Month: June 2020

Each Month From my Window: June – Irises and Berries

The view from my desk is lovely – London is almost obscured by plants.

 

 

 

 

 

 

I bought Dutch irises from de Jager on a whim. I’d never grown them before but they were cheap and looked pretty. I shall certainly grow them again. I’d rather forgotten about them so when the first one popped open in the trough by the front door I was delighted. Brilliant blue and bright yellow, standing tall and sturdy, it was a delight. With hindsight I should probably have positioned them with a bit more artistic care but that doesn’t matter, there is always next year and they are now firmly on my Buy Again list.

My garden is so small that I cannot boast a fruit garden but I do grow Japanese wineberries, mulberries and blueberries and, like everything else in the garden, they are clearly visible from my windows.

The Japanese wineberries are beautiful plants and delicious fruits that are almost impossible to buy. The spiny red stems trail against the white walls and, as the fruit is hidden inside until the last minute, birds tend to ignore them. Possibly Matilda patrolling the garden also helps as a deterrent. They ripen successionally, meaning there are enough berries to scatter on porridge or a pudding every day from late June onwards.

The mulberry is Morus rotundiloba Charlotte Russe, ordered from the Chelsea Flower Show in 2017, when it was Plant of the Year. It sits in a pot, is 1.5m x 1.5m and this year has a bumper harvest. Like the Japanese wineberries it really deserves its space in the garden. The fruits are juicy, tasty, beautiful, impossible to buy and I have been harvesting since 30th May.

 

The same cannot be said of my blueberries. Some years ago a friend was ordering blueberry plants and, as bulk was cheaper, I went in with him. The draw was that some had pink fruits, yes pink blueberries. This was a plant I could not turn down. They arrived as the inevitable twigs and have since grown into straggly, not very attractive bushes. They occupy space on one of my precious sunny walls and, so far, have failed to fruit properly. All this could be forgiven but for the watering regime involved; they don’t like London tap water. I don’t have room for a water butt so, whenever it rains, I put out plastic trays, bowls and basins and then store the water under a bench in old milk bottles. In wet winters this is easy but in dry weather, such as we’ve had recently, I become obsessive. At the first sign of any cloud I rush out with the containers, only to be disappointed later when it turns out the promised shower has bypassed my garden. On the morning of June 5th I was woken at ten to five by the sound of rain. Proper rain: cats and dogs, stair rods, buckets, sheets, torrents. All the words that we had forgotten in May. I had left out four trays but I seriously considered leaping out of bed to collect more containers. By the time I realised this was going a bit far, the rain had stopped.

The blueberries were for the chop, until I discovered that Matilda likes to lie under them on hot days. They are safe for the moment.

  Jane

A Book in the Garden: Diary of a Modern Country Gardener

In May 2007 I started a gardening diary. The plan was that I would keep an accurate record of which plants did well, successful (or failed) combinations and what I did when. It lives on the kitchen table and I have kept it up, on and off, ever since; although I have to admit that it’s been erratic. The main plan was to learn from it so I wouldn’t repeat my mistakes but, like history worldwide, this is easier in theory than practice. I am still seduced by bulb catalogues and enticing displays in nurseries and I rarely think to consult the diary until it is too late.

Tamsin Westhorpe, author of Diary of a Modern Country Gardener, is more disciplined. Or perhaps more organised would be a better word. I can sit and ramble on for pages one evening and then write nothing for weeks. This delightful book has brief diary entries throughout the year, each followed by reminders of things to do, seasonal plants and amusing anecdotes.

She gardens at Stockton Bury Gardens in Herefordshire – a garden which is 110 times larger than mine and open to the public during the summer. (Well, open during normal summers, as I write it is still closed.) So, at first glance, the diary might not seem very relevant for my garden but Tamsin has an enticing style and the book is full of advice and recommendations that are useful regardless of the size of one’s plot. I have discovered roses and tulips that I want to grow and she has possibly even converted me to they joys of nerines, something that I thought would never happen as I find their bright pinks jarring in amongst the yellows and golds of autumn. The trick seems to be to grow them in a pot, with a green backdrop, rather than in a bed surrounded by autumn colour.

The book starts in February; it was too cold to garden so Tamsin followed the dictates of the weather and wrote rather than gardened. My plan had been to read the book following the seasons but I was enchanted and suddenly I found myself in August even though real time was only April. I felt as if I was wishing my gardening life away, rushing on too fast and missing things, so I stopped. The book now sits on the kitchen table (mostly on top of my diary) and I am reading the entries at the correct time. It requires discipline not to jump ahead but this is definitely the way to get the most enjoyment (and use) from both the book and my garden.

Regular readers of these posts will know how fussy I am about the production of books. Unnecessarily unwieldy paperbacks, hardbacks that spring shut of their own accord and unattractive jackets can all doom a book before I’ve reached the first page. Orphans Publishing have produced a book that is a joy to look at and handle; it has an attractive jacket and charming pink flowery endpapers (of course I judge a book by its jacket and, if possible, its endpapers), it sits open in a well-behaved manner and has a perfect balance of text and pictures. In case you are wondering about their name, Orphans was set up in 1873 by Henry Stanley Newman to generate income for an orphanage and provide a trade for the orphans.  

Jane

You can order the book direct from Orphans Publishing, at the time of writing they had signed copies. Otherwise please buy it from your local bookshop, now they are reopening, they need all your support. 

A Book in the Garden: Bitter Honey

I have quite enough cookery books but my excuse is that I read them as well as cook from them. I’m clearly not the only person to do this as books by authors such as Nigel Slater, are often produced in a format that is easier to read rather than cook from. Even Nigella Lawson’s How to Eat was published in a novel-shaped paperback last year although in this case the book was so thick and heavy it might well have resulted in serious injury if someone had dropped off while reading it in bed.

Many years ago I spent a happy time working with Tish (Letitia Clark) at Slightly Foxed. I was in the bookshop they had at the time and she was mostly based in the office working on the magazine but every so often she would come to work in the shop and we would have a lovely time comparing recipes and discussing cookery books (as well as working, obviously).

My self-imposed rule of ‘no more cookery books’ didn’t apply to her new one which came out this spring. My book-buying rules are only ever guidelines, intended to curb too much excess rather than implementing a complete ban.

The subtitle is Recipes and Stories from the Island of Sardinia. I know Corsica reasonably well and have always wanted to go a little further south to Sardinia but, given the present state of affairs Tish’s book will be a welcome substitute. It is a delightful mixture of recipes, anecdotes and interesting background information. I have never seen the point of polenta, regarding it as tasteless flab or goo according to the consistency. Tish’s recipe, with a ragù of sausage meat, tomatoes and sage, topped with mozzarella, pecorino and basil, has transformed my opinion. Likewise my view of panettone has been changed. I had always viewed it as a poor relation of Christmas cake. Made into a superior bread-and-butter pudding with saffron custard it becomes a food fit for the gods – or ones friends as lockdown eases. Don’t wait till Christmas – this is perfect summer food.  

 Jane

It would obviously be great if you bought this book but, particularly in these difficult times, please remember your local bookshop. You’d miss it if it went.

Each Month From my Window: May

For the first time in years I’ve had foxgloves in the front garden. I plant them regularly but usually they just sulk. Something was different this year; I don’t know what but I’m very pleased.

It’s often the first flower to open that makes the most impact. Twenty, thirty or even a hundred blooms may be more impressive but it is the first flower to appear that stops one in one’s tracks. This happened when I looked out of the kitchen window on a wet, grey day and saw a flash of pink. The first gladiolus Communis Byzantinus. More will come but it was this particular flower that brightened my morning.

I see why osteospermums or African daisies close up on cloudy days – they really can’t risk getting their petals wet. Many flowers can shrug off a few drops of rain but not these; their pinky-white petals stain and never recover. The plant would clearly rather be in Africa than drizzly London. They were happy all through May but at the first sign of rain their beauty vanished.

Last year I planted five new roses, all from David Austin: Tess of the d’Urbervilles to climb round the front door, Tottering-by-Gently for the bed outside the kitchen window, Claire Austin to mingle with the ivy on the shady wall and climb over the summerhouse and two Ferdinand Pichards, one in the front garden and another in a pot outside the kitchen door. These and my two existing roses (an anonymous pink in the front garden and an unknown multi-coloured climber which drapes itself up and over one side of the summerhouse) all seem happy. The Ferdinand Pichard in the front garden is a bit swamped by my overenthusiastic hardy geranium but in a year or so the rose will rise above it and, for the moment, the geranium is held firmly in place with posts and restraining string. The advantage of having a small garden is that I can see them all from various windows. 

Jane