Tish Farrell Writer

Apple Blossom, Wintery Weather And A Puzzling Plant Pest

The wind is roaring round the house as I write this. The good news is the house roof is back on and fully restored. Ace builder Alan finished it off today, up there on the scaffold top, in the teeth of gale and squall, painting the gable tops, realigning a dodgy gutter. He said it was freezing up there. What a hero.

The re-laid slates are looking pretty smart, but the grand reveal will have to wait till the scaffolding comes down at the end of the week. In the meantime, it’s good to know that the weather will now stay outside the house and the fragile gables stop crumbling into the bedrooms.

In the garden, spring is happening despite the perishing wind. Our gnarled little apple tree by the compost bin has dared to open three buds, but you can tell they’re shivering. I think it’s a Crispin. We had a few good apples from it last year. The other two apple trees that came with the garden, had to be hard pruned, as in eight feet of top growth removed, so we’re not expecting much from them for a while.

In between rainstorms, and wrapped up in sweaters, padded parka, fleecy pants and woolly hat, I’ve been a) digging up the lawn to create more vegetable growing space; b) attempting to dig out and unpick ground elder, Spanish bluebell and Mexican cigar plant colonies*; and c) continuing to disengage the hedge from chicken wire and the ivy overburden. This last activity is proving slow going. My presence causes the sparrows to dive from the hedge-side feeding post and into the hedge, where they shout loudly until I go away.

*Now for the plant pest and a note of caution, as in beware of letting Mexican cigar plant (Cuphea) loose on your property. In our garden, it’s like ground elder on steroids. Even the tiniest root fragment will turn into a shrub; the new roots spreading several feet in fleshy festoons, thick as macaroni – under paths, into lawns. When in flower, it has a trillion tube-like blooms that also make seeds. Only if you have the chance of entertaining humming birds should you have it in the garden, and only then in a container.

Needless to say, we do not have humming birds in Bishops Castle. It’s also astonishing that a tropical plant should make itself so at home in this rather draughty, frost-prone corner of Shropshire, although I gather there is at least one variety of the the 250 that is winter hardy.

When we moved into the house last August, this promiscuous entity was sprawling out of our garden, admittedly from a very sheltered, sunny bed, and up over next door’s garage roof, i.e. two metres taller than it’s supposed to grow. Though it did occur to me that perhaps it had found some ancient long-drop W.C. to root itself in. It was also giving itself a leg up along the length of a pine tree that was growing horizontally across the back of the flower bed. But I keep wondering if I’ve misidentified it; maligning an otherwise innocent shrub.

Any thoughts, gardeners? The serrated leaves are puzzling me, but when in flower, it looks like THIS. And descriptions of the swift growing/spreading roots/long flowering season fits.

“The sun has burst the sky…”

A week or so ago, I heard this poem being performed on Radio 3 (otherwise the BBC’s serious music station). I was still in bed, not quite awake, but I could see early morning gloom edging the window blind. And then came these word, read with such madcap gusto. That lit up the day.

Read them now, aloud. Go for unleashed exuberance. Then see what happens…

The sun has burst the sky
Because I love you
And the river its banks.

The sea laps the great rocks
Because I love you
And takes no heed of the moon dragging it away
And saying coldly ‘Constancy is not for you’.
The blackbird fills the air
Because I love you
With spring and lawns and shadows falling on lawns.

The people walk in the street and laugh
I love you
And far down the river ships sound their hooters
Crazy with joy because I love you.

Now you’ve done the dress rehearsal, go for an all-out ‘first night’ performance. Never mind what the love object is. It could be the cat, a beloved human, an imaginary lover, the universe, a special tree, yourself…

So what happened…a burst of sunshine perhaps – in body, mind and spirit.

The photo was taken early one morning in Kalamata, Greece. Intervening olive tree with the Gulf of Messenia and Taygetus Mountains beyond.

Moving Water, the Wales Edition

Whenever you visit Wales, you can always be sure of plentiful H2O. Whether it’s tumbling down mountains, as here at the foot of Cader Idris…

Or filling rivers as in the Mawddach Estuary near Dolgellau…

… and the River Glaslyn at Porthmadog (Wales’ tallest mountain, Snowden, in the background…

Or on its sea shores…

at Harlech, North Wales,

Broadhaven

…Newport and Fishguard, Pembrokeshire:

or on the island of Anglesey

Or simply dropping from the sky…

You can tell we love visiting Wales, can’t you? Though usually best to take good rainwear.

Lens-Artists: water in motion This week Sofia inspires us with some wonderful compositions. Go see!

There Goes Our Roof…

Yesterday, the specialist asbestos tile removing guys exposed the bones of our hundred year old roof. Today, all the wooden battens came down. We now have huge piles fore and aft, and Graham is painstakingly de-nailing and cutting them into kindling. (Some of you won’t be surprised.)

We were lucky with the weather, at least until late afternoon. And then the builders had to step on it. They only just managed to secure a tarpaulin sheet before the downpour happened. Today, they have worked doggedly through rain and perishing wind. (N.B. Global warming in NOT happening in Bishops Castle. Nor are we having any lamb weather to see out the March roaring lion).

But we do have new battens for old. They’re holding down the roofing felt (there was none in the original roof). And of course plenty of insulation has gone in too. The only downside is all the hammering is not suiting the fragile plasterwork in bathroom and bedroom ceilings. Much mortary fall out and a few cracks in some quarters (Another job then).

And here we have sight of the next big job. Once the roof is done and the scaffolding down, it’s demolition conservatory time; this to be replaced by a properly insulated kitchen, built on the same footprint (single storey), but extending further along the back wall. Half of the rear house wall (furthest away from the present door) will be taken down, a supporting beam installed, so the new kitchen opens into our existing sitting room with its L-shaped galley kitchen. The latter will then become a utility room, and open into an existing cloakroom (window just visible behind the blue fence, which also needs to go).

Meanwhile, our excellent builders have cleaned up all the surviving Welsh slate tiles from the front roof, and begun to rehang them. The gables, which were very fragile and uninsulated, have been reconstituted and will have leaded side panels. (Pity about the plastic windows. They’re early UPVC, and beginning to fail, so their days are also numbered).

So there you have it: the Farrell plans for domestic chaos for months to come, and I haven’t even mentioned the work needed in the rest of the place. Because, after all, it is a modest little house, and until we have the new kitchen, we are in log-jam mode with the rest of it. A tad frustrating, but at least we have the trusty log burner to huddle round on these cold spring evenings, and by day, all the front windows face the morning sun, should it care to shine. And so, muddle and all, it feels like a happy house. Upwards and onwards…

Bishops Castle Days

At last. Three days of fine weather, days that feel like spring. Days for sowing seeds – Tuscan kale, Swiss chard, spinach, carrots, cauliflowers, leeks…

…for digging up the lawn and mowing what’s left of it…

…for tackling the ‘hedge of iniquity’ that runs the length of the back garden, extracting the tangle of ivy, holly, privet, hawthorn, sycamore and ash from the chicken wire that some erstwhile inhabitant has laid along the entire inner perimeter so creating an interweaving thicket of manic vegetable intensity that is impossible to cut properly. Meanwhile, inside the hedge the ivy has grown stems as thick as mooring ropes, looping and leaning, causing the holly to loop and lean too and think it is a creeper…

But I’m dealing with it calmly – one snip at a time. The only problem is my presence hedge-side keeps the sparrows away from their feeding station, and at the moment they are ravenous. I’m giving them a break while I write this post.

For the last few weeks, through chilling winds, frost, rain and rare bursts of sunshine, we’ve been blessed with cherry blossom. Not our tree, but one growing just over the hedge near the back door. Now, the flowers are fading and falling and when we go outside, we’re sifted with tiny petals. The terrace flagstones too. It looks like confetti.

But our own small cherry tree has begun to flower. It’s a Japanese variety, Kojo-no-mai, more of a shrub than a tree, and in time growing to around seven feet high and wide. It will be fine in a pot until the garden is finally ready for it. (Which won’t be soon). And while it’s so small, it can best show itself off on the terrace wall, where the honey bees have already found it. In fact as I was busy transplanting a Dame’s Violet (brought from the Wenlock garden) in the bed behind it, I suddenly realised my head was filled with bee-hum. Happy bees.

As I work in the garden I lose track of time. This is a special Bishops Castle feature, the locals tell us. I hear the Town Hall clock strike the quarters between the hours: one chime for a quarter past, two for half past, three for quarter to. You can see the dilemma.

Sometimes a red kite drifts up and up over the garden. I feel myself lift and drift a little too.

We’ve become avid sparrow watchers since we set up the bird feeding station. This was created from an existing tall post (of no obvious purpose) that rises from the hedge of iniquity, and seems to belong to the era of the dreaded chicken wire application. Anyway, it’s good for suspending feeders, and we can covertly watch the birds from the kitchen window. I like the way they pop in and out of the hedge.

Mostly, they’re good at taking turns.

Lately, with the drier weather, dust bathing is the thing. The sunny front garden is a favourite spot. We’ve lifted all the ugly paving slabs that covered the two borders, leaving a skim of loose mortar on the soil. Ideal for synchronous avine plunging and dousing. On Monday, over lunch, we watched four go at once: essence of sparrow-joy as they worked the dirt through all their feathers. Later, as I go out to the shop, I spot the four neat little hollows left behind. There’s an inclination to cup my hands and gather one up. Yes. Sparrow-joy. There’s much to be said for it.

Happy Spring , North-dwellers

P.S. As I write this, scaffolding is going up around the house, a two-day job apparently. Next week the roof is coming off. Heavens!

Here In The Marches, March Comes In Like A Lion

And we can only hope that old country lore comes up to snuff when it says that March coming in like a lion, goes out like a lamb. It can’t be too soon for some lamb-weather either. At least yesterday, after I’d taken this first photo of Ragleth Hill, the sun came out and melted the snow. But it was a one day wonder. Today, after more overnight frost, the wind is roaring round the house and down the chimneys and it’s wet, wet, wet. Downcast daffodils all round.

So, Weather Gods, more skies like this, please. (You can hold on the snow).

Ragleth Hill, Church Stretton

Window Shopping: Looking In, Looking Out?

A pre-Christmas break a few years ago. We were in Hay-on-Wye, the quaint Welsh border town on the banks of the mighty River Wye. Its primary claim to fame is that it’s full of second-hand book stores, including the world’s largest started in 1961 by Richard Booth, he who later declared himself King of Hay and was all-round responsible for putting the town on the booklovers’ map.

But even bibliophiles need a break from browsing the stacks, so there are also cosy cafes, quirky antiques shops and artisan crafts emporia to wander round. There’s even a castle, bought by Richard Booth in 1970 and recently restored to provide all manner of cultural events and exhibitions.

And talking of booklovers’ maps, here are some actual maps.

On the street below the castle we found a shop selling antiquarian ephemera, including prints and old Ordnance Survey maps. My eye was instantly caught by this well kitted-out young woman. She won’t get lost, I thought; a new-old take on tracking devices – rambling jacket made of maps. (You can just see the outline of the pre-restored castle in the reflection behind her.)

Here’s the full shop frontage.

That gaze says determination, doesn’t it. Madam definitely knows where she’s going.

But back to the mysterious header photo;

It was a strange experience to find myself regarded through a slit in an otherwise blanked-out shop window. It makes me wonder, which of us is doing the window shopping? There she was – watchful, wistful, captive or femme fatale? – looking out from what proved to be a vintage costume store. She lured us in of course.

And finally, Hay at twilight:

Lens-Artists: window shopping This week Ritva sets the challenge. Please see her post for creative tips on how to approach it.

Once heard…

…never quite forgotten.

Thrilling and chilling both: a wild lion, in broad daylight, proclaiming his eminence. And not a full-throated Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer lion-roar (there’s no big show of fearsome canines); more a weaponized grunt that carries across the Mara grassland and rebounds against my sternum. And then in my skull.

It takes some moments to re-ground, and assure the nervous system we’re not in danger. We’re sitting in a big safari truck. The lion does not even look at us, nor appear to register our presence. We pass by slowly. He parades. Our guide tells us he is the senior male of the Marsh Pride, a group of lions made famous on British TV during the 1990s, when wildlife photographer, Jonathan Scott, documented their movements. This lion, we’re told, is calling to the junior male. Meanwhile the pride’s three lionesses are busy devouring the kill, a hartebeast. They don’t see us either.

But still that resonating roar.

Throwing the voice is part of a male lion’s M.O. A spot of leonine ventriloquy if you like. To make themselves sound bigger and deadlier, they may also choose a dried up river bed for some night-time roaring. The dirt bank of a donga provides a ‘sounding board’ to amplify the roar which may carry for several miles. Obviously the aim is to let other males know exactly what they’re up against should they dare to infringe territorial bounds.

We drive away, feeling somehow changed. Very small perhaps. It’s August 1999, the last of our seven years living in Kenya. When we return to England for good, what will we make of such days? Did they really happen? Sometimes it’s hard to be sure.

To hear that lion call for yourself, there’s a brief clip here:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1e0_4dwF9A4

Lens-Artists: Sound Donna at Wind Kisses choses sound for this week’s theme – however you care to interpret it. Please pay her a visit.

The Weather In The Garden

So far this week at The Gables we’ve had frost, biting wind, and yesterday an all-day deluge with wall to wall gloom. But today, St. Valentine’s, the rain has held off. In fact it’s been almost warm, with a glimmering of sunshine, and up in the top garden this clump of seedling crocus was in full fanfare.

And not only that, Mr. Whippy, the ice-cream man, was back in town. Jangling rendition of O Sole Mio up and down streets. And then while I was snapping the crocus, along buzzed a honey bee, the first I’ve seen and heard this year.

Anyone would think it was spring.

But then February can be a tricksy month in England, ambushing us with a day of sudden warmth, only to whip up more icy blasts just when we’ve been daft enough to cast off our thickest winter woolly.

So: best not to count one’s spring chickens too soon.

This bee, though, is definitely seizing the moment, making the most of fine weather, and a rich pollen harvest. (Note the gathering sac on the rear leg; full pollen facial thrown in). What’s not to love.

Happy Valentine’s Day!

Lens-Artists: Weather This week Anne at Slow Shutter Speed has us weather watching. Plenty to inspire us in her lively photo essay.

How Did My Garden Glow…

There’s more than a hint of nostalgia in my choice of photos here. With the turn of the year and the first hints of spring, I am thinking about gardening; and more especially, of gardens left behind and the things I used to grow there.

The new home garden, though small, has potential as they say, but much like the house, every part of it needs attention. We’ve had the hedges cut into shape and the apple trees pruned. The greenhouse is all but mended, and the slab for Graham’s shed is laid and ready for his latest creation. But the biggest challenge is reining in the overall infestations of ground elder, ivy, Spanish bluebells and a devilish creeping shrub with red tubular flowers that seems intent on taking over the place.

Basically, when it comes to fresh planting, we’re pretty much at ground zero, with an awful lot of ground to shift. And while it is feasible, with serial determination, to clear areas of the invaders, it will likely take a few seasons to do so. All of which means holding back on plans for any permanent planting, at least on the herbaceous and shrub front. I am resisting using weed killer.

The invaders’ persistence is not such an issue when it comes to making vegetable plots. They can be cleared and weeded every year at the end of the growing season, and again in spring. In fact it has crossed my mind to grow this year’s potatoes in the front garden where we’ve lifted a load of unsightly paving. I’ve also thought of using that space for a mixture of annual flowers, beans and greens, i.e. cottage garden style. I probably will do that. After all, you can grow climbing beans up sunflowers. They like to cohabit. And it seemed to work at the Broseley rental house where I made a quick-fix garden last year.

In the meantime, I’m thinking of starting some perennials off in pots. I know we will miss the allotment raspberries, so I’m trying a small bush variety called Yummy . It will apparently grow well in containers, at least in the short term. I’ve also rescued a few of the previous occupants’ plants from the infested beds, and ‘quarantined’ them in pots too, thus capturing any remnant ground elder which can be carefully unpicked during re-potting or planting out.

But then I’m truly missing our Evereste crab apple tree from the Sheinton Street garden. It’s a very slow grower, so if I do give in to buying a replacement, it might well manage in a big pot for a while.

So: onwards and upwards. I’ve come to the conclusion it is my lot in life, much like generations of my Hampshire gardener ancestors, to wield a spade, endlessly making new gardens wherever I end up living. You may expect some of the results to crop up here. For now, some very pleasing ‘borrowed landscape’ from back in the autumn – the rowan tree over the hedge by the greenhouse. A wonderful birds’ pantry.

Lens-Artists: warm colours This week Egidio wants to see warm colours in our photos. Please see his blog post for some wonderful warmth and inspiration.