It’s thrilling – my water butts are full again, the soil is dark brown and staying in one place instead of pale brown and blowing everywhere, and every single thing in the garden has zoomed into growth. Unfortunately this inevitably includes weeds, bracken and brambles, but hey ho.
(I won’t be so sanguine about the weather later, when I need wellies to go and pick beans.)
And the rowan is shedding so much blossom, what with the rain and the wind, that it almost looks as though it’s been snowing in some corners of the garden.
However, I could not resist popping out with my camera during a lull for the obligatory wet Alchemilla mollis shot.
Years ago, I saw this growing among stone flags at, I think, Sutton Park and wanted some Alchemilla and a beautiful stone path myself. At the time it seemed impossible, a dream. I should have thought it through more: ‘be careful what you wish for’. And now I spend a large part of my time clawing small seedlings out of the paving. Hmm.
My irises are fabulous with the rain on, especially as I remembered to stake them before the weather broke this year. I’m saving them for a separate post, (oh, all right; they’re not quite out yet) but I had to include this one:
The Acer in the bottom garden was beautiful. I don’t think I’d realised how well the water droplets would collect on its leaves:
I have a problem with this Acer. I thought it was only a matter of time before it popped its clogs, sloughed off this mortal coil and went to join the choir invisible. It even looked dead. You know: brown leaves, brown stems, that sort of thing. It obviously wasn’t dead, though, and now I’ve planted a crinodendron too close to what is evidently a happy
plant tree. Which one should I move, I wonder?
I also need to bear in mind the ginkgo, which is in the same area.
I love the ginkgo, which is a liberated bonsai. A good gardening friend of mine was given a couple of bonsai, which she loathed. So she smiled, said ‘thank you very much’ and potted them up. They were soon too big for her garden and she passed one of them on to me. When the time came for me to move it was so tall that it wouldn’t fit in the van, so we had to do a little emergency pruning on the street. That was in 2002, and my friend died three years later, so it’s good to have her ginkgo looking so very well.
As I said, it’s not just the garden plants that have been revived. The ants are everywhere, and if you look closely you can see them on this paeony. I’m boiling kettles: it may be savage, but it is organic.
And something tells me I’m going to be out with the hoe a lot more too. The onion patch was comparatively clear. OK, it was dry, but it was relatively weed-free. Now it is a heaving mass of small weeds – you name it, I’ve got it – and surprisingly large volunteer potatoes that I swear weren’t there yesterday.
It always, but always, seems that however well and often you dig over a spud patch, there will always be at least 85,000 tiny potatoes waiting for you to plant something on top of them that doesn’t like root disturbance, at which point they will all sprout like mad. Oh, good.