Wednesday, November 21, 2012
Sunday, November 18, 2012
One of our less creative volunteers...
I can't watch those make-your-own-tat shows like Kirsty Allsopp's. Firstly, she's rather annoying. Secondly, I'd instantly think that I could make just a good a fist of it as the experts in her show. I would then become very, very annoyed and disappointed when my decoupage* umbrella stand sagged like a wet weekend in Warrington. This blog is suitably named, believe me.
Nevertheless, I decided to make our garden a little more interesting for Thomas as he grows up. So, I thought I'd have a go at making a living willow structure. There aren't many places in the garden which aren't stuffed full of plants, so a rather unpromising site was chosen - well, willow will grow anywhere, pretty much, and we're not short of water in the North-West of England. We did have a raspberry cane patch in one place, but dug it up a couple of years ago as we had so many raspberries at the allotment (which we have now given up, so no more raspberries for us!). Since then, this space has been used for plonking pots of gone-over bulbs and plants.
I bought a willow wigwam kit from English Willow Baskets. It arrived, well wrapped, a week later, with a brief but easy to follow instruction leaflet.
So, I hacked a few overhanging branches down, and prepared the site. To add insult to injury for the Fatsia, which was cut down to make space, I used its leaves to mark out the spacings for the uprights. They looked like they were waving at me, in a friendly sort of way. Rather more likely they were howling with despair.
The kit was well packed and it was clear, even to a total beginner like me, what was what. The long ones were the 10' uprights, the not-so-long ones were the 8' diagonals, and the short ones were the weaving whatsits. Ah yes, weaving. More on that, later.
Armed with lump hammer and stake, I made 30cm deep holes at 25cm intervals. Well, I did where I could. Our garden has an extensive amount of archaeology in the garden. Despite being in Chester, I doubt it's Roman. Instead, the estate was built on the grounds of an old house. They didn't bother demolishing the structure below ground level, so parts of the back garden are riddled with brick walls. I've tried digging them up. I gave up. We do have a good brick pile, though. Or spider-breeding centre, as it currently seems to be. Anyway, the uprights went in.
It started to look quite good when I made the doorway - I almost thought I'd get it looking half-decent... I started to get cocky - a piece of cake, this.
The instruction to weave a horizontal band about 3' up from the ground floored me. I looked and looked for a secret page on the instruction leaflet which would show me how to weave. The diagram made it look simple. Well, not so much a diagram as a hopeful line drawing. It was like making something from Blue Peter all over again. The mothers and fathers might have left the room, but I was entangled in something much more complicated than a toilet roll desk tidy, and I had no double-sided sticky tape to hand.** By the third attempt, I was reasonably adept. I believe the word that is used by art critics when something isn't very good but has critical acclaim is 'naive'. Well, if you exclude the critical acclaim, I achieved naive weaving.
The diagonals went in, again in 30cm deep holes - one arm was now beginning to resemble Popeye's thanks to the lump hammer wielding. Actually, I'm not sure what a lump hammer is. I think I was actually using a mallet, but to be honest, the closest I'd previously come to mallet-wielding was in a particularly vicious game of croquet in Cambridge.
All went well, until I came to the final instruction. "Draw in the rods at the top. Tie in with biodegradable twine." Well, I thought I had it sorted. How difficult could it be? Very, it turned out, unless you were a twine, scissor and serenity-wielding octopus. If I wasn't such an incredibly placid and patient person, I'm sure the air may have turned blue, as uprights whipped out of my hands, out of the biodegradable twine, and out of control.
This was too much for one person. But it was cold and late.
The following week, with Grandma keeping Thomas entertained, I enrolled the help of SomeBeans. Despite being very detail-minded in most parts of his life, he declared, after he had tied a few uprights together willy-nilly, that it was outside, and so he wasn't bothered about the structure being orderly. Well, I did mind, so we undid the uprights, and decided to turn the wigwam into a dome (very similar to the instructions for a wigwam, but easier to do if you don't have a small team of willing helpers and unlimited patience).
We did it. There was a gap at the front, though. This was because I'd made the door too tall. This will have its advantages, however, as Thomas' aged parents won't have to get down on our hands and knees to get in.
To fill the gap, I channelled Kirsty's creative juices, and made a 'T' (for Thomas - geddit?) in a woven willow circle. There's no stopping me on the weaving front, now. I think I'll weave an iPad for SomeBeans' Christmas present. Or perhaps willow socks.
And so, we had our willow dome. Hopefully living. We'll have to wait til Spring to find out. I'll update on our endeavours then. I'll put down some weed suppression membrane and bark chippings inside, and then as it grows and matures, so will Thomas. By the time he's old enough to (hopefully) appreciate it, the living parts will have grown and thickened and can be woven in to make the structure thicker.
In case you're wondering about the title of the blog post, it is inspired by our visits to Ness Gardens. In a couple of areas, they have woven structures and sculptures. These are usually labelled with a sign along the lines of "made by some of our more creative volunteers." We often wonder what the less creative volunteers (the lumpen proletariat?) think of this implication of their own creativity.
*SomeBeans (possibly deliberately) mixes up decoupage and decolletage. That may well sag, too.
**Maybe I've had a very sheltered life, but I have never come across double-sided sticky tape. And without that wondrous ingredient, you couldn't make anything from Blue Peter. Am I the only one never to have made anything? I'm sure my parents knew they never had to bother leaving the room if a craft project came onto the programme.
Nevertheless, I decided to make our garden a little more interesting for Thomas as he grows up. So, I thought I'd have a go at making a living willow structure. There aren't many places in the garden which aren't stuffed full of plants, so a rather unpromising site was chosen - well, willow will grow anywhere, pretty much, and we're not short of water in the North-West of England. We did have a raspberry cane patch in one place, but dug it up a couple of years ago as we had so many raspberries at the allotment (which we have now given up, so no more raspberries for us!). Since then, this space has been used for plonking pots of gone-over bulbs and plants.
Weeds, self-seeded Hellebore, gone-over pots and a Fatsia which always struggled.
A curious delivery
So, I hacked a few overhanging branches down, and prepared the site. To add insult to injury for the Fatsia, which was cut down to make space, I used its leaves to mark out the spacings for the uprights. They looked like they were waving at me, in a friendly sort of way. Rather more likely they were howling with despair.
If you look very carefully, you can see the robin investigating the new landscape
The kit was well packed and it was clear, even to a total beginner like me, what was what. The long ones were the 10' uprights, the not-so-long ones were the 8' diagonals, and the short ones were the weaving whatsits. Ah yes, weaving. More on that, later.
Even I could tell what was what.
Armed with lump hammer and stake, I made 30cm deep holes at 25cm intervals. Well, I did where I could. Our garden has an extensive amount of archaeology in the garden. Despite being in Chester, I doubt it's Roman. Instead, the estate was built on the grounds of an old house. They didn't bother demolishing the structure below ground level, so parts of the back garden are riddled with brick walls. I've tried digging them up. I gave up. We do have a good brick pile, though. Or spider-breeding centre, as it currently seems to be. Anyway, the uprights went in.
Uprights, well watered, despite the very wet ground.
It started to look quite good when I made the doorway - I almost thought I'd get it looking half-decent... I started to get cocky - a piece of cake, this.
Ha - the doorway is a bit too tall - I was thinking adult, not child.
The instruction to weave a horizontal band about 3' up from the ground floored me. I looked and looked for a secret page on the instruction leaflet which would show me how to weave. The diagram made it look simple. Well, not so much a diagram as a hopeful line drawing. It was like making something from Blue Peter all over again. The mothers and fathers might have left the room, but I was entangled in something much more complicated than a toilet roll desk tidy, and I had no double-sided sticky tape to hand.** By the third attempt, I was reasonably adept. I believe the word that is used by art critics when something isn't very good but has critical acclaim is 'naive'. Well, if you exclude the critical acclaim, I achieved naive weaving.
The diagonals went in, again in 30cm deep holes - one arm was now beginning to resemble Popeye's thanks to the lump hammer wielding. Actually, I'm not sure what a lump hammer is. I think I was actually using a mallet, but to be honest, the closest I'd previously come to mallet-wielding was in a particularly vicious game of croquet in Cambridge.
All went well, until I came to the final instruction. "Draw in the rods at the top. Tie in with biodegradable twine." Well, I thought I had it sorted. How difficult could it be? Very, it turned out, unless you were a twine, scissor and serenity-wielding octopus. If I wasn't such an incredibly placid and patient person, I'm sure the air may have turned blue, as uprights whipped out of my hands, out of the biodegradable twine, and out of control.
This was too much for one person. But it was cold and late.
The following week, with Grandma keeping Thomas entertained, I enrolled the help of SomeBeans. Despite being very detail-minded in most parts of his life, he declared, after he had tied a few uprights together willy-nilly, that it was outside, and so he wasn't bothered about the structure being orderly. Well, I did mind, so we undid the uprights, and decided to turn the wigwam into a dome (very similar to the instructions for a wigwam, but easier to do if you don't have a small team of willing helpers and unlimited patience).
We did it. There was a gap at the front, though. This was because I'd made the door too tall. This will have its advantages, however, as Thomas' aged parents won't have to get down on our hands and knees to get in.
To fill the gap, I channelled Kirsty's creative juices, and made a 'T' (for Thomas - geddit?) in a woven willow circle. There's no stopping me on the weaving front, now. I think I'll weave an iPad for SomeBeans' Christmas present. Or perhaps willow socks.
One of our less-creative volunteers
And so, we had our willow dome. Hopefully living. We'll have to wait til Spring to find out. I'll update on our endeavours then. I'll put down some weed suppression membrane and bark chippings inside, and then as it grows and matures, so will Thomas. By the time he's old enough to (hopefully) appreciate it, the living parts will have grown and thickened and can be woven in to make the structure thicker.
In case you're wondering about the title of the blog post, it is inspired by our visits to Ness Gardens. In a couple of areas, they have woven structures and sculptures. These are usually labelled with a sign along the lines of "made by some of our more creative volunteers." We often wonder what the less creative volunteers (the lumpen proletariat?) think of this implication of their own creativity.
*SomeBeans (possibly deliberately) mixes up decoupage and decolletage. That may well sag, too.
**Maybe I've had a very sheltered life, but I have never come across double-sided sticky tape. And without that wondrous ingredient, you couldn't make anything from Blue Peter. Am I the only one never to have made anything? I'm sure my parents knew they never had to bother leaving the room if a craft project came onto the programme.
Wednesday, November 07, 2012
Thursday, November 01, 2012
Sunday, October 21, 2012
A virtual garden review
I haven't visited many gardens recently. Hopefully, next year will be more fruitful in this respect. However, there is one garden that both Thomas and I visit with huge regularity (monotonous regularity, on occasion), so I thought I'd write a short review of it.
This garden is situated in woodland, though cannot really be described as your traditional woodland garden - there is little in the way of woodland understorey such as wood anemones or even bluebells. The trees are mature, with spreading canopies. Luckily, however, the gardeners seem to manage to get a lovely green lawn to grow right up to the tree trunks - something most gardeners with mature oaks would really struggle with.
Apart from describing it as a woodland garden, it is otherwise slightly hard to categorise. It has some elements of formal bedding - the edges of the mature trees are planted up with what appear to be traditional bedding plants (begonias?). One area is dominated by large ox-eye daisies - a modern twist on the wildflower meadow.
Perhaps the most intriguing aspect is that within this woodland context, the garden makers have tried to include a nod to the picturesque with the addition of a hermit's cave. Whilst the cave does lead on from what appears to be a naturally occurring ditch, the stoneworks themselves do not show a great deal of unity with the surrounding area. Rather, the cave seems 'plonked' amongst the short, well kept grass of the mature woodland. However, look carefully, and you will see a real hermit living there still. He appears to be a little obsessed with stones.
Whilst the gardens appear very well tended (a small number of what I presume to be gardeners can be seen living within the gardens themselves), it would appear that the odd bush does suffer from pest infestation. One bush in particular seems to be suffering from some sort of grub attack - possibly vine weevil. Nothing a bit of biological control or a dose of chemicals couldn't sort out, I'm sure. Other wildlife seems fairly scarce, perhaps due to the wide expanses of short turf, but there are a few birds around.
A central gazebo acts as the garden's focal point, and the garden staff meet there regularly for a dance - it is worth catching this if you are in the garden on the right day. To help the garden visitor get around, there are a couple of methods of transport, but to be honest, the drivers seem a little unconcerned about passenger safety.
Is it worth a visit? Perhaps the garden is best visited in the company of little ones.
A link to a tour of the garden.
This garden is situated in woodland, though cannot really be described as your traditional woodland garden - there is little in the way of woodland understorey such as wood anemones or even bluebells. The trees are mature, with spreading canopies. Luckily, however, the gardeners seem to manage to get a lovely green lawn to grow right up to the tree trunks - something most gardeners with mature oaks would really struggle with.
Apart from describing it as a woodland garden, it is otherwise slightly hard to categorise. It has some elements of formal bedding - the edges of the mature trees are planted up with what appear to be traditional bedding plants (begonias?). One area is dominated by large ox-eye daisies - a modern twist on the wildflower meadow.
Perhaps the most intriguing aspect is that within this woodland context, the garden makers have tried to include a nod to the picturesque with the addition of a hermit's cave. Whilst the cave does lead on from what appears to be a naturally occurring ditch, the stoneworks themselves do not show a great deal of unity with the surrounding area. Rather, the cave seems 'plonked' amongst the short, well kept grass of the mature woodland. However, look carefully, and you will see a real hermit living there still. He appears to be a little obsessed with stones.
Whilst the gardens appear very well tended (a small number of what I presume to be gardeners can be seen living within the gardens themselves), it would appear that the odd bush does suffer from pest infestation. One bush in particular seems to be suffering from some sort of grub attack - possibly vine weevil. Nothing a bit of biological control or a dose of chemicals couldn't sort out, I'm sure. Other wildlife seems fairly scarce, perhaps due to the wide expanses of short turf, but there are a few birds around.
A central gazebo acts as the garden's focal point, and the garden staff meet there regularly for a dance - it is worth catching this if you are in the garden on the right day. To help the garden visitor get around, there are a couple of methods of transport, but to be honest, the drivers seem a little unconcerned about passenger safety.
Is it worth a visit? Perhaps the garden is best visited in the company of little ones.
A link to a tour of the garden.
Wednesday, September 26, 2012
Sunday, September 23, 2012
Shrinking horizons
When I first starting writing this gibberish, one of the reasons was that I'd recently taken up an allotment. Six years ago - a little before the mad rush to allotments, I like to think. Certainly before the mad rush for allotments in Chester, as most of the site was derelict.
However, times change, and with the arrival of Thomas, weekends weeding are over. We can't really keep the plot how we want to, and so have decided to let it go. I'm sure Thomas would be put off gardening for life if his first memories were being stung by crouching nettles, hidden thistles down the allotment.
We won't, of course, allow Thomas to miss out on the excitement of discovering the buried treasure of potatoes, picking fresh beans and so on, so will restrict veg growing to those we can grow in borders and small spaces at home. This may mean a return to the sprout-sized cabbage rather than those the size of Alfredo Garcia's head...
Oh well. A sense of sadness but a bigger sense of relief.
However, times change, and with the arrival of Thomas, weekends weeding are over. We can't really keep the plot how we want to, and so have decided to let it go. I'm sure Thomas would be put off gardening for life if his first memories were being stung by crouching nettles, hidden thistles down the allotment.
We won't, of course, allow Thomas to miss out on the excitement of discovering the buried treasure of potatoes, picking fresh beans and so on, so will restrict veg growing to those we can grow in borders and small spaces at home. This may mean a return to the sprout-sized cabbage rather than those the size of Alfredo Garcia's head...
Oh well. A sense of sadness but a bigger sense of relief.
Sunday, September 16, 2012
The very pink of perfection
I like gardening, because there's always a bit of a surprise. Of course, that doesn't mean that the surprise will be a good one. The surprise of a total harvest of four carrots this year, the surprise of the rotten new potatoes when I came to dig them up (rather a smelly surprise, that one), the surprise of your hand on a large slug. Slug juice really sticks to you, doesn't it?
This summer, a wipeout for most of our veg, has been rather a good one for the Schizostylis coccinea in the garden. Last year they sulked, as it was quite a bit drier. One advantage of the non-stop rain this year is that they have loved it.
I only grow the bog standard Schizostylis coccinea (though it might be the cultivar 'Major' - I can't remember, to be honest), and is has spread quite quickly in the wet years since it was planted. I love its simple, bright flowers. The leaves tend to look a bit weedy in the border, but hide them with another plant and its a problem easily solved.
Unlike your hand unexpectedly coming across a large slug, the Schizostylis this year gave me a nice surprise. As well as the red, a sport has come up, in a rather nice pink. There seem to be quite a few pink cultivars out there already, but I'm proud of my darkish pink sport, even if it clashes somewhat with its bedmates at the moment. I'll ferret it out soon, and give it a slightly more tasteful place than in a bed of autumnal reds, yellows and oranges.
It came in rather handy, as I'd been meaning to buy a pink one for a while!
This summer, a wipeout for most of our veg, has been rather a good one for the Schizostylis coccinea in the garden. Last year they sulked, as it was quite a bit drier. One advantage of the non-stop rain this year is that they have loved it.
I only grow the bog standard Schizostylis coccinea (though it might be the cultivar 'Major' - I can't remember, to be honest), and is has spread quite quickly in the wet years since it was planted. I love its simple, bright flowers. The leaves tend to look a bit weedy in the border, but hide them with another plant and its a problem easily solved.
Unlike your hand unexpectedly coming across a large slug, the Schizostylis this year gave me a nice surprise. As well as the red, a sport has come up, in a rather nice pink. There seem to be quite a few pink cultivars out there already, but I'm proud of my darkish pink sport, even if it clashes somewhat with its bedmates at the moment. I'll ferret it out soon, and give it a slightly more tasteful place than in a bed of autumnal reds, yellows and oranges.
It came in rather handy, as I'd been meaning to buy a pink one for a while!
Wednesday, September 05, 2012
Friday, August 24, 2012
Drink-along-a-Monty
Hmm. You know when you get something stuck in your teeth, and you have to keep niggling away at it with your tongue? Or when you've got a bite, and you know you mustn't scratch it even though it itches like crazy. You still have to scratch it.
At the moment, this is how I feel about Gardeners' World. Hence my return to the topic after Nigel the Dog's guest post.
To be honest, I think that one needs a little incentive to watch this programme nowadays. And so in a state of reckless abandon, I suggest the Gardeners' World Drinking Game*. It should make the programme more interesting, and if it doesn't, you'll be too blotto to care.
Drinking Game rules:
Have one gulp of your drink (or if you are really going for it, one shot) for each successfully met condition:
Monty sayings:
- "Here at Longmeadow"
- "Time to trim the hedges"
- any mention of blanket weed in the pond
- any mention of non-use of chemicals (NOTE: for die-hard drink-along-a-Monty gamers, this should be accompanied by downing a cocktail made up of the most virulent-coloured, additive enhanced cocktail you can make. Or a Kia-Ora)
- any mention of compost heaps (a double shot if accompanied by either his love of compost, or by mentioning that he lawn-mowers it)
Camera shots:
- Any appearance of Nigel Dog - should also be accompanied by a loud "Woof woof!"
- Close-up of flower with Monty working, out of focus, in the background
- Shot of pristine garden tools on the shed wall - you know the ones - the dozen different trowels)
If you're teetotal, and have access to a laptop, you might prefer to follow the programme on Twitter, with the hashtag #shoutyhalfhour (via @saralimback) - always entertaining.
Let me know if you have any other conditions you think are worth adding to the rules.
Cheers!
*Though, as a responsible mother, I will be gulping on orange juice rather than gin).
At the moment, this is how I feel about Gardeners' World. Hence my return to the topic after Nigel the Dog's guest post.
To be honest, I think that one needs a little incentive to watch this programme nowadays. And so in a state of reckless abandon, I suggest the Gardeners' World Drinking Game*. It should make the programme more interesting, and if it doesn't, you'll be too blotto to care.
Drinking Game rules:
Have one gulp of your drink (or if you are really going for it, one shot) for each successfully met condition:
Monty sayings:
- "Here at Longmeadow"
- "Time to trim the hedges"
- any mention of blanket weed in the pond
- any mention of non-use of chemicals (NOTE: for die-hard drink-along-a-Monty gamers, this should be accompanied by downing a cocktail made up of the most virulent-coloured, additive enhanced cocktail you can make. Or a Kia-Ora)
- any mention of compost heaps (a double shot if accompanied by either his love of compost, or by mentioning that he lawn-mowers it)
Camera shots:
- Any appearance of Nigel Dog - should also be accompanied by a loud "Woof woof!"
- Close-up of flower with Monty working, out of focus, in the background
- Shot of pristine garden tools on the shed wall - you know the ones - the dozen different trowels)
If you're teetotal, and have access to a laptop, you might prefer to follow the programme on Twitter, with the hashtag #shoutyhalfhour (via @saralimback) - always entertaining.
Let me know if you have any other conditions you think are worth adding to the rules.
Cheers!
*Though, as a responsible mother, I will be gulping on orange juice rather than gin).
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