You can stick almost anything in the ground right now and it will start sprouting leaves. March is the month of wonders.
I love watching any type of bee, but bumblebees are especially endearing. Especially when they dive nose-first into a flower and tip up their furry bums.
On a weekend, I like to get up before the rest of the family. I put on my dressing gown and slippers, make myself a cup of tea, slip on my wellies, and take a little walk around the garden.
Edging the lawn is not my favourite garden job. I don’t like anything that involves keeping to a straight line. I am a wobbly sort of gardener.
The cutting patch was carted off in a wheelbarrow in October. The bright border went out with a bang in November. But the rose garden has partied on, owning the dancefloor into December.
Autumn is frippery and frills. Autumn is gewgaws and jewels, catching the light. It is burnished bronze and polished mahogany. All these riches, if we are minded to see them.
Sunlight is transformative. Petals and leaves become translucent and their network of veins are revealed. The fine down on stems and buds are illuminated. Sunlight is a transitory and elusive quality in the garden. Which is perhaps why it is so magical.
The bright border is starting to show its age, but it can just about still claim to be Absolutely Fabulous, darling.
In this post, I’m reflecting on which plants are the real workhorses, keeping the show going into autumn. Which plants have been supping the elixir of eternal youth, and which are a little worse for wear.
As the world turns, the light is changing. I am an early riser, and if I get up at 5am, I wake up to a gentle dappled light which dances against the curtains and invites me outside. I avoid going outside just yet, as the silly dogs might start barking at a squirrel. But by…
Today we were joined by my fabulous step-daughter, K, who is with us for four weeks. She helped me choose the photos for this post, and chatted to me throughout. So there might be some weird sentences as I accidentally type random words from our conversations. Here is the lovely view from the table. That’s…
A few weeks ago, in response to my post The garden that keeps on giving, Ann asked if I could show photos of the growth habit of the David Austin English roses ‘Lady Emma Hamilton’ and ‘Roald Dahl’. I thought I would go the whole hog and write a post about the growth habit of…