You can never have too many roses

Today it is Roxie who is keen to help out in the garden.

We begin with a general inspection. What’s this I see?

Oh, my goodness. One day after transplanting the raspberries to better soil, one of them is starting to flower! (Okay, okay, yes, it might have started to flower today anyway, but a woman can dream can’t she?)

And what’s this?

A flower on the California lilac (formerly known as the Ceanothus) already? With absolutely no buds anywhere else? How can this be? Or is this one flower actually left over from last year? How can that be? Around the garden there are bees already buzzing. None are interested in this one flower. All are hopefully poking around in the tulips and hyacinths, destined to be disappointed. (Note to self: identify and plant an early flowering and bee-friendly shrub.)

This morning’s job is weeding the rose garden. Then it’s time (finally – I dug the hole last summer) to get the already budding clematis out of its pot and into the ground.

 

Then it’s time for my first al fresco lunch.

Life can be tough on Gabriola.

On my way back to the garden after lunch, I empty the compost bag into the wormery.

It’s been a while, so I decide to check the lower tray.

Hurrah! A tray full of lovely, smelly, nutrient-rich composted soil. (Note to self: remember to crush egg shells before adding and forget about avocado pits – the worms will never break them down.)

I should, of course, dig this into the vegetable patch or add to the various berry beds. Do I do this? No, I don’t.

The first few fistfuls are packed around the roots of the lilac tree in the hope that this might encourage it to blossom without Krys here. Then I spread composted soil around the roots of all the rose bushes, hoping for a bumper crop of blooms this summer.

Only after fortifying the roses do my thoughts turn to fruit. The apple and pear trees get a dose, as do the two dwarf blueberry bushes.

I mean, let’s face it, if it comes to a choice between food and flowers, it’s no contest, right? As Wallis Simpson once more or less said, “You can never be too thin or have too many roses.”

A berry busy day

It’s transplant day and Stella is as keen as I am to get working in the garden today.

Krys’s visit last month inspired a trip to Wheelbarrow and the purchase of the California lilac (finally planted yesterday) and another dwarf blueberry bush (planted the day after purchase beside a previously transplanted cousin.

Three weeks later, I’m pleased to see that the transplanted bush now has almost as many leafs as the new one.

While she was here, I started transplanting, shifting into better soil (and light) two black currants, the gooseberry bush and the two taller blueberry plants. All of which appear to be doing well.

Today it’s time to dig out my first lame effort at a raised bed, fill it with sea soil and shift the raspberries.

A sunnier spot, better soil… Who knows how many berries I’ll get this summer? More I hope than last year when the frigging fauna fought me for the flora. First there was the Bambo invasion, then, when the berries were ripening nicely, it was

Although I’ve never had to do so in the past, clearly this year I’m going to need some netting.

As I am thinking this, Jamie and his son Andrew appear, hauling the rubbish and green bins to the end of Jamie’s long drive. When I mention netting, Jamie warns me that I need to ensure I have the right mesh. If the holes are too big, the birds get in anyway, trap themselves and do nothing except eat berries until you set them free. Good point. He tells me his broad beans have already sprouted and I poke my tongue at him. All very well for those with sheltered, south facing gardens. Grr.

Elsewhere, in non-berry related news, the pear tree seems to have bounced back from its Bambo munching.

Difficult, I know, to tell from the photo, but a new, very robust shoot has grown up from the roots. No idea which of the four grafted pear varieties it will turn out to be.

When Krys and I went to Wheelbarrow last month, I mentioned my concern that the grafted apple tree was showing no sign of producing any leafs (unlike the pear, which was already doing well). The owner and I went to look at some of the ones for sale in the back and I was relieved to see none were doing any better than mine.

Happily it is now turning green. (Again, I realise, difficult to tell from the photo, so you’ll have to trust me.) It will be interesting to see, after one apple the first summer and eight the second, how many apples I will see this year.

The bees' needs

If I have a gardening philosophy it’s this.

In the absence of any innate ability, I find a philosophy is useful.

Of course, the keeping calm part was a challenge last year, after this bastard got into and wreaked havoc in the garden.

Bee friendly, on the other hand, has remained my buzz phrase. Furthering that goal was job one this Easter weekend.

Thanks to Cec (who is now – hurrah! – staying on the island), I have another yard of sea soil, which I can put to good use.

We begin, not in the garden, but in the back forty (as if I have forty acres – ha!).

As you may (or may not) recall, back in 2012 I had some trees felled.

The rounds were duly chopped and have by now been burned over the intervening winters. The ground remained covered in branches. After two years I accepted that these would never biodegrade during my lifetime, so I hired someone to help me clear them. Then I set about “landscaping”.

Rocks, as you can see, are a big feature. With no fence (not that that stopped frigging Bambo last year), planting options were limited. Deer do not eat daffs, so lots of those went in the ground last autumn. (Is it just me or do I definitely need more pink flamingos back here?)

As a rule (which can be broken), deer do not eat heather or lavender, so I planted both. Bees are very partial to lavender.

I was delighted to discover that another plant deer generally leave alone is my old bee-friendly favourite, the Ceanothus. (Which, as I was informed today, is also known as a California lilac, a name I’ve decided I prefer.)  

So, job one today was digging a hole in the rock-encrusted so-called soil, filling it with sea soil and adding a new California lilac.

This is the third one I’ve planted out back. Eventually, I suspect, there will be more.

Sorry!

With apologies to friends whose gardens may currently be buried under two or more feet of snow (yes, Jane, I do mean you), this is early February on Gabriola.

Last autumn, to celebrate my land (and rock) scaping work out back, I planted dozens of daffodil bulbs. They are the only thing bloody deer absolutely, positively will not eat. It may not be easily discernible from the photo below, but they’re coming along nicely. Friends on the island who get more rather more sun than I do this time of year, already have daffs in bloom. (Again, sorry, Jane.)

Something new for this year. For the first time ever, I have a sort-of greenhouse. A friend on the island who has one like this swears it does the job, so I figured I’d go mad and splurge fifty bucks on one.

Despite the dozens of pieces arriving in a box without instructions, I managed to figure out how to put the frame together.

When I started unfolding the cover I was suddenly reminded of the toxics talk roadshow I did around BC back in the 1990s. At one point I would always ask: “Has anyone here ever pulled a PVC shower curtain out of the package and felt as if you were being gassed?” Invariably there would be a couple of nods. And then I’d say: “You were.” I would then explain about the various component chemicals in PVC that escaped as soon as the plastic was unfolded.

Oh, crap, I thought the other day. The plastic cover for my mini-greenhouse is PVC. Why didn’t I think to check?

And then I thought, am I really going to take the whole thing apart and try to send it back for a refund? Is there any chance I could get a refund? Almost definitely not.

And then I wondered what sort of chemicals were likely to leach out of the PVC when the sun got on it and what might those chemicals do to any seedlings sprouted inside it for my supposedly pesticide-free garden?

And then I poured myself a drink.

We shall see.