Go away, wind!
Irises Blown Over
OK. Something else for my ever-increasing List of Banned Garden Journal Topics. The dry nor-west winds, which have been booming and blustering around my ears for days and ripping the flowers in my garden to shreds. Go away, wind! Blow somewhere in the middle of the ocean where no-one is trying to be a gardener.
Wednesday 19th November
In the middle of last night I kept waking up to the nasty, screeching wind noise. Then I thought I heard a deep thump of a tree crashing down. Blimey - Minimus the cottage cat might be putting on weight, but her window leaps are not quite that loud!
Anyway, I'm really, really, really cross with the big winds for being so mentally invasive. So it's time to toughen up. It's the opposite idea to 'naming and shaming'. Further comments are banned. There is no point in my moaning and groaning about it and thus annoying anyone else.
Gardens on the Back House Lawn
Let's get onto the garden shall we? I've been working all morning planting Bergenias, Meadowfoam, and Foxgloves. I've dug out a couple of sulking roses, promised them I'll take better care, and put them in large pots by Winnie the puppy's kennel.
Hmm... Winnie the puppy. I bought her a groovy cane toy-box to put her toys in, as well as some new stuffed animals to 'play' with (there's a large Pooh bear, hee hee). Now there is no need to collect and chew people's shoes, young Winnie. Chew your toys! So Winnie the puppy is sitting in the toy-box on top of the toys, chewing the box's handle.
Three dog friends
Off to the Dog Park
Yesterday we went to a local dog-park with my country friend and her dog Jenny. It was Winnie's first time - scary and exciting, and she was so good about things. Things like three (THREE!) Leonbergers, fur rippling in the wind as they lolloped towards her, a particularly annoying French sheepdog with designer fur streaks, and a yappy, chasing terrier.
Meanwhile Rusty kept disgracing himself by running off with tennis balls that didn't belong to him. I wasn't sure of the etiquette. Should I merely offer the owner one of ours as a replacement, or try to get their tennis ball out of Rusty's stubborn mouth? Meanwhile Winnie would squeak with delight - or dread? - as yet another new dog charged up to her. She was the only really junior puppy-dog there, so all the owners made a huge fuss of her.
Hmm... Time to go back outside and plant some more things. The Canna lilies, maybe, along a warm wall in the house garden. They all over-wintered in pots, so I'm hoping for a better flowering display this year.
And time to check if any more of the big irises are flowering. I have such an amazing range of colours - certainly can't remember where they all came from. And there's a huge jar full of them in the house - picked yesterday, blown over by that nasty elemental thing which is banned from this journal.
Three Hours Later...
I'm back. Oops again - while I sorted out the Cannas, Winnie the puppy fell in the water race. So we went for a walk around the orchard to dry off. I said hello ('checked' would be far too disciplined a word) to the orchard roses, puzzling again on identifications.
Oh dearie, dearie me. How I wish I'd been more specific and detailed in my early journals. For example, have I really got Alchemist right? My so-called Alchemist doesn't have any pink tones. Does this matter? And the strange, blousy peachy-apricot climber on Archway No. 6 is not, not, NOT Abraham Darby. Coconut Ice looks gorgeous, and Madame Caroline Testout touch wood is still healthy.
Orchard Rose Meg
But I am furious with that hugging and puffing stuff which shall remain nameless. To be frank, it has driven me inside. That plus the fact that Winnie the puppy wanted to help me plant the Cannas. So she dug where I was digging. Fair enough! I'm going to peep at my latest rose photographs. Like the roses in the garden, I seem to have rather a lot...