Cactus and copse

Isn't that fantastic? I immediately started seeing all sorts of possibilities for artistically posing plants and pots. I bet people still do it on a quiet Tuesday morning in winter, probably posting lookouts at either end of the cactus house.

We were in the National Botanical Gardens in Glasnevin in Dublin, somehwhere I've been wanting to visit for years. Here's another great exhibit in the same cactus house:

Those furry lads? They're not furry. I kind of knew that - my Nana used to keep cacti - but Joe gave one a surreptitious stroke. Ouch.

In another glasshouse plants were going incognito:

And look at this roof:

One of the things I wanted to do while we were there was look at trees in the arboretum. We're planning to plant some in our new garden - I want to re-create something of the woodland feel we have here. There won't be anything like the glorious mature beech, oak and sycamore of this place, but I think I can still make a woodland atmosphere by planting a mix of native and non-native trees alongside those already on the boundary:

We were up at the site yesterday marking out the boundary on the Land Registry Map. The really good news is that Liam who we're buying it from has included a small copse of mostly birch. I've major plans for putting in primroses, cowslips and bluebells and adding native trees at either end. The primroses and cowslips shouldn't be a problem, and there's a couple of bluebells on the ditch already, so I'm hopeful.

One thing I'm really going to miss is the astonishing variety of wild flowers I have in my garden here. Not sure if their absence at the new site is because it's been grazed by horses and donkeys. But I'll be doing my best to make it a garden me and the wildlife will love.

So I'm just looking back at photos to see if I can find one of the copse - I wasn't taking pictures of it because I didn't think it was going to be part of our land. And I found this:

It's  Joe in our field with a bicycle. I was looking down from the neighbour's patio to make sure our house won't block his view of the lake. I think the bicycle had something to do with that. Or maybe Joe has entered a Third Policeman time warp (for those who've never read Flann O'Brien's The Third Policeman, you should).

And look at all those buttercups. Oh my. So pretty, but that's my next gardening life, pulling up creeping buttercup. And where's the bicycle?

Here's the copse. Just to the left at the back. How astonishingly different a place looks in summer and winter. This was the excavations for the percolation test to see could we have a septic tank - essential before you can get planning permission.

Still can't really believe this is happening. Best not to think about moving from here until it's upon us. At least we're only going over the mountain. And at least I now have a copse to play with.

Sticky Willy and other stories

Sticky Willy is taking over my garden. I came back from boating to a wilderness, with only an occasional glimpse of lettuce and roses. Sticky Willy is also known as Goosegrass, but Sticky Willy is what we always called it as children. I don't like to think about what it might mean. Best to keep one's mind on horticultural possibilities.

It's a clever plant that climbs with abandon over and under everything, its stems thick and lush and - you guessed it - sticky, but at the root it narrows to a thread so when you pull it out, the thread breaks and the root is left behind. In the photo it's taking over a hebe. Give it another day or two and it'll be in the bedroom window.

It also has sticky seeds. They're the small spheres that dogs often sport at this time of year when back from a gambol in the bushes. These little burs are difficult to remove, so doing the plant a favour by passing its seeds around the neighbourhood. The stickiness of the leaves and seeds is also unpleasant on the skin - it brings me up in a stinging rash for an hour or two.


My garden work at this time of year is almost totally made up of crisis weeding. 'I just go around the garden with my trowel,' says my dad, implying that I could do the same and keep things under control. But he doesn't have an acre surrounded by fields that are intent on producing weed seeds and sneaking them back onto my land. This is what I'm faced with (see photo). Creeping buttercup (all these creeping things) is another one that sends out arms and legs and tries to embrace everyone as though we are all its lovers.

These are the surface creepers. Then there are the really sneaky ones that send out their roots underground. These are impossible to eradicate unless you dig up the whole plot along with the shrubs and flowers already in it which somewhat defeats the purpose. Here's a photo of one of these plants. It's the tall maid at the front in fetching pink petals looking so sweet among the purple Monkshood. Rosebay Willow Herb colonises wasteland and my garden. Its roots are thick and woody and refuse to pull out of the ground. Some years I let if flower and pretend its supposed to be there. I've done the same with the creeping buttercup beside the drive - I've redesignated it a beautiful garden ground cover plant and let it be.

Dog escape

Good weather means gardening not blogging. Many slugs have been transported to other parts of the garden. The brassicas are saved (mostly) through this process, which although disorientating for the slugs is much kinder than cutting them in half or dipping them in salt.

Last night the small dog escaped again. We have part of the garden fenced off with various combinations of chicken wire, vague hedging and undergrowth, but every so often both dogs would appear on the wrong side of the gate. We raised fences, patched possible holes to no avail. So this morning I went round again. This time I wore my wellies and gardening gloves which I thought would help. I also carried a pair of secateurs.

These precautions did the trick. I found a possible route to the outside through a tunnelly bit and a hole. The small dog watched then, little innocent, showed me what she (and presumably the other one) did. Hop up a little bank and onto the wall that runs between us and the neighbour's field. Trot along and jump off at the other end. This is a route-of-no-return as the wall is high, and explains the yipping at door or gate when the dogs have had enough of doing dog things outside.

I fenced it off with chicken wire. If they're out when I come back from teaching flute this evening I will be very pissed off.

Swallows and Cabbages

So I found the lead to my small camera. It was in the drawer where it should have been. BUT IT WASN'T THERE BEFORE. I tried all the leads from that drawer and none of them fitted.

We've only one swallow this year. We used to have a rake of them, but every year there seem to have been less. And now there's only one. I'm trying to be pragmatic about this. To not look at the single swallow on the wire and feel its loneliness. Because its a swallow, not a human, and to be honest if it flew down the valley a small way it would find plenty of company. The trouble is it makes me think of how it would be if this happened to all the birds because of what we humans do to our planet.

I'm hoping there will be hundreds of swallows on the lake. We're off to Winter Solstice this afternoon. But first I must check the brassicas. I planted them out yesterday. Will the slugs have eaten them all?