Since my last gardening confession it has, in the main, been even hotter. Things are getting distinctly crispy in places and the ground is baked rock hard. All plans for planting, digging and splitting have been put on hold for the time being and the weeds have been allowed to cling on for a little longer- there’s not much point in just skiffing the tops off rather than getting the roots right out. A fortuitous power cut a couple of weeks ago stopped the pond pump and the stream dried up entirely, leaving me with a rather trendy dry river bed for a few days. I made the most of this to clear gunk out the stream, wrenching out invading clumps of grass and cutting back some rampant alchemilla at the edges. Power restored, the stream is now positively gushing along and my cold frame is full of little baby primulas and some orchid seedlings I picked out of creases in the boulders, where they will insist on seeding despite the total absence of the RHS recommended “well drained, humus rich, leafy soil and partial shade”.
For two days last week, when the temperature spiked to insane levels, I did little more than sit in a deckchair reading a book (Robert McCrumb’s excellent biography of PG Wodehouse which I’ve been meaning to get on with since Keith gave it to me for Christmas in 2004. Bizarrely, he inscribed it with “all his love for Christmas 1994”, some 10 years before publication, and all I can put this down to is the fact that Lachlan was 5 and Ishbel just turning 8 that year and they were at war.. ). It was not entirely sloth. From my deckchair, interspersed with occasional small strolls, I did a lot of thinking about what needs to move where. Come the glorious day, when the soil is soft enough, yea verily I shall spring into action. To celebrate this extensive decision making, I have just ordered a second lorry load of bulbs. I’m not entirely sure where all the tulips will go, but I am confident that when all the shuffling around is complete there will be acres of space freed up – and if there is not there are always pots. Eventually, on the third day, Mum shamed me into some action by cutting back the white achillea and I stirred myself to move a few barrows of wood clippings to mulch the shade beds, disturbing a very disgruntled toad in the process. In theory, this should reduce weeding next year and help lock in some of the winter wet so that the plants are less stressed in summer- essential if this cycle of soaking then frying is the new normal
We have a garden group coming at the end of the month and, I confess, I was beginning to wonder what on earth there would be for them to see, given the general crispiness. However, this morning brought a drizzle of rain and raised my hopes. I have noticed a general perking up. I am hoping my new (fabulous) pot lily and the dahlias might just hang on for another week or so – especially if I break my rules and water them. There has been some spirited second flowering from the roses and, of all things, some blue lupins. It even seems like the astrantia is willing to have another go and I’m minded to go out and chop back a few dead heads from the pink achillea in a spirit of optimism. If this doesn’t work I think shall just issue everyone with a selection of paper bags and direct them to the orchard where they can help themselves to my abundant Victoria plums.
