not a pheasant plucker...

just an envelope stuffer.

Mail shots out to the membership are somehow always a challenge.  Written down the steps to successfully complete this occasional task would seem, well,  simple but for one reason or other it never is.  When I heard that the mail out for the Mad Hatters Tea Party, April 11th (you must come!) was very due I knew what that meant. 

Now this time Michael had done us yet another smashing poster and Jane had sorted out a very good deal at the printers and Shyamal had updata-ed the database.  Dates and times to stuff, lick and seal were diaried and confirmed.  Just the address labels to be printed.  Then...

The database doc wouldn't open so had to be resent.

One wouldn't recognise the other of course and it couldn't format.

The code thingy on the label pack lied outrageously. 

Desperate texts - "the air's gone blue!"

I drop all to save the day of course.  

(This should probably be slightly qualified here.  A broad definition of 'save' would certainly allow for hours of being fed banana cake and tea whilst feebly joyriding labour saving electronic options to end up confounded, giggling hysterically with scissors, sticky tape and a newfound respect for collage.  Needs must). 

They have all now been posted.

We move to electro-mailshots soon.  

Roll on welcome future. 

admiral proves me wrong

This Red Admiral woken by the warm weather was up and down the garden for most of the day.  It was feeding here and there but not settling anywhere for long, far too warm and wary to get close to.  Until it landed on a head of bergenia blossom.  The butterfly sat for long periods with its tongue uncoiled deep into the flowers, pulsating as it pumped up nectar.  

I am unsure about bergenias.  I admire in good forms their cast iron constitutions, early bloom, and big, bold,  healthy, winter-red leaves but some are an incongruous pink, stubby stalked with dirty leaves cut from green flabby latex and seem to lurk grimly immortal in churchyards and unhappy places being gnawed at by weevils.  This is one of those - Bergenia cordifolia (I think) - it has few redeeming features and it irritates me every spring.  

I have recently planted two named varieties, Abdenglut and Ballawley, with better colour and posture to replace them over the coming years.  This was to have been without mercy but maybe now that would be hasty (or not - they will take a good few years to bulk up enough to split and spread around). I hadn't noticed that these flowers held any special attraction for early insects refueling. I will keep an eye on it.  Good sources of early nectar are invaluable and there may be a corner where an old bergenia can be tucked away if it proves so good for the early feeders.  

Of course if luck has it then the new ones will be better at this too - then I'll rip the olduns out by the roots - ugly things!

sunday workday - new bench plinth

Sunday Workday - Peter, Michael, Ollie, me (Alison, Dom, Emma, Jane)

The wide raised bed that was built five years ago, using poplar logs from a tree felled in St Giles churchyard, had been problematic from the first.  It was far too wide to be worked easily and suffered from being a 'boundary bed'.  It was nigh impossible to get at the stolen bags, party debris and 'sharps' thrown in without flattening everything growing there.  Needing topsoil halfway through a previous workday had been the final impetus for a decision and the raised bed has now gone.  The group moved the tons of topsoil to the new south end beds in early winter and dug the area over ready to put to grass.  We had lovely new oak benches delivered months ago and they've been moving round the garden looking for a permanent home since their arrival.  Two of them will find it here.

Of course it takes time to work out the exact positioning for any of the furniture in the garden. Peter and Michael patiently lugged benches backwards, forwards and up the garden path as they were tried for fit.  

I dickered.  We had tea.

It is an open secret, and sometime source of amusement for the group, that I am pig-headed in garden matters and so after some discussion my choice was finally mutual.  The two small benches, on brick plinths to protect the grass (their temporary positions having been worn nude), will go here.

For the plinth a six inch deep rectangular pit was dug out and barrow of hardcore was dropped in.  This was bashed into place with the rubber mallet and a good layer of sharp sand spread over that.  The usual pigeon stepping, jump-up-and-downing and rake tamping got it firm and level before lunch.

After lunch we held a surprisingly unrewarding hunt for whole bricks.  It took some ingenuity and ruthlessness to get the required number - there is one less micro-bed up the back.  These were laid on the compacted sand and tamped into place.  My usual desert and a half of sand was brushed into the cracks to firm it.  Before tea I conceded it was probably a bit much again. 

 

New volunteer Ollie joined us and happily got stuck into emptying one of the compost bins. Though most of the contents had almost completely rotted down it still has a lot of twiggy bits in it (I was obviously shredder shy when it was filled).  No matter, it is just the business to improve the soil in the south end beds.  Ollie barrowed it all to the beds ready for digging in this week.  

As it was such a lovely day, sunny and warm, other volunteers turned up - to eat sandwiches.  I suppose the 'garden closed' workday rule shouldn't apply to off-duty volunteers?  Some of the looks I got when offering gardening jobs around were interesting to say the least.

To finish the benches the excess sand was removed and the plinth brushed off.  The bench was fixed into place with a nice shiny chunky chain.  I'll get the grass seed sown soon and it should be well established by summer.

Looks good doesn't it?

backstabbing the lawn

Today Doug backstabbed the lawn. It would normally be spiked but because of a miscommunication it took this drastic turn instead.  Whatever it's called the results should hopefully be the same.

Each summer the grass takes a real beating with much of the lawn vanishing out the gate stuck to one backside or another and hundreds of footsteps drum the ground rockhard. Through the winter, when it is wet, large patches get churned to mud by visitors and workgroups and  I restrain myself from wielding 'Keep off the Grass' signs at all and sundry.  I have no yearning for a weed-free velvet sward but without repair the patches will turn to dust by summer and a thorough backstabbing is now needed.  This will ease the compacted soil letting air and water in and improving conditions for the grass to recover.   

We do have a hollow-tine aerator for the job. This supposedly removes neat plugs of soil to the proper depth. It might do just this on fine topsoil but with rubble filled clay tears great divots out instead and is more bother than it's worth.  Which explains why it was stored dirty and now has rock-hard mud plugs dried into it's hollow tined cleverness.  After optimistically wasting time with sticks, screwdrivers and other pokery business it is now soaking in the waterbutt before finding a new home with someone else's lawn.  

Doug used the the tried and trusty garden fork instead. This is pushed in all over the lawn to a depth of 4 - 6 inches and gently pushed back and forth to open the soil. It is not digging, it is just making lots of holes (turn the fork to face you - then the tines go in vertically and you are less likely to dig).  Sharp sand can be brushed in to work its way down into the holes to help keep the holes open.

The worms will also get in on the act after they've recovered from the scare. By the speed they came out of the ground they must have thought the mole of all moles was on the rampage.

putting zephirine in her place

There are a number of plants growing in the garden that regularly get put in their place - some with clipping, some with weaving and some with a good tying up - they are otherwise unwieldy.   Zephirine Drouhin is one of these. 

An old rose variety (1868) it is very nearly thornless, vigorous, tough, fragrant and unashamedly, unapologetically pink.  A good climber to ten feet it had been growing on a pergola that has since been demolished and now with no support the six foot long whippy stems flail like octopus arms in the winds that whoosh round the corner.  I wanted to keep the rose, they are hard to establish here growing in rubble, but I do not like the appearance of big roses made small by constant snipping.  

As an alternative roses can be tied down.  Long flexible stems can be gently curved down and round the bush, don't force them too far or they'll snap, aiming to get the stems nearly horizontal and then firmly tie them into place with soft twine (never wire ties - you will regret them).  Each bud along the stem has the potential to produce a flower, pruning just cuts these off, and tying down stimulates them to grow all the way along the stem rather than just one or two waving wildly at the top.  This has transformed Zephirine into a spiral of bound stems - it'll be a picture come June. 

turbans, grubs and a taste for the sweeter things

I was having the usual pre-work look about (these are no different from the 'during-' and the 'post-' ones - I am easily distracted) and came across a small green turban perched up a phygelius.  Velvety soft and full of leaf this moth caterpillar was busy being invisible.  Looking over the rest of the bush revealed each stem had its own coiled sleeper sat on top of doilied leaves.  A surprising number of caterpillars feed through the winter, eating fast and growing slowly, safe this time of year from the voracious predatory ants and wasps of summer. Usually these caterpillars are hidden beneath the leaves and at the base of plants.  I wondered if the sun had brought them out to warm themselves.  Wouldn't that be lovely - sunbathing caterpillars.   

Definitely not sunbathing was this grubby fellow brought up from the depths on the end of a shovel.  At first glance I thought it was a leatherjacket, a Daddylonglegs larvae (you may call them Craneflies but where's the fun in that?) but with real and pro- legs it is a caterpillar.  Up to some dastardly subterranean mischief involving roots no doubt.  I generally don't worry about such things - out of sight, out of mind.

The sun had also brought a fine crowd of Satan's little helpers out to warm themselves and to grab a more wholesome bite than their usual fare.  Whilst bumblebees are early to work the winter and early spring flowers are mostly visited by big buzzy blowflies sucking up nectar and spreading pollen.  They may be rather revolting but they have been key for the successful spread of shrubby spurge through the garden.  Life is too short for pollinating by brush.

The spurge, euphorbia characias, has big green heads of small open flowers with easy access nectaries so there is no need for long bee tongues to get at the goodies.  When the sun's out they are attended constantly by the vomiting hordes sucking up sugars.    

You may want to keep your mouth shut if inspecting them closely. Those big buzzers are raised on the best the WestEnd offers and you probably won't want that inside you.

sunday workday - repaving by the noticeboard

Sunday Workday - Peter, Tom, Graham, me.

The noticeboard at the gate has only recently been moved here from the opposite side of the path.  It had completely blocked views of the bed behind it but now, this side being much lower, it is much better placed.   It is so much lower because of the test pit dug by surveyors after a row of cellars had fallen in under New Compton Street in 2007.  They were looking for signs of imminent catastrophic collapse in the garden (there were none) but their 'dig and make good' hadn't and over the past year the ground had slowly slumped as it settled.  As you can see - not pretty and a 'board reading bearpit.

After tea and a slow start all the paving bricks were lifted and the area dug out to a starting level.  A layer of rubble filled the hole, bashed firm with a rubber mallet, and sharp sand spread over to bed the bricks onto.  Peter managed to reclaim a good number of whole bricks from the great excavated rubble mound - the pile of bombsite booty that swells and shrinks repeatedly but never entirely disappears.  

The bricks were laid out to match the existing path and tamped into place.  It was frustrating to cut the end bricks to fit tight as they were soft and damp and would not break cleanly preferring to shatter instead - ideally we'd use proper frost proof paviours but unfortunately we are not digging these up.  Sharp sand was brushed into the gaps to bind it tight.  Peter is convinced I am building sandpits on all the new paving - I am generous and it WILL work its way in!    

A last bit of tinkering to tuck a few bits of ox-eye daisy and some oxalis 'knuckles' into the gaps along the edge to get it going.  Doesn't that look better?

I'm sure there will be some further gentle settlement but laying the bricks on a sand bed means they can be simply and easily lifted and relaid as needed.  I like the flexibility - literal - of this simply laid, sand -bedded brick paving as it gently shapes itself to the traffic.  You have to keep an eye on it, it struggles with heavy loads, but we wont be resin binding paths here anytime soon.  Anyway, under those bricks will live ants - and I like ants.