I’ve decided that I’m thinking of my garden in high summer as being subtle and understated (badly planned is another way of looking at it). There just aren’t that many things flowering their socks off, apart from all the calendulas I talked about in the previous post, which are spectacular.
Not that subtle and understated, then. So I’ll open with one:
They’re the old classic C. officinalis mix ‘Art Shades’, and some are not at all what I’ve been expecting. How about another?
I have never ever seen one like this (someone’s bound to tell me they’re very common, I expect – if so, can you let me have a name?), and I’m definitely saving the seeds.
Some of my marigolds are in pots on the road side of the house, like the first one. There’s a sort of step against the gable end where enclosed pipes run which makes a very convenient seat for parties of walkers heading up the hill – if I don’t put pots on it. I don’t mind one or two walkers, but when I get fifteen heavily laden schoolkids peering in my little kitchen window – I wouldn’t have thought me making coffee was that interesting, myself – and knocking things over with their giant rucksacks, I object.
Enough with the grumbling (it’s Duke of Edinburgh Award Scheme expedition time, which is when the problem is worst), because I’ve got sweet peas by the back door, and they’re fantastic.
Mostly purple, but a) huge, b) wonderful against a blue sky and c) with the strongest scent I’ve had from a sweet pea in ages. They were a gift, so I’ve no idea which sweet pea they are, but I’m saving seed here too.
The meadow is heaving with life. There are all sorts of things including lots of bees, butterflies and crickets – and when the weather is fine (which it has been until, oh, about three hours ago), it’s really noisy. Despite the din they make, though, I’ve been unable to actually see a cricket. They’re somewhere in here, among the bird’s foot trefoil, clover, hawkweeds, grasses, daisies and self-heals.
The fuchsias, which I would really like to form a proper hedge at some point, are fully recovered from the winter and six feet high. They’re nothing special horticulturally, but they’re special to me, and they’re gorgeous.
I’ve never lost that childlike inability to pass a fat fuchsia bud without popping it.
And the jasmine by the main water butt has now reached roof height, and is also flowering. I think there will have to be some major surgery this winter (it’s grabbed the downpipe in a passionate embrace, and that cannot be allowed to continue), but for the moment I’m just enjoying the scent every time I fill my watering cans.
This is by the path into the middle garden, where one of my new clematises – C. viticella Mme. Julia Correvon – has burst into bloom. I’m really pleased; it’s years since I’ve had a clematis (well, not if you count all the ******* old man’s beard that constantly tries to take over), and this is just what I wanted.
The other, which is C x triternata rubromarginata, is thinking about it. Maybe next GBBD.
Along with the sweet peas, I was given an antirhinnum. Well, three. I was careful to ask about colour before I accepted, mind: I don’t mind looking gift horses in the mouth, but I do mind acid-yellow antirhinnums. Happily these were white, and the insects love them as much as I do.
I didn’t notice the small fly when I took the shot, but it’s one of many – though not so many that they destroy my pleasure in the flowers. Their texture is beautiful, luxurious even.
In the bottom garden, more flowers are on the point of breaking. The Echinops ritro, for instance, is wonderful – lots of flower spikes.
However, it’s too close to the agapanthus, and far to close to the back of the greenhouse, so it’s getting moved this autumn. I’m going to be making a new bed, and it will be an ideal place for this, I think. Um – maybe. The agapanthus is definitely staying put, though. Nearly thirty flower spikes this year… and almost, almost out:
Oh, and there’s lots of lavender – almost forgot about that. So the top garden smells of sweet peas and warm meadow, the middle garden smells of jasmine and the bottom garden smells of lavender.
(And thanks to May Dreams Gardens for hosting, once again.)