Tag: paths

Cheers Laurie And Clif

My contribution to Jackie’s general garden maintenance this morning was

making a start on weeding the gravelled Gazebo path. I will need to consult with the Head Gardener about these forget-me-nots spilling under the iron wheels.

Brick Paths will need to wait their turn;

I am not looking forward to the Back Drive which I may resort to spraying with something unpleasant – the gravel, not the borders.

In the front garden the crab apple blossom is chasing the last of the remaining cherry flowers.

Accompanied by the magnolia Vulcan, several camellias continue to bloom,

as do numerous tulips.

Daffodils and honesty are keeping pace.

Bluebells are becoming prolific.

The rescued red maple in the Pond Bed is again brightening the views.

After lunch, Jackie cut my hair.

While we enjoyed our pre-dinner drinks on the patio, Jackie photographed a pair of rooks on the copper beech, wondering whether Russell had found a mate; the now lonely preening collared dove who has lost hers to a predator; and the starling bringing food to his family in the eaves.

We then toasted Laurie and Clif, our blogging friends in Maine.

Jackie’s drink was Hoegaarden, mine more of the Malbec, continued with our dinner of fried chicken, mushrooms, onions and potatoes, served with boiled carrots, cabbage, runner beans, and tasty gravy.

Sunny Periods

As the early morning sunshine made way for the later gloom I assisted the Head Gardener in some tidying of the garden whilst also

recording the current state of affairs. Along with various views I photographed dahlias, fuchsias, clematises, roses, nicotiana, leaves of Weeping Birch and Virginia creeper, asters, a bee, and begonias. Clicking on any image will access the gallery which provides individual titles and aids enlargement.

Later this afternoon because we were promised sunny periods we went in search of some, finding one bestowing its charms on Ibsley where

an assortment of pigs frenziedly competing for mast rocketed along the leaf-dappled verges and to and fro across the roads grunting, snuffling, occasionally squealing in isolated panic and frantically dashing about, perplexing the be-rugged field horses and amusing visiting drivers.

The forded stream is now reasonably full,

and the surrounding landscapes rich in autumn colour.

A solitary pony at Appleslade sported.a caramel coat.

This evening we dined on succulent roast chicken; crisp Yorkshire pudding and roast potatoes, the sweeter variety being softer centred; herby sage and onion stuffing; tender cabbage and firm Brussels sprouts, with which Jackie drank Hoegaarden and I drank more of the Médoc.

Still Going Strong

This morning I cut the grass and produced a few photographs.

Individual titles appear on the galleries.

This afternoon I almost finished reading Point Counter Point by Aldous Huxley which I will feature tomorrow.

Tonight’s dinner consisted of sag bhaji and mild prawn curry starter from Forest Tandoori followed by the main event in the form of Jackie’s spicy lamb jalfrezi and aromatic pilau rice, with which she drank Hoegaarden and I finished the Shiraz.

Claiming The Perch

Although it had heated up by midday, the earlier part of the morning was cooler.

We finished the work on the wisteria;

Jackie continued with other shrubs and roses, such as those festooning the gazebo. Behind the third and fourth steps of the ladder in the third image here can be seen

the colchicums which continue to spread.

Piles for clearance could be found anywhere. In this picture we have the rose ‘cap’ from the top of the now bareheaded gazebo.

The third compost bin is pretty full,

and we only have two more empty refuse bags.

It didn’t take a wood pigeon long to claim the now available perch atop the gazebo.

This evening we dined on roast chicken and parsnips; sage and onion stuffing; boiled new potatoes; crunchy carrots and cauliflower; tender runner beans; and tasty gravy, with which Jackie drank Hoegaarden and I drank more of the Douro.

A Sensitive Repair

Jackie and her sisters enjoyed a coven meeting at The Bat & Ball on Salisbury Road, Braemore. As an unfortunate update to this history that still adorns the pub wall Jackie tells me that new owners have replaced the historic sign mentioned in this text with simply the title in a fairly plain font. I transported some of the Head Gardener’s clippings to the compost bin, cut back a bramble on the back drive, and pruned a poplar that had suffered severe wind damage.

I chopped up the tree branches with which I filled two more bags and added them to the pile.

Mum in a Million and other roses continue to bloom in the Rose Garden.

Various paths are looking a little tidier.

The Patio Bed remains cheerful;

fuchsia Delta’s Sarah in the Pond Bed, having spent the heatwave shrivelling, has revived well from the following rains;

kniphofias in the Cryptomeria Bed continue to multiply;

and potted plants line up outside the Head Gardener’s shed.

In honour of Sir Alastair Cook, former England captain and one of our greatest batsmen, Jackie photographed this cartoon displayed in the sisters’ lunch venue.

Across the road a house, featured in https://derrickjknight.com/2018/12/12/thats-what-i-call-home-delivery/ had been severely damaged by a lorry that had wound up in its walls. Jackie was able to photograph the

very sensitive repair. The green tarpaulin covers the site of a bus shelter that has not yet been replaced.

A next door neighbour has also benefited from a beautiful crown.

This evening we dined on a second sitting of Hordle Chinese Take Away’s fine fare, with which Jackie drank Hoegaarden and I drank more of the Malbec.

Resisting The Elements

Knowing that we were to expect another leaden afternoon of rain Jackie spent a couple of hours in the garden setting gale damage to rights. I joined her and transported some refuse to the compost while chronicling the event. This was before we visited Mum in Woodpeckers.

Our mother, sporting another of her best outfits was on good form. She got the joke when, after the carer came to warn us that we had another four minutes, I said that would be enough for her to run a mile. This puzzled the carer, so I added “like Roger Bannister”. She was still puzzled but laughed anyway. Of course, the first four minute miler was Derek Ibbotson, but I wasn’t sure Mum would know that.

After lunch I set about drafting the garden report.

Although I focussed on some of damage, like this pot and its contents blown of its brick plinth,

there were plenty of undamaged plants like these two varieties of dahlia.

Although a few gladioli had succumbed, others had stood firm.

Lilies, including the ginger variety in the second of these images, have survived.

The Brick Path won’t even need sweeping.

I picked up a fallen owl and replaced it on its perch beside another toppled pot.

The owl above was perched at one end of the Pond Bed, the rest of which was undamaged.

The Rose Garden didn’t fare quite so well.

Here Jackie indicates the damage to the top of one of the twin planters, which also lost its pot of petunias. The other stand was not damaged but its blooms were battered a bit.

The sweet peas were dragged down and the blooms shredded; some rose stems were bent over, so Jackie decided to give them their autumn hair-cut. Mamma Mia in the second picture here is quite intact.

Here is one of the trugloads I emptied.

The gauras and some clematis clung to life;

although one obelisk slipped a bit. Many pelargoniums remained reasonably intact.

Some views like these of the lawn bed, from the Dragon Bed towards Mistletoe Cottage;

and down the Gazebo Path are unimpaired.

This pot slipped off its plinth in the front garden, but its pelargoniums,

like other plants, such as Japanese anemones were unbroken.

Once again our garden has largely resisted the elements.

I have struggled with an intermittent internet connection throughout the drafting of this post, and we are on our way to our first lockdown-easing meal at Lal Quilla. If I find we have no internet when we return I may descend into a rant, so the restaurant meal will feature tomorrow.

Damage Report

As I sit drafting this post bright sun shines, speeding clouds scud; wild wind howls along Christchurch Road sweeping through the garden, rustling the kitchen door curtain and setting tinkling charms jingling.

We are now into our third consecutive day/night of fierce breezes. Tentatively I ventured out to survey the damage and was able to report to the Head Gardener that she was in for a pleasant surprise.

Even the patio chairs had stayed upright, while its planting, and that of the Pond Bed, remained intact. Bigifying the third picture in this gallery will show that the whirling ladybird with the white wings enjoys full gyration whereas her red-winged sister has been somewhat restrained by an amorous verbena bonariensis.

Other views of the Pond Bed are equally encouraging. Dahlias remain strong and a solitary bee was attracted by the hibiscus;

Japanese anemones feature there and elsewhere. The Brick Path in the second picture here needs no current sweeping, although that is not a task we will undertake until the wind drops.

A few trugs have been blown about, although this bright green one remained static whilst being photographed from two separate angles. The first of these two pictures shows an empty brick plinth with the pot that should stand on it having been blown down. The container is a bit chipped and the planting spoiled, but it will no doubt recover.

Of the very few other broken plants we have this pretty, elegant, gladiolus, and the unfortunate Mum in a Million.

The tall red climbing rose in the Oval Bed has bowed enough for me to photograph it head on;

The yellow crocosmia has also dropped a little, but remains intact.

Rose Alan Titchmarsh has drooped a little and a stem of Super Elfin has come adrift from the Gothic arch where

a somewhat aged Doctor Ruppel remains in place.

The weeping birch, the copper beech, and the cordyline Australis, although swaying somewhat, are not shedding too many twigs.

White begonias shaded by the wisteria, and similarly hued petunias in the rose garden still have all their petals.

This final triptych shows the Oval Bed pictured earlier from the corner of Margery’s Bed; nicotiana sylvestris towering over the rest of the Dead End Path planting; and a small owl toppled beside the Shady Path.

All in all we are getting off surprisingly lightly.

This evening we dined on baked gammon; crisp roast potatoes, the sweet variety being soft-centred; piquant cauliflower cheese; crunchy carrots; and tender cabbage, with which Jackie drank Hoegaarden and I drank Saint-Chinian 2017.

Like Joyce’s Wet Bed

Early this sultry morning, before setting off to meet her sisters for lunch, Jackie carried out necessary garden irrigation which I continued after enjoying the lunch she had left prepared for me. After giving pots a fresh-water- and myself a sudorific-drenching I proceeded to a little dead heading that I had failed to ignore.

Aaron, working at Mistletoe Cottage, dropped in for a chat.

Later, my clammy shirt now cold, like James Joyce’s wet bed sheet (“When you wet the bed first it is warm then it gets cold.” – ‘A Portrait of The Artist as a Young Man” ),

I wandered around with my camera.

The random photographic results are all labelled in the gallery that can be accessed by clicking on any image each of which may be enlarged in the usual manner.

This evening we completed the watering and I cut off a few more heads before dining on spicy pepperoni pizza and plentiful fresh salad with which Jackie drank Hoegaarden and I drank more of the Carles.

Love In The Time Of Cholera

During a heavily overcast yet warm morning I took a walk around the garden with my camera.

At the front of the house I photographed just one example of our fuchsia Delta’s Sarah and pink pelargoniums; a severally-hued hydrangea alongside white marguerites with yellow buttery centres; and the first of three rich red lily plants to bloom.

Another Delta’s Sarah is found among pink sweet peas and verbena bonariensis in the Weeping Birch Bed

which can be approached via stepping stones across the Cryptomeria Bed which is named from

the tree seen behind the standing lamp to the right of top centre in this picture of the Gazebo Path.

The white rose, Winchester Cathedral, and the peachy Lady Emma Hamilton are enjoying further flushes in the Rose Garden.

The blue and white petunias in the Ali Baba planter are beginning their descent which will have them cascading like those in this container accompanied by sweet peas, hot lips, and lobelias.

Just before mid-day we drove through a busy Highcliffe intending to brunch at The Beach House café on Friars Cliff. Both the car park and the beach were so crowded that we turned back and lunched at home.

I spent the afternoon finishing reading ‘Love in the time of Cholera’ by Colombian Nobel prizewinner Gabriel Garcia Marquez. This is the entry from brittania.com written by Roberto Gonzalez Echevarria:

Gabriel García Márquez, (born March 6, 1927, Aracataca, Colombia—died April 17, 2014, Mexico City, Mexico), Colombian novelist and one of the greatest writers of the 20th century, who was awarded the Nobel Prize for Literature in 1982, mostly for his masterpiece Cien años de soledad (1967; One Hundred Years of Solitude). He was the fourth Latin American to be so honoured, having been preceded by Chilean poets Gabriela Mistral in 1945 and Pablo Neruda in 1971 and by Guatemalan novelist Miguel Ángel Asturias in 1967. With Jorge Luis Borges, García Márquez is the best-known Latin American writer in history. In addition to his masterly approach to the novel, he was a superb crafter of short stories and an accomplished journalist. In both his shorter and longer fictions, García Márquez achieved the rare feat of being accessible to the common reader while satisfying the most demanding of sophisticated critics.

It must be 30 years since I first read this marvellous novel, and now, I hope, have done so with far greater understanding.

I do not know Spanish, but I am quite certain that Edith Grossman’s translation has contributed greatly to the fluidity of Jonathan Cape’s 1988 edition. The author is clearly a master of the long, eloquent, sentence and it must have taken great skill to convey this.

The book is filled with wisdom, insight, and humour, penned in flowing, natural language. Its theme is a lifetime of loves described in emotional and physical detail with all the accompanying passion, anxiety, intrigue, anguish, guilt, jealousies – you name the feelings – they are there.

What, wondered this reader in the midst of the 2020 pandemic, has cholera to do with the story, which is well told? After all the disease barely merits a mention until the penny drops; I will refrain from telling you when.

This evening we dined on oven fish and chips, peas, gherkins, and pickled onions, with which Jackie drank Hoegaarden and I finished the Fleurie.

Ella And The Ladybirds

Strong winds howled throughout the night, and did not abate until midday – then only temporarily. A warm sun put in intermittent appearances.

Among Aaron’s tasks was weeding the Back Drive.

“Where’s Aaron?” (10). Bigification might help with this one.

Here are the results of my garden photoshoot. “Where’s Jackie?” (4) is the picture containing the greenhouse. As usual individual photographs are titled in the galleries. Each image may be viewed full size by clicking the box beneath it, after which further enlargement is possible.

During a break I joined the real gardeners who were discussing developments.

Danni, Andy, and Ella paid us a welcome visit this afternoon.

Our great-niece, when noticing that she was being photographed in the act of demonstrating her prowess with a knife and fork, swiftly adopted her scrunched up poser’s smile. Soon afterwards, well nappy-bolstered, she sat comfortably on a bed of gravel and played passing the ornamental crystal with her Dad. When she decided it was time to step down she clung to Andy for balance. Having sought out the ladybird she had discovered on her last visit, she retrieved both it and its companion and, one in each hand, carried them around. She is seen here kissing one before climbing onto a bench, without releasing either, and conversing with them – possibly inviting them for a ride on the buggy improvised from a garden hose.

This evening we dined on oven fish and chips, purchased before we knew Mrs Pink’s was open again, spicy prawns, pickled onions and gherkins, with which Jackie drank Hoegaarden and I drank more of the Colle Marrone.