Isn't it always the way? I have three days with nothing in my diary. I don't have to scurry around collecting twigs and checking my projector works, or going over to the plant centre to borrow plants, before driving to the other end of the county for a talk. Nobody is coming round, and I don't have to clean the house, or cook. I haven't arranged to meet anybody, or got a ticket for an exhibition in London I'd rather not have to go to this week, except that I've already booked my slot. I am completely and utterly free to get on with the garden for three days, and it's raining, and forecast to rain again tomorrow, and on Friday.
I woke early this morning, and the rain held off until a quarter to eleven, so I was able to pull up more of the nettles from the gunnera bed. Human nature being what it is, I have left the boggiest areas until last, and am now at the stage of pulling nettle roots from thick mud, wearing waterproof nitrile gauntlets, and resting my kneeling mat on a section of board to spread my weight and prevent the mat from sinking into the mud. It is impossible to shake all the soil off the weed roots, and slimy gobbets of mud are going into the bags of debris to be taken to the dump (I believe in home made compost, but I'm not putting nettle roots leavened with horsetail on the compost heap). The nitrile gloves come in one size, which is way too large for my hands, so that my fingers don't nearly reach to the tips of the gloves. This makes getting my hands under sections of root to prise them up more difficult than it need be. A small, sharp border fork inherited from my late father-in-law (though with a new handle since I unwisely attempted to use it to move a hydrangea. The hydrangea won, and is still where it was, and I have adapted my ideas to fit round it) is a more useful tool than a trowel.
If you have a hosepipe ban then sorry for harping on about the mud. The water table comes to the surface at this point. It is unstable, and among the nettles were the dead stumps of a couple of shrubs that I planted there when it was normal soil, albeit on the damp side, and not a bog. I hope that planting my Primula bulleyana, Osmuda regalis and other extreme moisture loving goodies will not be the cue for the water table to drop again. Or come up somewhere else really inconvenient, like the middle of the lawn, or underneath the Daphne bholua (it has already done for an Edgeworthia. An expensive loss).
At least the tickets arrived for the Chelsea Flower Show. I had been starting to get twitchy about those, as we got to within five weeks of the day and nothing came. The ticketing agency was saying 4-6 weeks, down from 6-8 when I ordered the tickets, months ago, but given the difficulties we've had with things not arriving in the post, and things addressed to other houses being delivered here, I've been gently anxious not to have received anything since before the six week point. The Post Office never acknowledged my e-mail telling them I'd received what looked like a financial letter addressed to quite a different house, and I can't imagine they'd be a bit helpful if my tickets hadn't turned up. Now that the RHS is so big, and subcontracts the ticketing to a commercial agency, I wasn't at all confident I'd get any joy out of them either, though I suppose I could have tried to enlist the boss's help, him being an RHS stalwart on the hardy tree and shrub committee, and moderating at Chelsea and everything. Still, it's much easier just to have the tickets. I felt a little warm glow as I tucked them into the letter rack where I keep tickets for things. It is our most extravagant day out in the whole year. Indeed, it is my only really extravagant day out.
The Systems Administrator has taken advantage of a brief later afternoon lull in the rain to go and dig holes for the posts to support the back of the new deck. I could go out and weed the gravel, but I'm not sure I have the willpower. It is still windy, and cold out there. Exchanges of e-mails with my fellow beekeepers concerning our preparations for the Tendring Show are laced with concerns about how it is too cold to open the beehives and see what our bees are doing, and our conviction that as soon as it warms up again they are going to want to swarm.
Showing posts with label Chelsea Flower Show. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Chelsea Flower Show. Show all posts
Wednesday, 18 April 2012
Tuesday, 24 May 2011
a good Chelsea
The Chelsea Flower Show was as good as ever. I first went in about 1986, when a friend gave me his mother's ticket that she was unable to use, and was hooked. I joined the RHS on the spot, and have been to every Chelsea since. Sometimes I've been by myself, and I've taken a variety of friends and relatives over the years. Since my partner got more involved in the garden we've been together, and have developed a finely honed routine.
The first thing we look at is the Artisan gardens, before the crowds get too dense. Having got an early train this morning, it took almost as long to travel from Liverpool Street to The Royal Hospital as it had to get into London, but we made it in time to get a good view. My favourites were the waterside Welsh garden and the soul-cleansing Korean outside loo. The hole in the Yorkshire garden's wall, criss crossed with string in reference to Barbara Hepworth, was fun too, though the overall effect was too fussy for me.
Then we look at some of the bigger gardens, trying to dodge the hotspots where celebrities have drawn in extra onlookers, or the BBC are taking up half the walkway. I thought these were generally well done, but not ground-breaking. Design seems to have reached a plateau for now. There were lots of modernist inspired layouts of intersecting squares, strips or circles, softened with informal planting, and a smattering of naturalist wild gardens. The diorama is almost dead, though Leeds City Council did have a working water wheel. I was delighted that this won a Gold medal, since it was beautifully done, and the stand appeared to be staffed by the actual people from Yorkshire who had made the garden, and were ecstatic. I don't know why at least half of the people manning most show gardens don't seem to know the names of the plants on their stand, but they don't. It has ever been thus, and 2011 was no exception.
Purple is big, and lime green, dark red, and Salvia nemorosa 'Caradonna'. This is a lovely salvia with blue flowers on dark stems, and I have never seen so much of it before. Umbellifers are in. I am rather sad that Cleve West used parsnip flowers in his garden before I got round to it in my rose bed, as now it will look as though I have copied the idea from him. Planting has gone very bee friendly, and I have never seen so many bees at Chelsea either. I liked Cleve West's garden, including the pillars which I gathered some other visitors were not so keen on. The Australian Garden presented by the Royal Botanic Gardens Melbourne was good, and it was interesting to see a different palette of plants. We were taken with the textured sand coloured wall sculpted into waves like a vertical beach. I asked how it was done, and the answer is that foam blocks were laser cut into the waves, and a surface finish applied.
Apart from 'Caradonna' the unexpected hit plant of the show was orange geums, which we saw in numerous species and varieties on a lot of different stands. All came in soft shades of orange, with some colour variation within the petals, and I liked them. It's strange how most years one or two plants seem to crop up everwhere.
The Diarmud Gavin hanging garden and B&Q vertical gardens left me unmoved. The Systems Administrator said that to make the B&Q garden an authentic vision of B&Q, bits of it should have been drooping from underwatering, and there should have been a couple of fence panels randomly left in the middle of it. The trees in several gardens were looking stressed, but the Leeds council boys were the only ones we saw get out the hose and water as necessary during the day.
We always go around the great pavilion together for a bit, then go our separate ways for an hour or two, so that I can obsess over individual plants while my partner walks about at a less back cripplingly slow pace, and has another look at the show gardens, or the machines. I am afraid I might not have seen one or two of the plants in the pavilion, but I made a valiant attempt to look at all of them. Bloms and Peter Beales both got Gold medals. Phew.
We had a good look at the stands selling furniture and objets d'art, not with the intention of buying any of them, but to jeer at the particularly hideous and naff ones, and try to work out how we could rip off the nice things with homemade versions. And we drank our annual glass of pimms (a bottle always seems to lose its appeal before the end) and ate our frugal packed lunch, now that we are not City high fliers, and I bought three coloured glass things to hang from a tree. I haven't decided which yet.
And now I am going to go and watch it all again on television.
Addendum It turns out we are recording the telly cover, to watch it later with supper. I meant to say earlier (but I was rushing) that slate walls are in, as are Luzula nivea and Astrantia. There was a nice piece of vertical planting behind a restrained water feature in The Magistrates Garden in the Urban Gardens section, which used coloured leaf begonias, Lamium and violas. I suspect that walls of plants are difficult to keep going in real life, certainly the only one I've seen attempted in a private garden was mostly dead, but it's a lovely idea if you can make it work. Turquoise blue astro-turf is not a good look in a garden setting. I can't really imagine where it would be, or why anybody manufactures it.
The first thing we look at is the Artisan gardens, before the crowds get too dense. Having got an early train this morning, it took almost as long to travel from Liverpool Street to The Royal Hospital as it had to get into London, but we made it in time to get a good view. My favourites were the waterside Welsh garden and the soul-cleansing Korean outside loo. The hole in the Yorkshire garden's wall, criss crossed with string in reference to Barbara Hepworth, was fun too, though the overall effect was too fussy for me.
Then we look at some of the bigger gardens, trying to dodge the hotspots where celebrities have drawn in extra onlookers, or the BBC are taking up half the walkway. I thought these were generally well done, but not ground-breaking. Design seems to have reached a plateau for now. There were lots of modernist inspired layouts of intersecting squares, strips or circles, softened with informal planting, and a smattering of naturalist wild gardens. The diorama is almost dead, though Leeds City Council did have a working water wheel. I was delighted that this won a Gold medal, since it was beautifully done, and the stand appeared to be staffed by the actual people from Yorkshire who had made the garden, and were ecstatic. I don't know why at least half of the people manning most show gardens don't seem to know the names of the plants on their stand, but they don't. It has ever been thus, and 2011 was no exception.
Purple is big, and lime green, dark red, and Salvia nemorosa 'Caradonna'. This is a lovely salvia with blue flowers on dark stems, and I have never seen so much of it before. Umbellifers are in. I am rather sad that Cleve West used parsnip flowers in his garden before I got round to it in my rose bed, as now it will look as though I have copied the idea from him. Planting has gone very bee friendly, and I have never seen so many bees at Chelsea either. I liked Cleve West's garden, including the pillars which I gathered some other visitors were not so keen on. The Australian Garden presented by the Royal Botanic Gardens Melbourne was good, and it was interesting to see a different palette of plants. We were taken with the textured sand coloured wall sculpted into waves like a vertical beach. I asked how it was done, and the answer is that foam blocks were laser cut into the waves, and a surface finish applied.
Apart from 'Caradonna' the unexpected hit plant of the show was orange geums, which we saw in numerous species and varieties on a lot of different stands. All came in soft shades of orange, with some colour variation within the petals, and I liked them. It's strange how most years one or two plants seem to crop up everwhere.
The Diarmud Gavin hanging garden and B&Q vertical gardens left me unmoved. The Systems Administrator said that to make the B&Q garden an authentic vision of B&Q, bits of it should have been drooping from underwatering, and there should have been a couple of fence panels randomly left in the middle of it. The trees in several gardens were looking stressed, but the Leeds council boys were the only ones we saw get out the hose and water as necessary during the day.
We always go around the great pavilion together for a bit, then go our separate ways for an hour or two, so that I can obsess over individual plants while my partner walks about at a less back cripplingly slow pace, and has another look at the show gardens, or the machines. I am afraid I might not have seen one or two of the plants in the pavilion, but I made a valiant attempt to look at all of them. Bloms and Peter Beales both got Gold medals. Phew.
We had a good look at the stands selling furniture and objets d'art, not with the intention of buying any of them, but to jeer at the particularly hideous and naff ones, and try to work out how we could rip off the nice things with homemade versions. And we drank our annual glass of pimms (a bottle always seems to lose its appeal before the end) and ate our frugal packed lunch, now that we are not City high fliers, and I bought three coloured glass things to hang from a tree. I haven't decided which yet.
And now I am going to go and watch it all again on television.
Addendum It turns out we are recording the telly cover, to watch it later with supper. I meant to say earlier (but I was rushing) that slate walls are in, as are Luzula nivea and Astrantia. There was a nice piece of vertical planting behind a restrained water feature in The Magistrates Garden in the Urban Gardens section, which used coloured leaf begonias, Lamium and violas. I suspect that walls of plants are difficult to keep going in real life, certainly the only one I've seen attempted in a private garden was mostly dead, but it's a lovely idea if you can make it work. Turquoise blue astro-turf is not a good look in a garden setting. I can't really imagine where it would be, or why anybody manufactures it.
Sunday, 22 May 2011
wind and watering
My co-workers on Sundays both have a diligent attitude to watering. It took the three of us until half past ten, and we made a pretty thorough job of it. The boss rang before we'd finished, to remind me to check that the water tank was filling up from the well, as the pump has been playing up recently. I had forgotten I was supposed to do this, but when I climbed the ladder to look into the tank, the water came to within a metre of the top, and the pump was whirring reassuringly away. The boss called from the great marquee at Chelsea, where he is moderating. There is a profile of him in the show catalogue. It took much careful thought to explain what moderators do in terms that would not offend the judges, since they are the answer to the question, Who judges the judges, but to say so suggests that judges cannot be trusted to get things right by themselves. Apparently the marquee is looking very colourful. I thought that the exhibitors would pull things together somehow, despite the weather, but they must have had a nerve wracking time of it in the run up to the show.
My Roberto Burle Marx display didn't last the day, as somebody bought all but one of the lime green santolinas. I recreated the effect with some pale yellow Roscoea and some extra purple leaved geraniums. Soft yellow and dusky purple are a good combination, and I must try and use it at home somewhere.
The wind got up horribly, and by the end of the day the plant centre looked almost as if it had been ransacked. We tended to leave plants lying down for the duration once they'd fallen, since if picked up they only blow over again, each time with the risk of damage to themselves or their neighbours. Actually if some of the largest ones were to fall on a small or frail customer it could be quite traumatic. The customers were very good about picking their way around the wreckage. The drying effect of that much wind is as bad as days of sun (the farmers must be at the ends of their tethers), but it was impossible to run most of the overhead irrigation systems usefully, since strong wind whips the water away before it hits the pots. The three of us started watering again at five, as did the second of the two owners, who won't go to London for Chelsea until tomorrow, not being involved in the judging. We were never going to get around the entire plant centre by six, and at that point I was ready to call it a day, as was the owner. My colleagues were very reluctant to stop spraying water on just one more thirsty plant. It's true that if you love plants, you hate to leave any in less than optimum conditions, but I don't think this should extend to doing an hour or two of unpaid overtime at the end of a ten hour working day, and in fairness to the owner I don't think she expected us to.
My Roberto Burle Marx display didn't last the day, as somebody bought all but one of the lime green santolinas. I recreated the effect with some pale yellow Roscoea and some extra purple leaved geraniums. Soft yellow and dusky purple are a good combination, and I must try and use it at home somewhere.
The wind got up horribly, and by the end of the day the plant centre looked almost as if it had been ransacked. We tended to leave plants lying down for the duration once they'd fallen, since if picked up they only blow over again, each time with the risk of damage to themselves or their neighbours. Actually if some of the largest ones were to fall on a small or frail customer it could be quite traumatic. The customers were very good about picking their way around the wreckage. The drying effect of that much wind is as bad as days of sun (the farmers must be at the ends of their tethers), but it was impossible to run most of the overhead irrigation systems usefully, since strong wind whips the water away before it hits the pots. The three of us started watering again at five, as did the second of the two owners, who won't go to London for Chelsea until tomorrow, not being involved in the judging. We were never going to get around the entire plant centre by six, and at that point I was ready to call it a day, as was the owner. My colleagues were very reluctant to stop spraying water on just one more thirsty plant. It's true that if you love plants, you hate to leave any in less than optimum conditions, but I don't think this should extend to doing an hour or two of unpaid overtime at the end of a ten hour working day, and in fairness to the owner I don't think she expected us to.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)