Leaping Into WordPress

Last summer, I registered theanxiousgardener.com domain name and set up a WordPress account.  I had increasingly heard how marvellous WordPress was in comparison to Blogger and, coupled with some very irritating problems that I had had with the latter, I decided (as many others have) to migrate over to WP.

But then the sun shone, the birds sang, flowers opened and I sat about and drank tea (and beer) and did the thinking; I worried about transferring over to a new, unknown blogging platform and I worried about losing months of content and I worried about losing all my links.  Got quite anxious actually.  It’s very easy to convince yourself to stick with what you know and so … I stayed put with Blogger.

However, over the past couple of months, I have continued to read and hear just how much better WP is than Blogger.  Apparently.  (A simple google search will reveal loads of articles explaining why).  So finally, after much advice from Andrea Gracia (howdy and thanks), I have decided once again to make the transfer.  (A post by Petra was the final nudge I needed).

Hopefully, you need do nothing – (except update any links you might have to The Anxious Gardener and re-subscribe, should you want to, to either email updates or the new RSS feed).  The transfer across will be seamless (uh huh, like really).  It’ll take me a while to get theanxiousgardener looking how I want it, I suppose.  But, bear with me. We’ll get there.  It’s too late to go back now.  You see I’ve clicked the button.  The WP import from Blogger button.  Crumbs, aren’t I the brave one?  There may be a few teething problems but let’s see what happens.

Fingers crossed, I’ll see you soon at theanxiousgardener.com.

If not ….. Bye then.

Dave

To Make A Gardener Anxious

I always try to show the Priory off at it’s best.

By posting photos of it looking (hopefully) alluring and interesting and

beautiful.   It seems impolite somehow to do otherwise.  It is, I think, a very special place and I started blogging, partly, in order to share it’s charms with others.  Of course, by framing views of the gardens in a certain way

A self sown Nicotiana sylvestris - September 2011

it is easy to cut out the dandelion or dock, the fading flower and withered stem.

Hamamelis -  August 2011
And concentrate on the pretty stuff.   The easy on the eye stuff.  But that isn’t true to life is it?  And it is a deception I’ve become increasingly aware of and a wrong I will now start righting.  There is plenty (such bountiful plenty) of things wrong with the gardens at the Priory, that it seems dishonest not to write about and photograph them.  So to start off what I initially thought would be an occasional series (but now realise will appear often and run and run), here’s the first post on things that make me sad, annoyed, anxious or just a little depressed at the Priory.

The East Pond - August 2011

No, not the ducks.  I really like having mallard at the Priory (and this is a fine re-enactment of a battle-cruiser squadron at the Battle of Jutland, May 1916.  Though number four is looking to be court martialed).  No it isn’t the ducks, it’s the duckweed.
The East Pond – August 2008
When I started work at the Priory the ponds were clear of it.  Now, whether it’s been carried in on the breast of a splash-landing duck or surreptitiously introduced by my gardening arch-enemy, it smothers both ponds.

The west pond - August 2011. Looking verdant and very duckweedy

I can’t imagine that the ponds have never had duckweed on them before.  After all, the east pond has been here for hundreds of years – the west pond is modern.  Maybe it comes and goes like the tides.  Maybe the nutrient levels in the water determines whether it flourishes or not – I suspect so.
Perhaps it’ll disappear and once again I’ll see the sky when I look down into the water.  I can’t believe that will happen but perhaps it will.
August 2011
Maybe I ought to just concentrate on the pretty stuff after all.  And just pretend that the not so pleasing things in life aren’t happening.  Easy to do.  After all – you would never know.  Would you?  But I would … and, to be honest, there is such a rich vein to be tapped of all that is wrong at the Priory, that I can’t possibly ignore it any longer.  Besides, often it’s the things that haven’t turned out right or that have died or that have simply perplexed that are the most interesting.  So yes, this is a series that will run and run and run.

Ahhh, Carol Klein.

I’ve been watching some of the earlier Life in a Cottage Garden’ episodes on iplayer.  And I’ve decided that I would like Carol Klein to adopt me.  She seems so jolly, so lovely and so, well, decent.   I can’t help but feel that she would make a very good job indeed of looking after me.  Pints of steaming hot Earl Grey and a mean,  homemade coffee and walnut cake, I imagine.  Hot water bottles and cocoa in winter; freshly squeezed lemonade and warm quiche fresh from the oven in summer.  My dad might be a little perplexed by the arrangement but I think it for the best.
Don’t get me wrong, it wouldn’t be a one way arrangement.  Oh no, Carol (Mummy), would benefit to.  For a start I wouldn’t have let her go up that terrifyingly high ladder (episode 1) in order to tug off some entangled clematis.  No way.  I would have sent her husband up.  (Terrible head for heights, myself).  And I’d buy her some flipping gardening gloves.  Doesn’t matter what she’s doing; weeding, pruning or digging up an herbaceous clump the size of a Pacific atoll – bare hands.  Poor love.  Her hands must be in a shocking state.  I barely step out of the greenhouse without donning at least one pair of leather mits. And mine (cunningly designed by yours truly) steadily secrete hand lotion all day long.  I wince when I see how little care Carol takes of hers.
Mind you, I do wonder what on earth she does with all those seeds she sows, plants she divides, self-sown seedlings she pots up and cuttings she takes.  I know she runs a nursery but how big can it be?  I imagine she must be the sole supplier of garden plants to the entire garden centre industry in the UK.  If so, she must be worth a tidy penny.  Adopt me, Carol.  Adopt me.

A Wild And Windy Morning

On a grey and wet and blustery morning in February, I do wonder why on earth I decided to be a gardener.  And why on earth I decided to be a gardener who works Saturdays. 

Today is a day for doing nothing other than going back to bed with a family size bag of revels (no sharing), a mug of coffee and a stack of Beano annuals.

But given that that isn’t going to happen, I’d best go and make a flask of Earl Grey and some sandwiches.  And be ENTHUSIASTIC.