Fuck, fuck, fuck a buck

Today was going to be the day I wrote about how rosy everything in the garden was.

About how well the fig tree was doing now that it was in the ground.

About how many strawberries I will be getting this year.

About the peas and carrots and beets and tomatoes.

And then I went down to the garden this morning to see if there was a rose in bloom for my bud vase.

And there was. One. All the other about-to-bloom roses were gone.

Someone had enjoyed a multi course feast the previous night. I suspect this clown.

Apparently he doesn’t know his place – here, at the back of the house.

See, here’s the thing. I don’t have the world’s best fence, but thanks to the location, it’s almost impossible for a deer to take a running leap at it. Once upon the time there was an actual gate, but in my absence Mike left it open and it rotted. So, what has laughingly been passing as a “gate” for the past four years is some chicken wire stretched across the end of the ever-so-good-for-running-jumps path to the garden. I know Antler Boy must have jumped over it, because the chicken wire was still in place this morning. Up until now I’ve been lucky.

So, how did he do? Well, there’s the chomped roses

and the remaining half of the fig tree, which may or may not survive.

He had a good chomp on the lilac and the pear tree. I don’t know how likely it was that the latter would bear fruit this year, but I think that ship has sailed.

He took most of the young apples.

But not all.

Neither Stella nor I have any idea whether or not the tomatoes, all of which have had their tops chomped off will survive.

Most of the beet leaves are gone (I’ve no idea if they’ll keep growing without leaves), along with some of the carrot tops. And then there are the strawberries.

Almost every leaf gone, although most of the berries are still there. (Easier for the slugs and squirrels to find them.) Are these, I wonder, even worth transferring to the new raised bed in the autumn?

And then there’s this fabulous irony. A few days ago, I took a photo of these now-safely-in-the-garden, proven last year (contrary to the claim on the packaging) to be not in the least deer-resistant plants.

I thought it would be nice for people to see what last year’s red flowers might have looked like. Small, but pretty, I thought. Now they’re gone.

On the plus side (yes, there is an extremely small plus side), apparently Antler Boy doesn’t like squash.

So, having surveyed the damage, I have now, in a pathetic attempt at a barn door/horse solution, dragged the rotten disparate part of the old gate out of the woods, in the hope that this might add enough of a deterrent.

Bastard bastard bastard bastard bastard bastard.

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.

I dig landscaping

A rainy day keeps me indoors, offering a chance to do some much-needed housework and to catch up on the blog. Hmm. Which shall I do first? Three guesses.

Well, ladies (I say, suspecting this blog has no gentlemen admirers), it’s been a busy couple of weeks.

When last we met, I was digging a hole. Ya gotta love the diversity of Gabriola soil. It can grow pebbles, stones, rocks and boulders. Thus, as previously noted, when you say “digging a hole”, what you actually mean is excavating rocks and boulders.

These are the rocks from Day One. I quickly realised they need to be spread further around the garden.

Not only will this give you an idea of quite how many (although not all of the) rocks have been excavated. It’s also an amusing example of how unfamiliar I am with the video feature on my digital camera.

Then there was the question of what to do with all the sand surrounding the rocks and boulders. It will never support life, but it has to go somewhere. I know, I thought, I’ll shift it over to the front of the garden in an attempt to level it off a bit.

Stella is incredibly helpful. She quickly grasps the problem. No sooner have I dumped the first couple of wheelbarrows of crap soil to the other side of the garden, than she craps in it to start fertilising it for me.

Eventually I figure out the futility of what I’m attempting. By adding a row of bricks, I can actually create a tiered effect. And heaven knows I have a lot of surplus bricks.

I know I said no stinking boulder would defeat me.

But I have met my Waterloo (and I’m not Wellington). This hole is now as large as it’s going to get. The landscape fabric will simply have to be wrapped around this monster before the topsoil is added.

By this point I am on a digging/excavating frenzy. I need more space for bee-friendly plants. Where else can I start digging?

I don’t know how clear it is from this 2010 photo, but the rear section of the garden (like most of the bloody garden) is sloped. What I need is a large, even bed.

And look what I accomplish in just one day! The photo may not do it justice, but I now have a de-rocked and turned-over bed running most of the way along the rear section of the garden!

The next morning, Stella, by now so used to spending our days together in the garden, shoots down the path ahead of me and gets there first.

At some point I am actually going to have to buy things to put in the new bed and the big hole, but I just can’t stop digging/excavating. I’ve decided I want another fruit tree and the big hole doesn’t get enough light.

I start digging behind the ceanothus, quickly finding my way blocked by the roots of the giant cedar chopped down many, many years ago. Unlike rocks and (for the most part) boulders, there is nothing I can do about huge bloody roots. Start digging nearby. About six inches down I realise I’ve found another large boulder (although not in the Waterloo league). Spend most of the morning digging down and around it.

I finally get to the point that I can roll it around a bit, but I simply cannot lift it out of the hole.

Stella checks out the boulder, but has no practical suggestions to make.

I am not going to be defeated by this fucking boulder. I go into the house and ring my Phase Four neighbours Cec and Joyce Ashley.

Both these fine people were in Inherit the Wind. More importantly at the moment, Cec (back row, far left) is a carpenter and builder who may, somewhere in his well-endowed home workshop, have something to help me get this fucking boulder out of this bloody hole.

Cec arrives 15 minutes later with a pick axe and a shovel, neither of which are required.

Before I can say “Be careful!”, he simply lifts the boulder out of the hole. Blimey.

After this strongman feat, he and I sit down on the bench and chat for a while. At some point I admit that I had been planning to contact him anyway for another garden-related favour. Now that I’ve created a reasonably level bit of garden, I’d really like to put another raised bed in so I can transfer the strawberries which are overtaking the big raised bed. In my haphazard fashion, all I’m envisioning is four planks, which I figure Cec could screw together in 10 minutes.

“I could build you a raised bed,” Cec says. “No problem.” My hero.

The next morning he arrives with, not four planks, but actual proper raised bed materials.

An hour later I have a strawberry bed. Fuck me. Oh so easy when you know what you’re doing. (Before starting on the strawberry bed, Cec inspects the existing bed and pronounces himself well satisfied with Glenn’s levelling job.)

While he’s building the bed he tells me that you can get a yard of high quality top soil from Wheelbarrow for $88. Sounds impressive. I ask him how much that is. Eighty-eight dollars, he repeats. Suddenly we’re in Abbot and Costello territory. No, I clarify, what volume. Oh, says Cec, eight feet by five feet by two feet – and that will fit his trailer. He offers to take me down there to pick a load up next week. Well, that would be a lot cheaper than buying hundreds of bags at $6 per bag. I accept this very kind offer.

When he is leaving, I thank him profusely. “Any time,” he says. I laugh and tell him he’d better not say that or I might just take him up on it. As I said on Facebook yesterday, Cec Ashley totally rocks. (Or should that be boulders?)

Oh, look. It’s stopped raining and the sun’s come out. So much for the housework.

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.

Oh, my aching arse

Two days of crouching and stretching and bending have left my under-used glutes screaming in protest. However…

the boulders are no longer in the hole and…

the hole is getting bigger and bigger.

I was going to try mixing some compost into the sand (which is basically what the soil back here is), but I’ve decided, to hell with it, I’m going to invest in some landscaping fabric, fill the hole with top soil and have another bed which is actually capable of supporting life. (Note to self: Ask Krys where she got the landscape fabric.)

Elsewhere (get your magnifying glass out again)…

Whether you can see them or not, beet leafs begin to appear.

And carrot leafs.

And peas!

And what’s this we see?

When she was here, Krys told me about her mum’s system for starting new bushes from old. Cut off the end of a branch, stick it in the ground and put a mason jar on top of it. Mini-greenhouse effect, as it were. So, given how much the bees love the ceanothus when it flowers, I’m thinking it would be good to plant more.

After all this digging – and to compensate for all this butt ache – I think it’s time for a large gin and tonic.

Bollocks. Lots of gin, but no limes and no tonic. Very bad planning indeed. A spritzer will have to do.

Rock garden

I’d forgotten (having for some reason given up on it in 2010) quite how much fun one can have digging up rocks for three hours.

Especially when one’s excavation involves rocks this size. (Shades of Catherine’s comments about the Canadian Shield.) For some mad reason I am determined not to be defeated by boulders, so I’m going to be back at it tomorrow.

Get your magnifying glass out for the next two photos.

The lettuce and rocket are sprouting!

And the first rose bud has appeared.

It’s all go now.

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.

Seeds of hope

Day 2: I’m in the garden and Krys is on a conference call in the house. I begin with this statement because I fear there may be some amongst you who suspect that the only reason any work is getting done in the garden is because Krys is doing it. She is not.

As far as the visuals go, this entry is going to be pretty bloody dull. But, as I’ve mentioned before, you asked for it.

The first hour or so is spent digging in new topsoil and compost in the existing raised beds. After this is completed, it’s time for a cup of tea. Then it’s time to plant some seeds.

Last year’s experiment, using bamboo sticks for the peas, began well,

but did not end well, when the peas outgrew the sticks.

So this year I have a better plan: nice tall wire circles for the peas to climb up.

The bamboo sticks work much better to mark the rows where the first rows of carrots and beets have been planted.

When I posted this as my new Facebook cover photo, Morag shared a hope I might update it when there are actually plants to be seen, and indeed I will. For now you will have to use your imagination.

Far left, back there will be some lettuce, front there will be some rocket (middle sections reserved for future plantings of same). Right section, new bed, spinach. Back section, left, old bed, baby scaloppini squash, right, acorn squash. Front section, left, nasturtiums for colour and edibility, right some herbs from last year (chives, mint and thyme).

An interesting discovery on a packet of cosmos seeds bought in the hope of having some extra colour in the summer: they like crap soil! So I scattered the whole packet in the rose bed. Fingers crossed.

Watch this space.