It’s all amazing

Wake up this morning to discover Mr Froad – absent from some days – has returned, though not to the fuchsia he’s previously favoured, but to one of the hanging basils.

Why Mr Froad? Well, when he first turned up, he was brown (like a toad), except for surprisingly green eyebrows. Do not doubt me. I have witnesses. Then one day he moved from the earth in the pot to the moss and was suddenly bright green. Some sort of chameleon frog? Perhaps. But more mysterious was how the hell he got into the hanging pot in the first place. (Mystery solved by my friend Ginny, who pointed out that he was a tree frog and could therefore climb. Ah.)

You do not believe Mr Froad changes colour?

Okay, here he is a few hours later on the side of the pot. A completely different shade of green and the black stripes have disappeared. The Amazing Mr Froad.

Speaking of amazing… It’s the Gabriola Theatre Festival this weekend. Unlike last year when I was in it, having spent the entire summer learning half a play, this year I did some pre-festival volunteering on the ticket booth to earn a free pass to all the shows.

I’ve just come home from watching The Amazing and Impermeable Cromoli Brothers, an amazingly funny one-man show written and performed by festival favourite Lucas Myers.

Anyway, anyway… Back to the garden.

Since my last update, I’ve had my first batch of cherry tomatoes – and picked the last of the peas.

Oh, but wait a minute, you can plant more than one crop of peas per summer, can’t you?

Why, indeed you can – and look at them sprouting.

Lesson learnt from first planting: Bamboo poles are fine for growing peas up to a point. After that point they tend to fall over, so the once-upon-a-time lilac bush protector has been dragged out of the woods an put into service. (I’m already having visions of using something similar to grow beans next year. Oh, my.)

This is today’s pickings. Okay, it’s true: I’ve always managed blackberries and cherry tomatoes in the past. And two strawberries might not seem that impressive, but, please note, neither of the strawberries has a big bite out of it, so obviously the squirrels, like me, forgot the strawberries flower and bear fruit not once, but twice. Oh, and check out the tiny cherry tomatoes. These are from the mystery plant thrown in free at the market. There are millions of them on the plant. I’ve never seen such miniscule cherry tomatoes before in my life.

More courgettes coming along.

Oh, and look!

I now have not one, but two butternut squash growing. (Or should that be squashes? What is the plural of squash?)

This business of having decent, productive soil is going seriously to my head. Just think how much I could grow if I had another raised bed!

Elsewhere in the garden…

Not entirely sure my one apple has grown at all in the past month, but I remain (for some reason) optimistic.

And the stargazer lilies have opened up. God, they have an amazing scent. I’ve never been a particularly big fan of lilies, but these really are something else. I’m so glad Pat introduced me to them. I think I’ll just go outside now and sniff them again. Perhaps with a glass of wine.

Attack of the killer tomatoes

Okay, they’re not really killer tomatoes, but, honestly, with the exception of the crazy seven-foot tomato which grew from a seed in Walthamstow, I’ve never had cherry tomato plants grow so tall as this year’s crop.

The thin bamboo stakes, which have always done the job in the past, simply cannot bear the weight, so time must spent with scissors and string, tying the plants to the fence. (Good news, as you will see from the bottom left corner of the photo: the tomatoes are ripening.

Speaking of seven-foot plants…

I’ve never seen a thistle anywhere on the property before, then suddenly this year there were three of them growing by the back path. I have a pretty relaxed attitude towards plant/tree life outside the garden. If some plant wants to start growing, fine. (I even tolerate mushrooms.) One of the thistles is now well over seven feet tall. The good news is that bees apparently love thistle flowers. If you click on the photo to see it full size, you’ll spot the bee guzzling thistle nectar on the top flower. Moments before I took the photo, there were bees on all the flowers. So, yay thistles.

Meanwhile, back in the produce section…

My first beet has been harvested and eaten - roasted with some of Pat’s carrots. Yum! (And, yes, Jane, if you are reading this, that is indeed your old cappuccino maker, sold to me when you were moving to electricity-free Keats Island, and still going strong.)

My first two courgettes are coming along nicely.

If my eyes do not deceive me, the first flower has appeared on one of the squash plants.

I’ve just picked my first batch of peas!

The strawberries are flowering again. I’d completely forgotten they do this. Hopefully the squirrels have forgotten, too, and I will be able to pick some without a bite already taken.

The bench cushions and cover are in place.

And when I’ve finished posting this, I shall be sitting on the bench with a book and a large gin and tonic.

Cheers!

Floral notes

Back in the spring, when Krys was taking a turn digging the hole for my (one) apple tree, she tried to move this pot out of the way, not realising the rose bush had taken root in the ground underneath. She ended up being scratched by a rose thorn. “Well,” I said, unable to suppress a smile, “it is Clancy.” (This being the rose bush I’d bought to replace the bedraggled fuchsias marking crazy Clancy’s shallow grave.) Given the temperament of my old black cat, she did laugh.

I’d already pointed out to her the ceanothus marking Jenny’s grave and the rose bush marking the spot where last autumn I buried poor old Tri. Krys looked from Clancy’s rose bush to me. “This isn’t a garden,” she said. “It’s a pet cemetery.” Well, perhaps, but it is a garden, too. (That said, I suspect it’s not going to be long before I need another rose bush. Angie, Tri’s sister and very much Mike’s cat, has held on longer than the vet thought she possibly could last year. She’s a game old gal, who hopefully will turn 20 soon, but it’s just a matter of time.)

Clancy’s rose bush hasn’t been doing all that well. I think it might have managed one blossom per year the previous two summers, but, as elsewhere in the garden, this year is a whole new year.

There are already four red roses ready to open up.

Tri’s rose is also ready to bloom.

Elsewhere in the garden…

The dahlias Pat donated to the cause earlier this year are starting to flower. Unfortunately, when Krys asked me where I wanted them planted before I left for the UK, I picked the wrong spot.

They’re behind the tomato plants, which are much taller this year than I remember them ever being in previous years. Thus, you can barely see the dahlias. Note to self: move dahlias next spring.

And another floral note to self: I need to investigate bee-friendly late flowering plants. The bees loved the apple blossom (main reason I am being very philosophical about the lack of actual apples). Just as the apple blossom was disappearing, the ceanothus (which they really love) bloomed. And just as the flowers on the ceanothus were finishing, the blackberry bush started to flower. Again, happy bees. But what about after the blackberry blossom? The bees are still around, but I have nothing for them.

Must do better for the poor bees.

Advantage, raised bed

Well, I have to say, it was very satisfying last Sunday morning to sit down with my very own strawberries (and raspberries) and cream to watch the Wimbledon Men’s Final. It was, however, nowhere near as satisfying as seeing Andy Murray win straight sets. (Sadly, eight hour time difference meant I missed the first set and there was no champagne.) Yay, Andy!

And yay, too, for the raised bed with decent soil! (And once again undying gratitude to Krys and Glenn for making it possible.)

The courgette is flowering!

There are beets!

Peas, peas, peas!

No sign of flowers on the squash yet, but I’m hoping it’s still early days.

Lest you think there are a few too many exclamation marks, let me remind you of the final score in 2010, when I first attempted to grow food in the garden:

Peas: 0
Beets: 0
Carrots: 0
Broccoli: 0
Courgettes: 0
Squash: 0
Cantaloupe: 0
Lettuce: 0
Rocket: 0
Red peppers: 1
Tomatoes: tons
Blackberries: tons (for which garden project can take no credit)

And allow me to also remind you about my garden guru cousin Peter’s verdict on the crapness of my soil. And then allow me the elation I am currently feeling.

Once again there will be tons of blackberries. Although, as noted in 2010 final score, I get no credit for this. The blackberry bush was here when we bought the house in 1996.

And once again there will be tons of (grow anywhere) tomatoes.

Oh, yes, all very satisfying indeed.

Rain, rain go the fuck away

Honestly. It’s the end of June.

Does the courgette have any flowers on it yet? No.

What about the squash? No.

Okay, there are lots of flowers on the tomato plants, but is there yet any sight of an actual cherry tomato? No.

There is still only one apple on the tree. (Mind you, from what Jane’s said about these grafted apple trees, one would be a bit of a miracle.)

And the peas are only just starting to flower.

Could we have some sunshine, please????????????

So, wonderful women’s weekend last weekend. Turns out I can actually squeeze four chairs around the table on the deck and, although there was no sunshine, it didn’t actually rain on Friday or Saturday, so good news there. (And, hey, even if it had rained: Women’s weekend. Hurrah!)

At the beginning of last week I honestly thought I might have a few strawberries ripe enough to share with my guests. When I went to the garden on Friday morning to check, oh, guess what? Gone, gone, gone. I can’t blame the deer on this occasion, as they can’t get in the garden. So who’s the strawberry bandit? Birds? Squirrels? Bastards, whoever they are.

I check again this morning.

Oh, goodie! Look at all the lovely ripe strawberries. Eat my first two ripe raspberries (yum!) before starting to pick the strawberries.

What the fuck? Okay, photo’s a bit out of focus, but every single ripe strawberry has at least one small bite out of it. Bastards, bastards, bastards. Does this happen every year? I can’t remember. The strawberry plants used to be in pots, but Krys insisted I should replant them in the raised bed. Hmm. Maybe this is her fault. Nah. It’s the bloody squirrels. Decide, if I’m going to have any strawberries this year, I’m just going to have to cut off the nibbled end and share them. (Bastards.)

Lots and lots of blackberries coming along – and I know the squirrels won’t get at them. Hah! (Plus the bees just love the blackberry blossom and the ceanothus has finished flowering now.)

Oh, and PS: the well chomped, supposedly deer-resistant plants do seem to be staging a comeback.

Now if we could just get some sunshine.

Resistance is futile

Remember the “deer resistant” bulbs I planted out back? Ha, bloody ha.

I wish I had a before picture. The shrubs really were coming along nicely.

This is what they looked like this morning.



Apparently they didn’t resist very hard.

No idea if there is any chance they may recover, but the planter is now in the garden. Bloody Bambi.

In other, less annoying wildlife news, a toad appears to have taken up residence in Irmani’s fuchsia.



Perhaps he’ll eat some of the caterpillars plaguing the island this spring. (Do toads eat caterpillars, I wonder, but cannot be bothered looking up.)

A morning spent weeding in the garden. (Unlike the vegetables I’ve unsuccessfully tried to grow over the past three summers, the weeds didn’t get the memo about the soil being crap.)



This particular bed is the first one I created when I first fenced off a garden area in the 1990s. In addition to the lilac tree (which finally blossomed this year), one of the five rose bushes I planted back then actually survived the years of deprivation when I was back in the UK.

And now there is a mystery.



That brave little rose bush, as it has proven every summer since 2010, is a red rose bush. So, how come the rosebuds it is producing this year are pale pink? Is that possible? A mystery for my horticultural guru cousin Peter.

The clematis is now in bloom.



Another mystery. The label suggested the flowers would be pale pink. Instead they are purple. In this instance I’m not particularly curious about why, because I actually wanted a purple clematis, but there were none left at the nursery. Bonus.

There is now so much fruit being promised.



Lots of raspberries.



The blackberry bush is producing an abundance of blossom.



Lots of flowers on the tomato plants.

And it turns out I was wrong when I said all the blossom on the apple tree had failed to produce anything that looked remotely inclined to turn into an apple.



It has, in fact, produced one thing that might turn into an apple. Time will tell.

Right now it’s time for a well-earned gin and tonic in the zero gravity chair.

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.)