My new book – The Crafted Garden

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cut flower patch, Frances Lincoln, homemade wreaths, inspired by nature, natural crafting, seasonal crafting, The Crafted Garden

My new book ©Jason Ingram

A heavy envelope which felt like it had books in it arrived the other day with the postmark of my publisher on it. It’s funny how after nearly two years in the making, and the pulling teeth process of editing which can make even the most committed of authors fall a little out of love with their book, the excitement is still there when you see all that work come together for the first time. It’s not as if the content comes as a surprise, you spend hours in front of a computer writing the words, there’s the time coming up with the ideas, in my case growing the plants to provide the material and there’s the photo shoots. Finally there’s the editing process. Time spent working with your editor and the designer marrying the photos and text together, and the juggling of it all to fit the layout and design of the book. Weeks and weeks of looking at PDFs and going through edited text can strip you of most of the passion and excitement you had when the book first started to form as an idea.

Fortunately there is a breathing space when it all goes quiet, the emails from the publisher stop and you return to a life no longer dictated to by your book. You stop waking up early, usually with a sudden jolt, worrying about whether you’ve spelt someone’s name correctly in the acknowledgments, or whether you remembered to send that urgent email about the photo that’s in the wrong place.

A spring project – The Crafted Garden ©Jason Ingram

Several months later the emails start again – publication date is drawing closer. Then a package, a book-shaped package, arrives and that excitement you felt all those months ago when you first starting working on the idea returns. It’s a little odd seeing all those long hours, the frustrations but also the fun times, staring back at you in book form. It’s a team effort to bring everything together and it was a delight to work with the very talented team behind my last book, editors Helen and Joanna, photographer Jason Ingram and designer Becky Clarke. Wellyman is also rather chuffed that some of his photos have made it into the book too.

The Crafted Garden brings together my love of gardening, crafting and nature. For me these three loves go hand in hand. Why buy a fake wreath to adorn your door when the natural materials to make a gorgeous seasonal wreath can be grown so easily in your garden or foraged from the hedgerows? Why buy Christmas decorations shipped in from the Far East when simple ways to festoon your house can be made from cones, lichen-covered twigs and evergreens collected on a winter woodland walk? They can be thrifty, fun to make, connect you and your home with the seasons, and they can be composted when the New Year arrives.

The Crafted Garden ©Jason Ingram

I think more and more people have grown tired of mass-manufactured products that have little or no charm, made in vast factories and shipped from the other side of the world in massive container ships. Many of us are rediscovering the pleasure in making our own or seeking out skilled craftspeople who make bespoke pieces. I think this is all a bit of a backlash against the homogeneity of the high street. Being creative is also good for us. Neuroscientists are looking into how creative tasks impact on the brain. It’s believed it can have an impact similar to meditation, and increasingly crafting is being used as a way to help people suffering from stress or mental health problems. Why do gardeners and florists regularly top the lists of people happiest in their jobs? Because there’s a real connection between a task and a visible outcome and in many cases the chance to be creative.

I’ve found crafting with natural ingredients has broadened my ideas about what I might grow in my garden or on my cut flower patch. I now regularly include flowers which dry well alongside those I pick fresh. I also look out for plants with great seed heads which I can save or pretty leaves for pressing.

The Crafted Garden ©Jason Ingram

For me it has also been a great way to beat those winter blues. Projects give the mind something to focus on as the light levels drop and by creating projects based on the seasons it has made me learn to appreciate what each season has to offer. I’ve always loved the weeks before Christmas and decorating my home but I can’t be the only one who really feels the gloom of January, the house bare after the winter festivities. But if you have some pots of paper white narcissi and flamboyant hippeastrums waiting in the wings to decorate a dining table or windowsill it’s amazing how they can lift the spirits and remind you spring isn’t far away.

The Crafted Garden is divided into the seasons with projects inspired by the plants and countryside of each. And, because I’m a gardener and plant lover, each project includes details of how to grow plants which could be used in the project with some other recommendations too. The projects range from ways to make your home look pretty, to floral fascinators perfect for a wedding or festival, with some ideas which would work as presents too. And there are ideas on how to craft and arrange flowers in a more environmentally friendly way. I’ve included a range of projects; some are very easy, others a little more complicated but still achievable. Lots of them are fantastic for crafting with children and inspiring them to appreciate nature.

The Crafted Garden is published on 3^rd September by Frances Lincoln and is available to preorder now from Frances Lincoln, Waterstones and Amazon.

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Cornish choughs, Cornwall, Garden Gate Flowers, Land's End, Mousehole, Sennen

Mousehole and Mallow

It wasn’t perhaps the best time for a bit of a break but the other week we popped down to Cornwall for a few days. Ideally I wouldn’t leave my plot, garden, greenhouse and ever-growing number of pots in late June, but it was Wellyman’s birthday and we both needed to see the sea.

The rigmarole of making sure everything survives whilst I’m away does sometimes make me wonder whether it’s worth it. I’m reluctant to ask neighbours and friends to look after the plants because I know that can be a bit of a pressure for some, especially if they don’t have ‘green fingers’ or it’s very dry and they have enough of their own plants to cosset. I did once leave lots of emerging seedlings in a friend’s greenhouse but slugs got to some of the plants. I felt bad for my friend who clearly had been worried about the whole thing. She’d rushed out to get organic slug pellets and I think had dreaded my return and having to break the news. Now that I need plants for photo shoots I’d rather leave it up to me, then at least I’ve only got myself to blame if they shrivel and die. It does of course mean trying to make sure everything will get enough water, and it’s surprising how quickly pots and plants on a sunny windowsill can dry out, even if you’re only away for 4 days.

Porthcurno

The prolonged dry spell we’d had prompted us to hunt out the irrigation system gathering dust in a cupboard, which we bought 8 years ago but never got around to using. It’s a straightforward hose with sprinkler attachments and timer on the tap. The fiddly bit is getting the water to soak into the compost and not to spray everything else – greenhouse windows, paving, me. We spent a few days adjusting the settings and initially massively over-estimated how long we’d need to leave the timer on. Bearing in mind the water only trickles out we thought 10 minutes would be about right. It turns out this would have drowned them and 2 minutes was more than sufficient. Pots were gathered together in a shady spot and given a good soaking, windowsill seed trays were given a base of sodden kitchen roll, and the plot and garden were treated to a mammoth watering session.

Ironically by the time we set off it looked like we needn’t have bothered with all the watering. It seemed we’d time our get away with the glorious weather coming to an end as we headed into mist and gloom hanging over Devon and I shivered in my shorts and tshirt. Wellyman, always one to put a positive spin on life, said at least I wouldn’t have to worry about the plants drying out…….

Breaking up the journey we called in to see the lovely Becca and Maz at The Garden Gate Flower Company near Fowey. We met through Twitter and it was lovely to meet them in the flesh. I’m very jealous of their flower farm perched on a hill with the sea only minutes away surrounded by beautiful flowers, incredibly photogenic outbuildings and their polytunnel. After a few hours of wonderful flowery-chat we left them to tend their roses and continued on to the fantastically named Mousehole, pronounced by locals as ‘Mauzal’. It’s a classic Cornish fishing village with whitewashed cottages, tiny narrow lanes and a pretty harbour. And what’s more the sun came out. With all the technology at their finger tips the weather forecasters could have only got our four days in Cornwall more wrong if they had suggested it would snow. As it turned out the predicted four days of rain turned into glorious sunshine from start to finish.

A detour to Constantine Bay, near Padstow, on the way home.

We got to marvel at glistening turquoise waters, white sandy beaches, watched gannets plunge into the Atlantic and were delighted by the seal which popped up at Sennen Cove just as the sun was setting. The water was so clear at St Ives we watched as a seal swam torpedo-like under water to join a group of surfers. We chased it the length of the beach watching it come up with crabs in its mouth. It would disappear for a few minutes and we would scour the surface of the water waiting to see its head bob up again. I’ve seen seals in the past but generally they have been from boat trips to specific seal colonies. Great as these are there’s something much more special about these chance encounters we had.

I have never been to Land’s End, mainland Britain’s most westerly point. We have been close enough before but I’ve always been put off by the visitor attraction which has sprung up on this spot. I’d rather celebrate the dramatic beauty of this coastline by enjoying the peace and tranquility of the place rather than spend it at a petting zoo or being treated to tales of Arthurian legend. Something made me want to see the actual Land’s End though and I’m so glad we did because whether you want to pay to see a 4D movie or stare out to sea for free there’s the space for both types of visitor to co-exist.

Land’s End

We took the coastal path out of Sennen and walked a well trodden path along the cliffs for a few miles. The view was spectacular with the Isles of Scilly just visible on the horizon and the Longships lighthouse a mile out to sea. Sea thrift was fading but wild carrot was putting on an impressive show and there were choughs soaring above us. A red beaked and legged member of the crow family this is a rare bird with, it’s estimated, only 250-350 breeding pairs in the UK . Colonies exist in North Wales and Scotland but it’s with Cornwall that this bird is synonymous, featuring as it does on the county’s coat of arms along with a tin miner and a fisherman. But for nearly 30 years, from the 1970s to the start of the new millennium, choughs were absent from Cornwall – the population whittled down over the centuries by trophy hunters and changes to their habitat until their were none. Then a pair, believed to be from Brittany, set up home in Cornwall in 2001 and successfully bred and choughs returned to Cornwall.

And, of course there were plants but I think I’ll save those for the next post.

Distinctly Autumnal

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Loch Lomond National Park, National Museum of Scotland roof garden, red squirrels, Royal Botanic Gardens Edinburgh, Trossachs

Most of us crave the familiar. The security and safety it brings, the sense of belonging and rootedness to a place. There is something very comforting about walking a path that is so well trodden you feel you know every twist and turn, every little patch of hedgerow, every tree. Then there are times when all you want to do is get away, when the familiarity of the daily routine has become claustrophobic and a change of scene is needed.

Wellyman and I had both got to that point several weeks ago but he had an exam to revise for which meant any get-away had to be put on hold. Wellyman is studying for an Open University degree. It’s a part-time course and he’s fitting it in around his job. It’s not the quickest way to get a degree, taking six years in total and it has been a huge commitment but he’s getting there with only 2 years left now. I’m immensely proud of the work he’s putting in but there is a collective sigh of relief when he finishes each year and there’s a three month break before the next one starts. So as soon as his exam was over last week we were off for a short break to Edinburgh.

When we left Wales it still felt like summer, mild and sunny, but it was distinctly autumnal by the time we’d reached Edinburgh. Leaves were swirling around in the wind coming in from the North Sea which had an icy chill that I remember from my days as a student in Newcastle. I’m not really a city girl, too much traffic and concrete make me feel uncomfortable but Edinburgh is such a green city and I was surprised at how at home I felt there.

The glasshouse at the Royal Botanic Gardens Edinburgh

We were staying in a leafy suburb which turned out to be only a ten minute walk away from the Royal Botanic Gardens. I’d love to claim that it was planned that way but it was a happy coincidence. The gardens themselves are free, you just pay to enter the glasshouses. The 70 acres of grounds felt much more like a park with a stunning collection of trees. What an amazing resource to have on your doorstep for free. The glasshouses were impressive and so toasty and warm it was tempting just to stay in there all day. I wonder if, as the weather gets colder, the staff engineer all sorts of ways to make sure they can work inside, in the warmth?

Cyperus papyrus against the backdrop of the glasshouse roof.

Later that day we were seven floors up on the rooftop garden of the National Museum of Scotland taking in the impressive view across the skyline of the city. I’m not sure how many of the tourists noticed the planting around the edge of the viewing point, the castle being the main draw, but it was an interesting addition showcasing plants from Scottish habitats with coastal plants, alpines and a planter featuring species adapted to boggy conditions. If I was a plant though I think I’d rather be one of those in the warmth of the botanic garden’s glasshouses.

The cutest red squirrel

On our last day the countryside outside the city was calling. Only an hour or so north was the eastern edge of the Loch Lomond National Park and the range of hills known as the Trossachs. The scenery was stunning with the burnt umber colour of dying bracken spreading across the hillsides, the yellowing leaves of birch and beech and tumbling waterfalls. The highlight of the day and an unexpected treat was seeing red squirrels. The visitor book attested to the fact that they were there but after sitting in the hide for 20 minutes or so we started to think it wasn’t going to be our day. Then Wellyman whispered ‘SQUIRREL’ and there it was scampering around collecting nuts and burying them. They are such delightful creatures which can’t fail to make you smile especially when all you can see is their big bushy tail sticking out of a bird feeder. It’s only the second time I have seen red squirrels, our native species which is under threat from the non-native greys.

The Trossachs

I have never seen trees covered in so much lichen. They were dripping in them. And there were fungi dotting the forest floor and clinging to the sides of trees, species we had never seen before. At one point we came across a mossy area covered in clumps of black. They looked like piles of cow dung but on closer inspection we could see they were fungi. It was a stunning place, somewhere which left us wanting more.

Black fungus which looked like piles of dung.

Long journeys are fun when you’re travelling to your holiday destination, the return however is nearly always a bind. Misty and murky weather, heavy traffic and hour upon hour of motorway provide too much time for thinking with that post-holiday clarity that makes you question where you’re going and what you’re doing. Holidays provide a change that we’re craving, change can be unsettling though and I guess that’s why many of us have post-break blues. It’s generally not long before fanciful ideas of packing up and travelling or moving somewhere else get lost in the routine of daily life. But time away can make us see the familiar in a positive way too. We were only away for 4 days but the seasonal difference was quite distinct on our return. The garden we left had been clinging on to summer remarkably well. Looking out of the kitchen window this morning it is clearly autumn. The Virginia creeper is turning red, as is the liquidambar. The thin strap-like leaves of Anemanthele lessoniana have tinges of orange and there is a soggy look of decay to the herbaceous perennials, but still no frost means Verbena bonariensis and cosmos are providing shots of colour. These changes wouldn’t have been nearly so distinct if I had been staring at the garden every day. Seeing the seasonal evolution in the garden has also triggered a sense of urgency to tackle my list of jobs before my inclination for hibernation takes over completely. Now if the weather would oblige with some dry days that would be much appreciated.

Under Cover

Tags

Herefordshire, Jean de Florette, polytunnels, unheated greenhouse, Wye Valley

My crab apple in bloom at last

So it appears that pesky old jet stream is playing havoc with our weather again. Chilly nights, possible frosts and even the ‘s’ word has been mentioned for some parts of the country and yet it’s nearly the middle of May. I can empathise with the central character from the film Jean de Florette at the moment when he’s down on his knees looking up to the sky hoping that his prayers will be answered for the torrential, seemingly never-ending rain to stop. For me, and I’m sure all gardeners out there we’re hoping for some warmth to return.

My crab apple finally came into blossom last week, a whole five weeks later than last year. My dicentra, a plant that is normally one of the first herbaceous perennials to flower in late March is only just sending out its pendant-like blooms. But, more importantly, I have a serious blockage. Windowsills are now groaning under the volume of pots, the greenhouse is so full I can’t even stand in it and there’s no more space left in the cold frames. Plants should, at this point, be moving through – some going into the ground at the plot, some being hardened off and second batches being sown of others. The plants are growing at a pace in the more clement conditions of my greenhouse and home but knowing they will either sulk or die if planted out I’ve had to embark on some serious potting on. I would normally only pot on into 9cm pots and then once those had been filled it would be time to plant out. This year I’ve got plants in 1 litre pots and some in 2 litre pots. The logistics of it all are proving somewhat trying.

Too many plants

I’ve noticed recently on twitter the difference having a polytunnel seems to make. I read with envy the tweets about the crops that are already producing under cover and wonder whether climate change means that the  only real way to grow in Britain in the future will be in polytunnels. I live in a part of the country where there has been quite considerable debate about the merits of covering vast swathes of land in plastic. There are parts of the Wye Valley and Herefordshire where field after field is under cover. Whether it’s to grow strawberries or asparagus, to produce early crops or simply to protect them from the weather, many argue they are a terrible blot on the landscape. The rolling hills and patchwork of fields are beautiful and it would be sad to see them swallowed up under polytunnels but the reality of what it must be like to earn your living from growing has really hit home since I took on my own allotment. For me it doesn’t matter if a crop fails. Don’t get me wrong it’s annoying, frustrating and disappointing but we won’t starve, I can simply pop along to the supermarket or farmers’ market and pick up something for dinner. But if your living depends on the crops you grow being a success then the British climate can be your downfall. And, how agriculture and horticulture deal with the weather should matter to us too if as consumers we want a ready supply of food. The idea that we could have another year like the last one makes me wonder how many businesses could cope and how many of us gardeners would lose the enthusiasm for growing our own.

Polytunnels, particularly when used on a large-scale bring their problems. Where does all that rainwater go that runs off the plastic? Some argue it causes flooding. Then there’s the glare created from sunlight, if we ever get any, bouncing off the plastic covering. There’s the manufacture of all that plastic, although a lot of it is now recycled once finished with. On the other hand growers say they use fewer fungicides and they have almost eliminated problems caused by wet weather on soft fruit crops. I know how many strawberries I lost last year to mould caused by too much rain. Whether you believe in man-made climate change or not it is hard to deny that our weather is becoming more unpredictable. In the nineties we were told a warmer climate would be of benefit to growers in the UK. We’d be basking in Mediterranean temperatures growing olives and all manner of exotics. It’s a complicated business predicting the weather let alone our future climate and so it seems those initial suggestions are fading away. Instead, the seasons are becoming quite muddled and when it rains it doesn’t seem to know when to stop. Parts of Wales had a month’s worth of rain yesterday. Growing under cover certainly seems to be one way of coping with whatever the weather may bring.

My small, unheated greenhouse even on a cold wet day feels quite warm, and protected from the wind and rain it’s no wonder my plants inside are growing quickly. The reality outside is somewhat different. Our growing season is short enough so at the moment I’m weighing up my options. Emigrating sounds appealing but for the time being unrealistic, putting up a walk-in polytunnel on my allotment is prohibited and getting a larger garden where I could erect said tunnel isn’t the cheapest of ideas. For the moment I think some cobbled together mini tunnels with the help of Wellyman this weekend is the only solution. Oh, and making an offering to the sun gods in the hope that Mother Nature will be kinder to us this year.

Frost, Fields of Gold and a Dodgy Mussel

Tags

Cornwall, fields of daffodils, Padstow, scented narcissi

The one downside to growing all the plants I need for the book I’m writing is not being able to go away for any reasonable length of time. Dreams of a week away will have to be put on hold this year. I have been known in the past to take seedlings and young plants on holiday with me rather than leave them to fend for themselves but the volumes I’m growing this year would mean hiring a van just for the plants. A mobile greenhouse, now there’s a thought.

Last week we did manage to squeeze in a few days in Cornwall and whilst winter still had its grip on most of the country we escaped to the one place untouched by snow and frost. I could go on and on about why Cornwall is such an amazing place. Whether it’s the quality of the light, the stunning beaches or the rugged coastline they are all great reasons to spend some time there but it’s the milder climate and longer growing season that tempts me to live there permanently. Despite the ear-aching cold wind I was surprised at just how many plants were flowering. At home my garden was slowing clawing its way into spring. In the narrow, sheltered streets of Padstow it was hard to tell what season it was going by the plants in flower. There was lavender and scented narcissi, ceanothus and primroses. So close to the warming influence of the water, frost and snow are rare occurrences in the county, and in the tiny villages which hug the cliffs running down to the sea the extra shelter provides an enviable micro-climate. The red valerian in one garden looked like it hadn’t stopped flowering since last year.

Cornish fields of daffodils

There is one flower, perhaps more than any other that is connected to Cornwall and that is the daffodil. For centuries farmers have grown them as a crop both for cut flowers and bulbs, the milder climate allowing them to pick flowers from October right through to the end of March. I’ve always wanted to see daffodils grown on such a scale but have never visited Cornwall at this time of year before. Then coming back from a visit to Falmouth we saw fields of gold in front of us. At first I instinctively thought it was rapeseed until I realised what it actually was. I was pointing excitedly and saying ‘We’ve got to stop’. I realise that sounds a bit odd, it was only a field of daffodils after all. Finding a place to stop so I could get some photos I opened the car door to be completely surprised by the smell. Although on the side of the road furthest from the field the scent of so many daffodils drifted across to me. After all those years of thinking about how the scene would look I’d never given any thought to the fact that it would smell so amazing and I wasn’t even that close. I love it when that happens. You come across or experience something you’ve thought about for a long time and not only does it meet your expectations it exceeds them.

It was good to get a few days rest, walk on the beach and breathe in the sea air but the general aim of going away was to come back feeling re-energised and raring to go. Unfortunately the bug I picked up on the last day had other ideas. I’m blaming a dodgy mussel. I’ll spare you the details but it may be a long time before I can face seafood again.

A Walk In My Wellies

Tags

Brambly Hedge, Flora Britannica, Navelwort, Richard Mabey, Winter heliotrope

Grey leaden skies greeted me on Sunday morning. I had planned to do a bit of pottering on the plot but I couldn’t muster much enthusiasm. There isn’t a lot that I can do at the moment anyway. A whole week without rain has been welcome but it’s going to take much longer for the ground to dry out enough to be workable. Instead, we decided on a walk around a nearby village. Known locally for its large (and expensive) houses, the village has some beautiful old buildings, a lovely church and some stunning views across the countryside. On a clear day you can look out across the Severn Estuary, with an impressive view of the bridges. There wasn’t much chance of this on Sunday though, the low cloud and fog reducing visibility. I had wanted some fresh air and exercise after spending too much time in front of a computer but as we drove up the hill onto the ridge the fog descended and it looked pretty grim. It was very tempting to stay warm and cosy in the car and just drive home, but we didn’t.

The quiet country lanes make for good walking when most of the paths and fields are just too muddy. Walking out of the village, past the church we came across an old stone wall, running alongside the road. Driving past in a car you would probably not notice the myriad of plants growing in the cracks and crevices. Stood in front of it though, it was fascinating. The damp, shady conditions had created the perfect growing conditions for mosses and ferns to thrive. In parts, the vegetation was so dense it was impossible to see the stones of the wall, so much so Wellyman wasn’t sure whether it was hedge or not and had to have a feel.

Polypody on a mossy covered wall

I love places like this. I was fascinated by hedgerows and mossy covered walls as a child. My imagination would conjure up a world of creatures that lived amongst the foliage, flowers and stones. I wrote in an earlier post about my favourite childhood books being the Brambly Hedge series and this wall was the perfect place to imagine mice and voles going about their daily activities. I’m more interested in plants nowadays, I have to say, than rodents dressed up in aprons and bonnets but I still think there is something quite magical about places like this.

I’m always surprised how I can come across something different, something I’ve never seen before, on walks near my home. There was a really lovely sweet scent in the air but we couldn’t work out where it was coming from. Everything seemed pretty green and we couldn’t spot any flowers so we thought it must have been coming from someone’s garden, hidden behind tall laurel hedging. And then we noticed this.

Winter heliotrope

It wasn’t something I recognised at all but bending down it was definitely the source of the fragrance, its pinky-white flowers smelling very similar to Viburnum bodnantense. At home, I discovered it is called Winter heliotrope or Petasites fragrans, which according to Richard Mabey in Flora Britannica was brought to Britain from North Africa in the early 19th century as a garden plant. It turns out, though, that it is extremely invasive, spreading rapidly. It was certainly everywhere on this walk, covering the roadside verges with its heart-shaped leaves. Considering its seemingly successful quest for colonising parts of our countryside I can’t believe I haven’t noticed this plant before.

Navelwort

Navelwort, or Umbilicus rupestris, was another plant in abundance. A lover of damp climates it is particularly at home in the south-west and Wales. Strangely though, I discovered it is a member of the Crassulaceae family which are known for their succulent, fleshy leaves that store water like the house plant, the money tree and stonecrop. The name Navelwort derives from the dimple in its round shaped leaves looking a little like a belly button. And in summer it sends out spires of tiny bell-shaped flowers, apparently, which I’ll have to remember to look out for.

I loved the rich green of the mosses and the delicate foliage of maidenhair spleenwort and polypody ferns. The enchanting little world was completed by the spiders webs glistening with moisture and this collection of tiny fungi, looking like an illustration from a fairy tale.

Fungi

What had initially looked like a pretty uninspiring walk had turned out to be a fascinating way to spend a few hours.

Snoozing, Squelching and Silvery Mud

Tags

Cardiff Bay, Gwent Levels, Newport Wetlands Centre, Richard Mabey, RSPB

Christmas presents

So the big day has been and gone for another year. In the Welly house it was a nice chance to relax after the previous busy days of preparation. Gardening featured heavily as a theme for presents. I was delighted to get some wooden seed trays which will look perfect in the greenhouse, there was Richard Mabey’s excellent Flora Britannica, membership of the RHS and 2 mugs which will keep me supplied with tea throughout the growing year.

Then Boxing Day arrives and we enter ‘Chrimbo Limbo’ as I heard it rather aptly referred to on the radio the other day. For some reason, I do seem to have spent a lot of time over the last week asleep. I even nodded off one afternoon whilst reading my new book, although that is no reflection on Richard Mabey’s writing, I hasten to add. I think the dark, gloomy days are getting to me and my body clock. We like to get out over the Christmas period and get some fresh air and exercise but this year the weather has done its best to put a halt to this idea. It has officially been declared the wettest year on record in England; as for Wales, well if there has been a wetter year I’m just glad I wasn’t there to experience it. The incessant rain has made most of our favourite places to walk no-go areas turning them into muddy quagmires with huge puddles. We’re hardy folk though and we’ve donned waterproofs and wellies and squelched our way around the appropriately named local RSPB Wetlands Reserve, despite lashing rain and howling gales.

Newport Wetlands Centre

The reserve was created in 2000 to compensate for the loss of mudflats further up the coast at Cardiff. The Cardiff Bay project constructed a barrage to make a freshwater lake with the idea of regenerating the old city docks by creating a marina. Mud flats are an incredibly important habitat but unfortunately a muddy tidal estuary doesn’t look that attractive when you want to build penthouses and bars, so it had to go.

The Wetlands Centre at Newport used to be a dumping ground for waste from the nearby power station but it has been transformed into 145 acres of reed beds and lagoons. Situated on the Gwent Levels, an area of ancient marshland grazing and reen systems (drainage ditches), and looking out onto the Severn Estuary, it is a flat, bleak landscape. I like walking here. It isn’t what you would call beautiful in the way that a Cornish beach is or the rolling hills of the Yorkshire Dales are but there is something about the place. For one, I love being by water and, whilst there is no sandy beach or stunning cliffs, I still find it incredibly soothing and good for the soul.

The Severn Estuary

There is also something about somewhere that is bleak. You have to try that little bit harder to find the beauty but it is possible, even with a power station not too far away. On a frosty day, with the bluest of skies the weather bleached reeds glisten, golden in the light. Even on a gloomy winter’s day feint shafts of sunlight appear from the heavily laden clouds and there is enough light to create a silvery, shimmering effect on the muddy beach as the tide goes out. Dotted about the mud are hundreds of footprints of the birds that have been here seeking out food buried below and flocks of birds scoot along only a few feet above the water.

Frozen lagoon

We’ve seen the lagoons frozen, creating duck ice rinks and, at the other extreme, some of the ponds almost dry after month upon month of drought. We’ve stood transfixed by murmurations of starlings and watched agog as a heron swallowed a duckling whole. In summer, the place is a teeming with dragonflies and damselflies, moths and butterflies, and stunning orchids appear alongside the paths. We’re ever hopeful that one day we’ll spot the magnificent bearded tit or hear the boom of a bittern, both inhabitants of the site. Fellow visitors taunt us, their sightings written on a board in the visitors centre. One day we’ll be lucky too.

A Blogger’s View

Tags

Bill Bryson, Cornwall, David Day, Good Gardens Guide, NASA, Norfolk, Troublesome Words, WiFi

I seem to be spending more and more of my time in front of my computer these days. Increasingly for work but also, of course, for blogging. Catching up on other blogs yesterday evening, I was struck by the thought of the people I have got to know ever so slightly via their blogs over the last year, and I wondered what they were looking at whilst they were composing their posts.

David Day painting – the view from my computer

I don’t actually have a view from my desk, it’s positioned in such a way that I’m staring into a corner. It does little to inspire but I suppose the upside is I don’t get distracted. Last year we finally got round to buying a painting to go above the desk. A painting of a local scene in really muted colours which captures the dark brooding hills and farmland around my village in Wales. The artist, David Day, used to be an architect and I love the buildings and the way he has drawn them with a flattened perspective. This style is more prominent in some of his other works. I just fell in love with this painting though. The sheep, the farmer, the white farm buildings and the looming form of the Skirrid, the hill in the background will always make me think of this part of the country, no matter where we live.

I often find myself drifting off and staring at it. In a very small way it connects me to the outside whilst I’m in front of the computer. We’ve had the painting nearly a year now and even though I see it pretty much every day I haven’t got sick of it.

Joining the computer on my desk is a peace lily. With yellowing leaves and crusty leaf tips it has that slightly unloved look most house plants seem to have, certainly in my house anyway. I haven’t managed to actually get this plant to flower since I bought it which is disappointing but not unusual apparently. So often the conditions in our homes aren’t suitable for the plants we grow indoors. Still I don’t mind too much, it adds a splash of greenery and it was voted by NASA as one of the best plants to grow to clean the air. A plant particularly useful for sticking next to electrical equipment as it can absorb the small levels of radiation given off by computers and also chemicals such as formaldehyde, given off by paint and soft furnishings.

There’s a selection of books including a bashed and battered dictionary that has seen me through A’ Levels and university, this has sat on many a desk and bookcase over the years. It isn’t the most comprehensive of word collections but suffices; I probably use the thesaurus more. An out of date Good Gardens Guide that my dad gave me, which is a useful reference guide and Bill Bryson’s Troublesome Words sit on the desk too. I first read the latter a few years ago and loved it. I’ve always been a huge fan of Bryson, an American writer, who has become an honorary Brit. Known mostly for his travel writing, Troublesome Words is one of his very early books written when he was working as a sub-editor for The Times newspaper. Inspired by having to use the English language and its glorious disorderliness every day he wrote this book to answer some of those questions that even the most educated get wrong. Peppered with some quite cringing examples of grammar and spelling misdemeanours by journalists, his book highlights the problems most of us encounter with our own language. Whether to use flaunt or flout, is there anything wrong with splitting an infinitive and whether you can start a sentence with ‘and’? After taking it out from the library again this year I decided I would buy myself a copy. I knew of a little second-hand bookshop in a town we were visiting whilst on holiday and thought I’d pop in. I couldn’t quite believe it when I saw it sitting on a shelf in the shop and for the bargain price of £3. For anyone who likes writing and language I can highly recommend it.

And finally, sat on the far corner of the desk is a collection of natural stuff, shells, pine cones and pretty stones picked up on walks. They remind me of particular places, my favourite beach in Cornwall, a woodland walk in Norfolk. Again these connect me to the outdoors even though I’m writing away on my keyboard. At the moment they have been arranged by Wellyman to sit on top of the router. He is trying to achieve the optimum range for the WiFi and has moved it about in an attempt to discover where this is. At the moment it seems it’s at the end of the desk with shells perched on top. I don’t think these are adding anything to the signal though.

I dream one day of having a view from my desk, maybe of my garden or of the sea. I’m sure I get more work done without one though. I’d love to know a little bit about what you see whilst you’re writing your blog.

An Apple Resurgance

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apple orchards, Cornish Gillyflower, Cotehele, National Trust, River Tamar

Cotehele has been on my must visit list for some time now. A Tudor manor house with 19 acres of gardens and woodland perched above the River Tamar in Cornwall it was once owned by the wealthy Edgecumbe family but is now managed by the National Trust.

The gardens were fading into autumn and, as with most Cornish gardens, are probably at their best in spring and early summer when the azaleas and rhododendrons are in full flourish. But it was not so much the gardens that I had come to visit, strange as it may sound because this was more about a bit of fruity pilgrimage.

The River Tamar forms the boundary between the counties of Devon and Cornwall and, once, used to be a hub of food and flower production. The slopes of the valleys down to the river used to be the site of many market gardens and away from the Tamar orchards covered the land. The area benefited from good rainfall, shelter and ground that warmed up quickly in spring and was particularly famous for its fruit with the first strawberries and cherries being especially prized in London. As far back as 1796 Bere Ferrers was known for its pears, cherries and walnuts but it was really the Victorian period up until the 1940s that saw the peak of production.

Much of the produce was taken down stream by steam boats to Plymouth and Devonport but once the railways came to the area the fruit, vegetables and flowers would leave from stations such as Calstock destined for the markets of Borough, Spitalfields and Covent Garden in London.

Once tourists used to travel upstream on boats to gaze at the blossom that clothed the valleys and the daffodils grown for picking for florists in London. Now the valley is no longer so productive. It’s still possible in places to see where the market gardens once were but the land has mainly become overgrown. At Cotehele, however, they are still trying to preserve the heritage of the area. They have some 13 acres of old orchards and in 2007/08 they established the ‘Mother Orchard’, 8 acres of mainly Cornish and Devon varieties of apples, pears and cherries that have become under threat with the grubbing up of orchards. These trees will act as a gene pool, allowing the National Trust to propagate more trees, for sale and planting at other properties. I’m always astounded by the incredible number of apple varieties we used to have that have fallen foul of modern agriculture, supermarket supply chains and us, the buyers, seemingly happy to buy bland but shiny, uniform and blemish-free fruit. Cornish Gillyflower, Colloggett Pippin and  Manaccan Primrose. The names of these forgotten varieties alone make them worth buying.

Lichen covered apple trees

The old orchards with their sprawling, lichen covered branches were beautiful and must be an incredible haven for hundreds of species of insects. The trees looked like they had had a hard time, just as many fruit trees do after this year’s appalling weather. The ‘Mother Orchard’ is in its infancy still but it was such an inspiring place and I loved the apple sculpture giving a modern touch. Wellyman was rather more taken by the solar powered mower that was pootling about keeping the paths trimmed. A clever little creation that knew when its battery was running low and would take itself off to its little ‘kennel’ to get a recharge.

Apple sculpture – Cotehele

At the top of the orchard was a large barn that housed a cider press from the 19th century that had been relocated from Bovey Tracey in Devon, restored and ‘pressed’ into action. It can squeeze 1.5 tonnes of apple pulp in one go making 900 litres of apple juice. There were a few barrels dotted about and Wellyman spotted one that looked like it was in use. Easing the plug out of the barrel we had a sniff and I was nearly floored by the potency of the liquor inside. Wellyman, on the other hand, is made of sterner stuff.

Cotehele’s cider press

The visit was special for another reason. Some of my family, long before I was born used to live in a small Cornish fishing village not far away. When the fishing industry went into decline at the end of the 19th century and work was hard to find many moved to Plymouth to work in the large naval dockyard and that is what my ancestors did. This is an area they would have known well which added another element, knowing that they would have seen this area in its heyday.

Cotehele has another claim to fame and that is the everlasting garland that is created from over 30,000 flowers grown on the estate which is then hung in the hall. Visitors from November can see the garland being constructed by National trust staff and then see it hanging in place from December. I have yet to see this spectacular but hopefully I’ll time my next visit for winter.

For more information on Cotehele (pronounced Coatheel, by the way) take a look at the National Trust’s website.

Seedheads and Skeletons

Tags

Cornwall, Forest of Dean, hogweed, south west coat path, toadflax, valerian

Seedheads of sea thrift

I do love autumn, the mellow colours, misty mornings, bowls of soup, fruity crumbles, woodland walks and the smell of leaf litter but it’s been a struggle this year to embrace the changing seasons. A holiday by the Cornish coast last week went some way towards easing me into October though.

Some glorious weather gave us the opportunity to walk the coastal path where brambles were laden with fruit. In previous, warmer, summers the blackberry crop has ripened much earlier. Two years ago we were bramble picking in mid-August in the Forest of Dean with the whole crop gone a month later; the contrast this year is quite remarkable.

I’m always quite amazed at just what will grow in such an exposed location. At the extremities of the British Isles the north Cornish coast often bears the brunt of Atlantic storms and much of the ground is either rocky with little topsoil or is made up of a significant amount of sand. Summer flowering plants, such as the umbellifers wild angelica and hogweed, had died leaving behind the skeletal forms of stalks and seedheads. Bleached  blond by the sun and salt-laden wind they looked beautiful against the blue sky and golden sand.

Wild carrot seedheads

There were the seedheads of wild carrot curling back in on themselves and those of the common ragwort, rusty brown in their final stage of maturity.

The fresh green of spring and the vibrant pinks, blues and yellows may have been replaced by faded, muted tones of browns and beiges but I rather like these forms left by these wild flowers, such as the papery pom poms of sea thrift.

I was surprised to see some plants still flowering. Valerian in its pink, red and whites forms must have one of the longest flowering periods of all herbaceous perennials. In my own garden, it flowers from June through to the first frosts, generally at some point in October but in the mild maritime climate of Cornwall it flowers earlier and will continue into November.

Toadflax

Primrose yellow is not really a colour I would associate with autumn but this is the prime time to see toadflax, Linaria vulgaris, and its snapdragon/aquilegia hybrid-like flowers. The blooms are designed just like antirrhinums with a bottom lip-like flower part which lowers when an insect such as a bee lands on it, allowing the insect access to the pollen and nectar inside. Bees are attracted to this part of the flower by the deeper yellow, sometimes orange, markings guiding them to where the sugary rewards for pollination are to be found. The back of the flower has a spur just like those found on aquilegias.

In amongst the sand dunes were the seedheads of sea plantain and sea spurge still flowering, relatives of plants we’re more use to seeing in our garden borders and lawn, these varieties have adapted to the coastal conditions. Sea plantain, in fact, is often found growing in salt marshes and is one of few plants that can cope with such high salinity.

Conditions may be tough for plants along the coast but occasionally there was a reminder of one of the great benefits of living on this southern tip of Britain. The lack of hard frosts here and the generally milder air drawn up by the gulf stream allows for a wider range of plants to be grown and whilst many flowers are fading in my own garden they are still blooming profusely here in Cornwall. As the path dipped down out of the prevailing wind we came across this shot of colour from these nasturtiums sprawling across the bank of this little slipway.

I just wanted to say thanks to everyone who wished me a great holiday. It was good to switch off. Of course, it takes a while to get back into gear after a spell away, well it does for me. Once the pile of washing and ironing has diminished I’m looking forward to catching up with all your blogs again.