Attack of the Triffid

courtyard garden

‘I shall host a garden party!’ I declared excitedly when one of my closest friends mentioned that she would be in town for a family wedding in the summer.

That was back in the autumn.

Time stretched away into the distance.

Looking at the calendar on Thursday morning time seemed to have taken a bit of a jump forward. Looking at the garden there was still so much to be done. Looking at the clock I realised that I could do an hour or so of weeding before work.

I had already cleared most of the ground cover weeds and was concentrating on taking out the triffids, large spiky things with thick woody stems and deep root systems. Each took several days to remove having to be pulled, twisted and tugged repeatedly to be persuaded to part gradually from the ground. My arms were so badly scratched by the thorns I looked like I had been self harming. One triffid was stuck so fast that I finally gave up trying to uproot it and used my spade to chop through the root, though even that took considerable time and effort.

On Thursday morning with only an hour or so to spare I knew I wouldn’t have time to tackle another triffid so I by-passed the large triffid half way up the courtyard stairs and hacked and pulled at some briars and nettles. As I passed the triffid at the top of the stairs I gave it a test tug. It was stuck fast. I gave it another couple of tugs just to start the process of loosening it in the hope of making my planned weekend gardening session a little easier.

But this time was different. With the second tug it remained stuck fast. With the third tug it suddenly and astonishingly flew out the ground. Where was the warning I wondered, the gradually easing of the large root? Falling backwards through time and space I stumbled on the uneven steps. Doing my utmost to impersonate my cat I attempted to twist in mid fall in the hope of landing on my feet but as I did so I stumbled on the other side of the uneven step and toppled over the wall at a jaunty angle falling head first towards a pile of rocks and rubble.

My brain registered a freeze-frame image of my wrist as it crumpled and all I could think was ‘oh this is not good, I start work in a couple of hours’.

Looking at time tick by in A&E I knew that it wasn’t going to be sorted in time for starting work. I knew that it would be several weeks at the earliest before I would work again. I have only recently started a new job and live alone and the implication of my predicament didn’t escape me but there’s nothing like acute pain to focus the mind in the present moment. This breath, the next breath and the one after that was as far into the future as I could contemplate.

The lights in the x-ray department are those eco-friendly movement activated lights which kept going out as I sat silently hunched over my wrist focusing on this breath, the next breath and the one after that. Waiting quietly for the radiographer to call me.

This breath, the next breath and the one after that.

It’s still early days and I remain optimistic that full feeling will return to my fingers any day now but I won’t know until the cast comes off whether there is any permanent damage. The possible implications are so far-reaching that they have the potential to forever change the course of my life. But battered and bruised all I can focus on is this breath, the next breath and the one after that.

And that’s not a bad thing.

 

fracture

Ode to a Blackbird

 “Most musical, most melancholy” bird!
A melancholy bird! Oh! idle thought!
  In nature there is nothing melancholy.
       

 Coleridge

blackbird1

Picture pinched from Pinterest

Coleridge wrote the poem ‘The Nightingale‘ in 1798, around the time the cottage was built and the Secret Garden first created. ‘The nightingale sounds rather like a blackbird singing at dusk’ my high school English teacher said in an effort to bring the poem to life for the class. I often thought of her whenever I heard a blackbird sing but now when I hear it’s song I am reminded of a friend.

Apart from gardens some of my favourite places to visit are museums, art galleries and coffee shops. And one of my favourite, favourite places is a coffee shop inside an art gallery…

Glaring at my friend in exasperation I exclaimed ‘there’s just no point taking you anywhere nice or doing anything interesting coffeewith you because you never appreciate it. You’re either ranting about something that happened years ago or fretting about something that hasn’t happened yet, something that may never happen. You are in a beautiful wood-panelled coffee shop surrounded by priceless artwork but you could be anywhere. This coffee is divine but I doubt you’ve even tasted it. Now shut up and don’t say another word. I am trying to enjoy my coffee.’

There was a stunned look at my outburst then a quiet smile as he allowed me to savour my coffee in silence. During the car journey home I lectured him at length about the importance of contentment. A few days later in the garden {my last garden} I grumbled about the traffic noise ‘not entirely content then’ he muttered as he adjusted the parasol.

Traffic noise is a dim and distant memory now and every evening a blackbird sweetly sings in the Secret Garden. As for my friend they say people teach that which they most need to learn and he now teaches meditation. Perhaps I ought to teaching gardening! I have been trying for months to get a photograph of him {the blackbird not my friend} without success so here instead is another picture of a blackbird {in a garden} pinched from Pinterest.

blackbird2

A Comedy of Errors {Four Candles}


Before
~ just back from a trip to the garden centre

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After

fork

God made rainy days so that gardeners can get their housework done but with my wide-brimmed gardening hat on I barely noticed as the rain began to blow through on a breeze. However the gods were rather insistent that I stop by snapping my fork in two which reminded me of another very funny comedy sketch by the Two Ronnies, Four Candles.

fork andle

 

Being a resourceful gardener I put the broken fork handle to good use as a stake to protect a newly planted thyme from Hugo before defying the gods and turning my attention to potting a pretty little Dianthus chinensis in another of my favourite pots from Crail Pottery.

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An instant hit of colour to brighten up the courtyard on a dreary day!

dianthus1

Courtyard Chaos

If you change the way you look at things, the things you look at change.

Wayne Dyer

With selected plants in carefully placed pots, an arrangement of garden furniture not to mention a small chimnea and a string of bunting the courtyard was beginning to look rather nice. In the actual garden part of the courtyard a few plants were starting to come to life and all appeared to be under control. But you know how deceptive appearances can be!

 

chimnea

After the wonderful weather over the Easter weekend we had a week of April showers and suddenly the Secret Garden exploded into life. With weeds choking the few plants in the courtyard I began to feel slightly overwhelmed by the sheer size of the task and momentarily slipped out of the moment allowing my imagination to conjure up all manner of worst case scenarios. As {in my fevered imagination} the trees turned into triffids I decided it was time for an emergency cuppa. Time to sit down at the garden table and do nothing more than drink tea and just be. With my attention back in the present I felt much less daunted as I realised {to paraphrase Eric Morcombe} that I have all the right plants but not necessarily in the right order.

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The plants that adorn the courtyard garden ought to be further up, under the trees. They are woodland plants and look out of place in the courtyard but transplanted have the potential to enhance the garden. With that in mind I decided to start at the very beginning {a very good place to start}  clearing the courtyard garden completely, removing or replanting everything in it, replacing them with my own planting design.

seed catalogue

 

Finishing my tea I tackled the task with renewed enthusiasm {and a little ‘help’ from Hort Hound} not because the garden had changed but because I had changed the way I looked at it and it was once more filled with possibilities not problems.

hort hound