Look what happened to my poor little rose bush overnight. It’s extraordinary what faith and tender loving care can do.
Yeah, yeah, okay. Nobody’s fooled. Went to the garden shop and bought another rose bush. Ain’t she a beauty? Even the bloke in the garden shop was impressed with the colour. When he asked what variety it was, I couldn’t tell him, as I didn’t have my reading glasses on, so he checked the label and told me it was Blueberry Hill. Told him I’d have to play Fats Domino when I planted it.
Come home and plant the rosebush, sans soundtrack. Now I decide I really do need to do something to give what now actually could be considered a proper bed some definition. Figure I might as well use some of the hundreds of rocks I dug out of a small hole earlier in the week. Make an interesting discovery.
If you leave a plastic container filled with rocks out in the sun for a few days, a frigging ant colony takes root in it. The rocks are absolutely swarming. Tip the rocks and the colonising ants out onto the ground and give both a spray from the hose, hoping they will take the hint. Now have a pile of rocks and an ant colony in a big puddle of mud. Decide to leave the whole thing for a while and move on to next job. (Sadly, camera not up to capturing the colony.)
Time to put my wannabe organic principles into practice. I remember from looking into companion planting years ago the miracle of the marigolds, those marvellous flowers which discourage aphids and whitefly and aphids. What a shame so many marigolds are orange. (I am not a big fan of the colour orange, believing it should be restricted to the fruit after which it is named. Only other exception being pumpkins – so don’t jump on the fact that I’ve planted pumpkins.) At the gardening store find a tray of six, in which the marigolds already flowering are yellow. My luck the rest will be orange. Whaddaya gonna do?
And so my tomato plants are now companionably protected. Quick google reveals, courtesy of the Pesticide Action Network website: “It's not that the whitefly don't like these marigolds, but their pungent smell masks the nice smell of the tomatoes.” Fooled you, whitefly!
I’m feeling a bit guilty that Mike’s lack of mobility makes it almost impossible for him to see and enjoy what’s going on in the garden (emailing him photos of my progress being not quite the same as seeing things grow for yourself). I do intend at some point to put my brand new secateurs to work on the path to the garden in order to increase access so Mike might, on a good day, be able to get out to the garden. In the meantime, I’ve decided that, if Mike can’t get to the garden, the least I can do is bring a bit of the garden to him.
So I’ve bought some petunias and lobelia which I re-pot into a bigger container and haul up to the back of the house. (And, yes, dear reader, as the observant amongst you will have noted, I have now dismantled the stupid brick circle “feature”.) This is a bit of a gamble, as the flowers are out in the open and therefore up for grabs for any passing deer, but I figure it’s worth a try, the thought being what counts and all that. Mike is very pleased. Fingers crossed the fact that the flower pot is surrounded by herbs will deter deer.
As it’s Father’s Day and Mike isn’t going to be seeing his kids or grandkids, I’ve offered to make him whatever he wants for dinner. He’s opted for spring salmon and one of my famous expect-the-unexpected salads. Am able to jazz up the latter with some of my very own coriander (oops, back in North America now, so coriander becomes cilantro, as aubergines become eggplants and courgettes become zucchini). All very satisfying.
After dinner, go outside for a fag. Decide to wander down to the garden to admire my new rose bush. I look across the road and see a young buck munching on the grass on just outside Pat’s fence. He looks up, spots me, watches for a moment, decides I’m no threat and goes back to his dinner. And that’s just as it should be.
PS Happy solstice!
