THE TURNING OF THE YEAR

With regard to the last blog, Midwinter or is it? Apparently it wasn't, it was the 22nd. So the year has turned - then I heard that the day of the 23rd was 1 second longer than the 22nd. Thought I would mention this but I have no idea why.
I am writing this to get out of R's way whilst she is cooking. (I did grow and prepare the sprouts.)

Sunny today (25th), Not so good a couple of days ago!

And it is early but things are stirring -

celandine leaves and daffodils,

camellia and rhododendron buds waiting to burst,

But the remains of last year lie around (until I can stir myself and pick them up.)

 The weather is capricious, one moment the sun shines, then it rains, then it hails and clarts the grass.






Of course the rain has to go somewhere and so we have a new spring bubbling up from some track beside tree roots or down mole tunnels. I have raked out the many rills and streams but whatever one does water has a mind of its own. Actually, so far, the weather has generally been mild AND WET.
We need to export some of it to Australia.

 So, manured rhubarb bed on the left, composted asparagus bed on the left below and on the right sprouts - beware any visitors, they have to be eaten (but not so bad with bacon), 
 Then - when all is quietly decaying  the marjoram (oregano) and variegated mint continue to thrive. And a big toad in the compost heap - welcome for slug control.

Last blog of this year, this decade if you agree that 2019 is actually the last year of the decade (? be 2020) - my pedantry is triumphing?

See you next year DV.

MIDWINTER - OR IS IT?

Though it often feels like later - say in late January. Nevertheless it is the 21st of December and the shortest day here.

The garden is largely dormant but if one looks there are small surprises everywhere. Ferns like the harts-tongue and common polypody become noticeable in the hedge bankings and the ivy is at its best, ready to feed hungry birds.

There is red in the maple stems and on the breast of the Christmas Robin. In fact this year the Christmas cards we have received are mostly robins (and surprisingly hares.)

I strolled down to the village and on the wall amongst the moss were the leaves of the shining cranesbill glistening in the sun. 

And one hazel tree is full of nascent catkins waiting for the spring to shower us with gold dust. In dark corners bulbs are starting to push through  the compost, crocuses and snowdrops, daffodils and other narcissi.




Down by the veg beds the Brussels sprouts are waiting to be harvested for Christmas day lunch, now they have had some frost they will be all the sweeter (if you like sprouts)(not bad fried up with a little bacon)(unless you are a vegetarian)  and nearby the colour of the lichen on the rhubarb forcing pot glows in the sun.

 And I have dug the Seville oranges out of the freezer and made marmalade (as we had run out).

So, as this is the last blog before Christmas may I wish all of you a good time of the year whatever your creed or beliefs.
Time for a hot crumpet with melted butter and some of the marmalade - on second thoughts golden syrup, even better.

ELECTING TO GARDEN

Yeh, yeh, everyone here has had enough of the truths, half truths and plain lies, enough of ridiculous promises, leaders in hiding because someone might ask an awkward question or they might make a silly mistake. We have seen that happen - so many spokespeople have now become silent after sticking a walking stick in their spokes and coming a cropper - where is Rees-Mogg? (or Lord Snooty from the Beano comic?) (For those who have not had the pleasure of reading The Beano search the web and select images.)

So we have been gardening - when it is fine.
R has weeded the asparagus bed and I have cleared old stuff from the banking in front of the house. The sprouts are looking good and I have found some cyclamen beneath a cherry tree I had forgotten we had.

The pond does not look too bad but is in dire need of a clear up - I have just not got there yet.

There are still flowers around - yellow buddleia, roses and sedum spectabilis. There were some lavender but I have clipped them back and they are now on the enormous heap of compost material.

One shrub, well rather we have two, that seems to like flowering in the winter is the Fatsia - should we put decorations on it, perhaps flashing lights?

The last of the ox-eye daisies I had potted up are now planted under the white birches. The idea is to have an undergrowth of wild daffodils in the spring and, later on, the daisies. 
The new rose bed is tidied and ready for the well rotted horse muck - if I ever get around to doing it.

 The buds are formed on the magnolia yet the hips on the rosa rugosa are shrivelled and weary.

And as we near the shortest day the rain comes and comes.

Friday the thirteenth is here 😒, a touch of despair at the election result. I always thought the mark of a civilised nation was how it cared for the less fortunate members of its society so I am watching you Boris.
Now we will leave the EU, having disposed of our senses, and we will count the homeless on the streets, the performance of the NHS, noting how many use the food banks, die of drugs etc etc.
R is already contemplating applying for her Irish passport and if Scotland votes to leave the UK, it might look an attractive alternative.

Enough - we still have a garden - I have been raking debris from the streams and drains, cutting back shrubs and roses and still shaking my head.


Never mind, now I am going to make us a nice cup of tea,

ALL THINGS BRIGHT AND BEAUTIFUL?

Just because it is winter and most of the flowers and leaves are gone it does not mean there is not beauty in the garden, albeit in a more abstract fashion - shapes and outlines, more subdued colours (or not in some cases). 

It is just a matter of seeing and appreciating a season other than spring, summer or autumn. 

Having done the original images I could not resist putting them all together as one.

There are still sculptural plants like this dead teasel or even the remains of grasses in the wood. When it is clear and cold backlighting adds another dimension the the remaining vegetation.

  The leaves on the flowering currant and the beech hedge glow in the sunshine of a frosty day and even dead Crocosmia Lucifer, as yet not tidied away is a surprise touch of colour.
Having said that the hedge needs a trim and a tidy as does most of the garden. Today, Monday, I have cleared the dead stuff from above the shed, pruned (belatedly) the redcurrants and pulled off the soggy frosted leaves from the horseradish.
The compost heap grows and needs to settle down a bit.

From the far corner, up by the wood, we can see the monument to Sir John Barrow, 1764 - 1848 who was the Second Secretary to the Admiralty and sent many famous explorers off to their deaths! The monument is a replica of the Eddystone lighthouse, full size and lit at night. Getting me to do some exercise at the weekend R chivvied me up there. That was not so bad, we went up the gentle way - and then came down the front - mmm!
 

When Barrow retired the gave him as a token of their esteem - his desk!

Back to the garden - Have rung the possible gardener again (though looking like not possible). 
I have to sort, out the raspberries (I heard you blow that) and strawberries and remove them. They creep everywhere and give little or no fruit. I have considered moving the veg beds - considered - but to be perfectly honest, at the moment I am just feeling too lazy.

In the freezer I found the three pounds of red currants I managed to pick before the blackbirds ate the rest. So they are now redcurrant jelly but only four small jars.

I have several herbals and old gardening books - Culpeper, a Gerard, Jethro Tull and so on. 
All they lack is a little magic!

THE FORMULA

Based on an old recipe found in the back of and early edition of Culpeper's Herbal.  The paper has since crumbled.  It is suggested that this is a potion for long life but it might easily be an aphrodisiac or a means of controlling the British weather.

Take

a desiccated pinch of Devil's Tea

drop it in a cauldron by the sea -

whisper a phrase in an ancient tongue,

a seven line verse, unread, unsung -

and make the sunbow.

Take

garlic wreaths and an oyster shell,

forgotten tales the elders tell,

acrid tincture of meadow rue,

something old, something blue

and make the moonglow

Take

a powdered drop of vampire's blood

mixed with the juice of an arum bud,

a passing wave of a druid's hand,

a pentacle engraved in the sand

and make the rain snow.

Take

a bat's wing, a pupa of the death's-head moth

wrapped and pounded in a silken cloth,

snail bones ground with rosy quartz

dissolved in solvents of mystic sorts

and make the wind blow.