May, bloody May...

It is raining steadily outside, as it has been for most of the past 6 weeks or so. It is supposed to be the spring, but it has been sodden and cold, dark and dreary as far back as the Equinox. This induces in me an unfamiliar gloominess, one that I associate with the long nights of midwinter, not this season of growth and uplift. Having wintered well, and managed to avoid the worst of winter’s dark hounds, it is not good to feel like this when summer is just over the horizon.

The garden grows, and long thirsted-for rain is bringing on a surge in the borders. Digitalis clutch towards the sky before one’s eyes, and there are bluebells and tulips for colour now that the yellow of daffs, Forsythia and Primulas have faded. And there is blossom on apple trees and hawthorns. But still, the mud and drizzle mean that forays into the garden are hurried, scuttling between house, greenhouse and potting shed, no time to stand (let alone, sit) and fully appreciate what is going-on.

At the allotment, which started with great energy and enthusiasm in the weeks before Easter, cold and wet have taken their toll. Whole sowings of early crops have disappeared into the cold, wet earth; those plants (Broad Beans, for instance) which were brought on early and planted out in late March, have scarcely grown since – and who can blame them. A few brave salad potatoes have shown through, but the anticipation of eating them on a warm evening in the garden seems sadly misplaced.

Work for other people has also been hard to manage, with today being the 4^th consecutive Wednesday I have had to write-off because of the poor weather. On the other hand -  come on, indulge in a little optimism – growth in general has been held back, so lawns and borders are not yet in need of full-on attention each week.

I am particularly bothered by the garden I am working on for the friends whose Silver Wedding falls in late June. All the plants I have put in so far have struggled to make much headway, and things are running behind somewhat. I know that, if all else fails, I can be there on the morning of their  party with ‘instant’ bedding to create some sort of effect – but it will not be the silver and blue herbaceous mélange that I had intended and promised…

Oh, unseasonal gloom – get away with you…bring me sunshine!

Mmm...and now April's half over

Any excuses for failing to post anything in a month? Not really...bit busy, week's holiday in the Lake District, but otherwise should have been able to make time. Never mind.

The garden is looking good now that there's been a combination of rain and new planting. There is still a  huge pile of shrub cuttings sitting on the lawn to be recycled, and I do worry that birds will start nesting in there, which would mean they could not be touched for  many weeks - with a fair wind I will get them shifted this week. Speaking of nesting birds, our robins appear to have raised at least one chick: it looks about a week or so out of the nest, so it must have fledged over Easter. Ma and Pa are certainly both busy to-ing and fro-ing with food, and nearly take my hand off when I pop out first thing in the morning with a fistful of suet pellets [you can see why Sergio Leone passed on that one...].

View from YHA Ambleside

Easter week was spent in the Lake District, based at YHA Ambleside. What a location: if this was a 'commercial' hotel you'd pay a lot for the stunning view across Windermere to Bowfell and Crinkle Crags, to say nothing of the lake itself, and the amazing sunsets - which we enjoyed from both our family room and the dining room. The staff were uniformly friendly and helpful, and the food was filling and tasty - not a bad selection of local beers in the bar either. Weather was par for April in Cumbria: one day of steady rain, but all the rest were no worse than 'showery'. There was a nice sprinkling of snow on the higher fells which made for some cracking views. Good birding, with common crossbills, dipper, treecreepers spotted on walks at Aira Force and Tarn Hows: and twenty-odd swallows dipping and weaving over Windermere one evening, as if revelling in the end of their long journey...except that they were gone next day, so must have just stopped off en route for Scotland perhaps.

Wee girl turned three while we were away, and started nursery school yesterday: she is growing up apace.

I was supposed to be back to work today, but the heavy thundery showers may put paid to  that: I think some more sowing of annuals is called for. There are already dozens of  perennials waiting to be planted, both here and in clients' gardens, all enjoying a good soaking, and some veg seedlings coming along well in the greenhouse. Some early spuds I put in about three weeks ago are already sprouting vigorously in the sacks here at home: the allotment crop are a little bit behind for now. Oh, the joy to come of salad potatoes fresh from the soil!

Where is March going?

Crikey, it's mid-March and the clocks are a week away from changing, how did that happen? It has been, in the words of the great Garrison Keillor (sort of), a busy week in constant gardener land.

People have clearly got the sense of spring in their veins as I have been gathering new clients/projects busily for the past ten days or so. Very gratifyingly, this looks like keeping me busy for the spring at least, and it will be a help when the wee girl starts nursery-school after Easter and I have a bit more flexibility with my working hours. And, of course, the days will be longer which helps.

Last weekend was fantastic here, warm sunshine and a real feeling of growth in the air. I spent all day Saturday at the allotment, getting raised beds in good order, planting some early potatoes, and re-roofing the shed. I have decided that gardening is an occupation better pursued on all fours, nose down in the earth where you can see and feel what's going on: maybe that's why I don't really regard lawn-mowing as a gardening activity? Certainly it's best done standing up... But everything else is about getting your hands mucky and some soil under the fingernails.

Having got a good stint at the allotment done on Saturday, I spent Sunday in the garden here at home doing a 'spring clean' of the big beds. Long overdue it was too. I have only recently realised how timid I have long been as a gardener, and conversely, how satisfying it is to be bold and make some significant changes every now and then. So several long-standing shrubs, which had got very woody and tatty, came under the loppers, and masses of bare earth emerged from the gloom ready for some new and more lively planting.

Incidentally, is there a proper name for all the dead strawy-stuff that accumulates in herbaceous borders over winter - bits of last summer's growth which have died-back and lie strewn about? Often it's been semi-deliberately left for overwintering bug purposes etc, but simply makes the beds look untidy come the spring. To myself I call it 'scrat' - I'm not sure why, but it may be that one clears it whilst 'scratting around' in the beds, or that the plants which generate it are often 'scratty' - or maybe both. Either way, in the absence of a better word, 'scrat' it is.

I also entered the lists against my old foe Ground Elder, which is starting to poke through here and there. What a persistent blighter it is, but I quite enjoy our annual trench warfare, especially as I finally (after many years) seem to be winning. Unconvinced by its culinary potential, I do seek to beat it into submission with my bare hands. I'm told it tastes like parsley, but I never wanted to have beds full of parsley in my garden either...

So, after two days, I have a lawn heaped with shrub-cuttings - which will go to the recycling centre today, all being well - but apart from that a much happier-looking garden: and a much happier gardener.

PS I discovered that watching Gardeners' World on iPlayer on Sunday night was a much more relaxing experience than watching it live. Looking back on a weekend's gardening done is so satisfying.

A drizzly Saturday morning (remember them?)

This week saw some more planting in the front garden, which is now looking really good. There is a feeling of structure to it now, but still plenty of space for more plants as the season moves on. The back garden looks a bit neglected by comparison, probably because it has been, so that's the next thing to tackle. I know that, left to its own devices, it would look perfectly good by midsummer - it always does - but I am itching for change. In particular the first lawn, which has never been a success, is in my sights for treatment: the grass (mostly moss at the moment) is to go, and a gravel garden will replace it. Last night I had the idea of trying to incorporate a pond too: not sure it will work, but I will think about it. Ponds are such good value, especially for children, and our present one is tiny, if frog-filled.

My wee girl's birthday present is to be a playhouse in the garden, so a base for that needs to be constructed. Fortunately there is a good spot for it, with little or nothing growing (a horseradish will need moving, and a few naturalised primroses which can go into the front, but that's all). It will be tucked in behind the apple tree and against a fence with Jasminus growing over it, so should feel a bit 'secret' for her. She is very keen on 'houses' of one sort and another, so this will make it more fun for her to play in the garden while I work in the greenhouse nearby.

Have been busy in other folk's gardens this week, and making the most of some glorious afternoons - it's been misty and murky here in the mornings. A huge Buddleia davidii came under the loppers yesterday (actually a triple-pronged attack of  loppers, pruning saw and secateurs), necessitating several journeys to the recycling centre. I have an enormous pile of cuttings to remove from another garden too, which has built up since the autumn, and now needs moving ahead of some fence being replaced behind it: said fence is leaning at an alarming angle, though not due to the rubbish, which is simply in the way.

My most exciting project at the moment is pulling together a garden in preparation for the owners' Silver Wedding celebrations in June, which coincides with the daughter's 21st birthday - so a big outdoor bash is planned I think. Anyway, I have carte blanche and the brief is simply to make the garden look as attractive as possible by the end of June. I imagine this is a bit like it feels to do a show garden: everything has to be at its best by a certain date. But with the additional need for whatever I do to be sustainable thereafter, it's not a stage set, it's their garden. My head is buzzing with ideas and thoughts - what a welcome feeling.

Today was to be an odd-jobs day here and on the allotment, but  may have to reschedule the odd one until a dry day. But the feeling of drizzly rain is terrific, we do need days and days of it - hard though it is on Mrs G and the boy who have been stuck indoors all week, and need some  fresh air.

Was reading some pieces in Ruth Petrie's Notes from the Garden last night - a collection of gardening articles from The Guardian. I had forgotten all about the Percy Thrower scandal, when he was sacked from Gardener's World for doing ICI adverts - but I had also forgotten that he only presented GW for 7 years, it seemed like he was there forever when I was watching as a small boy. I do remember that the scandal was quite a talking point at the time, especially in conversation with older relatives, of which there was a lot in those days. Christopher Lloyd's contributions made me laugh out loud a few times - not something that can be said of much garden writing - but my favourite was a brief review of Derek Jarman's Garden from 1995. The description of photographer Howard Sooley, whose photographs illustrate the book (which I don't actually have, but will now look for), is glorious: "Sooley himself...looking like a giraffe that has stared long and hard at a photograph of Virginia Woolf." I have no idea what Howard Sooley actually looks like, but I think I would know him anywhere...

PS there are some lovely photos of Narcissus at www.howardsooley.com

Quick Sunday morning thoughts before heading off to Marwell Wildlife for the day. Clear sky and sun: lovely (not least as Marwell can be a bit - actually, a lot - chilly on a day with any wind). 

Had a good afternoon at the allotment yesterday. Having done a lot of weeding of the raised beds last November, they remain remarkably weed-free, and the soil is in great shape. Still not warm enough to pass the bare-bottom test (I didn't actually try, but used my palm as a buttock-substitute) but getting there. Got any remainding groundsel, couch grass and dandelions out, but otherwise the weed front was not too bad at all. The last of the Jerusalem Artichokes came out too, but they were fairly wormy - so into the compost they went.

Sadly, there was no opportunity to get any over-winter crops in last autumn, so nothing to harvest, but it does mean there's a blank canvas for this season. I need to attend to this  in the autumn this year, as a dearth of home-grown veg sits unhappily with the annual New Year/Lenten commitment to more greens and less protein. 

Also dug in the bag-ends of fb&b uncovered when we cleared and reordered the shed (lovely job - no, I mean it). 

Some of the raised beds are showing their age and need some patching-up: and the shed has lost its felting - so  the most pressing jobs are distinctly non-horticultural, nor very child-friendly, so will have to wait until a day without wee daughter in tow. The raised beds have done a good few seasons, and the oldest ones were not built from the most robust of timber. The wee daughter - and the not-so-wee boy - love the allotment, and left Mrs Gardener and me to get on yesterday very happily, collecting worms in the wheelbarrow, digging up artichokes, making 'molehills', and looking for frogspawn, slow worms, and lizards around the place. 

All this for less than £20 a year: thank you, Salisbury City Council.

Mrs G and a well-earned snack

Saturday morning. Mrs Gardener is still asleep bless her, the childerwigs are breakfasted and playing happily - something to do with going on a boat journey, which has taken over the sitting room with blankets and cuddly toys: what fun! So I can sneak to the laptop with a cup of coffee and catch up on the past few days' goings-on.

Outside in the slowly-lightening garden one of the robins is singing with great gusto. They know, don't they, that spring is here. They've moved their nest site slightly, just around the corner of the house into another bit of the doomed ivy: maybe this time the nest will be used? It's been a poor winter for birds in the garden - good for them, of course, as they've clearly not been all that reliant on our feeders - but poor for sightings. Three blackcaps have been present through most of the winter, two males and a female, which is good: I wonder if one of the males was born here, and has hung around with his parents. But, as with so many so-called 'resident' birds, the likelihood is that these are migrants, and not the 'summer' birds at all. Maybe our garden has a reputation all across western Europe in the blackcap community!

Worrying stuff in the news about water shortages. I do agree with Adam Pasco on the Gardeners' World blog, that gardeners are generally (these days) highly water-conscious, and much less likely to waste water than many other people. I haven't  used a hosepipe in our garden for ages (thanks, Monty Don for the encouragement there), and they are absolutely verboten at the allotment of course. And yet 'hosepipe ban' is synonymous with 'drought' in this country. Having said this, my own garden's capacity to capture, store and use rainwater is severely limited: something I need to attend to. Maybe these early warnings of a dry year will spur me on at last. I'll also need to talk to clients about how we deal with water restrictions in their gardens.

Speaking of which, I may have picked-up a nice piece of work through Mrs G's yoga teacher, who wants her new garden planted-up. It would be nice to create a 'yoga garden' - I am thinking of a mixture of meditative and contemplative space, with physicality and strength, shape and control. Watch this space.

I finally got the new shrubs planted in my front garden on Wednesday, finishing off just as it started to rain, so they at least got underway with a decent drink. Sambuca Black Beauty, Cornus Alba, and Prunus Ko-Jo No Mai are all new to my garden. But the best of them has to be Lonicera Fragrantissima, which has a fantastic scent: I look forward to many deep lungfuls of it as I walk up to the front door after a hard day's work. Lovely. 

Nothing can beat the scent of 'Old Man' though, with the added joy of knowing that Edward Thomas had just such a plant next to his front door in Steep a hundred years ago, inspiring one of the greatest of plant poems:

Old Man, or Lads-Love, - in the name there’s nothing
To one that knows not Lads-Love, or Old Man,
The hoar green feathery herb, almost a tree,
Growing with rosemary and lavender.
Even to one that knows it well, the names
Half decorate, half perplex, the thing it is:
At least, what that is clings not to the names
In spite of time. And yet I like the names.

The herb itself I like not, but for certain
I love it, as someday the child will love it
Who plucks a feather from the door-side bush
Whenever she goes in or out of the house.
Often she waits there, snipping the tips and shrivelling
The shreds at last on to the path,
Thinking perhaps of nothing, till she sniffs
Her fingers and runs off. The bush is still
But half as tall as she, though it is not old;
So well she clips it. Not a word she says;
And I can only wonder how much hereafter
She will remember, with that bitter scent,
Of garden rows, and ancient damson trees
Topping a hedge, a bent path to a door
A low thick bush beside the door, and me
Forbidding her to pick.
As for myself,
Where first I met the bitter scent is lost.
I, too, often shrivel the grey shreds,
Sniff them and think and sniff again and try
Once more to think what it is I am remembering,
Always in vain. I cannot like the scent,
Yet I would rather give up others more sweet,
With no meaning, than this bitter one.
I have mislaid the key. I sniff the spray
And think of nothing; I see and I hear nothing;
Yet seem, too, to be listening, lying in wait
For what I should, yet never can, remember;
No garden appears, no path, no hoar-green bush
Of Lad’s-love, or Old Man, no child beside,
Neither father nor mother, nor any playmate;
Only an avenue, dark, nameless, without end.

(Edward Thomas)

Here in Wiltshire we are still awaiting the mini-heatwave that is apparently due any hour now...this morning is still chilly and, for the first time in a while, quite breezy, which keeps it feeling cooler still. 

I have a day to myself, and a list of jobs as long as both my arms. I also have a stinking headache. This may be the product of a late evening glass of red wine, my last before commencing Lent. Or could it be Bay poisoning - there were a lot in the stew I cooked last night? I think Bay poisoning is unlikely, and will keep reminding myself of the way my head feels if I get any yearning for a crafty pint during the next forty days and nights.

The accumulation of pot-grown shrubs which has carried on over the past weeks is getting ridiculous, so one major job today is to get them planted while the soil is warmer, and there is rain forecast. That will finish off the redesigned front garden for now, until (home-grown) perennials start to go in a bit later - most are in the greenhouse and will need a bit of exposure to the outside world before I put them in. I have to say that the laying-out of plants in pots, and fiddling around with the arrangement, is a great pleasure - even though first instincts generally prove right, however many subsequent permutations one goes through.

The robin in our ivy persists with its (I think his) nesting activity, which started before Christmas. Unless part of the nest has collapsed during the past two months and needed rebuilding, it ought to be huge by now, as he's been making very regular flights to deliver nest material. Sadly it can't be seen properly from inside or outside the house - sadly for us, that is, not for the robin who's clearly found a nice secluded spot tucked in behind the ivy. What the robin does not know is that the ivy is due to be removed, and is already pretty dead since I cut through its main trunk in the autumn. With luck the robins will nest early and then I can get on with taking it down completely - obviously, while they're there it can't be touched. 

More garden magazines have arrived this week - all full of what to do in March already...we risk wishing the year away so soon if we're not careful.

Right, I need to get on and can't stay at the laptop all morning: jobs to do!