As forecast, the astonishing Hill View Rare Plants catalogue arrived in the post just days after my last bulb entry. Oh my Lordy.
Somerset Maugham wrote in his ‘The Summing Up’ that the only safe place to be in regard to ideas is to have so many of them that you don’t place too much weight on any particular one of them. This is never truer than in the garden.
One of the truly great, anticipation-charged moments in the garden year looms. The first of the bulb catalogues has appeared. What’s on offer are brown, flaky, often ugly or even grotesque little packages of life, very nearly guaranteed to alchemically transform into big, fat, glorious flowers of unsurpassable colour. They’re horticultural hand-grenades, or floral fireworks, totally unprepossessing and deceptively inactive, until they explode.
I’m a complete sucker for an annual climber. This isn’t, like many of my inner horticultural longings, borne out in my actual garden. But they call to me, nevertheless. One day I swear I’m going to make me a dozen or two of them stick-tripods and grow every last one of them to perfection.
Clearly there’s supernatural forces attached to blogging. It seems as if by making any form of declaration or assertion, wild or conservative (I’ve a habitual preference for the former), your experience is likely to immediately contradict it.
Between two writing deadlines I snatched half an hour to progress a foot or two in removing the residue of an old potato crop from a garden bed. This is the third time the bed has been dug over, trying to remove every last potato. This year some of them are as small as one of those Jelly Belly beans – smaller – but every one of them will grow.
Driving to a clients place a few years back, I was all but blinded by this outrageous garden en route, bursting at the seams with Gladiolus dalenii. I had to stop and take some pics.