Tag: Japanese maple

After The Rampage

The overnight heavy winds had created chaos in the garden. I had not had the heart to record it, but by the time the Head Gardener had

recovered her equanimity enough to enjoy a Diet Coke at the patio

table while watering the plants dried out by the gusts, I did focus on some of what she had righted, like the troughs of tulips being irrigated that had been thrown into the bed.

The purple honesty is seen through the arch in the first picture above, while the tulips on the table had been sheltered beneath it. She had tied up the parasol to the right, but it was flattened anyway.

These suffered from damaged petals.

Many hanging baskets, like these containing petunias and geraniums, needed lifting and, in some cases, replenished.

This owl planter came from my Mum’s garden. Yesterday it bore a geranium giving it some height. That has been snapped off at the root.

Fortunately this yellow Japanese maple has remained unscathed.

This evening we dined at The Smugglers Inn at Milford on Sea where I enjoyed Chicken, bacon, and leek pie with well cooked chips and fresh garden peas with which I drank Flacks Double Drop; and Jackie did the same with her thick brisket, stilton, and mushrooms burger and similar chips with Pravha to drink.

On the way home she photographed the sunset.

Blending In

In the interests of culling pictures from iPhoto I reinstated two from

and deleted all those appearing in

and in

This could be counted as partial success.

Then I ruined it by photographing the recently acquired terra cotta

chimney pot Jackie has positioned to blend into an appropriately coloured section of the Pond Bed. As with all chimney pots the Head Gardener has selected a smaller container of soil to stand in the rim of what was a stack on someone’s roof for carrying smoke into the atmosphere. When the current contents are in full bloom red geraniums, some trailing, and a towering verbena bonariensis will blend with surrounding Japanese maple, miniature pieris, and camellias.

We inherited the Japanese maple when we bought the house. A few years ago it attempted to die until resuscitated by Aaron and me.

The pieris was part of the contents of a planted display of flowers given to me by the foster parents group when I ceased consultation with the adoption and fostering agency Parents for Children in 2008. Five years earlier, when I had completed my stint as Chair of the Adoption Panel, I was given

this silver mounted paper weight.

Later, I read more of ‘Britannia’.

This evening we dined on Jackie’s flavoursome liver casserole; creamy mashed potatoes; crunchy carrots; firm Brussels sprouts and cauliflower with which she drank more of the chardonnay and I drank more of the zinfandel.

Last Lingering Leaves

Much of the day was spent on various pressing administrative tasks; however I did have a walk around the garden during the cool, bright, sunny morning, which turned out to be the most conducive to photography as the afternoon became more overcast.

As can be seen by the filled water fountain on which Jattie’s sculpture, attracting a butterfly rests, there had been no overnight frost.

Antirrhinums, penstemon, and ornamental grasses still stand proud;

winter flowering clematis Cirrhosa “Freckles” claims its season;

sunlight pinpricks the Gazebo Path and penetrates the west fence;

lights the leaves of Japanese maples clinging to the trees and lying across the lawn while some in shadow blend with the rusting top of the patio table; and those of the New Zealand flax, speckled laurel, and the last remaining suspended from the copper beech.

This evening we all dined on Red Chilli’s excellent takeaway fare with which Jackie finished the Pinot Grigio and I drank more of La P’tite Pierre.

Dead Heading, Weeding, Garden Views

In order to provide detail of the ending of this short story, following requests from several readers, this morning I posted https://derrickjknight.com/2023/05/01/droll-tales-29-complete-text/

Today’s sunrise was bright – for a while.

The day progressed in a changeable manner – overcast until rain put a stop to my sporadic weeding and dead-heading; heavy rain;

sunny spells, enabling me to inspect the views with my camera – then more of the same varieties.

All these pictures bear titles in the gallery. The first is Flo’s Fairy Garden in progress; others include wallflowers, bluebells, Welsh poppies, magnolia Vulcan, Jackie’s recent planting of the iron urn, budding rhododendrons, Japanese Maple, tellima grandiflora, cammasia, and various beds.

This evening we all dined on baked gammon; roasted potatoes, including kumara, carrots, and runner beans, with which Jackie drank Hoegaarden and I drank Cumulus Climbing Shiraz 2018.

“Where’s Elizabeth?” (1)

This was a day of intermittent steady rain and occasional sunshine.

Jackie began, in the rain, by photographing her new planting in the Pond Bed. She plans to do this periodically to record its development.

Shortly before lunchtime, Elizabeth arrived with her gardening kit, brought the sun with her, and set about

weeding the Head Gardener’s Walk.

There were plenty of plants, like these sweet woodruffs, spilling over for her to transplant to her own garden.

In the first London Marathon of the modern era, this photograph by Mark Shearman shows the winners crossing the line hand in hand. Inevitably, fierce competition for kudos and for prizes has superseded this sporting gesture which Jackie and I were to emulate in our contest over reaching

the Ace Reclaim Bench in our weeding of the Shady Path.

Fork and trowel met to share the final removal. Jackie produced this selfie from beside the bench, which I photographed from beside the nearest

rhododendron in the Palm Bed opposite.

Serious rain set in after lunch, so my sister donned her hooded raincoat and continued her task. The third picture, “Where’s Elizabeth?” (1), contains the scented clematis Montana Mayleen making its way up the lopped cypress.

During a later sunshine break I was able to photograph Elizabeth’s work on both the Head Gardener’s Walk

and the Heligan Path. She gathered up her piles before departing.

Meanwhile Jackie photographed raindrops on

the rhododendron on the corner of the Lawn;

the red Japanese maple;

the grey Cinereria Angel’s Wings;

Pheasant’s Eye narcissi;

and aquilegia buds.

This evening we repeated yesterday’s dinner menu with roast parsnips replacing the green beans. Jackie drank Hoegaarden and I drank more of the Recital.

“I Can’t Get Up”

Between us we spent much of the day on garden maintenance. Not only did Jackie continue

her work on redesigning the Pond Bed planting, composting, weeding, and tidying,

but she has begun filling containers with petunias in the chimney pot; pansies in the iron urn, in a basket yet to become hanging, and, with geraniums in this stone urn.

I carried on with my weeding of gravel, clearing Florence’s feet,

and a mass under the Japanese maple beside the decking.

The aluminium garden chair has become an essential part of my weeding kit -in, as it turned out, more ways than one. I now use it on which to sit and ease the stress on my knees. It only hurts when I need to get up and shift it for the next row. I left it out of the way when working under the maple while I perched on the edge of the low wooden platform. When I had finished I had to call Jackie from the other end of the garden. I could see her looking for me as she made her way along the Gazebo Path. She wasn’t expecting me to be where I was. I called again and confessed “I can’t get up”.

Mrs Knight made a valiant, but vain attempt to heave me to my feet. I really needed something from which to support my efforts. Then I spotted the chair. Jackie placed it at a suitable distance with its back to me. She sat on it to hold it firm. Gripping with both hands, I forced my screeching knees to the perpendicular.

As I typed the last sentence on my draft, Elizabeth turned up with her gardening gloves. Neither Jackie nor I was capable of doing any more, but I took my sister into the garden to set her to work. No sooner had she fully prepared herself than rain set in for the rest of the day.

So she had a cup of tea and stayed for dinner.

This fusion meal consisted of Jackie’s flavoursome savoury rice topped with an omelette; spicy beef and black beans, and Singapore noodles from Mr Chan; a rack of pork spare ribs marinaded in barbecue sauce from Lidl; and tempura prawns from Tesco with sweet chilli sauce. Jackie drank Hoegaarden, I drank more of the Malbec from a new bottle, and my sister abstained.

The Garden As April Begins

On a warm day with sunny intervals it was time to record the garden as it comes alive.

The Brick Path and the Back Drive borders each hold some of the plants I am about to show, like the euphorbia fronting one of the dead stumps on the Back Drive.

We have many tulips in pots and in the beds.

Varieties of daffodils proliferate.

Camellias have been blooming since last November, and are now accompanied by magnolia Vulcan.

Hellebores hang about everywhere.

Japanese maples are coming into leaf.

Spring snowflakes are spreading nicely; forget-me-nots; primroses; pulmonaria; white fritillary; epimedium, wood anemones; cowslips; chionodoxa; and mahonia are further delights.

Unfortunately, on my rounds I found the body of the ailing dove, which had suffered no further damage.

This evening we dined on Jackie’s delicious chicken and vegetable stewp and fresh crusty bread, with which she drank Hoegaarden and I drank more of the Red Blend.

On The Brink Of December

On a bright and sunny morning I wandered round the garden in my shirtsleeves.

Individual titles of these views can be found when accessing the gallery with a click on any image. The last two pictures show a Japanese maple before and after it had been pruned by Aaron and his A.P. Maintenance team who also

tidied up some of the beds.

Even a sleepy bee on a cobea scandens didn’t seem to realise that we are on the brink of December.

‘So enchanting was the vision of a stateless society, without government, without law, without ownership of property, in which, corrupt institutions having been swept away, man would be free to be good as God intended him, that six heads of state were assassinated for its sake in the twenty years before 1914. They were President Carnot of France in 1894, President Canovas of Spain in 1897, Empress Elizabeth of Austria in 1898, King Humbert of Italy in 1900, President McKinley of the United States in 1901, and another Premier of Spain, Canalejas, in 1912. Not one could qualify as a tyrant. Their deaths were the gestures of desperate or deluded men to call attention to the Anarchist idea.’ So begins the second chapter of my Folio Society edition of Barbara W. Tuchman’s ‘The Proud Tower’, namely The Idea and the Deed – The Anarchists: 1890-1914′.

This chapter deals with the Anarchism that swept Europe during this period leading to WWI – the theory of the intellectuals and the actions of those prepared to carry out ‘The Deed’ with which it was hoped the populace would be terrified into changing the orders of society. As always in such events, more ordinary people were killed than those for whom bombs or bullets were intended. Interestingly, it seems that Germany, who used the terror tactics espoused by their military theorists to suppress the Belgian people in August 1914, was the major European country least affected by the Anarchists.

Tuchman’s descriptions of the avowed terrorism bears alarming similarity to that technique practiced today. Unfortunately modern bombs are far more destructive than those that were available more than a century ago. Perpetrators are prepared now, as they were then, to sacrifice their own lives for their espoused cause.

The fluid writing in this work is far more literary than that permitted by the requirements of ‘The Guns of August’.

This evening we dined on Jackie’s succulent shepherd’s pie; a leak and pork sausage; roast potatoes; moist ratatouille; and firm cauliflower, carrots and Brussels sprouts with which she drank Hoegaarden and I drank more of the Coonawarra.

Is It Really Autumn?

We began early this morning watering, dead heading, clearing debris and adding to the compost bins before attending Milford on Sea GP Surgery for flu jab appointments. A large number of patients were vaccinated smoothly at one minute intervals. We queued 2 metres apart for no time at all and were directed to our colour-coded injection chamber. All was extremely efficient except for the jam of jabbed individuals swapping details of their experience and other age-related ailments causing something of a bottle-neck at the rear exit. This was a bit of a slalom with no opportunity for the correct social distancing; however, everyone wore masks, and we were back in the car after five minutes, giving us time for a brief drive in our rather Saturday-crowded environment.

Seasonal confusion was first evidenced in our own garden with windburn to Japanese maples and Summer Wine pouring down the entrance arch to the Rose Garden. More was displayed in

Sandy Down with pink roses,

rhododendrons,

and cyclamen lining the verges; and

the leaves of a silver birch beginning to display the Midas touch.

This afternoon after some more chopping and composting of refuse I wandered around the garden with my camera.

Dahlias and begonias, some sharing beds, are in no doubt that it is their season.

Nasturtiums, gauras, and diascias are still going strong.

Small White butterflies and hard working bees are not conceding that their time is over.

Clematises, like this lost label purple one and Dr Ruppel, sharing the Gothic arch with red Super Elfin and pale pink Penny Lane roses, linger on,

as does a rather ragged Shropshire Lad, swaying in the Rose Garden to

a white symphony of begonias, nicotiana sylvestris, and Hawkshead fuchsias.

The eucalyptus still suspends filled hanging baskets flanked by pelargoniums and rudbeckias. Is it really autumn?

This evening we dined on poached smoked haddock; Jackie’s piquant cauliflower cheese; creamy mashed potatoes; firm carrots; and tender runner beans, with which we both drank Awatere Valley Sauvignon Blanc 2019 – a crisp, aromatic, white wine from New Zealand.

Moyles Court

The wind lessened today, so we made a start on recovery.

There is nothing to be done about windburn such as this on the red Japanese maple, but

we did carry out an extensive hard prune in the Rose Garden where Mamma Mia and Absolutely fabulous prevail.

Bees were confined to their hives yesterday and made up for lost time today. Here they may be seen in Absolutely Fabulous, in bidens, in Laura Ford, in pelargoniums and in erigeron.

Another heavy storm is forecast in two days time, so we saw no point in much more tidying this afternoon and went for a drive instead.

We turned off Salisbury Road into

Ivy Lane, at the end of which lies Ibsley, and

‘Moyles Court School [which] is an independent day and boarding school for pupils from 3 – 16 years old.[5] Moyles Court was the former manor house of Rockford, and later for Ellingham as well. The 17th century manor house was once the home of Dame Alice Lisle, the last lady to be publicly beheaded in England following a judicial trial.[6] In 1940 the building was requisitioned by the RAF, who stationed the headquarters for the Ibsley Airfield there for six years.[7]‘ (Wikipedia) This was the base for both RAF and USAAF.

This afternoon the verges outside the school were lined with reconditioned army vehicles, enthusiasts of reenactment, and members of https://www.mvt.org.uk – Military Vehicle Trust.

There are good number of WW2 airfields and military sites in the New Forest. A member of the convoy explained that they were touring these locations. In the process they attracted photographers and visitors, including children, who were most intrigued.

Another attraction was the regular ice cream van. Take a boy to the forest and he will come home with a stick.

During the holiday season the forded stream always encourages a gathering, members of whom will often rig up a makeshift swing.

This evening we dined on baked gammon; boiled new potatoes and crunchy carrots; piquant cauliflower cheese; and tender cabbage, with which Jackie drank Becks and I drank more of the Saint-Chinian.