July 16, 2009

First Fruit(s)

 

I spent yesterday evening dispatching more autumn plant orders.*  Here I thought that doing them early for once—every [xxxmumblemph] years I do get my plant orders in early and then for the [xxxmumblemph] following years as I scramble to get them in somewhat after the last minute** I think, getting them out early is so much better, you’re not in a hurry, you can think about things and make good choices, I really must make an effort to be early every year. . . . but here in the middle of an early year, I dunno.  I think time to be thoughtful just makes my lists longer.***   And I think I thought this the last time I shot my orders off early too.  And furthermore the catalogues just keep coming.†

            Meanwhile, it’s July.  I raise my eyes from photos of tulips and hyacinths to the reality of roses and clematis and pansies and pinks and geraniums and dahlias and daylilies and . . . and I haven’t given you any garden photos in weeks.  I was glowering in a frustrated way at the little strip of garden beside the cottage garage this afternoon.  This is the first year I’ve actually got it, you know, finished:   First year after Atlas had replaced the falling-down plastic wood [sic] retaining wall with a tidy, handsome little low brick wall, the bed just sat there.††  Second year I got the perennials in:  roses†††, delphiniums, clematis (clematises?), geraniums, pansies, a hellebore, a few heucheras.  This year I’ve finally got the annuals in as well . . . so, okay, it’s taken till mid-July to finish the job, but they’re in:  nicotianas and fuschias‡ in the shade, which is what most of it is, and a few cosmos at the one narrow end that gets some sunlight.‡‡  And I actually gave some thought to serial flowering . . . and I’ve been unexpectedly successful about this:  Ayrshire Splendens comes in flower first, followed by Alain Blanchard, and Grouse‡‡‡ is just coming out now, supported and diversified by everything else.  Which means that as you walk past your eye is drawn to whatever is out . . . but if you photograph it you get a big muddle of green with a few spots of colour.  Sigh.  In one of my alternate lives I was going to be a professional garden photographer:  there’s ways around some of this kind of thing if you have time to fuss and primp and wait poised to spring on early morning or late afternoon light.  As it is . . .

            As it is I’m going to scratch together photos of Ayrshire and Alain and Grouse . . . and a few more . . . and possibly some messy greenery too.  But tonight I must leave you with:  IMG_0068 crop

 

This is the first peach off my tree.§  There are two more. 

* * * 

* Hey.  I’m slow.  All that drooling and list-making and crossing-out and sobbing takes time.  

 ** It’s November!  I should have planted my spring bulbs last month and I haven’t ordered them yet! 

*** Which in the case of roses is manifestly life-threatening.  Not to mention bank-breaking, although just now banks break easier than they used to. 

†  With the web site address in loud purple^ letters at the bottom of every page.  Which is the runic portal to the ever-interesting experience of other people’s web sites.  I had a particularly redolent one last night.  This is a nursery I’ve used for years and they grow good plants for (almost) reasonable prices and I’m not going to humiliate them by naming them here.  But they are having a somewhat difficult transition to the virtual world.  When I got to the end of the check-out I discovered that of the fifteen^^ or so items in my reckoning, one inoffensive little packet of crocuses had been hived off from the rest and a £15 carrier charge slapped on it.  Uh, what?  I cancelled and tried again.  Back at the beginning of the check-out process all my crocuses were together, and the complete tally all came under the basic £4.95 postage charge.  Okay.  We walk through the system again.  DON’T YOU TRY AND FOOL ME THAT WAY.  THAT £2.50 PACKET OF CROCUSES IS GOING TO COST YOU FIFTEEN POUNDS FOR SOME JOKER IN A UNIFORM^^^ TO DELIVER ON A SILVER SALVER.  PARSLEY OPTIONAL.  Because this is a nursery I know and have used twice yearly for a decade I blinked, shrugged, and let it go through.  And sent them an email.  And got a very embarrassed phone call this morning. . . . 

^ Okay, not always purple.  But loud.   You know those key rings and similar that beep when you clap your hands, so you can find them?  If you shout I FEEL LIKE SPENDING MONEY ON PLANTS all the catalogues start beeping at you frantically. 

^^ Okay, okay, sic.  But most of them are little things like grape hyacinths (muscari) and mini daffs.  No, really. 

^^^ With epaulettes.  Epaulettes cost more. 

†† And drove my posh national-plant-collections neighbour crazy.  I’ve told you that story.  Heh heh heh.  His donated snowdrops are spreading nicely. 

††† Surprise! 

‡ I may try and winter these over.  Now that I’m broken in to the concept of the indoor jungle. 

‡‡ And after a little judicious seeding I have hopes of a foxglove jungle by next year.  Foxgloves are annoyingly biennial however so I may have to do this twice.  

‡‡‡ You will have guessed I’m talking about the roses, yes?

§  . . . which has just taken ten minutes to load.  What a good thing I decided not to give you more photos tonight.

July 16, 2009 | Filed Under garden, roses 

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