Humming along

In April I took this dispiriting photo.

The purple tulips which had come back nicely the last two (or possibly three) years, this spring managed to produce nothing but limp leaves. (And, oh, dear, that window really needs washing.)

Time, methought, to change things up a bit.

I dug out all the tulip bulbs (to be dried out and transferred in the autumn to the garden) and replaced them in this and the kitchen window boxes with bee-friendly lavender, which will not need to be replaced every year. The hanging baskets would get flowers at some point.

When Catherine was here earlier this week, I spotted a hummingbird when we were sitting outside with our morning coffees and fags. Oh, right, I thought. I was going to get a hummingbird feeder. No time like the present.

On our way down to Drumbeg, I stop at Wheelbarrow. Turns out they don’t sell hummingbird feeders, but that’s okay. Good chance to pick up a couple of Osteospermum (“Tradewinds Deep Purple”) and some lobelia (white and blue) for the hanging baskets.

After a lovely walk (and selfie) at Drumbeg, we drive back via Wild Rose, the other nursery. I know they have hummingbird feeders, because I’ve seen them there.

I am of course immediately drawn to the blue glass feeder. Why wouldn’t I be? It’s cobalt blue glass. (Hello? Have you met me?) Catherine immediately dismisses it, pointing out there is a reason most feeders are red: hummingbirds are attracted to the colour red.

And, yes, I know this is true.

A few years ago a hummingbird got in the house. First I heard its wings humming, then I heard it whacking itself against the skylight in an attempt to escape. The back door, through which it had flown, was wide open, but the bird didn’t seem to be aware of this. I opened all the windows wide to increase the number of potential exits, but the bird still mistakenly thought the skylights were the best escape route. Eventually I had to go to the village to do some shopping, so took a chance and left the back door wide open when I did. Looked around when I returned and thought the bird had figured out how to leave, but I was wrong. Humming wings started up again, along with skylight whacking. Gah! How was I ever going to get the poor thing out of the house? Rang Pat on the off chance that he would have a helpful suggestion. He didn’t, but his visiting friend Margaret did: hang an article of red clothing by the open door. Fantastic suggestion, except I don’t own an article of red clothing. Would anything red do? Yes, said Margaret. Right, I thought, what do I own that’s red? The washing bucket! Of course! Dug it out from under the sink and placed it by the open door. Five minutes later the hummingbird flew out of the house.

So, okay, yeah, I get it. As much as I may want a cobalt blue hummingbird feeder, it ain’t gonna draw a crowd.

There is also a red glass version of the same feeder, but it turns out the bottom does not unscrew, so the feeder cannot be properly cleaned. “It must,” claims the shop manager. He tries. It doesn’t. Nor do the bottoms of my third and fourth choice. (Is the manager, I wonder, going to point these design faults out to future buyers?) So we try a fifth. Eureka! It unscrews for proper cleaning.

As we pay for the feeder (and some basil it will soon be safe to plant outside), Catherine tells me to use cane sugar for the nectar, never beet. The shop manager says he thinks either is fine. Not so, says Catherine, and of course she is right.

Back at the house, I can’t wait to get going. Made-in-China feeder is given a proper wash and rinse. The packet of made-in-China "instant nectar" is put to one side. (The mind boggles.) Catherine tells me I should boil a cup of cane sugar in four cups of water. I look at the feeder. There’s no way it will hold four cups of nectar. Catherine looks at me and says nothing. I boil half a cup of sugar in two cups of water. When it’s taking too long to cool, I stick it in the fridge. We have lunch. I check the nectar. Perfect temperature. Pour it into the holder. It fills less than half of it. I look at Catherine. She smiles. Of course she is right. Lesson learnt.

A cup hook, length of string and a couple of S hooks are assembled and the feeder is attached.

Whilst waiting for the hummingbirds to arrive, I plant the flowers in the hanging baskets.

The next morning, after Catherine leaves, I get around to washing the back windows. The nectar appears to be going down, but I’ve yet to see a hummingbird.

By the next day the word’s apparently gone round the ’hood. 

One visitor conveniently turns up as I take this photo to illustrate the improvements since that first April photo. Can’t see her?

Try this photo.

I am thrilled to report things are humming along nicely.

Coming up roses, part 2

As reported last month, the roses are coming back nicely. Most of the bushes have buds on them.

  

Some are almost ready to burst into flower. Hurrah!

I want to give them as much encouragement as possible, which means surrounding them (and the lilac, which has now had its first dose of Dave’s magic “make flowers” cocktail) with compost and/or sea soil. What I don’t want is the compost and/or sea soil being sprayed all over the rest of the slanting bed when I water them.

I know! I’ll make rock circles around them to keep the good stuff  where it needs to be.

I survey my handiwork. It’s okay and it should do the job, but I’m just not quite sure. I go inside, make myself a cuppa and come back for another look. Nope. Just looks like a job half done. And it’s not as if I have any shortage of rocks, is it?

Much better. Settle myself on the swing with Stella to admire my rocky rose bed. Oh, that smug feeling of a job well (rather than half) done.

Elsewhere in the garden: Came back into the house Monday morning after watering the garden to report thrilling news to my visiting friend Catherine: the regular peas are sprouting! She shares my excitement. It is after all what we gardeners (both proper and useless like me) live for, is it not?

This morning there is further excitement. Despite the fact that one of the cats (my money’s on Roxie) keeps trying to use the veggie bed as a litter box, a row of beet leaves has appeared! No sign yet of carrots, lettuce, spinach, rocket or squash, but it’s still early days, isn’t it? (Or isn’t it?)

Fingers crossed.

Appley ever after?

The question of paint versus stain has been duly debated and the answer seems to be stain. Although some followers quite fancied the idea of brightly painted frames, WISE woman Catherine made the best point.

“I just finished staining a planter box we built. Here's why: stain will protect the wood, to a degree, from wind, sun and snow and last for several years. It won't crack, bubble or peel. So the question is: do you want bright, beautiful colour and more work sanding, stripping and repainting in a couple of years? Or natural looking wood, less work and more time for the swing, the book, the cats and wine?”

Obviously more time for the swing wins. Stella, when asked, totally agrees.

Quite a bit of staining in my future, although possibly not in the next couple of days. (After a week of summer-in-April, when I go outside to take this photo of Mr Fixit’s latest delivery, there is a clap of thunder. As I write, rain has started falling.)

Elsewhere in the garden, the most exciting news so far is…

Regular readers will, I’m sure, recall that three years ago Krys and I planted a dwarf apple tree in the garden. It produced lots of blossom and one apple the first year, lots of blossom and eight apples the second year (and there would have been many more apples if frigging Antler Boy hadn't got to it) and precisely zero blossom last year. So, yes, the fact that there is once again lots of blossom on the apple tree is pretty bloomin’ exciting. Will any of this blossom turn into actual apples? Time will tell.

There is also lots of blossom on the pear tree, added to the garden two years ago. This is not quite as exciting as pear blossom has appeared in abundance every spring. What has so far failed to appear on the tree is an actual pear. Fingers crossed this might be the year.

Speaking of things blooming (or not, as the case may be), across the road at Pat’s place – and all around the island – lilac trees are already flowering. Alas, not so in my garden – neither the long-established, flowered-once-only-for-Krys-three-years-ago tree nor the second tree I planted two years ago which I was promised would flower the following year and didn’t. Considering how much I love lilacs I consider this to be most unfair. Fortunately, Pat remains very generous with his overabundance.

The miracle of the garden swing

Stella is a lovely cat in many, many ways, but she hates to be picked up and cuddled, and she is definitely not a lap cat. (Roxie on the other hand is good with both.) Occasionally, when Stella is beside me on the sofa or on the bed, she will deign to rest her head on my leg. A major concession.

So, imagine my surprise just now. I’m stretched out on the garden swing reading a New Yorker article when Stella gets up on the swing and stretches herself out on top of me, purring up a storm. Unprecedented and quite wonderful. Pity I eventually have to get up for a bathroom break. Will this, I wonder, ever happen again?

Or will she move back to what has become her summer home?

As Catherine can attest from her recent visit, Stella loves the turquoise bench, shifted from its place in the garden to the top of the rock garden. She’s always out there when I get up in the morning and quite often there when I go to bed at night. Definitely Stella’s bench. Roxie doesn’t get a look in.

Which is okay, because Roxie, thinking perhaps that she really is a tiger, prefers to hide in the foliage.

Spot the cat.

Easier done than finding the snow leopard in this photo a friend posted on Facebook recently.

Can’t find it? Click here. 

Back to the swing now. Will Stella rejoin me? Watch this space.