The robins have reappeared. In summer they skulk invisibly, presumably moulting, but the bird books say that they pair up and establish their territories earlier than many garden birds. Recently they have started singing in the small hours, and one peered at me beady eyed from beside the dustbins as I went down to shut the conservatory doors for the night. The Systems Administrator, who combines birdwatching with supervising chicken exercise time, says that there are at least three territories in the front garden. One robin sings from the hawthorn tree near the chicken run and the dustbins, which might be the one I saw. Another moves between the Eleagnus hedge and the Genista aetnensis in the turning circle, and a third hangs out in the the hedge behind the greenhouse. There seem likely to be a similar number in the back garden, but we haven't observed that so systematically. Last summer blackbirds nested in the Eleagnus hedge and in the field maple by my greenhouse, suggesting robin and blackbird territories might be similar in terms of size and demarcation.
We have noticed song thrushes around the hedge on the way in, frequently enough to suggest that they might be living in the garden. They have a preferred patch of lawn in the back garden, at the top of the slope, not too close to the house. When I was a child they seemed as common as blackbirds, but now it is a rare pleasure and something of a thrill to see one. The S.A. has seen blackcaps, but honestly I wouldn't recognise a blackcap if it came up and pecked me. Although a lot of my life is spent in the garden I am not a good birdwatcher, as I'm too often looking at the ground or the near distance. I am an ace toad spotter.
Tonight is the first time I've shut the glass since May. I'm not sure if we'll get much of a frost here, and it is forecast to warm up again over the next few days, but it feels as though winter were a step closer. I went to trim back the Erysimum 'Bowles Mauve', which have put up a valiant show all summer and still bear some purple flowers on the ends of their long, wispy stalks, then stayed my hand. A few late bumble bees are still flying and foraging, and it won't hurt to leave 'Bowles Mauve' for another week or two. I began cutting the ivy hedge instead, which led by degrees to tackling one end of the long flowerbed, which had got badly weedy and overgrown with ivy. A Callistemon which lost all of its top growth to last winter's cold is resprouting from below ground level, and I finally cut out the dead branches. The S.A. offered to cart away the prunings and trails of ivy, and I ended up getting more done than I was expecting. The soil is like dust, structureless, mere and bone dry. A pair of Photinia serratifolia, planted in the hope that they would grow up and mask the telegraph pole, are clinging to life. A book on dry gardening said that they were surprisingly drought tolerant once established, but I think the clue lies in the phrase 'once established'. A Berberis dictophylla, planted at the same time for its beautiful white stems and sea green leaves, is looking equally overwhelmed. I dug in lots of organic material when I planted them, but it has vanished without trace. Mulch, mulch and more mulch is called for.
Showing posts with label winter jobs. Show all posts
Showing posts with label winter jobs. Show all posts
Wednesday, 19 October 2011
Monday, 17 October 2011
rearranging the tunnel
The countryside in autumn isn't the haven of tranquillity that some people might like to think. A few weeks back the plant centre resounded to the noise of hedge cutters working their way around the lanes, and today it was the clatter of sugar beet being dumped in the farmyard across the road.
The older gardener survived his unexpectedly prolonged trip to Cambridge, and the younger one completed his jury service without getting caught up in a trial that took months to complete. I've never been called to do jury service, and don't actually know what happens in the case of potential jurors whose business or exam prospects or whatever would be ruined if they had to take six months out, rather than a couple of weeks.
My task today was to move clematis from one end of a polytunnel to the other, tidying off dead leaves as I did so. We have begun bringing plants inside that don't want to sit too wet in their pots through the winter, and they are standing where the climbers were all summer. To make room the remaining climbers are being budged together. By the end of yesterday the space vacated by climbers so far had been entirely filled, so no more plants can come in until all the climbers in that half of the tunnel have been moved. Trimming dead leaves off clematis has a quite pleasant, meditative quality, though each time I began to get into a really good rhythmn of mindful tranquillity the phone rang.
Somebody wanted a mulberry. That was good, as we had mulberries. Somebody else wanted a particular Sedum, and we had two of those left. A third person wanted Davidia involucrata, which we had, and a shrub said to be a type of rhododendron, which neither the manager nor I had ever heard of, despite her claim to have bought one from us before. Another caller wanted Amelanchier 'Ballerina' and we had those, though I stepped in a puddle by mistake looking at them. We also came up trumps with three lavender 'Hidcote' and a Cistus x purpureus.
I dismally failed to get my replacement Teucrium, as they had all been sold, so I shall have to exhume the roots of the previous one, put them in the greenhouse, water them very carefully, and say my prayers to Saint Fiacre. (As well as being the patron saint of gardeners, he is also the saint of taxi drivers, not the most obvious of pairings). I did get a very fine and luxuriant young Rosmarinus officinalis 'Green Ginger'. I wonder if cuttings would root, struck this late? Also a pair of Phuopsis, to bulk up my homegrown plant which is looking quite cheerful about life in its current situation. That made one deliciously scented plant, and two that smelt of fox.
The older gardener survived his unexpectedly prolonged trip to Cambridge, and the younger one completed his jury service without getting caught up in a trial that took months to complete. I've never been called to do jury service, and don't actually know what happens in the case of potential jurors whose business or exam prospects or whatever would be ruined if they had to take six months out, rather than a couple of weeks.
My task today was to move clematis from one end of a polytunnel to the other, tidying off dead leaves as I did so. We have begun bringing plants inside that don't want to sit too wet in their pots through the winter, and they are standing where the climbers were all summer. To make room the remaining climbers are being budged together. By the end of yesterday the space vacated by climbers so far had been entirely filled, so no more plants can come in until all the climbers in that half of the tunnel have been moved. Trimming dead leaves off clematis has a quite pleasant, meditative quality, though each time I began to get into a really good rhythmn of mindful tranquillity the phone rang.
Somebody wanted a mulberry. That was good, as we had mulberries. Somebody else wanted a particular Sedum, and we had two of those left. A third person wanted Davidia involucrata, which we had, and a shrub said to be a type of rhododendron, which neither the manager nor I had ever heard of, despite her claim to have bought one from us before. Another caller wanted Amelanchier 'Ballerina' and we had those, though I stepped in a puddle by mistake looking at them. We also came up trumps with three lavender 'Hidcote' and a Cistus x purpureus.
I dismally failed to get my replacement Teucrium, as they had all been sold, so I shall have to exhume the roots of the previous one, put them in the greenhouse, water them very carefully, and say my prayers to Saint Fiacre. (As well as being the patron saint of gardeners, he is also the saint of taxi drivers, not the most obvious of pairings). I did get a very fine and luxuriant young Rosmarinus officinalis 'Green Ginger'. I wonder if cuttings would root, struck this late? Also a pair of Phuopsis, to bulk up my homegrown plant which is looking quite cheerful about life in its current situation. That made one deliciously scented plant, and two that smelt of fox.
Monday, 21 February 2011
another busy day at the plant centre
Today was a busy day. There are still odd bits of potting: this afternoon I potted up some rootballed lilacs and yew and a few bare-root crab apples. A couple of colleagues were on a roll creosoting (it is actually creosote substitute now that old fashioned creosote is banned. 'Creosoting' is like 'hoovering'. You can't say that you spent the day creosote substituting, any more than you would say that you had been dysoning).
Plants are moving around the plant centre in great swirls and eddies. The polytunnel on the far side of the car park ('the other side') is so full that the aisles are mostly reduced to half a trolley's width and the potting bench is jammed into the smallest possible space just inside the tunnel door, but bulbs that we potted last autumn, like tulips, daffodils and alliums, have started going out for sale. Some shrubs that were put under cover in the plant centre to protect them in the worst of the winter have also been put out again, which keeps us all on our toes when it comes to helping customers find things. Viburnums were in the tunnel with the climbers last time I was at work, but today they were back outside on the opposite side of the walled garden.
Customers sometimes find it confusing that shrubs like hollies, that they thought were hardy, have been put away in a tunnel for the winter, but there is a great difference from the plant's point of view between spending the winter outside in a black plastic pot, which may well freeze solid in cold weather, and having its roots safely in the ground. Even during periods of frost the ground is rarely frozen more than an inch or two deep (though I don't know how far the frost penetrated last December). Frozen roots can be particularly tricky for evergreens, because they can't take up water, while their leaves are still losing moisture through transpiration. Anyway, the hollies, viburnums, osmanthus and arbutus have all been turfed outside.
There will be a lot of deliveries in the next few days, and some of the plants will have customers waiting for them. Unfortunately the system for matching new stock to eager would-be purchasers is rather basic. We have a list of customer names and their desired plants. Plants arrive. The staff try to spot which of the arrivals are on the customers' wish-list, in between interruptions and distractions while we do lots of other things as well. Occasionally well-meaning customers who have obviously been conditioned by too much supermarket shopping wave their purchases at us at the till, enquiring 'don't you want to scan the bar code?'. Er, no thank you. We don't actually use bar codes.
Plants are moving around the plant centre in great swirls and eddies. The polytunnel on the far side of the car park ('the other side') is so full that the aisles are mostly reduced to half a trolley's width and the potting bench is jammed into the smallest possible space just inside the tunnel door, but bulbs that we potted last autumn, like tulips, daffodils and alliums, have started going out for sale. Some shrubs that were put under cover in the plant centre to protect them in the worst of the winter have also been put out again, which keeps us all on our toes when it comes to helping customers find things. Viburnums were in the tunnel with the climbers last time I was at work, but today they were back outside on the opposite side of the walled garden.
Customers sometimes find it confusing that shrubs like hollies, that they thought were hardy, have been put away in a tunnel for the winter, but there is a great difference from the plant's point of view between spending the winter outside in a black plastic pot, which may well freeze solid in cold weather, and having its roots safely in the ground. Even during periods of frost the ground is rarely frozen more than an inch or two deep (though I don't know how far the frost penetrated last December). Frozen roots can be particularly tricky for evergreens, because they can't take up water, while their leaves are still losing moisture through transpiration. Anyway, the hollies, viburnums, osmanthus and arbutus have all been turfed outside.
There will be a lot of deliveries in the next few days, and some of the plants will have customers waiting for them. Unfortunately the system for matching new stock to eager would-be purchasers is rather basic. We have a list of customer names and their desired plants. Plants arrive. The staff try to spot which of the arrivals are on the customers' wish-list, in between interruptions and distractions while we do lots of other things as well. Occasionally well-meaning customers who have obviously been conditioned by too much supermarket shopping wave their purchases at us at the till, enquiring 'don't you want to scan the bar code?'. Er, no thank you. We don't actually use bar codes.
Tuesday, 18 January 2011
hedge cutting and the uses of twigs
Today was a beautiful day for working outside. The sun shone, it wasn't raining or windy. Perfect weather, in fact, for getting things done that require a chainsaw. We took the top out of some field maples, Acer campestre, that were outgrowing their space in the boundary hedge between us and the neighbouring farm. Field maple is a beautiful plant, the leaves turning a vivid butter yellow in the autumn, but it is vigorous, wanting to make a medium sized tree if left to its own devices. The birds will be starting to think about nest sites before too long, so any hedge cutting needs to be done fairly soon.
The larger branches will be seasoned over the summer and used as firewood next winter. The smaller bits went through the shredder and will be used to mulch the paths around the compost bins. An apparently huge pile of twigs makes a very small amount of wood chippings, so we never have enough. As I shredded I thought how nowadays woody prunings are generally treated as waste, to be disposed of somehow, crammed into the family car and taken to the tip, or burnt on the bonfire, or most annoyingly dumped in farm gates and lay-bys (indeed, some wretched person has been dumping pyracantha prunings and even a piece of disgarded box topiary in the entrance to our spinney). In the past the twigs of at least some native species were useful. I was reading a gardening encyclopedia written in the middle of the last century by the wonderful Arthur Hellyer, and he describes building land drains by digging a trench (1 in 40 slope sufficient) and filling the bottom of it with bundles of hazel twigs, which will carry the water away after the trench is backfilled. It will, he says, last for many years, provided that a sufficient quantity of twigs is used. He does not elaborate on how many is sufficient. Indeed, in wet areas great medieval cathedrals such as Ely were built on rafts of twigs, and Brunel used the same method for his railways. Alder was often used, because it resists rot when wet, or hazel was pretty good.
The larger branches will be seasoned over the summer and used as firewood next winter. The smaller bits went through the shredder and will be used to mulch the paths around the compost bins. An apparently huge pile of twigs makes a very small amount of wood chippings, so we never have enough. As I shredded I thought how nowadays woody prunings are generally treated as waste, to be disposed of somehow, crammed into the family car and taken to the tip, or burnt on the bonfire, or most annoyingly dumped in farm gates and lay-bys (indeed, some wretched person has been dumping pyracantha prunings and even a piece of disgarded box topiary in the entrance to our spinney). In the past the twigs of at least some native species were useful. I was reading a gardening encyclopedia written in the middle of the last century by the wonderful Arthur Hellyer, and he describes building land drains by digging a trench (1 in 40 slope sufficient) and filling the bottom of it with bundles of hazel twigs, which will carry the water away after the trench is backfilled. It will, he says, last for many years, provided that a sufficient quantity of twigs is used. He does not elaborate on how many is sufficient. Indeed, in wet areas great medieval cathedrals such as Ely were built on rafts of twigs, and Brunel used the same method for his railways. Alder was often used, because it resists rot when wet, or hazel was pretty good.
Monday, 10 January 2011
winter jobs
Today first thing we were forbidden to feed the peacocks anywhere in the plant centre because then they come into the shop. This would be very fine and dandy and picturesque if it were not for the fact that they roost on the displays and crap on the floor. Then I got on with winter jobs, cleaning dead leaves and any odd bits of hairy bittercress or liverwort out of the berberis and cornus, top dressing with compost as required, and dusting the pots with a shake of pre-emergent herbicide. While they were out of their bed I swept dead leaves and spilt compost off the mypex fabric that covers it. I found a couple that had lost their labels, which were put to one side until they come into leaf or flower and give us more of a clue what they are. The next stage will be to treat the timber frames of the shrub beds with creosote substitute. I discovered that I will not be required to help with this, which suits me fine. The telephone rang quite often. Sometimes we had the plant the person was looking for, sometimes we didn't. I did my best to advise the woman whose Daphne odora had lost all its leaves in the winter (she could fleece it if it starts coming back into leaf and more severe cold weather is forecast. Otherwise there isn't a lot she can do). I spent some time on the till, and took details of a couple of deliveries. I got a lot of compost on my coat. And that was a day at work at a plant centre in January.
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