Time to compare and contrast again

I figure every now and then I should probably – for the sake of my sanity – measure and celebrate progress. For example…

the bee-friendly Ceanothus planted in 2010…

is now five feet tall.

Although it did not bloom again this year

as it did last year,

this is the tiny shrub I discovered choked in a bed of weeds in 2010. It is also nearly five foot tall now. (Fortunately, Pat is being very generous with his lilacs.)

And then there’s the fig tree I purchased during Irmani’s visit in 2011.

It may not seem like much, but this plant has never produced more than one (admittedly large) leaf per branch.

And it may not be easy to see, but this year it has four leafs per branch. (Admittedly, as I said to Krys, it’s still going to be quite a while before I see an actual fig.)

No further progress with the giant hole, as I’ve been working on my column. In case you’re interested, it does feature the hole.

Back to digging tomorrow.

On closer inspection

Now that there are some seeds in the ground, it’s time to have a closer look elsewhere. There’s some good news and some bad news.

A long, hard (by Gabriola standards) winter, has taken its toll on the lilac tree. It’s only just finished growing its leaves and it seems almost certain there will be no repeat this year of last year’s excitement of the tree actually blossoming for the first time.

The clematis I thought had died seems to be coming back nicely.

The clematis I thought would survive appears to have died.

There’s no room for sentimentality in this game (well, not much), so I pull the seemingly dead clematis out of its pot and transplant it to the back of the rose bed. It will have to take its chances there.

The root-bound fig tree needs repotting.

On the good news front, the apple tree seems to be doing well.

And, yes, Krys, it is blossoming beautifully. (Although, as we discovered last year, lots of blossom does not necessarily equal lots of apples.)

There are tons of flowers on the black currant bush.

Although it may not be apparent from this photo, some of the raspberry bushes are starting to flower.

As are some of the strawberries. This would be marginally more exciting if every single ripe strawberry of last year’s crop hadn’t had a bite taken out of it. At the time I assumed it was squirrels and decided my only choice, if I wanted any strawberries was to cut off the bitten bit and share with the squirrels. Krys, when she was here, suggested it might have been slugs, said their feeding on strawberries could look like a bite mark. Have I ever actually seen a squirrel on Gabriola? I can’t remember. Ugh. I may have to revise my opinion on sharing. (Short break while I do an internet search. There are squirrels on Gabriola. Hurrah.)

And just look at how beautiful the fuchsia is looking!

Oh, ha, ha. This, of course, is not last year’s fuchsia. It’s one I bought when Krys and I went back to the garden store to get spinach seeds and basil.

This is last year’s fuchsia, transplanted from its root-bound pot to a larger pot, in the hope that, like the fuchsia first I and then Irmani had in London, this one will come back to flower year after year. I’ll keep you posted on its progress.

You asked for it

Okay, I’ve already had Irmani and Krys bugging me to get the blog going again.

And, now that Krys has departed

in her private floatplane

from Gabriola International Airport,

I guess have no excuse.

This entry is by way of a filler until I have a chance to download and resize other photos. So, let’s start with a recap of last year’s Gabriola garden adventures.

I came back from three weeks in London and Amsterdam to discover that, in my absence, cat-sitting Krys and her clever hubby Glenn had built me a raised bed.

And filled it with quality top soil.

Lesson Number One from last year: As I suspected, you can actually grow food crops if your soil isn’t completely crap. I had beets and peas and so many courgettes I had to give half of them away.

Lesson Number Two: Just because a grafted apple tree can, in theory, produce eight varieties of apples and just because it produces a huge amount of blossom, doesn’t mean it will actually produce more than one apple.

Lesson Number Three: Even with quality soil, the growing season is simply too short for butternut squash – especially if, as is often the case, we go from a lovely May to a frigid Juneuary.

Clearly the solution is a greenhouse. Unfortunately, I have nowhere to put one and no money to buy one. So, I’m going to have to give up on large squash.

This year is, of course, going to be better than ever. The hapless gardener has made a great start – as will soon be revealed. So, watch this space. And remember where we started.

Après le déluge

Almost immediately after the cherry tomatoes are planted, the skies open and the temperature plummets. This goes on for a fortnight. Eventually, the rain, rain goes the fuck away. Happily, despite the weather, the tomato plants are flowering, so all is not lost.

The same, sadly, cannot be said for the basil. Apparently it was too early to plant outdoors.



The Genovese basil withers and dies (drowns?), but, on the plus side, the African Blue basil is hardier and seems to be responding well to the sun finally coming out.

Satisfy myself, in between rain showers, by planting another window box.



Now there are flowers to be seen through both the kitchen and diningroom windows.

Outside, Irmani’s fuchsia has sprouted its first bloom.



A week later, look at it.



Okay, okay. This isn’t Irmani’s fuchsia. I broke down last time I was in the garden shop and bought another one. I couldn’t resist. It’s all instant gratification for me. Apparently, my motto is spend, spend, spend – even though at the moment I have nothing, nothing, nothing coming in. (Yes, Mr Mikawber, I am ignoring your recipe for happiness.)

And now that the sun has returned, out in the garden…



The second row of peas I put in is starting to sprout. The squash, courgette and beets have survived the deluge and, one hopes, will soon be responding to some sunshine. There is no sign of anything which might possibly turn into an apple to be seen anywhere on the mini-tree, but that’s okay. I can be patient – especially now that I know Jane’s tree hasn’t produced an apple in eight (or was it nine?) years. After all, it took at least 12 years for the lilac to finally produce any bloom.

The ceanothus, on the other hand, is blooming beautifully.



And, as I hoped when I planted it in 2010, the bees are loving it.



And the first of the flowers are beginning to make their way indoors.



I don’t know how I could have lived this long without knowing that rose bushes will cease to produce flowers if you don’t snip the first ones off before the petals start falling, the bush will cease producing flowers. Stumbled across this very important piece of information in a novel (can’t remember which one) last year. Explains not only why my roses have been disappointing, but how important it is to read.

Oh, and by the way, what appears to be a bud vase is in fact a glass I stole from a champagne bar in Edinburgh at the end of a raucous night out with Lucy and Wanda. Oh, happy days. (Actually, I say end of the night, but that was just me. I’ll draw a veil over what Lucy and Wanda - both mums now - got up to after I got a cab back to our hotel, shall I? Doesn’t stop me having a giggle at the memory, though.)

Blooming marvellous

While I was in the UK, Krys decided it would be a good idea to put up a hanging bracket for another flowering basket. And I have to say I think this is a good idea – not least because flowers hanging in baskets are less likely to get eaten by the bloody deer. Such a good idea, in fact, that I decide to add another and shift the one she’s put up so they can actually be seen from inside the house.



As Irmani’s fuchsia isn’t looking likely to flower any time soon (although it does seem to have survived its fall), decide the new basket should be more dark eyes fuchsias.



Krys also suggested a window box under the diningroom window. Again, excellent idea – although one can but hope the bloody deer will leave it alone.

Meanwhile, back in the garden…



I know I’ve already mentioned the apple blossom coming along, but today I do a count. There are at least 35 flowers, which one presumes means at least 35 apples. How on earth can this poor little tree, with its thin little branches support 35 apples?



Again, yes, already mentioned, but look at the lilac blossom! When Krys emailed me in the UK to say she thought the lilac was actually going to flower this year, I couldn’t believe it – but it’s true! (Claps hands together, bounces up and down. It's been a long time coming.}



And the first rosebud. Hurrah!

Once more unto the breach, dear friends, once more

When my lovely friend Krys came out at the end of March to stay on Gabriola and take care of Angie the ancient cat while I was away in the UK, she asked what needed doing in the garden.

“Nothing,” I said. “I have officially given up. My soil is crap. I can’t take another summer of watching plants flower and die before bearing crops. I simply do not have the stomach for it. Until such time as I can sort out a raised bed loaded with quality top soil, I am growing nothing except tomatoes and berries.”

She looked quite disappointed, but what could I do?

“If you really want to do some gardening,” I told her, “some weeding in the side beds would be much appreciated.”

Off I went to the UK.

Sun shining and temperatures well into the teens when I left Vancouver. Overcast and freezing in London. Never mind. Becky had tickets for The Book of Mormon on the day I arrived. Quite possibly the funniest thing I’ve ever seen. Well worth a bit of shivering. (The following week we finally made it to see War Horse. Well worth the wait.)

Three days later it actually snowed. I had to break down and buy a pair of winter boots, as my canvas sneakers just didn’t cut it.


Hail falling on London.

The sun did actually come out on Friday when Becky and I spent a cultural day, starting with a visit to Tate Modern for the Lichtenstein exhibition. During a stroll along the South Bank to the original Tate for the vastly superior (and hopelessly promoted) Schwitters show, we came across the floating man.

I kid you not, he was floating on air. When I asked how he did it, he simply smiled and said, “Magic!” Close enough for cynical Becky and me. We both coughed up a pound.


Pausing for a fag (me) on Harry and Ruth’s bench, we made the acquaintance of some black-headed gulls. Apparently quite common, but I’d never seen one before.


Happily, the sun kept shining the next day for Irmani and Jonno’s wedding.


The bride, relieved that it’s not snowing. (Note open-toe sandals in previous pic.)


First fag as Mrs Smallwood.


The wedding really was beautiful, the reception a huge amount of fun.

Off to Stokey the next day to catch up with Tony, Rhidian and Ben. Decided to walk from the Defoe to the flat through Abney Park cemetery.


What’s this we spot surrounding multiple graves?


Turns out the jobsworths in Hackney council’s health and safety department had outdone themselves.


And here’s another interesting sign, spotted while I was on my way to meet my cousin Michael for dinner. Fucks Coffee? Yucks Coffee? Hard to say.

Lots of lovely visits with friends and family, tinged with great sadness at the death of my wonderfully formidable 101-year-old Aunt Jess. (Centre stage, below, with the five generations of her family at her 100th birthday celebrations.) I am so pleased the timing of my visit allowed me the opportunity to say goodbye to her.



And then it was time to introduce Becky to Amsterdam, where there was a crooked house.


And another one.

And many, many more.

A visit to the Rijksmuseum (newly reopened after a 10-year renovation) introduced us both to the Amsterdam Impressionists.


My favourite was Isaac Israels.


Becky went for Willem Witsen.

A sunny day stroll around Amsterdam the next day. Becky takes lots of no doubt very artistic photos. I snap yet another sign.


Although I need no reminder, the sign suggests it’s time to head back to BC.

WHAT ABOUT THE BLOODY GARDEN?

Yes, yes, I’m getting to that.

While I was away, gallivanting around galleries and going to the theatre, Krys and her husband Glenn, visiting for a week, built me a raised bed.


Oh, my god. This extraordinary act of kindness fills me with gratitude and dread. (The dread caused by the realisation that failure to actually produce crops now cannot be blamed on the soil and will rest squarely with me being a completely crap gardener.)

She’s even started some seedlings.

Beets, courgettes, peas and… And what? Damn, I’ve already forgotten. Hopefully it will become obvious.

Inspired by this, we go off to the nursery to buy more top soil and look for a fruit tree to plant behind the bench. A cherry tree would be nice, but, let’s face it, the birds will steal all the fruit. Moira at The Wheelbarrow explains why pears (my second choice) are a challenge. (Like the mystery seedlings, I’ve already forgotten what she said.) We look at apple trees. Holy moly! Who knew you could graft bits of apple tree together to create one tree producing five different variety of apples? And all the varieties (except the golden delicious) are actually delicious.

Now the only question is whether it is possible to dig a big enough hole in my rock-riddled garden. We come back to the house and dig a hole. Success! Back we go to The Wheelbarrow to buy the tree.


Assuming it lives (and I really will do my best, I promise, Krys), I will eventually have wonderful apples.


Yes, yes, I’ve said it before, but I know this really is going to be the year.

And the reason I know is that, 15 years after it was originally planted and three years since I rescued it from the deer, my lilac tree is actually producing blooms for the very first time.


It’s a miracle!
,
Well, I hope it’s at least a sign.

Wish me luck.