Do fence me in

Yes, yes, I know. Everyone has been wondering (all five of you) when the hell I was going to get the gardening blog going again. Well, here it is: the starter entry for 2016. 

First disappointment of the year is the discovery, when Irmani and I return to Gabriola from wanky Whistler, that the bamboo fence I erected last year to protect the wisteria from deer has collapsed in a wind storm. Crawl around the back to see if there is anything I can do about this. The answer is no. Not a chance. This requires Mr Fixit.

I ring Cec, explain my problem. He comes round to have a look. Bless him, he does not look at the fence, look at me and say, “What a stupid way to try to make a fence.” What he does say (and what I’ve already figured out) is that the only way this thing I have optimistically been referring to as a fence can actually be a fence is by hammering in at least two more fence posts at the back.

I go to Arbutus, purchase fence posts.

This morning Cec comes back with his scaffold, sledge hammer and a bag of plastic ties. We set to work. An hour later, not only is the fence repaired, but it is standing up a damn sight straighter than it was when I erected it last summer.

It is no longer likely that a slight breeze (or wisteria seeking Bambo) could knock it over again.

Despite all evidence to the contrary, I am not a complete mug, so I pick up a third fence post at Arbutus. I figure, if a very kind and helpful man with a sledge hammer is coming around to hammer in fence posts, I might was well get another post on the side of the garden where the wire is leaning so far forward (or back, depending on how I position it) a half way intelligent deer could actually probably step over it.

It may not be immediately obvious from this photo, but, yes, that is a new fence post in the middle.

What should be immediately obvious is that this bed has been dug over – and fertilised – and is now ready for peas and other seed. (In case you’re wondering, the rolled up chicken wire is an attempt to discourage Stella and Roxy from using the freshly dug earth as a giant litter box.)

More anon. No, really.

Barn door

So, after Bambo (for the second year in a row) managed to pick his way through the undergrowth to nibble all the leaves from the wisteria weaving through the back fence, I finally do something to prevent future snacking. 

After measuring the fence (9½ feet from fence post to fence post and fence post to tree), I head to the garden shop, which I know sells bamboo screens. I check the measurements for the screens: two metres by three metres. Bollocks. Metric conversion. What does this mean? Go inside to use a calculator, knowing that one metre equals 39 inches. So, 39 times 3 divided by 12 equals 9.75 feet. Hurrah! Purchase two screens and head home.

Spend some time crawling around behind the fence, clipping branches and clearing undergrowth, then start unrolling screens. Two hours later – ta da!

I have a bamboo screen protector for wisteria and clematis leaves.

Here we have it from another angle.

No, your eyes (assuming you can see it) do not deceive you. It is very definitely leaning inwards on the right hand side, as does the fence. I don’t think the weight of the screen is sufficient to actually topple the fence, but I think I might ask Mr Fixit Cec if he has any ideas about strengthening it.

In the meantime, despite the inward leaning, it actually does look rather splendid.

As Howard would say: Job done.

Arghhhh!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Yesterday I had leafy wisteria and clematis vines entwined in the back fence of the garden. Even though the clematis failed to flower this year (apparently this is not uncommon when clematises – clemati? – are replanted), the leafy vines spreading across the fence did look quite pretty. 

This morning when I went down to water the garden, there were no leaves left on the vines of either plant. 

A quick look around the rest of the garden reassures me that he didn’t get into the garden itself, merely managed to squeeze in between the trees and the fence. Bastard, bastard, bastard. 

Elsewhere, in long overdue garden news… 

The spaghetti squash plant, despite a profusion of flowers, has produced one squash. The baby watermelon plant, despite a profusion of flowers, has produced one baby watermelon. 

Disappointing realisation that all the squash seeds I planted that actually sprouted are scallopinis. Which is fine, I suppose, except I really did want more acorn squash this summer and it’s now too late to do anything about it. Oh, well.

The courgette plant, which wasn’t looking too promising, is now producing at a decent clip. (Recently made my first batch of Becky’s excellent courgette and gorgonzola soup.)

One nice surprise: For the first time since I planted it two or three years ago, the pink gooseberry bush has produced fruit this year.

Hardly enough for the gooseberry fool I was dreaming of when I planted it, but tasty nonetheless.

The cherry tomatoes are still producing an abundance of fruit.

Given the tastiness of the yellow cherry tomatoes I planted last summer (after fucking Bambo ate all the red ones), I decided to plant another one this year. This is it.

You can’t fool me. Not only are these tomatoes not yellow, they are three times the size of the cherry tomatoes. (Tasty, admittedly, but not what I thought I was buying at the market back in May.

Like the ridiculously early raspberries, the blackberries are ridiculously early this year. 

Started picking them in mid-July and genuinely cannot keep up. This would be a good year to make jam – if I was a jam maker, but I’m not. Even sharing them with Pat, there is an overabundance. I’ve already frozen about two pounds of them. (Good to know I may not have to buy any frozen berries for my cereal over the winter.)

Another nice surprise in “the back 40”. When it occurred to me a couple of months ago that deer do not eat rhododendrons, I decided to plant a couple in the back. Assumed at the time that they were well past flowering time, but look!

One of them is flowering now. And very pretty the flowers are. 

I’m pleased to report that, touch wood (short pause for me to touch both the desk and my head), the well is still holding up. (Or should I say filling up?) An ongoing worry nonetheless.

Apologies that the updates have been so few and far between, but what can I say? I’d rather be in the garden on the swing with Stella and a good book than in the house writing about the garden at my desk.

Feline fun

I look out the window this morning to see Roxie rolling around in a planter of (until she started rolling around in it) new mint growth.

I could understand if I was growing catnip (perhaps I should), but mint? Who knew?

Down in the garden I find holes dug in the vegetable bed. It’s true that when I dug the bed over last week I did find some cat poo. I was hoping the nicely laid out markers would be sufficient discouragement.

Apparently not. Stella, bless her, has never shown any interest in using the vegetable bed as a giant litter box, so I’m guessing this is Roxie’s work.

Fetch some old netting from the shed and spread it out on the bed.

Hopefully this will prove sufficiently discouraging.

Elsewhere, lots of blossom on the pear tree. (Still no sign on the apple tree.)

And one of the wisteria planted last summer is definitely springing back to life.

It’s getting exciting, folks.

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.