The miracle of the garden swing

Stella is a lovely cat in many, many ways, but she hates to be picked up and cuddled, and she is definitely not a lap cat. (Roxie on the other hand is good with both.) Occasionally, when Stella is beside me on the sofa or on the bed, she will deign to rest her head on my leg. A major concession.

So, imagine my surprise just now. I’m stretched out on the garden swing reading a New Yorker article when Stella gets up on the swing and stretches herself out on top of me, purring up a storm. Unprecedented and quite wonderful. Pity I eventually have to get up for a bathroom break. Will this, I wonder, ever happen again?

Or will she move back to what has become her summer home?

As Catherine can attest from her recent visit, Stella loves the turquoise bench, shifted from its place in the garden to the top of the rock garden. She’s always out there when I get up in the morning and quite often there when I go to bed at night. Definitely Stella’s bench. Roxie doesn’t get a look in.

Which is okay, because Roxie, thinking perhaps that she really is a tiger, prefers to hide in the foliage.

Spot the cat.

Easier done than finding the snow leopard in this photo a friend posted on Facebook recently.

Can’t find it? Click here. 

Back to the swing now. Will Stella rejoin me? Watch this space.

In the swing

Yes, yes, I know. It’s been a while. Well, what can I say? I’ve been busy. And I’m a bit busy today, so this is going to be a very quick update.

The most exciting thing in the garden at the moment is this.

Yes, thanks to a friend who wanted rid, I have a garden swing. It is heaven. I foresee a long, hot summer of reading. As you can see, Stella also loves the swing. Wish I’d had a video camera at hand the first time she jumped on – and shot off – it. Comedy gold. (She has now worked out that it doesn’t move as much if she uses the crate.)

Hell, the swing isn’t just the most exciting thing in the garden, it may be the most exciting thing in my life, up to and possibly including my run for the Labour leadership and the recent world premiere of my play. 

There is a great deal of good news (and bad news) to report from the garden, but it won’t be today.

For now I will simply share my new approach to gardening on Gabriola.

 

If I can’t have the island’s most productive garden (and I really can’t), then, as God is my witness, I’m going to have the cutest. And how could it get cuter than this?

More anon.

PS Although this has nothing to do with the garden, I would just like to thank the wonderful cast of That's Nice for breathing such fabulous life into my wacky characters.

Left to right: Marvellous Millicent (Jenn Feenan), Grumpy Greville (Cec Ashley), Charming Charlotte (Donna Deacon), me, Zany Zoe (Madeleine Ani), and Roguish Ralph (Roger Carter)

And I'd like to thank supercalifragilisticexpialidocious Catherine Stewart for driving all the way from Midway to share the world premiere with me.

Going to pot

Seeing as I had to go to GIRO today anyway, seemed like a good time to pop into the garden shop for some seeds.

We’ll get to the sweet peas in a minute, but first, please note that I am going to try growing some catnip just to see how mad the cats go. And note also what the wildflowers packet says: Bee blend. I cannot wait to find out what these will be.

While I’m there I decide to pick up a sage plant for the herb garden (in case Krys ever needs it for stuffing). Oh, and what’s this, sitting by the cash register where I can’t miss it? A bag of purple dahlias. Well, I think I’m going to have to get these too. The manager recommends potting them at this point, rather than planting them in the ground. No problem. If there’s one thing I’ve got, it’s plenty of pots.

Back home for an al fresco lunch and then down to the garden.

First I dig along between the new bed and the fence, mix some sea soil in and plant the sweet peas. If all goes according to plan they will grow up the fence and will look – and smell – amazing.

Then I pull out my empty pots and start potting the dahlias. When I tip the peat out of the last bag, this appears.

This thing bears absolutely no resemblance to a dahlia tuber. What the hell could it be? (If you have any idea, please let me know.) Well, waste not, want not. That’s what I say. And, I admit, I’m wildly curious.

So, in a pot it goes and time alone will tell what it might be. (Rest assured there will be progress reports.)

The actual dahlias are potted and now line up nicely between the raspberry bed and the fence. I think I might just leave them that way. 

After all, as I’m sure you recall, the Star Gazer lilies (old photo) stay in their pots year round and flower beautifully every summer. Why not the dahlias?

Short break for a fag and a cuppa, while I consider what to do about the unsightly former raspberry bed. I know Cec will get to me eventually, but meanwhile it’s a bit of an eyesore. What to do until there’s a raised bed?

Wait a minute! I know exactly what to do! Scattered around the garden there are pots of fuchsias, dwarf roses and bulbs.

I’ll move them all to one place. Much better. A pot for everything and every pot in its (however temporary) place.

Time for a gin and tonic.

PS: Speaking of pot, a headline in the Globe and Mail caught my eye today: “Tories sweeten pot for seniors”. As someone who is now in the sooner rather than way later countdown to retirement (how the hell did that happen?), I was momentarily thrilled at the idea of CRAP trying to bribe seniors with hash brownies. Alas, the headline actually referred to changes in the laws about when you can and can’t cash in RRSPs (ISAs, for UK folk). As if I’ll have any to worry about. I’d far rather have the hash brownies. Although that’s probably more Justin Trudeau’s thing.

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.

Holey moley!

 

The question for today: Now that I have an area filled with holes (can holes actually fill anything?) from transplanting the berry bushes, what do I do with it?

The answer (possibly not immediately obvious from the photo below) is dig a deeper hole, use up all garden bricks to outline it…

… add landscaping fabric, fill with sea soil.

 

 The forecast is for rain tomorrow and I’d rather water the garden with rain than well water, so I might as well get some squash  (acorn, butternut and scaloppini) seeds in the ground.

Hopefully these seeds will do better than the ones I planted in my new mini-greenhouse back in early March.

 

So far all I’ve managed to grow in there is algae. I would like to blame this on noxious fumes from the PVC covering, but I suspect the culprit is me. Being new to this greenhouse game, the fact that one actually needs to open up the front during the day to let some air in had eluded me until I noticed the green slime. Oops. Oh, well.

After planting the squash seeds, I move over to the main vegetable bed. Peas (both regular and mange tout) were planted at the beginning of the month. Today I plant, from left to right (so I’ll remember when they start coming up), lettuce, spinach, beets and carrots.

Rumour (the internet, so it must be true) has it that rocket grows well with raspberries. As I now have these sea soil-filled raspberry beds, I throw some rocket seeds in there. We shall see.

Now there’s the question of what to do with the other former raspberry bed.

Last month Cec very kindly agreed to build me another raised bed in this spot. Of course that was before he and Joyce decided (hurrah!) to stay on the island. Now, if there are raised beds for Cec to build, they are for Sandra Bullock. (Sorry, I meant to say Joyce.) Fair enough. Rome wasn’t built in a day. I can wait.