A Stampede Of Cows

Posted on May 20, 2013 by David Marsden

As well as this gardener walking about in his shirt-sleeves and whistling, there are various other markers that spring has finally arrived:

from the scent of wild garlic by the riverbank;

to early purple orchids,

Camassia quamash flowering on the meadow,

the rock border overflowing with forget-me-nots

and butterflies emerging – albeit a cabbage white

But the big landmark spring event for me is the turning out of Margaret’s cows from their winter quarters to grass.

It is a sight I try not to miss; from their deafening impatient lowing and then their excitement and exuberance at being set free.

Having spent months in the sheds, they are a little hesitant at first; the calves especially so – having spent their whole lives indoors, they are blinded by the light. (Those sheep really ought to get out of the way).

But suddenly, faced with all that space, these huge, matronly beasts (weighing in excess of 1000lbs)

start to hurl themselves about

with gay abandon.

Last year, I had perched on a rickety stile and felt a little vulnerable as they thundered past me – just a couple of feet away.

So this year, I’d positioned myself behind a hawthorn hedge

which, as the cows got nearer, seemed increasingly flimsy and worryingly inadequate.

Thankfully, the thudding of bovine hooves drowned out my whimpering as they barreled on toward me – with no sign of slowing. Gulp.

An open gate was just to my right

but

it was only

at the very last moment that they swerved away from me … and I could breath again.

According to the Office for National Statistics, cows kill more people in the UK than almost any other animal – accounting for about 5 deaths a year*. Mostly the victims are dog-walkers who pick up their dogs (or hold onto the leash) when cattle become agitated. Please don’t do either; your dog can outrun a cow better than you. And if it can’t, I would politely suggest that you don’t take it into a field of cows in the first place.

One calf, with a whole new world to explore, sought out only the pleasures of the manure pile; Margaret and I spent twenty minutes or so cajoling him into re-joining the herd.

And so, all’s well with the world. Job done and the cows back out to pasture – in the fields above the Priory greenhouses. It is fine to have them back – just so long as they don’t come into the gardens again, goddamnit. (See ‘Cows in the Asparagus’).

If your local farmer ever offers to show you her galloping heifers, go for it. You won’t be disappointed; just make sure you stand somewhere nice and safe.

* The animal which kills the most people in the UK is the horse, accounting for 10 deaths per year, 2nd cows, 3rd dogs – 4 per year, 4th bees and wasps – 3 per year.

Under Way

Posted on May 10, 2013 by David Marsden

I’m rather behind with blogging and as it’s been a while since I posted any photos of the Priory, here’s a quick, excitable splurge; a brisk whizz about the gardens, showing some photos from the past few weeks.

This steep bank below the greenhouses is one of my favourite spots at the Priory. It is no longer strimmed from early spring onwards and has rewarded us with primroses and anemones;

dog violets, a few daffodils and, earlier, crocuses. A reward for doing nothing.Similarly, bluebells and Erythronium ‘Pagoda’ are spreading and establishing themselves in another patch of uncut grass.

On the meadow, under the huge oak, primroses are on a colonisation quest. Here the meadow grass doesn’t get so long as to smother them.

They have helped make up for the dearth of daffodils. I have realised, too late, that a lot of the meadow is simply to wet for the latter.

It is a sodden environment but the fritillaries at least appreciate it;

which, as they are personal favourite, gives me smug pleasure.

Also out on the meadow the ten young fruit trees are blossoming, safe behind their deer barriers. Apart from quinces, the garden fruit trees didn’t produce any fruit last year. Not a plum, not an apple, not a pear, not a cherry, not a … well, you get the idea.

I think this year will be better.

Where the drainage is sharper (like here on a sloping lawn beside the drive), daffodils have done better – though my bulb supplier, Philip Nyssen’s quality control seems a little lax*. These are four pockets of Narcissus ‘Ice Follies‘ but, as you can see, a few of another variety have slipped in. Should I be annoyed? Should I rant? Stamp my foot? Should I rip out the interlopers? Probably, but that seems churlish and mean-spirited. They can stay, I suppose.

On the east lawn where again the drainage is good (there is a ditch cutting across this shot) another introduction is doing well: N. ‘St Patrick’s Day.‘

My all time favourite daffodil is N. ‘Thalia‘ planted here on the east lawn and I’m pretty fond of

N. ‘Pipit‘ too – doing moderately well on a drier part of the meadow.

Under a large oak these doubles have been here for years. Even if I liked them (which I don’t)

the flowers are too heavy to stand upright. What’s the point in that? Silly things.

The Priory has two Amelanchiers; this one planted too close to the tulip tree by the house

and another smaller one in one of the kidney beds. Beautiful, huh?

And after last year’s rubbish performance the blackthorn on the river bank has put on a good show this year. It is getting a little too large – I think next winter I shall lift its crown by a few feet and reveal the mass of wild garlic at its feet.

And finally a shot across the east lawn to the greenhouses – taken yesterday. Which brings us up to date. Phew.

Yep, the gardens are certainly under way. Now, if I can just stay on top of it.

* An addendum. Within hours of publishing this post, I had a very nice email from Karen at Philip Nyssen, apologising for the strays amongst my Ice Follies and offering replacements. How gracious – though on reflection, I ought to apologise too. I should have contacted them as soon as the problem became evident rather than waiting almost four years before having an online moan.

Angle Shades And A Competition

Posted on April 19, 2013 by David Marsden

I spend a lot of time thinking about what my next post might be. Especially when I’m mowing or weeding or doing some other mindless task – after all there’s no-one to talk to; no-one real anyhow. But sometimes the decision is made for me.

Like the other day. I was potting up some plants in the greenhouse (sempervivums, since you ask), bent down over my stuff-to-go-to-the-compost-bin-bucket and saw this:

A handsome, largish moth – though it was only when I got home that I identified it as an

angle shades; which is, you’ll agree, a fine name. An angle shades moth (Phlogophora meticulosa). I suppose I’d carried it into the heated greenhouse (hidden amongst my fascinating semp collection) and the warmth woke it up.

I tried feeding it on the only flowers I have in the greenhouse at the moment: Pachyphytum oviferum (it wasn’t keen) and

pelargoniums (keener). But I couldn’t tell whether it actually drank any nectar.

The larvae of the moth eat a range of herbaceous plants so I suppose I should’ve been wary of helping it. But how could I not;

especially when

it looked me so earnestly in the eye.

So I gave it a little sugar-water and the following day, when it was finally a little warmer, popped it out on the grass. Their caterpillars feed mostly on nettle and dock – of which we have plenty. As long as they stick to those we’ll get along just fine.

oooOOOooo

Have you had an encounter recently? With a creature that was a little unusual? No, I don’t mean that kind of encounter; an encounter with a non-human creature? Have you seen and photographed

a mammal?

Or a bird?

or perhaps an insect? Or whatever? Something in your garden (though not necessarily – we don’t really have elephants or black vultures at the Priory); something that you haven’t seen before or only rarely? Because those jolly nice people at Select Furnishings (and me) are holding a competition to win one of these:

It’s an outdoor fire pit (in case you wondered), sells on their website for £139.00 and will keep you warm long after the barbecue has gone out.

If you’d like to win a fire pit, here’s what you need to do:

If you’re a blogger, just publish a post detailing your ‘encounter’ (with at least one photo). You’ll need to put in a link to this Anxious Gardener post (in order that I know that you’ve entered) and somewhere in the article put in a link to Select Furnishings. And that’s it.

If you’re not a blogger, don’t despair and wipe away those tears; you too can enter. Just e-mail your post to theanxiousgardener@hotmail.co.uk including at least one photo and I’ll publish it here on the AG.*

Sorry but the competition is open to UK residents only. I’m away for a few days next week so the closing date will be midnight 3rd May 2013. Select Furnishings will choose the winner and I shall announce the result in due course.

Good luck!

* I may exercise some editorial control – but only after consulting with you.

A Look Back At Winter

Posted on April 14, 2013 by David Marsden

What a long and cold, tedious winter that was. Spring is arriving in the Priory gardens, but I thought I’d buck the seasonal blogging trend of crocuses and primulas and daffodils and subject you instead, for a little longer at least, to more snow and wintry scenes. Sorry. And then I promise, I will bid winter a long-overdue, “bye-bye, close the door on your way out and don’t hurry back” farewell. In the meantime, here are some photos from January that I didn’t get round to posting.

From up on the drive, the Priory in its own snow-covered, frost pocket.

Faulty guttering has a benefit.

The east lawn unsullied by a gardener’s footprints.

Unloved (by me) conifers looking better than at any other time of the year.

The frozen, slush-puppy east pond

with duckweed providing a splash of mint-green in a monochrome landscape.

My favourite oak

and looking back again

as I approach the old footbridge.

Over the bridge and into a corner of the meadow where I have planted a clutch of bamboos (to help hide a wooden, electric power post). Partially flattened by snowfall, they sprang back when I brushed it off.

The meadow fast asleep and (almost) imperceptibly snoring.

Looking north over the west lawn to the meadow beyond with

the beech-hedge arches behind me.

Apart from the occasional blackbird alarm call (and the crunching of snow under foot), the gardens were silent;

the surrounding fields and woods too.

And then, briefly, the sun prised apart that sombre, silvery cloud and ignited the eastern sky. (Oops – there goes my weekly purple prose allowance).

OK, there you go. Enough already. Snow, snow, ice, ice, cold, cold. I think we can all agree that that is quite enough of winter – thank you very much. And anyhow, it’s time to get on with some gardening.

But before I go, I’ll relent: spring flowers did eventually heed my drumming fingertips; both these drifts of daffodils are ‘February Gold’ – flowering here on 11th April.

The garden won’t be rushed.

Wainwright’s Coast to Coast … In Winter

Posted on April 4, 2013 by David Marsden

Only it wasn’t winter. It was March, almost Easter; supposedly early spring – a time, I’d supposed, of primrose lined paths, sparkling sunshine and hosts of daffodils.But in Northern England this year, March was decidedly still winter.

Wainwright’s Coast to Coast is a tough walk; tougher still to complete in twelve days and tougher yet to complete with a forty pound rucksack on your back.

From above Eagle Crag looking down into Langstrath, Cumbria

Start throwing in day after day of snowfall and walking into an unremitting, scouring Siberian easterly and it could be brutal.

Climbing out of Borrowdale

Each day brought new trials and obstacles – from steep Lakeland passes to navigating through low visibility on paths covered in snow, following cairns buried in snow and looking for landmarks and way-markers hidden by falling snow.

Pat in a ditch – won’t be the last time.

I didn’t walk alone all the time; I met up for several days with another coast to coaster (hi Pat).

“Gee Ma, I sure is having fun”

We staggered up to Nine Standards Rigg together (the highest point on the Pennine section), blundering about in another whiteout and that ferocious wind;

Pat trying to stay upright

a wind that got even stronger up on the Yorkshire moors; that horrible, relentless, flaying, snowflakes-in-your-eyes, difficult-to-stand-upright-in damnable East Wind.

We did get one good day which helped remind me why I go walking at this time of year.

On other days too there might be a fleeting moment of sunlight.

Once or twice, I even saw that most inconstant and fickle of companions – my shadow.

But too soon we were slogging it back up into the snow line, freezing cold and blizzards where visibility was down to thirty yards and we were navigating by compass.

Wading through snow, uphill with a rucksack is very tiring. (Should you have wondered).

On most of the 23 mile day’s march from Richmond to Ingelby Cross, there was no snow.

No snow, just mud. Lots of mud.

I saw plenty of wildlife including hares, deer

One of two I saw

and red squirrels (though you’ll need a magnifying glass to see it);

dippers in the Swale

and red grouse on the Moors.

On St Bees Head, I saw two birds I’d never seen before – guillemots

and razorbills.

And I also saw, of course, the free-flying macaws of Kirby Stephen. Surreal, huh? (The Guardian explains why).

Stonethwaite, Borrowdale

I stayed in charming villages and hamlets,

The Hermitage, Shap

at some excellent B&B’s (special mention goes to Jean at The Hermitage, Shap, Matt at the Keld Lodge, Keld and John at The Manse, Reeth),

The Lion Inn, Blakey Ridge

and collapsed in warm, gemütlich pubs that, frozen as I was, had me weeping in gratitude on arrival.

North Yorkshire Moors Railway, Grosmont

I saw splendid man-made things

Localized frozen sea spray

and weird,

alien things.

There were cruel steps and stiff climbs,

Squeeze stile, Swaledale. Might as well just put a sign up – “No Fat Thighs Beyond This Point.”

gates, kissing gates, stiles, ladder stiles and squeeze stiles beyond count,

and those seemingly infinite, arctic North York Moors;

moments of “I can give up now and be home in time for tea”

and others of “Marvellous. Simply, Bloody Marvellous.”

But mostly I immersed myself in walking across a beautiful England, conquering one cooked breakfast after another, carrying all that I might need, wondering what I might have for supper and

looking about me

and staring.

(As it isn’t a nationally designated path, way-marking on the C2C is non-existent in places. Thankfully, people have improvised – bottom right requires a Geordie accent)).

Apparently 10 000 people from all over the world start the C2C each year – how many complete it, I don’t know. Pat and I (and all the B&B owners and various walkers and others I met) didn’t know of anyone who had walked all of it this year and we were the first of 2013 to sign ‘The Coast to Coast Book’ at

(Left) Pat and his wife, Sue at The End

Wainwrights’ Bar, Robin Hood’s Bay.

As well as signing The Book, tradition dictates that you dip your boot into the Irish Sea on setting out from St Bees and dip it again into the brine at RHB. Tradition also requires that you pick up a pebble at the start, carry it all 200 miles and

Me hurling

then hurl it into the North Sea – a bit pointless really but actually quite satisfying. Unfortunately, as Pat did neither of these latter two requirements, I had to declare his C2C effort null and void. Strict I know – but tradition is tradition.

Do I regret walking the C2C at this time of year? During the coldest March since 1962? Nope, not for a moment. It was physically the most challenging … er, challenge that I’ve ever done; the total cumulative ascent is equivalent to climbing Everest (according to my guide-book). It was Northern England showing off at its wildest and rawest. The satisfaction of completion was immense and, significantly, Pat and I had the paths, fells, moors and mountains mostly to ourselves. A rare honour.

Heck, I even got to see daffodils.

Do I rate the C2C as the second best walk in the world (according to one survey of ‘experts’)? Well, I’ve formed an opinion but I’m not going to tell you what it is.

Walk Wainwright’s Coast to Coast yourself and see what you think.

oooOOOooo

A more detailed account of this walk appears on my other blog – ‘The Walking Gardener’

The Anxious Gardener

Will it germinate? Will it grow? Will it flower? Will it survive? Should I eat it? Will I be found out?

Category Archives: Photography

A Stampede Of Cows

Under Way

Angle Shades And A Competition

A Look Back At Winter

Wainwright’s Coast to Coast … In Winter

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