hoverfly – Page 2 – derrickjknight

Fading Beauty

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This was a glorious sunny day with the warmth of mid-summer. Bees and butterflies abounded in the garden. It was a good day for wandering around, but that is all we felt inclined to do. We can defer the winter preparation until it feels more like autumn.

This was either a midget bee, or a baby hoverfly flitting among the Japanese anemones.

Here are two views of the Dragon Bed showing bidens, petunia, hydrangea,

and more Japanese anemones.

For Your Eyes Only continues to bloom.

The Oval Path lies alongside the rose garden, leading to Elizabeth’s Bed. Here we have dahlias, hydrangeas, and one of the many fuchsias;

another of which hangs beneath the wisteria.

Here is the Gazebo Path from the south. The new rudbeckias are still waiting for the demise of the nicotiana.

The Weeping Birch Bed looks towards the back drive,

alongside the entrance to which is the New Bed, still full of colour. Sweet peas flower to the left of the arch.

Prompted by https://rakmilphotography.wordpress.com/ I used my 50mm lens for most of these shots.

We are in the presence of fading beauty.

For dinner this evening, Jackie produced smoked haddock, piquant cauliflower cheese, and carrots and runner beans al dente. We finished the Gros Manseng.

What Happened To My Finger?

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A myriad of flying creatures feasted on fennel this morning.

This splendid hoverfly dwarfed its relative just above. Perhaps unusual in the insect world this harmless creature’s scary camouflage serves the purpose of drawing attention in order to instil fear. It has a long, slender, tongue which it inserts into each little yellow ball.

Later, I received this print from Frances. It is from hers and Chris’s wedding album from 1st August 1970 at Windsor. From left to right we have Dad, Auntie Gwen, Joseph, Mum, and Matthew, on my lap. I appear to have an injured finger on my right hand. Although Alan Warren did break that very same digit some years later, I’ve no idea what was wrong at this time.

Giles and Jean came to lunch. Jackie laid on a splendid spread. Starting with her watercress soup with crusty bread, we progressed to pork pie, cold meats, and salads. Cream cakes were to follow, with cheeses and grapes after that. We all drank Stajerska Slovenia dry white wine, 2014. We then spent a very pleasant couple of hours conversing in the garden.

I watched the Team GB v. South Africa semi-final of the Olympics rugby sevens this evening, after which another bowl of soup sufficed for our meal.

Remembering The Bees

We managed a good morning’s work before the rain set in later in the afternoon.

I cut the grass while Jackie clipped more of the Back Drive hedge.

Part of this consisted of a fuchsia which, despite severe autumn haircuts, has really become very unkempt overgrown. Because it was the only reasonable plant in this area when we arrived were were reluctant to remove it. We have still kept a small section, but the main cluster just had to go. Discovering that it could not just be dug out without serious damage to the garden forks, Jackie employed her tried and tested Time Team technique requiring the use of a trowel. I then wielded a woodman’s axe to hack out the roots.

This clematis and these poppies form part of the planting separating the drive from the gravelled patio, in one corner of which

the hydrangea Serrata Miranda, behind and to the right of the planted urn, is thriving.

Between this plot and the Rose Garden, Elizabeth’s Bed is nicely plumped up.

The rose Ballerina dances us into the Rose Garden,

blending nicely with Florence’s petunias.

Summertime ascends the corner of the orange shed,

and the first Deep Secret bloom has survived balling from the rain to flower well enough. Balling is the term given to the soggy balls to which unopened roses are reduced when they are subjected to lengthy precipitation.

The solanum has taken over from the now spent clematis Montana the task of brightening the dead tree stump beside the New Bed.

Wedding Day rose, attracting hoverflies and beetles,

is now preparing to cast its veil over the Agriframes Arch.

Evening primrose blooms on the Back Drive northern bed,

where poppies are buzzing with bees,

which, when they expressed their disgruntlement at my poking a camera up their bums by turning on me and crawling around my head and neck, took me back to my first desperate encounter with the creatures.

In fact the only poppies that don’t harbour these beings are Californian.

This evening we dined on Mr Pink’s fish and chips, pea fritters, pickled onion, and gherkins. Jackie drank Hoegaarden and I drank more of the Carles.

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.

Perseverance Rewarded

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Until 2.30 p.m. when Jackie drove us to Brockenhurst to collect our friend Sheila who is staying with us for a few days, she continued sterling maintenance in the garden while Aaron and Robin continued with the fencing.

The erigeron outside the French windows featured as part of yesterday’s kitchen door shot. Here is a close-up of some of them.

Walking down the back drive to open the gate for our two marvellous garden maintenance men, I admired, on the bordering beds,

snapdragons;

wallflowers and valerian;

and rose Féliticé Perpetué, now draping the dead stumps.

The heucheras in the Rose Garden provide stiff competition for the roses themselves.

Here, the geranium palmatums lead us in,

and aquilegias front Schoolgirl and Golden Showers.

Ballerina dances with honeysuckle alongside the entrance arch.

The rose Hot Chocolate in the front garden is, however, just ahead of that in the back.

Festooning the front trellis are two different depths of pink roses.

Here is a view across the Cryptomeria Bed to Elizabeth’s Bed.

The peach coloured rose photographed yesterday is further open today.

The smallest hoverfly I have ever seen landed on For Your Eyes Only.

I have striven for a long time to capture a bee in flight. Today my perseverance was rewarded.

This evening we all dined on Jackie’s lemon chicken, mashed potatoes, peas, and carrots. Jackie drank Hoegaarden, I drank more of the Fleurie, and Sheila drank water.

Tears And Laughter

Today was mostly dull and wet, although fleeting sunlight did appear occasionally, for instance to brighten limp, tearful, irises on our back drive,

or to reveal this insect I assumed to be a hoverfly drying off in a hedge in the Lyndhurst car park. The yellow/orange may help entomologists to be certain of the identity.

Through the rain, we had made an abortive visit to buy a birthday present to supplement jewellery bought at Christmas, when the shop had been making a big display of the range we sought. They don’t do them any more. We returned home and were cheered up by a welcome visit from Shelly and Ron who, since they were about to go away, brought early birthday presents for Jackie.

In the meantime I scanned another batch of colour slides from the summer of 1980.

In July Jessica still needed to prop Sam’s head up, either with her hand,

or by the more usual across the shoulder method.

A number of portraits were made on 2nd August.

Here is Becky, probably gazing upon her new brother.

Jessica certainly was.

I’m not sure what had grabbed Michael’s attention;

or, indeed, Sam’s –

whatever that was, it was worth a laugh.

This evening’s chicken was marinaded in honey and mustard, and delightful it was too; served with mashed potato, carrots, runner beans and ratatouille. Lemon tart and cream was to follow. Jackie drank Hoegaarden, and I drank more of the Fleurie.

Down The Lane

This morning I wandered through the garden, down Downton Lane and into Roger’s field and back.

The red Japanese maple is now coming into leaf, and we may soon have to refill the Waterboy’s shell.

The clematis Montana, retrained eighteen months ago, now festoons the dead tree;

and different, delicate, tulips are bursting into life.

Dandelions currently claim the lane’s verges,

where, soon, cow parsley will swamp primulas.

On this ivy leaf, I think, is a hoverfly masquerading as a wasp.

I exchanged waves with the friendly farmer as, attracting the usual avian entourage,

he drove up and down fertilising his field, with a backdrop of Christchurch Bay.

The oak trees are producing plumage. In the bottom right of this picture can be seen another amenable gentleman,

one of the staff of Transform Paving, working on the drive of number 23.

After lunch, I rendered token assistance to The Head Gardener in replenishing and redistributing soil, then cut the grass. The bed here demonstrates the soil rejuvenation process. To the left, clog clay soil has been removed and placed where it doesn’t matter much, then replaced by all-purpose compost. That to the right is, as yet, untreated. Anyone with a better knowledge than mine will recognise a self-seeded mimulus from last year in the left-hand section. They obviously do well there. That is why the wheelbarrow contains more of these plants, to be inserted tomorrow.

For the whole time we sat in the rose garden with our pre-dinner Hoegaarden and cabernet sauvignon, a big fat wood pigeon warbled his contribution to our conversation. Or perhaps he was simply calling to his mate.

There was plenty of last night’s menu for us to come back for more this evening.

The Flyer

On another springlike, sunny, morning, beside a pot of primulas, Jackie began work on renovating her recent dump table purchase. This involved glue and screws.

Hoverflies are back in town. Can you spot this one? (Yellow attracts)

This is a view across the eastern end of the Heligan Path towards the Rose Garden.

These hellebores are different from those in the above scene, and blend well with some little star-shaped bulbed plants, that we haven’t identified. (I am grateful for suggestions on this question. See the definitive comment from the biking gardener below)

The kiwi communes with the pheasant by the eucalyptus shadows.

Later in the morning, Paul came over, bringing printing paper, final drafts of the exhibition flyer, support, encouragement, guidance, and assistance with the printing process. Jackie produced an excellent ham and vegetable soup for lunch.

After the break, Paul and I worked well into the afternoon, and he went home with the first sixty copies. I continued after he had left.

Our friend’s superb design has created a two-sided document that can be folded to provide an informative little brochure.

The picture of Jackie picking daffodils finishes up on the front, with the map on the back.

Further information on us and the other exhibitors appears within the folds.

I just do the printing. Margery and Paul do the origami.

This evening we relished dining on Jackie’s choice chilli con carne and mushroom rice, followed by Tesco’s yellow ticket chocolate eclairs. I drank El Sottino, a Spanish red wine Ian brought at Christmas, and Jackie drank sparkling water.

A Virus

I am ailing. I am sneezing, I am coughing. I ache. I shiver.

This morning, I dozed over my laptop. Back in bed this afternoon, I vainly attempted to still the words wandering at will across the pages of Rumer Godden’s (Mr WordPress, Ms Godden may be regarded as a goddess by some, but that is not what I wrote.) ‘China Court’.

At noon I walked out to admire Aaron’s work on refurbishing the Brick Path. He has nearly completed the task.

After this I photographed a hoverfly on a clematis Natacha in the New Bed,

a rose Gloriana, now in bloom,

and Just Joey, now fully opened.

Finally, I imagined I saw an owl in the dead maple. Perhaps I was hallucinating.

This evening Jackie produced delicious pork chops cooked with mustard and almonds; mashed potato; and crisp carrots, green beans and cabbage. I thoroughly enjoyed it, but could only eat a small portion. Cherry crumble and custard was to follow.

The Name Of The Rose

Substituting scissors for secateurs, the Head Gardener began the day by cutting my hair. We settled the dispute about how long ago she last performed this pruning, by referring to our customary aide-memoire – this blog. It was 14th March. There were no pestiferous flies to eradicate.

It seemed only fair for me to cut the grass.

Before that, in the dim light penetrating the complete cloud cover, I photographed three of yesterday’s rose purchases.

Mum in a Million, yet to be planted, is positioned in front of Love Knot, already ascending its obelisk, as does Laura Ford, named after the contemporary sculptor, seen here on Wikipedia which tells us that the artist ‘[grew] up in a travelling fairground family to the age of sixteen and attended Stonar School in Wiltshire. [She studied] at Bath Academy of Art (1978–82), whilst spending a term at the Cooper Union School of Art in New York City. She was invited to take part in the annual New Contemporaries at Institute of Contemporary Arts(1982). Ford has lived and worked in London since 1982 since studying at Chelsea School of Art (1982–83).’ She is photographed working on China Cats, commissioned by Shanghai Sculpture Park in 2012.

On the former compost bed

the gladioli have opened out; the echinaceas have taken on their natural pink hue; and pollinating bees vie for position, plundering the remaining poppies.

By this afternoon blooms had appeared on the roses

Summer Wine, already slaking the thirst of a hoverfly,and Jacqueline du Pré, named after the great cellist.

Wikipedia, featuring this photograph of du Pre with her Davidov Stradivarius of 1712, and her husband Daniel Barenboim, has this to say about her:

‘Jacqueline Mary du Pré, OBE (26 January 1945 – 19 October 1987) was an English cellist. At a young age, she achieved enduring mainstream popularity unusual for a classical performer. Despite her short career, she is regarded as one of the more uniquely talented cellists of the second half of the twentieth century.

Du Pré is most famous for her iconic recording of Elgar‘s Cello Concerto in E Minor, her interpretation of which has been described as “definitive” and “legendary”.^[1]

Her career was cut short by multiple sclerosis, which forced her to stop performing at the age of 28. She battled the illness for many years, which ultimately resulted in an untimely death.’

Everyone of my generation will remember her well.

We completed more planting.

Jackie moved the Mum in a Million, and, in honour of her late, beloved mother, flanked it by two Veronicas. Then came the turn of Hot Chocolate, and Rose Gaujard, known until yesterday as lost label. This bears the name of its mid-twentieth century breeder, Jean Gaujard. It was slightly disappointing to learn that there was no-one called Rose for whom the plant was named.

This evening we dined on Jackie’s sublime cottage pie, enhanced by the inclusion of ground cumin and coriander leaves; peas, cabbage, and carrots; followed by profiteroles. My accompaniment was more of the merlot. Jackie had already finished her Hoegaarden.

Afterwards, I made the mistake of watching the highlights of the first day of the Lords Ashes Test Match in which Australia scored 337 runs for 1 wicket. That’s good news if you are an Aussie.