On Saturday, I was a worried man: just after lunch, one of the neighbours started a motor mower and cut their lawn. Having recently formed the opinion that no man should mow before the Aintree Grand National has been run (or preferably the Epsom Derby–although that might be verging on laziness even by my standards) I am now faced with the prospect of having to mow even before Easter! Only one thing for it then: I’ll have to get the didgeridoo out and give it a good blow. That should bring on the monsoons.
Category Archives: gardening
Diary of a Mowbody, Pt 1
‘It’s not quite mowing weather yet,’ I said, tapping the barometer, and tapping it a bit harder when it refused to budge. I peered through the blinds at the greensward that is our corner of Merrie Englande. ‘In any case, it’s still dark at the moment,’ I said. The moment in question, I should explain, was mid-morning, so the sky itself wasn’t dark. But as the far end of our snot-rag lawn (that’s the pejorative version of a handkerchief lawn, FYI) is overshadowed by trees and houses, it remains in gloom for a few hours each day. Therefore, if the grass is damp early in the morning, it can be late afternoon before it is properly dry. And as all keen gardeners know, it’s much easier to mow a dry lawn than a wet one.
‘Anyway, it doesn’t do a lawn any good if you over-mow it,’ I said, clutching at horticultural straws. ‘In fact, this year I might borrow from the time-honoured and reliable methods used by England’s arable farmers and let the lawn lie fallow.’ Even through the extra-thick brickwork of the chimney breast the other side of the room, where our ‘office’ is situated, I could hear Shana glaring.
Conditions have, nevertheless, still not been quite perfect for me to start this year’s mowing. Some days have been overcast, threatening rain; some days it has drizzled; and other days, albeit a few weeks ago now, have started cold and frosty. I think we’re over the frost hurdle now (although in fact there was a mild frost this morning) but for a while I did wonder if we were in what meteorologists call a ‘frost pocket‘.
One day last week was both dry and sunny; then I really panicked. But I reassured Shana: ‘If I mow today, in this heat, it might stress the lawn. And heaven forbid that our lawn should need counselling.’
Posted by in gardening
Sunflowers and harlequins
I spotted an intruder in the garden last week, but I wasn’t worried. In fact, I was delighted. We both were. Because this intruder was more than just someone or something passing, just using our weed patch as a short cut: this intruder has come to stay. Of course, nature being what it is, our intruder will eventually die. But we hope they will have left lots of seeds around, so we can enjoy their wonderful offspring next year.
You’ve peeped at the title of this post, haven’t you? Spoilt the surprise. Maybe I should have called it something else, like ‘Shock one-nil win for Lincoln City’, but I wouldn’t want to stretch your credibility quite so far. So, what the heck, yes our intruder was (is) a sunflower. It’s an intruder because we didn’t plant it, and nor was it included in the wildflower seed mix we planted a couple of years ago. Next year, we expect to have more sunflowers than Van Gogh. Better get practising with my crayons then, hadn’t I? (Well I’m certainly not planning to lop off an ear just so I can emulate a great artist; anyway, my glasses would fall off.)
And the harlequin?
The harlequin was a ladybird that Shana spotted crawling up the inside of the kitchen window yesterday. Most unusual: black with two red spots, one on each wing. We released it after briefly catching it in an old coffee jar and staring goggle-eyed at it for a couple of minutes. Let’s hope it found somewhere cosy to nestle down for the night and that the cheeky magpie across the road didn’t mistake it for an exotic hors d’oeuvre.
A nod’s as good as a Vinca
The five buddleia we planted recently will, even when fully grown, not provide huge amounts of ground cover. The small one at the end will, alas, probably provide none at all, since it seems to have fallen victim to one of the local moggies, who, being a typically tidy cat, decided to bury its droppings in a hole at the end of the garden — and, in pursuit of that laudable aim, dug up our Empire Blue seedling. (There now follows a one minute silence.)
The rest of the border will now be filled with Vinca minor ‘Argenteovariegata’, or lesser periwinkle. We planted two yesterday and are keenly awaiting the promised vigorous evergreen mat. I hope it works, as plan B involves anti-weed membrane and two tons of gravel (although, for economic reasons, we would be able to buy this only a kilo at a time).
Isn’t gardening wonderful!
Buddleia report: volume 1
Timeline: Friday 15 July, just before noon — the aformentioned buddleia arrive. Salad for lunch.
Timeline: Friday 15 July, between afternoon tea and traditional fish, chip and mushy pea supper — planted buddleia, putting identification tags next to each one (Black Knight, Royal Red, Pink Delight, White Bouquet, Empire Blue), adding rooting powder to each one and watering them in afterwards. Weather hot; wish you were here (no, hang on, I’m getting mixed up with holiday postcards. Ignore that last bit).
Timeline: Saturday 16 July, just after breakfast — back garden lashed by monsoon rains; buddleia cower bravely under relentless precipitation. Please leave two extra pints on Sunday and only one on Monday (oops, note to milkman, must edit that later).
Timeline: Saturday 16 July, between cloudbursts — visual check from living room window reveals no significant growth as yet. Will measure them later if weather permits. Over and out.
Buddleia five, meadow nil
The downstairs neighbours seem worried about us. I was asked yesterday where our butterfly garden (i.e., the wildflower meadow) had gone. “Change of plan,” I said. “We’re replacing it with something more low-maintenance: gnomes.” (And if they believe that, they’ll believe anything.)
It’s true though. Last Friday, I spent an hour or so uprooting all the wild grasses, which had gone a bit too wild for our liking. I don’t care that there’s no room in the dumpsters for anyone else’s rubbish. Our side border is, for a while at least, that blank slate that you hear so much about on those ubiquitous TV property shows. Even if we shifted the whole lot round to the front of the house, though, I still doubt whether it would qualify as having ‘kerb appeal’. It can stay round the back where it is, then. Besides, how many barrowloads of earth would it take; how deep should you dig if you were seriously thinking of moving your whole garden? Be cheaper to move the house instead, I’d have thought.
Anyhow, it won’t stay like a pristine wilderness for long. The buddleia (five of) will be arriving any day now. A packet of mycorrhizal rooting-tooting powder is waiting, to help the little buddleias bed in. Any leftover myco-whatsit can safely be hoovered up using a drinking straw and a make-up mirror; we’ll pretend it’s an outtake from Trainspotting, and if it has no exhilarating effect, then we’ll just go and bury our heads in the back garden and see how long it takes us to bed in. So there!
Disclaimer: Just to clarify things for any readers under 18, or for those with an IQ lower than a garden gnome: Mycorrhizal fungus powder — Just Say ‘No’.