Gorgeous or ghastly grape hyacinths?


Having once, long ago, spent three years trying to make a reasonably good classification of Muscari species (some being the grape hyacinths of the garden), and spending mind-numbing hours examining their chromosomes, I thought I would hate them for the rest of my time on the planet.  But…
Well, they aren’t all mid-blue (mostly Muscari armeniacum or M. botryoides) or deep blue (bits of the hugely variable M. neglectum), or even mostly black.  One is banana yellow, another is silvery green, and quite a lot are shades of brown, with a tuft of violets sterile flowers at the top of the spike – almost fetching.
It was the yellow one I was first reconciled with.  It has a gorgeous banana/vanilla/lilac perfume, does well in pots, and has amusingly large seed pods.  Perhaps still called Muscari macrocarpum (these things change fast), have a hunt for it.  Bury the bulbs deep in a very deep pot; slugs can eat out the growing point of the bulb.  Once established, the bulbs have fleshy persistent roots, so just let the pots dry out.
Then there was the irrestistable (even to me) iceberg blue Muscari (blast, it’s lost its label, but is probably a bit of M. aucheri, and I think called ‘Peppermint’).  I see it’s seeded itself into the stonework of the empty window in ‘the ruin’ where it’s pot once stood.
But what enchants me at the moment, even if only at a specific time of day, is the mostly sterile Muscari ‘Blue Spike’, where the flowers barely exist, and blue feathery filaments replace them.  OK, for most of the day, the blue is unexceptional.  But here, in their whopping pot, they catch early evening sunshine, and their blue turns almost the same colour as the distant hills.
Their leaves begin to appear in late autumn, and look untidy-ish during the winter.  The old flower stalks get a bit of a mess too once the blue has faded.  However, here, they get swamped by the gorgeous smoky yallery-greenery foliage of Hosta ‘Wide Brim’.  And, with a bit of luck, that will be augmented by a skein or two of the butter yellow rose ‘Greenfinch’.

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A Ghost of Gardens Past

A Ghost of Gardens Past

This is one of three fruit trees, once espaliered as divisions between the three tiny gardens of which our present one is made. The zig-zag trunk marks the position of the long lost horizontal branches, now just scarred over stumps. The wall behind, and the adjacent gable once had cordons – there are slots cut for them in the flagstone path that still runs the length of the whole piece of ground. The espalier that divided gardens 2 and 3 still exists, though now engulfed in honeysuckle and roses, and barely fruits. An espalier pear that divided gardens 1 and 2 ran across the vista we wanted of the Cheviot and, with much regret, we removed it. However, most of the flagstone paths remain in their original position. Cottages 1 and 2 now make up our house. Cottage 3, once roofless and used as a garage, has just had the nasty gates removed, a new stone wall built, and now makes a productive if tiny kitchen garden.
The tree in the picture is grafted on the old Paradise stock. This suckers heavily, so we’ve now got several independant plants which we intend to use as stock for grafting material from this tree – probably on its last decade if not year – so we can replant for future owners. It produces and abundant and delicious crop.

The entrance to Cottage 3, now the kitchen garden.  The doorway has been a trifle decorated.

The entrance to Cottage 3, now the kitchen garden. The doorway has been a trifle decorated.

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Building mania!

We’ve always loathed them – the sheet steel gates that once let a car or two park in the ruined cottage that has now become a tiny, if productive, kitchen garden.  They rattle thunderously in the mildest breeze, sail dangerously open on the rare occasions they get used, and spoil the run of ancient stone walling that runs down out side of the lane.
We have a stonemason repointing other parts of the ruin, enthusiastic, and who thinks of stone as a plastic thing, easily shaped to become what is needed.
I suppose it was silly of us to show him, but amongst the jumble of carved bits and pieces that have presumably lain in the garden since the late 18th century, was a nice base and neck that presumably did, or was intended to, support a stone ball, and of which we already have a number that play important roles in the garden scene.  So… a new one?  Well, what about…., said out mason, a cube instead.  OK.  Half an hour later, he had a splendidly cut cube.  One of use, a sticklet for such things, thought it too small.  It needed the same edge size as the base.  Hmmmm…………  The mason vanished once more into the lane, returning later with a much large polished and champfered cube, which only he could lift.


It looked splendid.  I think it was his idea to try it on its corner.  It looked, we thought, even grander.  And so, supported with the help of a steel dowel, it now sits up on the corner of the kitchen garden, quite upstaging the lead finial over the tiny garden’s gateway.  Our mini-folly.  But it’s hard to stop.  The mason has a clever idea for getting water from the Bacchus mask into the top pool.  We think we really must have…
And the new wall isn’t even yet begun.
Oh dear…

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One of mine!

Even with so much happening in the garden, not only the plants, springtime, sun, but also our splendid stonemason building walls, pointing, getting our upper pond sorted, plus joiners, electricians, and more, I’ve hardly had time to write about it…  Largely because I’ve gone back to an earlier means of expression… painting.  I wouldn’t have mentioned it had not a local gallery liked some of my stuff enough to try to sell it, but also used one of mine on the invite card.

Blue Chair.  Acrylic on paper. A1.

Blue Chair. Acrylic on paper. A1.

The other four are slightly off-the-wall botanical pix, and I might post a link to a slide show of some of the recent ones.



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