A Lonely Bouquet

Tags

cut flowers, jam-jar posy, lonely bouquet

My Lonely Bouquet

There’s a lot that is negative about social media and so often the traditional media can’t wait to make sweeping statements about how these new forms of communication will be the downfall of society. They so rarely seem to cover however, the amazing tools they can be to actually bring people together, to inspire and, in many ways make the world a better place.

I first heard about ‘lonely bouquets’ from my friend Sara. She’s an amazing flower grower in Wiltshire and if it wasn’t for twitter we probably would never have met. I spotted one day that she had tweeted to say she had left her ‘lonely bouquet’ at a bus stop in her village and that she hoped it had gone to a good home. Intrigued I asked her about it and she pointed me in the direction of a blog called Fleuropean. The idea was the inspiration of Emily, an American living in Belgium and the basic principles are: to pick some fresh flowers from your garden, make up an arrangement in a jam jar or similar, attach a ‘take me’ tag and then leave them somewhere for a passer-by to pick up and brighten up their day. I just love it.

So yesterday I picked some flowers and then left them in buckets in the cool and dark of my downstairs loo to recover from being picked in the heat of the day. The plan was to arrange them last night and drop them off at my chosen location early in the morning so nobody would spot me. Of course the best laid plans and all that meant I was frantically arranging flowers this morning and had to postpone my delivery of them until lunch time when I got back from an appointment.

I had decided to pick the village doctors’ surgery for the placement of the flowers. Partly because it has an overhanging roof which would provide them with some shelter from any heavy downpours but mainly because, well lets face it most of us need a bit of cheering up if we’ve had to go along to see the doctor. There was a slight spanner in the works, as I remembered at the last-minute that it was Wednesday and that they only take appointments until 12 pm. As I sprinted around, clutching the jar and card I was worried there would nobody around to see them. The other problem was putting them somewhere they would be spotted without being spotted myself. I timed it well so that I got them to the door without been seen from outside, although I’m sure those waiting inside must have wondered why there was a hunched, black waterproof-clad person acting a little furtively on the other side of the glass door. You’re meant to take a photo of them in the spot where they are left but this would have drawn too much attention to the whole operation so you’ll have to make do with the image of them in my kitchen.

I retreated to a seat outside the primary school which was close enough for me to keep an eye on proceedings but not so close to draw attention from any visitors. And then I waited. I knew I couldn’t sit there for too long as I did have work to be getting on with but I thought it would be nice to see them taken away, and if all else failed I could move them on to another venue if they had been untouched by the time the surgery closed. I was also intrigued to see people’s responses. Would they think there was a catch or just not like them?

I had only just sat down when a Land Rover pulled into the car park. A smartly dressed farmer got out and wandered up the path to the surgery. I was silently saying in my head, ‘Pick them up, pick them up!’. I saw him stop by the door. He stood still as he was read the card and scratched his head in a very Stan Laurel way. He was obviously flummoxed by the whole idea. He went inside and minutes later came out with a prescription and got back in his Land Rover. I was a little bit disappointed if I’m honest. More cars arrived and several people walked through the door without even seeing the flowers. This was annoying. Maybe I had put them in the wrong place, especially as I knew the likelihood of people seeing them on the way out was slim. But then a woman leaving caught sight of them and stopped, bent down to read the tag. I was willing her to take them but then she too left empty-handed. Mmmm, maybe this wasn’t going to work.

A little red Corsa turned up and a woman in her twenties got out. I was a little more hopeful that she might be more open to the idea. She stopped and looked, but only briefly and then went inside. At this point I was starting to think about time scales and how long I could justify waiting in the hope I would see them taken. I have to admit to also thinking, ‘Jeez what’s wrong with you all, they’re pretty flowers not a hand grenade’. I didn’t think it was in the spirit of the idea to go up to someone and shout ‘Just taken the blinking flowers’.

And then the door opened, and the twenty something woman came out, with one of the doctors in tow. She pointed to the flowers, they stood and looked and then the doctor bent down and picked them up and they both went inside.

I don’t know who eventually claimed the flowers but I was pleased to see them taken indoors at least. Walking home I tried to suppress a grin because it felt such a lovely thing to do and it had also been so intriguing to watch people. I felt a bit like Amelie in the French film of the same name. I don’t think it’s my last lonely bouquet, I just need to think of some more suitable locations.

If you’d like to take part have a look at Emily’s blog.

County where? Waterfalls, wild flowers and the essence of gin

Fields of harebells

I spent this weekend in my native north-east. I haven’t lived there for about 18 years now but I’m always interested by the responses I get when people ask where I’m from and I say County Durham. To be honest I gave up saying County Durham a long time ago, after too many blank expressions. I tend to say the more vague term, the north-east now. I did once have a very odd and confusing conversation with someone who, it turned out, thought County Durham was in Northern Ireland.

I’m often taken aback by the perceptions of the north-east in general. I was chatting with a builder once who thought there was no need to improve the road network in the north because why did anyone want to travel up there anyway. He had left southern England once in his 40 odd years of life for a trip to the Lake District and you could tell it had been a traumatic experience for him, one not to be repeated. I’m not sure where he classed as ‘north’ but I got the feeling it was a few miles outside High Wycombe. The idea I come across most is that the region is still blighted by its industrial past. Of course, there are places where this is true but there are also areas that are as stunningly beautiful as anywhere else I have ever visited.

The Durham Dales are a part of the North Pennines and are as idyllic as their Yorkshire counterparts but lacking in the hordes of tourists. One of my favourite spots is the area around Middleton in Teesdale, with the quintessential dry stone walls of the dales dividing the land and fields dotted with barns in various states of standing. This must be one of the few rural areas where these farm buildings haven’t been converted into smart homes, here they still provide homes for owls and bats, and provide the perfect focal point for photos. The river that rises high on the fells and cuts its way through the countryside is the Tees. In stretches it’s gentle and meandering but in the area around Middleton its path is interrupted by a series of impressive waterfalls, the most dramatic of which, the imaginatively named High Force, is England’s highest.

Holwick Scar, Teesdale

On Saturday we walked from Holwick Scar, a dramatic rock formation looming above us down to the river, and then along a stretch of the Pennine Way past Low Force up to the viewing point overlooking High Force. A short detour was required fairly early on when a couple with a dog walked through a field full of cows and calves. Predictably to us but seemingly not to the couple the cows became distressed at the sight of the dog. Very close to being pinned against the wall they emerged unscathed. Annoyingly for us though we were meant to walk through that field but walking past a herd of snorting and agitated cows which included an enormous bull didn’t appeal. Fortunately Wellyman had a back up plan and after retracing our steps we found an alternative, cow-free route down to the river.

High Force, Teesdale

One of my first memories of a school trip was to this area. It was a foul day with low cloud, rain and a wind howling across the fells. I remember the teachers trying to impress on a bunch of cold, bored 7 year olds the importance of the landscape. I must have been a bit of a strange child as I was the only one who seemed to enjoy that trip and the bleakness of the countryside. I’ve had a soft spot for this place ever since. On this visit though the sky was blue and the landscape shone in its full glory. For any lover of wild flowers it’s heaven. This quiet tucked away corner is one of the most important natural landscapes we have, with nowhere else in Britain having so many rare habitats in one place. The species rich upland hay meadows are some of the rarest habitats in the UK and some of the best examples can be found here in Teesdale. The meadows are breathtaking. Before the intensification of agriculture in the mid-twentieth century the sight of great burnet, eyebright, orchids and lady’s bed straw swaying in the breeze would have been typical. Now it is a rarity. The fluffy white flowers of meadowsweet filled the air with their heady fragrance and huge clumps of thistles could be smelt before you saw them. Needless to say there were bees and butterflies everywhere. I haven’t seen so many honey bees in one place since I did a beekeeping course last year. The fields teemed with devil’s bit scabious and its lilac pincushions and with delicate harebells, and tucked in amongst some stone steps were the small leaves and flowers of one of our rare native alchemillas.

Mountain pansy

Walking up towards the waterfalls we entered the Moor House Nature Reserve. This is a landscape created by the last Ice Age but the remarkable thing is that there is still a tangible link with this period. Rare alpine/arctic plants still survive here, long after the ice sheets have melted. The most charming is the spring gentian with the bluest of blue flowers. I have yet to see this in flower but it’s on my list of things to do next year. I did however see the mountain pansy. At first I spotted one by the side of the path and then as I started to look more carefully they were dotted about everywhere.

Juniper

This part of Teesdale is also internationally important for its juniper population. One of Britain’s small number of native evergreen shrubs, juniper is under threat.  Once used to flavour meat and gin, juniper berries are now imported for these uses as changes in land use and overgrazing have pushed our native plants close to extinction. And now a fungal disease, Phytophera austocedrae is attacking the plant too. Moor House Nature Reserve is home to the UK’s second largest area of juniper scrub. On the side of sheltered slopes juniper grows into shrubby bushes, some up to 6ft tall. In less sheltered spots it forms smaller, prostrate-growing plants, gnarled and stunted by the winds that whip through here. Covered in berries which were just starting to turn black it felt quite a privilege to see one of Britain’s rarest plants.

There’s always a dilemma when you know of a quiet, unspoilt place and whether to share the well-kept secret. I’m passionate about many things and one of them is the beauty of my home county. I hope I’ve shown with this post that the north-east isn’t just a landscape defined by heavy industry, it’s one of beauty too, and that there are some true botanical gems to be found there.

P.s. If you do plan a trip to the area there’s the added bonus that one of the best plant nurseries I know is close by in Eggleston. To find out more read my blog post.

Lilliputian Gardening

Tags

bedding plants, Crocus plant nursery, garden centres, Nigel Dunnett, Sarah Raven

I’ve had some frustrating experiences in garden centres recently and I’m becoming increasingly disillusioned with them as places to spend my cash. We’re bombarded with the word choice whether it’s where to have an operation, which school you send your children to or the seemingly infinite number of breakfast cereals on offer. And yet you wouldn’t think so if you visited a selection of garden centres.

My attention has been somewhat diverted this spring and summer with all my seed sowing and plant nurturing energies focussed on the plants needed for my book rather than my garden. Once the plants were all happily growing away at the plot I noticed that my garden needed a bit of a lift. Gaps had appeared where bulbs had died down and I didn’t have any plants lurking around to fill these spaces. I didn’t want any perennials, just something that would provide lots of flowers over a long period of time. I didn’t think it would be a problem to find something and paid a few visits to my local garden centres. How wrong could I be.

Meadow style planting on a roundabout courtesy of Newport City Council

I have never been a fan of bedding plants. It seems like gardening for Lilliputians. So many lovely plants that have been bred to be small, which end up losing any charm, and often in the process any pollen and nectar too. I appreciate that some of them have a place in hanging baskets and possibly certain municipal planting schemes. Although I’d much prefer it if councils used more of the meadow-style planting ideas championed by Sarah Raven and Nigel Dunnett. Garden centres and nurseries across the country though are stuffed with bedding plants from April through to June. If you want anything remotely different, something with a bit of height to sway in the breeze or something which provides food for pollinating insects so that the garden is buzzing with life then there’s very little choice in terms of annuals at all. There’s tray upon tray of begonias which I hate with a passion and insipid looking lobelias and alyssum. These tiny, tight, compact plants make me think of a character from Dickens, their face all wizened and screwed up and unhappy with the world.

Cosmos ‘Candy Stripe’

Plants like Cosmos ‘Candy Stripe’ on the other hand, now there’s a plant to love. Frothy, feathery foliage, stems at a height that you can see the flower without having to crouch down and put your back out and lots of pollen for passing bees, hoverflies and butterflies. What about cornflowers, ammi, daucus and rudbeckia? These are all great plants. Now I know what you’re thinking, annuals are so easy to grow from seed and cheap you’d be crazy to buy them as plants from the garden centre. The thing is not everyone has the space, knowledge or inclination to grow these plants from seeds. Even if you do slugs often scupper your plans and sometimes it’s too late to resow and start again. There are times when I’m willing to pay for the quick fix, the plant that someone else has grown and has got it to the stage that I just need to plant it in my sunny garden and within weeks it’ll be flowering. And what about biennials? So many people forget to sow them in June and July probably because they are recovering from the frantic April and May seed sowing and pricking out bonanza. But, come September the only biennials for sale seem to be wallflowers and bedding ones at that. It’s a real pity as there are so many great plants that garden centres and nurseries could sell but they don’t.

Disappointed by the lack of imagination on the annual plant front I turned to dahlias thinking there would at least be a good selection of those. There were a few at the first garden centre but none that really appealed so I thought I’d give some other places a try. With each visit to another garden centre I saw exactly the same dahlia varieties on offer. It was the same with other plants too. So much for choice. Availability and choice for the garden centres themselves is clearly driven by what the wholesale nurseries are offering and, unfortunately for us the consumers, this means less choice rather than more. It feels as if the garden centre industry has succumbed to a sort of supermarketification. I have never really liked the diversification into sickly smelling candles, dubious fashion and travel sweets that so many garden centres have followed in recent years, but I accept that a seasonal business needs to look at other avenues for income. My real gripe is when they don’t get the core element of the business, the reason they are there in the first place, right. I see no point in having 5 independent nurseries within a 30 mile radius when they all sell exactly the same stock.

The online nursery Crocus offers a couple of plants that I see as the new wave of ‘bedding’, taller plants, loved by insects such as Ammi majus and Orlaya grandiflora but mail order isn’t always what you’re looking for on a Saturday afternoon when the time allows for a spot of gardening and inspiration takes over. This is when the local garden centre should come into its own but for me it so rarely does.

Specialist nurseries can be great. Knowledgeable owners and well looked after plants and the specialism means a much wider variety of plants to choose from. But I’ve yet to find one that has tackled the traditional bedding plant market and tried to offer something different. If you know of somewhere I’d love to hear about it. Wildlife friendly gardening is one of the biggest trends at the moment and annuals are some of the best plants for attracting insects and yet the garden centres, or certainly the ones around me, have yet to catch on. I wonder whether it’s because trays of small plants such as marigolds and petunias are so much easier to stack in racks and transport. I can appreciate the logistics but if this is what plant selling has become about, a pile it high sell it quick approach, lacking in inspiration and imagination then it’s sad. I leave you with what must be the world’s smallest dahlia. Need I say any more.

A teeny tiny dahlia

Reacquaintance

Tags

tayberry, trachelospermum asiaticum

Ruby coloured tayberries

I thought I might have a bit more time on my hands once I had sent the book off to the publishers but that’s not quite how things have turned out. For a start there’s all the housework that has been a little neglected recently, the mess that is my shed and the area behind it that functions as a general dumping ground for old compost bags, pots with bolted salad leaves and that sort of thing. It has all needed some attention, as has my garden which has had to get on and do its own thing so far this year. So I’ve spent this week reacquainting myself with my borders, plants and paths.

The beautiful summery weather has been bliss. It’s been such a long time since we’ve been drenched in so much warm sunshine after last year’s dismal summer that this has felt like a reacquaintance too. We’re eating outside, the deck chairs have taken up residence and it’s a pleasure to potter about in flip-flops and feel the warmth radiating from every surface.  The heat has meant a change in my gardening routine though. This is by no means a complaint. I would love this weather to continue until October and can’t bear to hear, after such a long, cold winter the person in the queue at the supermarket say after only a few days of sunshine, ‘Oh it’s just too hot’. I sigh inwardly as I remember only a few weeks ago the same person complain that we never get a proper summer. For me, gardening takes place early or late in the day now and I retreat indoors when the heat makes working too uncomfortable. Watering sessions at the allotment take the best part of two hours but I’d rather give everything a good soak every three or four days than have to go there every night.

Sanguisorba

Last year’s cool, dull and wet weather meant my tayberry crop slowly ripened over the course of six weeks providing a regular, and a manageable supply of fruit. This year is completely different. The heat and sun mean the fruits are ripening rapidly and I can’t keep up. And the blackcurrants are dripping in black fruit that need picking too. I think I need to get organised, and quickly, for a mammoth freezing session. Wellyman has been instructed to make some white sourdough bread for a summer fruit pudding and I have plans for some homemade cassis. Maybe we’ve become so used to awful summers but it’s taken me by surprise and I feel completely unprepared.

It also appears that I’m going to be reacquainted with a flower I’ve been eagerly anticipating for some time. About four or five years ago I bought a Trachelospermum asiaticum from a nursery in Cornwall. It was about a foot tall and in flower and it smelt divine. The plan was for it to scramble up the side of my shed and drape itself in a romantic kind of way around my not so romantic looking shed door. I hoped that its deliciously scented, delicate blooms would conjure up images of an idyllic cottage garden retreat rather than my concrete panel constructed shed which I can’t justify the expense of replacing with something much more aesthetically pleasing. Well perhaps I should have done my homework because as I have discovered trachelospermums aren’t the fastest growing of plants. It has taken all that time for it to reach about 5 foot but worse it hasn’t flowered. Nothing, zilch. But then, last night whilst watering, I spotted what looked like flower buds. I’m not getting carried away, I can only see two sets of buds so far, so we’re hardly talking a screen of heavenly jasmine-perfumed flowers but it gives me hope that one day my plan might come to fruition. Although we’ll have probably moved by then.