One minute it’s freezing, the heating is clicking on and vests are needed; the next it’s ridiculously hot; the one after that, it’s back to vest-and-heating territory. The garden is as confused as I am, and one result has been that the kale went from barely growing to bolting over a weekend. But everything else seems happy, particularly the forget-me-not sea that I seem to have created.
It was deliberate, but now there’s an accidental mad spreading factor, and I do not mind one bit. I love forget-me-nots. I love their delicate colour variations, I love their cheerfulness, I love the way they resemble a child’s drawing of a flower. And I adore the way they cover and smother the weeds. Except the damned alkanet. Nothing smothers that bastard.
But what counts as a weed? Not my wild garlic, no way.
It’s also spreading well, though it is happiest under the deep shade of the magnolia and the camellia. And the crab apples, which one garden book assured me liked to be solitary. I have two, about three metres apart. They’re happy, if a bit on the lurid side when it comes to blossom.
But then the buds open and are a lot more restrained. Oh, well.
One disappointment this year – quite apart from the sheer number of things which will be joining the pittosporum on the bonfire heap as a result of the late frost and howling gale – has been the tulips. One lot are performing brilliantly among all the forget-me-nots,
But the rest – and I normally have a rainbow of colours and varieties – are largely absent. Which is a shame. I’m particularly fond of these,
but there should be at least six, and I have ONE. They used to look wonderful against the Festuca glauca, but that’s looking a bit crappy now too. Still, at least it really is spring.
And next week is the Great Reckoning: we’re going round the garden looking for signs of life. This, my apparently dead darlings, is your official warning.