It's all a bit sad

Wake up this morning to the surprising realisation that there is absolutely nothing I absolutely have to do today. No costume or music meetings for the panto (which I am once again directing). No Zumba class at 9am. (Yes, you read that right. I recently started going to Zumba classes twice a week, despite the fact that they start at the ridiculous hour of 9am.) No preparation for a rehearsal tonight. Nada. And the sun’s shining!

Perhaps it’s time to visit the garden.

I confess I have not spent much time down there since the well ran dry earlier this month. I simply cannot afford to be watering the garden with the water I had to buy to fill the cistern. Going down to the garden to watch things slowly die held no particular appeal.

I head down after breakfast. It’s all a bit sad.

It may look as if there are still quite a few leaves on the pear tree, but what you’re seeing is the bottom third. The top two thirds of the branches have only a couple of leaves between them all.

Not many leaves left on the apple tree. The little tree that gave me eight apples last year didn’t even blossom this spring (more than a little worrying). The pear produced lots of blossom, but no fruit. No idea if the rain which has started to fall and will hopefully continue to so over the winter will be enough to rally my fruit trees.

I don’t honestly remember if the leaves on the fig tree

or the lilac tree

were this yellow and ready to drop before the beginning of October last year. I have a feeling they weren’t.

Time to give up and pull up the courgette and squash. Not a great year for either.

The few cherry tomatoes left on the various plants are too small and too green to salvage for chutney, so I pull them out and leave their containers ready for next year.

On a brighter note, my fuchsia corner seems healthy and is still producing flowers. 

I take a tea break and hang out on the garden swing for a while with Stella (who’s very happy to have me back in the garden). Spend most of the time wondering what, if anything, I should be planting next year. We had a long, dry summer in 2014, but it was neither as long nor as dry as this summer. We really didn’t have much rain last winter (which probably explains the well running dry this year). I shall have to do some research before next spring, figure out which vegetables require the least water and (assuming I actually like any of them) think about planting different crops.

For now I think I’ll do something to cheer myself up. Dahlias definitely don’t need much water. Nor do the Star Gazer lilies. So, let’s get them out of their pots and into the ground.

A nice little new bed that will produce beautiful flowers for me to admire when I’m reading on the garden swing next summer. Not exactly edible, but you can’t have everything, right?

The ceanothus is a buzzing

Honestly, it’s all go in the Gabriola garden. I will, I promise, do a longer update soon, but for now…

Remember this hole?

Well, thanks to the wonderful Cec Ashley, I am able to acquire that yard of sea soil.

The photo doesn’t really do it justice. That’s a lot of soil.

Which is just as well, because filling that hole requires a lot of soil.

And this is what it looks like now. On the left is a wisteria which is just about to bloom. In the middle a lilac tree which, small as it is, I am promised will bloom next year. On the right (temporary filler until I can identify a flowering shrub able to thrive on partial sun) some of my favourite fuchsias.

Elsewhere…

The ceanothus is a buzzing

Every blossom has a bee

And I’m prepared for Christmas

With a partridge in a pear tree.

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.

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.)