an interesting experience. It was difficult for me, with my untrained ear, quite to decipher what we were hearing. The female singer had a powerful voice and performed very well, but was rather obscured by the number of instruments on and overflowing from the small stage. Of the sixteen accompanists, ten were saxophonists.
After the break came the Sugar Rush. Quite the most outstanding wind player, guesting as soloist for Windmill in the first session, turned out to be one of a quartet forming this second group. He played saxophones, clarinet, and flute. He was one of two Marks, the other playing keyboard. Two excellent, lively, and entertaining female singers made up the four. Given the option to leave during the brief interval in their performance, we declined, because we were enjoying them so much.
Giles, being rather partial to the flute, called out for more of this instrument and was rewarded with a melodic solo. So were the rest of us.
This morning Benjamin of Abre Electrical came on time and thoroughly investigated our problems. The fault seems to be under the kitchen tiles, with which we will not interfere. We cannot use the power points in a kitchen cupboard until a feed is drawn from upstairs, and we need a new fusebox.
We experienced more steady rain, which by the afternoon had stopped. The last push on the previously invisible path was a joint one.

We began with Jackie riddling, with a sieve, the earth I dug out of the track, to gather what gravel and impacted sand was still present. That was soon given up as pointless and Jackie, who now shared my job, and I tossed each spadeful, complete with stones, into the crowded shrubberies. That should help keep the weeds down, and we will probably be digging out gravel and chucking it piecemeal back onto the path for some time to come.
As will be apparent from the picture of Jackie at her initial task, there was far more soil than gravel on the path. This meant we had not bought enough stones, given that we now had to re-cover the whole area. After lunch, therefore, we took another trip to Ferndene Farm Shop and returned with five more bags of them.
In Everton Road a little boy of about six years old gave himself a nasty shock. On his bicycle, he sped out from between two oncoming cars he was trying to avoid, turned and rode straight at us, forcing Jackie to make an emergency stop. Terror was written all over his face. A few yards further on we decided to turn back and see if he was all right. By the time Jackie had found a suitable turning space and backtracked, he had disappeared. We rather hoped he was trembling on his mother’s knee.

Back home, we completed the laying down of the stones, and raked and swept them. Jackie added the finishing touch of six varied heucheras. Just as I finished photographing our achievement, the rain returned.
I call this the Heligan path, after the famous lost gardens of that name in Cornwall, because we really didn’t know it was there.

Several new roses are in bloom. Here is one:

And an iris.

This evening we dined on Moroccan roast lamb, pilau cous-cous complete with chilli, and carrots and green beans, followed by apple strudel. I drank a Langedoc reserve 2012.

Camouflaged Beauty

Knowing we were in for rain today we optimistically shopped at Ferndene Farm Shop for six bags of compost and four of gravel. Jackie had made an early start on weeding more of the brick paths, but as soon as I put in an appearance the precipitation that was to develop into a lengthy thunderstorm began to descend.
On our return from the trip to the shop, I busied myself changing the occasional pictures I first focussed on on 27th April. As before, these A3+ prints have been photographed in situ so that the rooms make their own reflective contributions to the images.

Michael in the kitchen sink has been replaced by an October 1967 shot of him chasing his Uncle Joseph down an autumn leaf-strewn slope in Cannizaro Park.

Helen and Michael have made way for a honeymoon portrait of Jacke taken at The Kings Arms in Ockley in March 1968. The considerable enlargement of what is a very small part of a colour slide has given the picture, taken in natural light, a smooth grainy quality which I rather like.
Although the deluge desisted this afternoon, rain still dripped off the trees, and formed puddles on the ground, enforcing on us a probably much-needed rest.

The accumulated water droplets formed translucent bubbles that clung to the cases of the, as yet inchoate, poppies, or perched on the spread leaves of the sparkling spurge.
We were able to return to the gardening tasks later this afternoon.

Jackie added to her tally of toads when she found this superbly camouflaged beauty which steadfastly refused to be disturbed.

She cleared more of the radial brickwork leading to the house.
I finished exposing and raked yesterday’s unfinished path. From its construction I would date this feature much earlier than the other footpaths so far tackled. The gravel is laid on road stone and sand, without a weed suppressant lining, much like those I created in Newark, under Matthew’s guidance, in the 1980s. I think this was then a long established method. It probably also explains why the area was so overgrown with plants, both attractive and unattractive. A fresh layer of gravel is needed, and I will need to dig out the raised level of the soil against the left hand boundary of brick so that the new pebbles do not overflow onto the flower bed. I have to thank the eagle-eyed head gardener for suggesting this additional task.

In order fully to display the sinuous curves created by the first designer of the garden,I have taken two additional photographs to supplement the same view as yesterday, one at the far end from beside the weeping birch, and the other from the centre of the track. The key is the spray of white flowers no-one has yet been able to identify.
We began this evening’s dinner with a delicious pork and vegetable soup. Chilli con carne (recipe) and vegetable rice (recipe) was to follow, with apple strudel as our sweet. Sparkling water was the drink we each chose.

Tree Felling

Yesterday’s post carries a picture of the holly stump I decided to remove today. The promised rain fell overnight but kept off today, so I didn’t get my break.
Jackie drove us to Milford Supplies where I bought a long, heavy, tree feller’s axe, a smaller hand one, an iron shovel, and, for good measure, a fork handle.

I felt somewhat like a Mafia hit man as I arrayed my purchases in the boot of the car.
I spent the rest of the morning extracting the stump. This feat was achieved by swinging the heavy axe and bringing it down on the stubborn remnant enough times to split it a bit and chip off some residual branches; by digging out soil around it until reaching roots; by chopping or lopping out those lifelines for the tree; and eventually kicking the object to dislodge it enough to cut out the tap root. It is harder to do this than to write about it. As I wielded my long macho weapon I identified with Van Heflin’s homesteader in ‘Shane’, and kept an eye out for Alan Ladd. He didn’t show up, so I had to finish the job unaided.
The last holly I cut down was about 30 feet high in Newark almost thirty years ago. I sawed off sections of the trunk first, until reaching a manageable stump. This is the method I employed after lunch with a tree only about ten feet tall. Having added all the branches to my ever increasing pile of stuff too tough for compost, I tackled the stump in the same way as the earlier one. I was able to leave a useful length to aid me in the kicking process.

Today’s location is at the far end of yesterday’s path. It widens out beyond a decking area which is approached by stepping stones through the gravel. The condition of that terrain can be seen from the stump picture. With the two hollies out of the way I thought I just had to weed, rake, and sweep the gravel and I would be finished. No such luck. The few sprigs of copper beech piercing the elderly weed protection lining in front of the platform would just pop out with a little gentle persuasion, I thought. Not so. They were actually suckers sprouting from a root of the mature tree nearby. So I chopped out a section of that root and completed the job.
In the first photograph the keys to the location are the blue clematis and the red rose. The holly stump was situated close to the central two stepping stones. The disturbed area to the right of the second image was occupied by the other tree.

The wooden arch leading into the front garden now supports a rose of deeper pink than the first that bloomed.
Yesterday’s roast pork and red cabbage meal was beautifully reprised. The crackling was even better. With it, Jackie drank Hoegaarden and I drank Bishop’s Finger beer.

Blue

Two days ago I was diverted from planting out flowers from pots, by beginning to clear a path. Yesterday, cutting the grass diverted me from that.

When I began the clearance, the path was not visible. It just looked like an overgrown shrubbery with a couple of blue painted sinks dropped into it. By this morning the work had revealed an elderly gravel path with the remains of dry stone walls either side of it. Shrubs, brambles, and weeds had severely encroached upon it.
And what was to be done about the sinks? They were each filled with earth, and contained a number of interesting little plants.
Well, I had to move them, and knew I had no chance of doing so unless I emptied them.

I did that, and transplanted various items, such as two different kinds of thyme placed in the patio area.
This path is really an access route to the shrubbery, and leads simply to a cemented stone wall dividing off the patio. It seemed to me that the sinks could be useful if placed against the wall. I asked Jackie for her views. She thought they would look good on top of the wall, thus giving them height. Well, she would, wouldn’t she? No way could I lift them the extra couple of feet up there on my own. And I didn’t think we could do it together.
I manoeuvred these heavy stoneware kitchen sinks to the far end of the path and stood and scratched my head. Then I was summoned for lunch, which seemed rather a good idea.

In the process of moving their bed I disturbed a group of slumbering snails. Their dorm master had not been alert to the danger. They dropped off one by one.

On one of my trips to the compost heap my eye was caught by a large blue bloom peering through a shrubbery by the decking on the other side of the garden. This was a newly flowering clematis which I cannot name.
After lunch I managed to hoist one of the sinks onto the lower wall at the side of the path and was beginning to gird my loins for the higher heave when Superwoman arrived. Together we raised the blue painted containers into position.
It would not be surprising for my readers to question the aesthetics of bright blue paintwork that was bound to peel off and leave shreds mingling with the gravel. Anyone who has done so will empathise with our thoughts and feelings about a similar hue, among others equally strident, having been liberally splashed around inside the house, leaving spatters on shelves, fixtures, and carpets. In no way do I exaggerate.

Finally I repositioned the stones at the sides of the path, finished the weeding, trimmed back some shrubs, and raked the remaining gravel as smooth as I could. The large plant in the foreground of the picture is a mature geranium palmatum. The flowers of another can be seen further down on the right.

Finally I planted the frail-looking rescued tree peony. This plant had not been given a pot. It lay on its side on sandy soil. It has spent two days heeled in a large container, and now stands, reasonably erect, in its allotted home. It is to be hoped that, if it does survive, it is appreciative of the efforts that have gone into accommodating it.
Another excellent meal was served at The Jarna, where we dined this evening.

We sat under blue spotlights this time. They lent an interesting colour to my rice. We both drank Cobra.

Hearts

This morning I stepped straight across Lower Drive into the forest, half clambered, half slid down the steep wooded flanks of Running Hill, and eventually came to the gate through which I had passed to reach the wide gravelled track discovered on 10th of this month. No longer did I have to seek out a path through the undergrowth set with bracken, grasses, and other wild plants.

Often, especially along country roads, when there is building development work being undertaken, you will see a notice warning of ‘heavy plant crossing’. Some of this had cut a swathe through the forest floor as wide as the gravelled roadway it led to. The boggier parts had been made even more treacherous by the deeply pitted lengths of wheel tracks.

Before reaching the gravel there is a crosspaths on this track. (I am ignoring the remonstrations of my computer’s dictionary at this point. If you can have a crossroads I don’t see why you can’t have a crosspaths – would you believe it, the computer has just attempted to control me by splitting up the word?).

I turned right, trusting that I would emerge somewhere near Shave Wood or, better still. Suters Cottage. I soon came to a pedestrian gate which looked promising. I went through it and continued. After a short time the terrain became unfamiliar enough to cause some trepidation. You know, clambering up one leaf and log strewn rocky slope after another, whilst being feasted on by small fat winged beasts, can become a bit dispiriting. Just as I was beginning to feel this I saw the fish beckoning. This creature protruded from half way up a tree trunk. I’m pretty sure it was indicating the correct route with its flipper.

Especially as I came upon an unpleasantly boggy stretch I began to wonder about the wisdom of my finny faith. You can usually tell when a road is about to come into view because there will be a prolonged gap in the trees, where a bit more sunlight is in evidence. So when I did espy what I thought must be the Shave Wood end of Seamans Lane, I was somewhat relieved.

You will be as surprised as I was to learn that I had emerged more than halfway up Running Hill and had only a few more yards to travel. I am quite used to getting to the wrong place by going the wrong way. To get to the right place by going the wrong way is so unusual it is worth printing out this post and framing it.

Our old friend Tony joined us for a salad lunch and evening meal of Jackie’s smoked haddock and cauliflower cheese (recipe). The latter was accompanied by an excellent Prosecco Tony had brought. Although I have always retained a friendship with this man I first met on our Social Work training course in 1969, Jacke had not met him for about forty years. As she prepared to receive him she quipped that if the meal she planned was not ready for consumption she could always use the pigs’ hearts she had in the freezer. I didn’t register the point of the joke until she reminded me that she had given him hearts in shredded form to supplement the minced meat she had cooked for the first dinner she ever gave him 43 years ago. When Tony sat down to his lunch he spoke of that meal. The poor chap had been enjoying his shepherds pie until informed it contained that particular ingredient which he could not tolerate. They each had the event which I had forgotten burned in their memories. The tale of my own never to be forgotten culinary memory involving stuffed hearts was told in my post of 3rd August last year.