weeping birch – Page 5 – derrickjknight

One For Mary Tang

AS ALWAYS, CLICKING ON AN IMAGE, REPEATED IF NECESSARY, WILL ENLARGE IT

The kitchen door was open this morning as I wandered into it. Such was the heady blend of sweet scents that pervaded the room, that I looked around for the bouquets of blooms I felt sure The Head Gardener must have gathered. There were none. The aroma emanated from the garden itself on this much warmer day. This became apparent as I investigated.

Testament to Jackie’s occasional breaks, gardening magazines like this one on the Heligan Path bench, are likely to be found in sunshine or shade, depending on her needs at the time. In the right foreground of this picture, on a dry brick plinth stands one of the recently purchased half-dozen stone urns, planted with geraniums, petunias, and, yet to burst forth, begonias. Heucheras, hellebores honesty and hebes fill the near beds, whilst in the background the palm which gives its name to the recently refurbished plot, is budding, which it didn’t do last year. An ornamental grass bends at the feet of the weeping birch, now sporting catkins. There will probably be no more long shots of the garden that do not contain an owl.

Later, with the bench in shade, I shifted my viewpoint in order to show the scene through what will soon be a cascade of clematis Montana seen, already covering the other side of the dead tree at top right, that will cover the plank of wood used to form the arch. Jackie enjoys a rest.

This evening we attended a quiz night at Helen and Bill’s church hall in aid of CAFOD. Everyone had brought contribution of finger food and there was a bar where beer, wines, and soft drinks were available, and variously consumed by the assembled company.

Peter Thomas, a very skilled magician, offering his services free of charge, stepped in at the last minute to manage the quiz, and to entertain us with some marvellous tricks.

Our family members made up two tables; one team consisting of Bill, David and Jen, John, and Rachel; the other of Becky and Ian, Shelly and Ron, and Jackie and me. The first of these groups came second overall, and we won. The winners were each given a certificate to prove it.

This post is for Mary Tang, who likes the panoramic views.

More Possible Prints

This morning I placed an order with a local printer for the A2 copy of Jackie picking daffodils two mornings after our arrival in Downton on 1st April 2014. Rather fittingly, Paul has selected it to be the largest picture on display.

I then continued bombarding him with e-mailed suggestions for further, smaller, prints.

This frozen pond from 19th January this year could fit the bill for a semi-abstract A3.

A number of roses include this Apricot Abundance from 6th June 2014;

Festive Jewel,

and Summer Wine pictured on 19th October 2015;

Absolutely Fabulous the next day,

and For Your Eyes Only and another Summer Wine on 1st November.

Further blooms include a rhododendron from 21st May 2014;

camellias from 18th

and 30th March 2014;

and myrtle embracing a shy little pink rosebud on 16th July that same year.

This being the final day of The Six Nations rugby tournament, I spent the afternoon and early evening watching the games between Wales and Italy, and Ireland and Scotland.

After this, the marinade of yesterday’s baked ham nicely matured the juices for a second sitting today. This was served with ratatouille, mashed potato, and Brussels sprouts. I drank more of the Costieres de Nimes, whilst Jackie abstained.

I am now about to watch the grand finale, between England and France.

A Bead Curtain

Mike of ‘Perfect Plastering’, lived up to his company name as he completed the fitting of our new bath and tiling today. He has done an excellent job.

Jackie spent much of the day on one of her sororal lunches, whilst I had a brief visit from our friend Alison.

‘Walking In The Sea’, is, in my view, B. J. Haynes’s best novel to date. I was unable to put down my copy, and read this little book in two sittings. One reason, undoubtedly, was because it is quite short. The most compelling one, however, is that I wanted the mystery to unravel. I won’t spoil the story with details, but will simply say that the clear, spare, prose races along; that the dialogue is convincing; and that Barrie’s quirky humour strikes just the right balance.

The cover design is by the author’s granddaughter, Amber Cooke.

When I attempted to put this review on Amazon Books UK, I was prevented from doing so without buying a copy. Barrie’s generosity is such that I don’t need to purchase one. So here is what I would have posted on there.

Not to be outdone by those on yesterday’s Japanese maple, the raindrops sliding down the slender, pendulous, threads of our weeping birch have provided a bead curtain separating that tree’s bed from the South End of the garden.

This evening we dined on Jackie’s perky paprika pork and special fried rice.

Before And After: The Heligan Path

On our third morning in Downton, as, in order to pick spring flowers, Jackie walked through the undergrowth onto what is now the Weeping Birch Bed, little did we know that a few inches to her right we would find the remnants of a very old path. In the distance, above her head, can be seen the collapsed wooden arch that we replaced with a metal one.

This is the subject of today’s before and after section, which I began after pasting a few more prints into the album.

Can you see the path? On 21st May 2014, the tree peony was growing on the edge of it.

By the end of the day the serpentine track was beginning to emerge.

Further progress was made on 22nd. Note the mosquito-breeding sunken wheelbarrow pond that has been removed by 20th October 2015.

At one time this path contained gravel. By 25th, Jackie was painstakingly riddling a little out of the soil, and we bought bags more to top it up.

It was in a fit condition for Sheila to be guided along it on 9th August,

and quite established by 20th October 2015.

This afternoon I watched the televised semi-final of the Rugby World Cup between New Zealand and South Africa.

This evening we dined on smoked haddock, with Jackie’s superb piquant cauliflower cheese (recipe), carrots, cabbage, mange touts, and mashed potato and swede; followed by deep apple pie with just the right amount of cinnamon and cloves, and custard. I drank Doom Bar and The Cook drank Hoegaarden.

Automata

As the morning sunlight gradually scaled the beech tree to the left, it exposed the changing nature of the weeping birch, the leaves of which are beginning to blend with the gravel of the Heligan Path.

Aaron and Robin completed work on the decking, which included Aaron’s own idea of the steps, made from offcuts of the planks. The intention is to train plants around the trellis.

It was a day for recycling. Jackie and I built a temporary cold frame for the winter, from offcuts of Elizabeth’s conservatory roofing, concrete slabs, and old bricks.

Automata are mechanical figures designed to move in certain ways when set off at the turn of a handle. As an art form these date from very early times, and are, at least in The First Gallery at Bitterne, near Southampton, enjoying a resurgence of interest. Our friends Margery and Paul Clarke, the proprietors, have long featured such works in their exhibitions, and have just finished one devoted entirely to these intriguing and entertaining constructions. At the close of this event they gave a party to celebrate this and their 40th year of exhibiting. Naturally we attended.

The gallery in their home was filled with fascinating pieces, all hand-made with marvellous moving parts. Examples are:

Horse Box with Bird,

A Friendly Gesture,

Love Boat,

these three as labelled,

A Cheap Automata Shop,

A Wave Machine,

this group of four,

Three Fishes and Bird,

this one the name of which escapes me,

another being tried out,

these tiny miniatures in their glass case,

and Helluva Guy,

whose creator also made the hanging wooden puppet.

Margery had made a few figures of her own, notably:

Clown,

and Aggie, the very very wicked witch.

Other works included:

Cat and Dog,

Cat by Moonlight,

and Seal Box with Fish.

It was a warm enough day for a number of guests to sit outside,

until all were called in to drink a toast, listen to Margery’s short welcome speech,

and see her cake candle lit.

She then cut the cake which was distributed to follow the excellent soup, numerous canapés and other treats, and various desserts.

After this we visited Mum shortly before her temporary carer arrived to help her cook her dinner. Mum is having a difficult time with her arthritis at the moment and, for the time being, has a carer visiting at mealtimes.

We then went on to Elizabeth’s and spent some time with her before returning home where the contents of the doggie bag given to us last night by the waitress at The Royal China were just the job for our evening meal. I had consumed a glass or two of wine earlier, so was in no need of accompaniment. Jackie drank a Hoegaarden.

A Nation Uncomfortable With Being Ahead

Today, just as humid, was slightly cooler and breezier, which was just as well, because we made a start on clearing the Head Gardener’s work area to make room for the shed to be delivered in two days time.

First, Jackie needed to plant the rest of her prolific purchases, so I took a walk along to the paddock in Hordle Lane and back.

The deep ditches were now bone dry.

The horses in the paddock, protected by their fly masks, had, early in the morning, no need to shelter under the oak. Watch the one on the left,

now again summoning the customary energy to investigate my presence,

then to be first in the queue for the water trough.

Clematis Mrs N Thompson (not to confused with my daughter, Mrs E Thompson), now mingles with pink roses on the front garden trellis.

Jackie has added this strident perennial coreopsis to the rose garden.

A far more subdued aruncus bows respectfully

alongside the weeping birch,

from where I was able to snap a crow on the far side of Christchurch Road.

These views, one from Fiveways, and two of patio corners, display less recent planting.

This afternoon, on TV, I watched another Brit narrowly miss going through to the fourth round at Wimbledon. This time James Ward lost a five set match to Vasek Pospisil. You have to understand we are a nation not comfortable with being ahead in sport – unless it is cricket against the Australians.

This evening we dined at Lal Quilla. My choice of meal was chicken Jaljala with a plain naan; Jackie’s was prawn Sally with the perfect accompaniment of a delicate lemon rice. We shared an onion bhaji, and both drank Kingfisher. Everything was as good as usual.

Could You Have Done That If You’d Tried?

Last night Andy drove us home from Spice of India in Danni’s car. We were some time getting under way. Perched on the front passenger seat, I was unable to fit the seat belt. Now, this is a fairly automatic task which doesn’t normally require too much attention. Stretching out the belt with my left hand, I passed it to my right, and groped for the receiving slot. The slot was unreceptive. Thinking my aim must be awry, I had several stabs at it. To no avail. In the gloom of the car park, I peered at the stubborn fixture. There seemed to be a coin therein. A search for a nail-file ensued. One was produced from a handbag in the back. Andy prised out the offending item, which revealed itself to be a button. It seemed, as was subsequently confirmed, likely to be one from my back trouser pocket. Andy dropped it on the floor. We didn’t find it. Could you have done that if you’d tried?

Today’s gale force wind was even stronger than yesterday. The North West of our garden seems to suffer the most.

As I wandered around today I noticed an untied rose stem hanging down from its arch, one of the struts of which had been blown loose. I refixed the the arch and tied the rose back up. The buds on that particular section had remained intact, but others had been torn off. One rested on the Ace Reclaim bench; another hung by its neck.

Nearby, an as yet unidentified clematis clings to the helping hands of a fir tree, and the magnolia Vulcan risks blooming. Clouds, too, were sent scudding across the sunlit sky, giving us alternating light and shade, which meant for shadows to appear and reappear, never in the same place. This can be seen in the two bench seat shots. In the first, foliage had been blown into position, not to return for the second.

The weeping birch was not permitted to droop its flimsy filigreed branches for long before they were tossed aloft.

Flames of a yellow Japanese maple flickered like those of the red one pictured yesterday.

A solitary, hungry, bumblebee, struggled to gain purchase on a cluster of heucheras. It had about as much success as I did in keeping it in focus.

We have what I consider to be an invasion of cow parsley, which also bent its back in the face of the violent gusts. I am all for pulling it up before it drops its seeds, but, unfortunately, the head gardener has overruled me, and I am no Alan Titchmarsh. Jessica, too, had found these plants attractive. She collected seeds from the wayside around Newark and scattered them in the orchard, where they rapidly germinated, flourished joyfully, and spilled their seed in turn. It took us several years of taking out the tops to eradicate it.

The pink-leaved pieris on the lawn shelters under the protection of the Nottingham Castle bench,

and low-level plants like calendulas smile in the sunshine.

Another rhododendron has battled its way through the North Breeze jungle next door. It is probably grateful now that it is surrounded by brambles.

This evening we dined on Mr. Pink’s exquisite cod and chips and Garner’s pickled onions. Jackie drank Hoegaarden, and I finished the Bordeaux. It wasn’t a good idea to ruin the taste of the wine by contaminating it with the vinegar from the onions, but it had been open a day or two, and may soon have tasted of vinegar itself. Alternating it with water helped a bit.

Me, Irritated?

This morning we suffered from an excess of wind. I write not of flatulence, but of 35 miles (56 kilometres) per hour gusts tearing into our trees, tossing the tresses of the more slender ones like the weeping birch and the eucalyptus. For those of you in other parts of the world this may not seem very strong, but for us, especially after nurturing numerous window boxes and hanging baskets over the summer, it is a big deal.
I fought my way down my circular route to Hordle Cliff Beach, where the turbulent seas flinging spray over the shingle bank had me fearing once more for the beach huts.
Our already decrepit No Parking sign had been ripped from its board, and that of The Spinney had shed its phone number.

On this unseasonably warm day the sun shone and every cloud had a silver lining.

Roger was emerging from Hordle Manor Farm carrying a bale of hay, thus confirming our speculation that it had indeed been his family who had rescued Scooby when he wandered off and disappeared. He paused for the photograph and gave me a thumbs up sign.
Walking back through Shorefield, I fell in with another Londoner with whom I shared recollections of the Great Storm of 1987.
On my return Jackie was clearing the area around our patch of grass which she had mowed yesterday. I then removed the last of the cuttings we had left on the back drive, adding quite a bit to the log pile.
A very heavy thunderstorm having driven us inside we sat calmly over lunch. Listening to car horns in the street outside Jackie commented that strong winds make people irritated. The elements had not made me irritated. I repeat, with gritted teeth, I was not irritated. Not until we opened Jackie’s bill from BT.
BT then achieved what the heavens couldn’t. When their last shutdown left me without access to e-mails for four days, possibly for want of anything else positive to talk about, one of the advisers persuaded me to have on-line billing. I had already explained that Jackie was the account holder so I would have a bill of nil. If they wanted to implement that I had no objection. A day or so ago I received an on-line bill for £48.17 stating that it would be taken from my bank account on or after 14th October.
On our mat this afternoon appeared Jackie’s bill for the identical amount, the identical period, and the identical date of removal from her bank account. I was also told that from 1st December a surcharge of £1.59 will be added to paper bills. There is no such notification on Jackie’s invoice.
I phoned the telephone company and was greeted by the usual robot which had the usual problem understanding my choices from the varied options. One word the machine had difficulty in understanding was ‘other’. At the third attempt, the robot having a Scots accent, I tried rolling my r at the end of the word. That did the trick. Then, of course, I had to wait ten minutes listening to another voice, telling me that my call was important to them, before I reached a person. A gentleman with an Indian accent informed me that it was not possible to check my account because the system was down. Engineers were working on it. I should call again after four hours.
Me, irritated? You bet.
Later, Jackie drove us to Wroughton. I will report on that tomorrow.

Escape From Alcatraz

Today’s Lily, yet another different variety, has two layers of petals.
After Jackie, making use of a couple of plates from the rail of the too large IKEA wardrobes,

had repaired the bed head screwed to the weeping birch, we spent a long day completing the work on the clematis montana fence in the kitchen garden.

Fortunately, when clearing the bed head bed of brambles, I had managed to preserve what turned out to be crocosmia lucifer, now blooming above the erstwhile wooden ornamental feature.
Had I not been familiar with what the DIY efforts of our predecessor had perpetrated inside the house, I may have had trouble believing what, once we had cleared away enough foliage, he had attached to our neighbour’s fence. But there was no mistaking his technique for putting in awkward nails.

A stout post had been driven into the ground from our side, and a beam attached to it at one end of the fence. He must have possessed only one sustaining post because the other end of the long strut was nailed directly into the top of the fence. The diagonally driven nail wasn’t really doing much by now, and was fixed in exactly the same manner as a rough-hewn piece of deal placed across the jamb of one of the kitchen doors which had been blocked up by our vendors’ fridge.
What I described yesterday as wire netting was more like the grille at a prison window. Even Clint Eastwood, as Frank Morris, in the 1979 film ‘Escape from Alcatraz’, would have had trouble getting through that. Heavy duty staples had bound it both to the upright wooden post and to the horizontal beam. A smaller variety, driven into the planks of the fence, Jackie had been able to tap out with a hammer and screwdriver. The large, thick, ones would not budge. The grille itself was going to have to be cut.

Some kind of black plastic material had been wound around the clematis and bramble jumble at the top of this structure. I can only imagine its purpose was to prevent the brambles that had rooted on the other side of the fence from returning home.
Milford Supplies once more had the benefit of our custom, as Jackie drove off to buy a suitable implement, whilst I continued to move brushwood to the site of the bonfire and chop it up. She returned with mini bolt cutters which looked just the job. No such luck. They barely dented the metal.

I had to hack off with a saw each piece held by a staple. Eventually we pulled the whole frame towards us, left it standing, and had some lunch. Afterwards I broke up the frame and hacked off all the bits of grille.

Long after I was done for the day, Superwoman continued to open up the entrance to this part of the garden even more. In doing so she discovered that underneath the earth and rubble are signs of a brick pavement.
After that, she fed us on chicken jalfrezi (recipe) and onion, peas and sweetcorn rice, with which we drank Cobra beer. This was followed by Post House Pud, with summer fruits as the base.

Why The Birch Weeps

It is seven years today since Jessica’s death. Sam and Louisa can here be seen climbing under her jumper in a detail from a photograph I took, in a coppice in Surrey, in 1984, a large print of which hangs in our daughter’s sitting room.

Louisa posted it on Facebook this morning.

Honeysuckle now adorns the hedgerows of Downton Lane where I met Bryan Raby on my way to the Spar shop this morning. Bryan was strimming the verges alongside the caravan sites. He is a handyman from Zimbabwe who also carries out plumbing and carpentry. I took his card.

Further on, an escort blocked the road whilst, just beyond a ‘road narrows’ sign, a huge static caravan, being delivered to Shorefield Country Park, edged up the slope. The camper van perched on the distant hillside would have found the approach rather easier.
Luci and Wolf, on their way home to Clapham from Kilmington, made a diversion to visit us. Jackie prepared an excellent salad lunch, and we took our time enjoying it and each other’s company. From a friendship spanning so many years there was much available material, some reflecting on our differing childhood experiences.

Having seen our guests on their way Jackie and I sat for a while in what is now the fourth seating area of the garden. It was not until last night that the concreted south west corner was finally cleared of the pile for burning. When we arrived at our new home there was evidence of a bonfire having been lit on this spot. As our neighbours over the back often have a window open in a very vulnerable position, I decided to move our fire further down the back drive and to negotiate when it would be reasonable to light it, since it would require them to close their windows. We have come to a most amicable agreement. Bev is only happy to be consulted, since that had not been their previous experience.
In the left foreground of the picture above, stands a brick structure on which lies a tub of recently potted plants. The nasturtium appears to have survived being transplanted from the kitchen garden. This construction has been erected by Jackie to conceal the pipe that once held a circular washing line and still protrudes from the path.
Our predecessors preferred a more traditional line stretched across this area for their washing. As the final contribution to clearing this spot, Jackie took down the line which currently still hangs from a corner post. Above the fence to the right of this picture can be seen a TV satellite dish. The only activity that Bev had warned me against was melting this dish, which had apparently been achieved before. That was one more reason for moving the bonfire.
I have described earlier the bed head screwed to the weeping birch tree at the other end of the washing line. That would be enough provocation to arboreal distress.

Our tree has, however, been subjected to more prolonged torture by being the second post to which had been tied the plastic coated washing line. The tether tightly constricts the tree. It has bitten in so deeply that we cannot remove it. Some day, maybe, a dendrochronologist will be able to assess the age of the tree before it was so molested, and how many years it has been in pain.
After that lunch, scrambled egg on toast was ample for our evening meal.