Under Way

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.

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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;

DSM_0164dog violets, a few daffodils and, earlier, crocuses.  A reward for doing nothing.DSM_1075Similarly, bluebells and Erythronium ‘Pagoda’ are spreading and establishing themselves in another patch of uncut grass.

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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.

DSM_1077They 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.

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

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

DSM_1081Also 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.

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I think this year will be better.

DSM_0048Where 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 NarcissusIce 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.

DSM_1072On 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.

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

DSM_1079N.Pipit‘ too – doing moderately well on a drier part of the meadow.

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

DSM_0112the flowers are too heavy to stand upright.  What’s the point in that?  Silly things.

DSM_1065The Priory has two Amelanchiers; this one planted too close to the tulip tree by the house

DSM_1073and another smaller one in one of the kidney beds.  Beautiful, huh?

DSM_1092And 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.

DSM_1230And 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. 

Cutting the Flower Meadow

Have you noticed how ubiquitous ‘Wild Flower Meadows’ have become?  Whether it is a small garden bed, raked over and sown with a wild flower seed mix, or an acre or more of unimproved grassland, summer meadows shimmering with native flowers and buzzing with insects are now widespread; de rigueur even.  And quite right too.  They have a long flowering season, are full of interest and provide a vital haven for our beleaguered butterflies and bees.  That’s a lot of boxes ticked.  But the big head scratcher (if the meadow is of a size) is the annual summer/autumn cut and the removal of all that mown material.

After four years of experimentation with developing a meadow at the Priory, I have found that the best solution to this problem is … (dramatic pregnant pause) … Sam and his Amazing Mowing Machine:

On a perfect sunny day in September of last year, Sam trundled through the meadow gate and set to.  Once his big-green-drum-thingy (that’s a technical term) was full he emptied it into …

… a waiting trailer.  (I had borrowed it and a tractor from Margaret the local farmer).

When the trailer was …

… full, Nick (also borrowed as he can drive a tractor and I can’t) drove up through Margaret’s fields with me perched on top of the hay (as ballast, Nick said).

As we rattled up the long slope, I bounced and I savoured the views;

I hummed and I grinned and I enjoyed my Thomas Hardy/Laurie Lee moment.  And the hay?  We piled that on Margaret’s tottering manure pile.

It was a super, satisfying, itchy, scratchy, bouncy day (see ‘Shaving the Meadow‘) and …

… the result was exactly what I had hoped for.

But this year, after weeks of rain and several postponements, I was unable to hire Sam and his massive mowing machine.   The huge tyres would have chewed up the spongy meadow ground, like warm toffee.  (Poor Sam; it has been a lousy year for him.  He normally cuts seven or eight meadows but this year he has mown precisely … none).

Luckily for me, I had an alternative to Sam.  Each year at the Old Forge (the other garden I tend) I hire an Etesia ‘Atilla’ to cut all the rough pasture.  Look, here it is:

The Attila will cut rough, tussocky grass easily and because of a low slung chassis and wide wheel base it can handle relatively steep slopes, banks and rough ground without toppling over and crushing me.  Which is a bonus.

It’s a rugged and not afraid of aught little machine.  And at £85 for the day, a bargain to boot.

The only drawback is that it doesn’t collect the cuttings but spews them out to one side.

And so afterwards, Jim and I had to rake up all those cuttings.  This was so much fun I could barely stand it.

With most of the grass cuttings raked up, Jim was then able to use the Priory ride-on mower (an Etesia Hydro 80 for those of you who care) to cut the meadow grass shorter still and collect yet more of the clippings.  (The more cuttings removed, the more the soil’s fertility will be reduced; to the benefit of wild flowers and the detriment of long, tall, lush grass.  But hey! – you knew that).

Of course, I still had a problem: what on Earth to do with mountains and mountains of mown grass.  Unfortunately, I had no alternative other than to dump them at one end of the meadow.  Historically, this is one of the places where my predecessors piled lawn clippings.  I would rather have taken them out to the bonfire site and/or compost bins but this would’ve meant repeated driving across soggy, boggy lawns.  And this year, that was a mud-churning and lawn-destroying no-no.

And so the cuttings will just have to sit beneath that oak tree.  Can you see them?  (And the moon)?  In time a bank of nettles will grow over them and within a couple of years the heap will have rotted away to virtually nothing.   Honest it will.  But it is an unsightly solution and not one I want to repeat.  (You can see in this photo how soft the ground is.  Even the Atilla and the ride-on mower have left shallow tyre runnels).

When dry enough, I shall continue to mow the grass over the coming winter until the first daffodil leaves emerge.  In an effort to make cutting the meadow an easier task next year, I’ve just ordered 100g of yellow rattle seed.  This grass semi-parasite should (so the theory goes) seriously reduce grass vigour and growth in the meadow.  Will it work?  Well, I do hope so.  I really do.  You see, there’s only so much hay raking I want to do in my life.  Yep, only so much hay raking I want to do.

As fun as it is.

September Return

September is a favourite month;

in fact I’d rank it in my top twelve.

The light is sharp and low and the gardens look pretty good with much still in flower.  But there is a chill in the air that promises change.

It will soon be time for regular bonfires and leaf raking; time for the perusal of bulb catalogues while sipping huge mugs of tea; chopping fire-wood;  making spring planting plans;  the clearing of herbaceous borders and the annual making-of-things (e.g. more nest-boxes and more leaf-mold bins).  And, best of all, September heralds tottering piles of buttery crumpets.

It is also a busy month at the Priory.  And it is far busier this year than usual.  For reasons I won’t bore you with, we’ve only just cut the beech hedge – rather than in early August.

The main beech arch with, right, a new one being trained

The wet summer meant that it had grown much more than in previous years and so took far longer to do.  Boy, did my arms ache.

Nick, Jim and I toiled a whole day; and then Jim and I toiled another.  All the trimmings then had to be collected and burnt; wreathing the gardens in constant, medieval wood smoke.

The mixed hedging normally only requires a light trim after its main cut in July – usually a swift job to remove a few arching bramble stems.  But not this year.  Again the wet summer had allowed it a secondary, unwanted and major growth spurt.

Jim cutting the mixed hedging

I asked Jim to come in again and help me get it re-cut.  It should now look crisp throughout its dormant months.

With the hedges cut, I could turn my attention to strimming.  There are large areas of grass that now need clearing.  Unmown they have been full of wildflowers but now they must be cut short before they are flattened by heavy rain and frost.

Sheep’s Bit Scabious (Jasione montana)

This is such a patch below the greenhouse; packed with Sheep’s Bit Scabious (Jasione montana) it has been spared my strimmer – for now.

About the ponds and ditches, I have reduced to ground level meadowsweet and ugly dock, nettle, perfidious bramble and unwanted, unloved self-sown willow and alder.  Whatever I cut, I rake up and barrow out to the bonfire.

The meadow is far too large an area for me to strim.  Next week, weather allowing, Sam and his huge, his amazing grass-cutting machine will tackle it.  (Heavy rain today forced us to postpone).

As if I haven’t got enough on my plate, rabbits have broken into the gardens once again to wreak havoc; nibbling through the wire netting as if it were cotton.  Damn them and their twitchy noses too.

I really ought to be moving tender plants into the warm, safe bosom of the greenhouse now except that it is still full of cucumbers and …

… tomatoes.  Weird, strange 2012.  And I have had a warning shot across the bows.  I really must get a move on and bed the gardens down for winter.  You see last Wednesday, on the 19th we had our first frost!

As it does every year, it has caught me by surprise.  Suddenly, summer has slipped away.  And me with the meadow still uncut, lots of strimming to do, loads of tender plants to move under cover, some of which I was still hoping would flower!  But not now.  Frost?  Already.  Cripes.  Yes, I really must get cracking.

Best get the crumpets on.

Wild Places, Wild Flowers – Summer

The most noticeable scent in the Priory gardens at the moment is not the roses; neither is it lilies; nor the strong wafts from summer flowering honeysuckle.   No – the pervasive nose-tease is this:

Measdowsweet (Filipendula ulmaria).*  Because I’m leaving more and more of the garden margins unstrimmed, the number of wild flowers is increasing year on year.  For example, the main drainage ditch (which links the two ponds) is full of wild flowers and, especially, the …

… light, airy flower-heads of meadowsweet.

If you see it growing somewhere, do walk over, bend down and breathe deeply.  You won’t regret it.

I like the ‘stream’ it  forms between the gardens and the meadow.  In a few weeks, when it has finished its summer show, all this will be strimmed.

The meadow itself has been a disappointment this year.  All that flipping rain has allowed the grass to romp away and swamp the wild-flowers.   I’ve noticed this in other gardens too; the wild-flower meadow at Charleston Manor was the same.

Still.  There are more insects in the meadow than anywhere else in the garden.

And even without lots of flower, the meadow is still a special place to walk and look and think; especially in the early morning when the grass is heavy with dew.

The pond banks are also unstrimmed and it is amazing how wild flowers just pop up.  Where from?  Here is a patch of common mallow (Malva sylvestris) while …

… up by the greenhouse is a singular Musk mallow (Malva moschata).

Arguably the prettiest ‘weed’ is this.  Do you know it?  Of course you do:  Herb Robert (Geranium robertianum).  It spreads itself freely about but is easily pulled out.  I once watched a pair of bull-finches feeding on its seed and for that chance reason alone, it is worth having.  Or so I think.

Having identified Herb Robert so effortlessly, how about this one?  Any idea?  I have to say I didn’t know.  The answer is ….. water mint (Mentha aquatica).  It too grows in the main ditch and again I don’t remember seeing it before.

Here’s one last wild-flower for you to name.  Once again, I had to look it up as it isn’t something I’ve seen before; growing as it is on a bank that normally I would have cut by now.  Yes!  That’s right.  Well done, indeed.  It is betony (Stachys officinalis) and we have a …

… a single white one too.  Bonus points to me.

Dotted about the grounds are patches of unmown grass.  These are areas that I have left uncut to allow for the die-back of daffodils.  Thing is, the daffs are long gone but self-heal and birds-foot trefoil and others continue to flower.  Can’t quite bring myself to strim them while they harbour so many flowers – and so many insects.  But soon these Mini-me meadows will be consigned to the compost bin.  Indeed, in a few short weeks we will be mowing the main meadow; an event that, for me, marks an end to summer.  Even though summer only just got here.

Didn’t it?

*  Actually that is a bald-faced lie.  The over-powering smell in the gardens at the moment isn’t any flower.  The over-powering smell in the gardens is the stench of a rotting deer carcass.  Nice, huh?  The poor, young thing fell though the cap of a disused well.  Unable to get out, it drowned.  As much as I hate deer coming into the garden, I wouldn’t wish such a dismal end on any creature.  I’ve covered the well (temporarily) and that has helped reduce the awful stink.  I’ll have it properly capped soon.  An unpleasant story – which is why I lied and stuck with the tale of the strongest perfume being that of meadowsweet instead.  I guess you understand why.

Strangers On My Knapweed

Common knapweed (Centaurea nigra) grows widely in the meadow.

It flowers from June till September,

is very popular with a wide range of insects and is usually abuzz with visitors.

There are, of course, the usual bees and flies that feed on its nectar.  But the other day there were three visitors that I didn’t know.  So, on getting home, I dug out my ‘Boys Big Bumper Book of Bugs.’   Turns out that they were all fairly common and widespread – at least in southern England.  Doesn’t make them any less beautiful though.  Or welcome.

First up was a large skipper butterfly.  There certainly aren’t as many butterflies at the Priory this year – at least not yet.  But there are some meadow browns and skippers.   So that’s good, isn’t it?

I was very taken with my second unknown;  the thick-legged flower beetle.  Not the most gracious of names but a rather handsome chap.  And it is a chap – females don’t have the fat legs.  Thin-legged flower beetles?

And then I spotted a spotty moth.

“Must be terribly rare,” I thought, as I don’t remember ever seeing one before.  But no.  The six-spot burnet moth is the commonest of Britain’s day-flying burnet moths.  Apparently.

Might have called it the twelve-spot burnet moth, myself.

Nothing wrong with being commonplace, I suppose.  We can’t all be special.  Or rare.

I’m pleased that having stopped cutting the lawn-that-is-now-the-meadow, we’re attracting all sorts of insects that otherwise would have flown on by; insects that I’m now seeing – and learning the names of.

Even if some of them are rather common.