It’s stupid how long I’ve wanted the rose named ‘Graham Thomas’.
You may remember, from earlier posts, my ‘steppe’ planting (a misnomer that will remain until something better presents itself) from November 2015. Back then it looked like this:
I’d read, some time back, about Clematis x durandii used as a cut flower in the Netherlands. It didn’t sound plausible. There’s something really stringy and splitty about its stems that makes you feel like it’d be useless at taking up water.
I planted as I built my stone wall, following good Gertrude Jekyll principles.
Well-planted pots can pack a punch totally disproportionate to the number and volume of plants involved.
There’s two particular questions that I’m always dealing with when designing a garden, or evaluating an existing one. I’ve been dealing with them for years, though they’ve only recently emerged from the subconscious, being forced into conscious articulation by a recent talk. Writing and speaking are great ways to force you to express something that would otherwise feel, and remain, intuitive.
Way back in 2009 when I ordered 24 sheets of colorbond, rolled to my specified diameter, it was my intention to organise the consequent 12 raised vegie beds to define an inner space. I suspected that it wouldn’t provide quite the sense of enclosure that the location required, but was prepared to give it a go first, and respond accordingly.
It’s the weirdest thing. You grow vegetables in order to eat them, right? How is it, then, that when the time comes to pick, the knife can hover over them, poised for the kill, but waver in vacillation?
I have a client who cuts off all her wisteria flowers. She loves its ability to follow a wire and create a precisely controlled woody structure, but hates the simpering mauve of the flowers.
How sweet are these words, at the end of a long article by one C. E. Baines…
I stumbled upon a quote yesterday by a guy who had apparently never liked jazz until an occasion when he watched a jazz muso playing with his eyes closed, in visible bliss. He concludes “Sometimes you have to watch somebody love something before you can love it yourself. It’s as if they are showing you the way”.
It’s hard to face. Difficult to accept. But it’s time for a new wheelbarrow.