These roses had already been battered in the wind on Monday and Tuesday, so I brought them inside to save them from predicted high wind on Thursday. The little buds had been snapped right off and were lying forlornly on the path.
As it happened (or didn’t happen) the wind was almost a non-event. According to an article in this morning’s Press, a website which visualises weather data ‘showed a wall of high winds approaching the city in the morning, before splitting into two parts on either side of Christchurch by early afternoon’. There was much stronger wind on Tuesday when a large branch of my lilac broke and fell into the neighbour’s driveway.
I listened to the radio for most of the day, hearing horrific reports of wind damage across the country. Apparently, higher than usual temperatures in Antarctica are causing this weather pattern to develop. Climate change in action.
A woman looked over my gate this week and asked, ‘How do you get your flowers to grow?’ I looked with some despair at the cloudy masses of forget-me-nots and couldn’t think of an answer. ‘They just do,’ I said lamely, in the end. Which is true. I didn’t plant the forget-me-nots. They just come up every spring. So do a lot of other things which I inherited when I moved in nearly 40 years ago. ‘What about those,’ she asked, pointing at some aquilegias. I planted aquilegia seeds – probably decades ago – and they continue to come up every year. Often in less than convenient places. Fox gloves come up randomly, as does Solomon’s Seal, feverfew, borage, parsley, lemon balm, wind flowers, marigolds, geums … She told me that she’d tried to grow some daffodils in a pot but they got knocked over by the wind. Gardening’s like that, I reassured her, a roller coaster of success and failure.
Bees like the forget-me-notsAquilegia growing between paving stonesFox glove beginning to flower
While I have planted roses, herbs, fruit trees, vegetables, pansies, sweet peas, geraniums, raspberries, blackcurrants, and so on, many plants are self-sown or grown from cuttings I’ve been given. Others have spread of their own accord. Or contrarily given up the ghost.
Planted, gifted, transplantedGeraniums grown from cuttings left by a neighbour at my gateBanksia I planted, now needs support
Many large trees in the garden are self-sown and are usually indigenous such as several kōwhai, ake ake, pseudopanax, pittosporum and cabbage trees – or were planted by previous owners, such as the beech, karo, a very old hebe and a myrtle. The ake ake has an interesting trunk.
Although not a great fan of succulents, several years ago I bought some cute little ones at a market. Now they are in various parts of the garden, completely hidden by cottage garden plants at the moment except for some in pots. I’m encouraging some self-seeded elder plants to grow so I can make elderflower cordial.
Trunk of ake akeFlowering succulentFirst elder flower
Dips in the gardening roller coaster include plants which do not thrive or suddenly sicken. This has happened recently to a bay tree in a pot which was thriving until a few weeks ago when its leaves began to turn brown. It was badly affected by scale. I trimmed it back and administered what first aid I could. Now it’s just a matter of wait and see. A lime tree in a pot lost all its leaves, but there are new ones appearing, so I’m hoping it will recover. My lemon tree gets sooty mould from time to time, and once a more serious disease from which it has recovered. I had to remove all the affected fruit in the serious case, and pruned the tree in both cases to let air flow through. I’m still mourning a beautiful rose, a Westerland, which died last year.
Ailing bay treeRecovering lime treeRecovered lemon tree
A bit of a softie about what gets to grow, I often can’t bear to pull things out (except convolvulus). Children passing by might enjoy the dandelion clocks on the front berm. This week a gardener on tv was advocating for weeds in the garden. While not exactly a weed (whatever a ‘weed’ is) my artichoke is a bit of a thug in the garden, overshadowing the vegetables and rhubarb, but it is pleasing to look at. Today I noticed the first globes appearing.
I spend a lot of time just looking at the garden. Once the forget-me-nots have finished, other plants will re-emerge to take their place.
This morning Felix was king of the castle on the roof next door.
I can only imagine what adventures he has. Sometimes he’s away for hours. Last week he came home looking sorry for himself with a chewed neck ruff and bits of fur falling out.
What I do see or hear is Felix doing ‘zoomies’ around the house, ‘helping’ with bed making, running about on the roof (as if he’s wearing hob-nail boots), bringing in a rat or a mouse or a bird, disappearing over the back fence, climbing effortlessly up a tree, coming into the house and stomping across the wooden floor as if he would tell me what he’s been up to if he could, and following me down the street.
Here he is at midday, looking deceptively relaxed.
This morning it was on with summer clothes and sandals and my friend and I paddled in the high tide at the beach. By the afternoon I was staying inside out of the hot, dry, enervating nor’west wind. It is weird to remember that last weekend we were hunkered down by the fire while steady rain and cold temperatures continued for two and a half days.
Yesterday was hot, but with only a slight breeze, and I took the opportunity to power-wash the house. It dried quickly in the heat, as did I. It was lovely to have all the doors open as the house dried, and to wander in and out freely in the warm air.
This evening, the wind died down and I ventured into the garden. Lots of cabbage tree leaves are down as is usual after strong wind. I am pleased I tied the Cecile Brunner rose to its archway yesterday as it was getting blown down one way in the southerly and the other way in the nor’west. The growth is phenomenal; it was just bare sticks after I pruned it in July. The apple tree and the kōwhai trees are flowering vigorously. The kōwhai flowers glow in the evening light.
My ‘new’ macrocarpa fence and gates were installed in June 2017 and feature at the top of my blog. Today, the fence is barely visible and the timber has silvered with time. The clematis at the gate is beginning to flower.
TodaySame archway, same Cecile Brunner, new fence June 2017June 2017
Aiming to work off a lunch out, return my books and get some exercise, I parked on the edge of the Botanic Gardens and walked through to the library. I took paths at random and deviations often when my eye was caught by something such as this spreading dogwood tree with its wide flat petals, and a sea of stock and tulips.
I came upon a rock garden with flowering plants growing in cracks in the rocks. Perhaps it was the bright azalea which drew my eye – its colour hardly seemed real. The textures of the rocks are as beautiful as the plants themselves. Turning away from there, I discovered a pond with waterfalls.
I suppose the changing season could account for the feeling that everything was new, even though I’ve been in the Gardens hundreds of times before. This grove – or forest – of acer (I think) was layer on layer of fresh spring green.
In the Arts Centre a figure seems to be struggling with an umbrella or perhaps a kite – or has she fired a gun and been blown backwards by the recoil? By the river, the chestnut trees are flowering.
On the return journey, I passed a bluebell wood. In the water garden an abutilon drew my attention. It has the same leaves and rambling structure of my chinese lantern abutilon at home, but the flowers are different.
I used google lens frequently to identify plants and admired how many are left to grow over borders – as I do at home. Perhaps, in both cases, it’s a lack of staff!
Now I’m seeing evidence of cottages everywhere in my house.
Model miner’s cottage from Central OtagoScottish cottage broochFinnish cottage earringsEnglish mill cottageCottage from Kinder Surprise (when they had good stuff)Soap box cottage (nice soaps inside) from Arts Centre marketCottage on wheels…?Moomin cottage mug
And then there are the many miniatures – a sort of ‘cottage chic’.
Tiny teapots from YorkKitten in basket (gift)Teddy in bath (gift)Tiny bookLittle jug and basin from IrelandLittle watering can lights from Chatsworth
It’s no wonder that my brother said, on Friday, that he hopes he dies before I do so he doesn’t have to clear out my house. That comment prompted me to weed my bookshelves in the weekend and give away two boxes of books. I expect he won’t notice the difference!
I suspect childhood reading was the source of my fascination with cottages. These pictures are from books I won’t be giving away.
Mother Goose Vollund editionPeter Pan and Wendy and the lost boysBeatrix PotterMister Dog (Little Golden Book). Note the weather vane!Bunyip Bluegum and Uncle Wattleberry’s tree house.
Books with cut-away interiors intrigue me, such as the last photo (above) of a neolithic French rural cottage. As Katherine Mansfield wrote in The Doll’s House: “Why don’t all houses open like that? How much more exciting than peering through the slit of a door into a mean little hall with a hat-stand and two umbrellas!”
My favourite childhood book was Miss Happiness and Miss Flower by Rumer Godden. In it, a Japanese dolls house is built, similar to the one in my copy of The Ultimate Dolls’ House Book by Faith Eaton, along with other interesting cottages, reminding me of the Folk Museum I visited in Korea which replicated the interiors of houses over time.
It’s not only children’s books which feature cottages. There are many books about women (or men, as in The Searcher by Tana French) who retreat to a country cottage to regroup and reshape their lives, with mixed success, such as in Falling by Elizabeth Jane Howard. Miss Marple lives in a cottage in the English village of St Mary Mead. Tove Jansson’s fictional family in The Summer Book live in a cottage on a Finnish island. Other authors have shown the disadvantages of the cottage: Jane Austen in Sense and Sensibility, Claire Fuller in Unsettled Ground. Still, somehow, the romance of the cottage lives on, whether it’s a place of retreat or a place to set out from on adventures.
Cottages, to me, are associated with fairy tales, an essence of country living (even in an urban setting), cosiness, roses, vegetables and sweet peas in the garden, a cat on the windowsill, and a realistic human scale for independent living. I stopped today to photograph this cottage which catches my eye every time I pass by. It seems to peek over the fence at you.
Its quirky features, such as the spider web on the fence, make it stand out from the neighbouring cottages. The lace-doily gate is a recent addition.
On Thursday I took this photo of the cottage-shaped shop at The Colombo with the round Moomin cottage (if a cottage can have several floors!) inside it: a cottage in a cottage in a mall.
I have a book called The Cottage Book given to me years ago and, as I climbed up the Filbert Steps of Telegraph Hill to the Coit Tower in San Francisco in 2001, I realised I was walking past cottages from the book. Another section of the book is about ‘floating cottages’; the house boats at Sausalito which I admired while I was there. George Clarke’s Amazing Spaces has many homes like these built by creative people who enjoy small space living. It’s cosy viewing.
Filbert Steps cottageSausalito house boat
A friend lives in a cottage which was a prefabricated structure and dates from the late 1800s. It has a bullnose verandah, a lean-to kitchen and a charming garden. It ‘gives’ to the street rather than hiding behind high walls.
I like to think of my 1930s house as a cottage, with its individual rooms which link, but are not open plan, but it might best be described as a bungalow (which might be a kind of cottage). The garden, however, is a cottage one.
Taken in October 2022
The delightful houses of Hobbiton are the epitome of cosy cottage life.
Hobbit-sized, just about, (no danger of hitting my head on the beams as Gandalf does) I could fit right in. And like the cottage inside a cottage, there is a little hobbit doll house.
Since I got home, I’ve had to search each morning for the newspaper. I haven’t found Wednesday’s paper yet, even though I donned gardening gloves and had a good rummage in the foliage. I once found a newspaper, six months out of date, stuck in the middle of a rose bush by the gate. As is usual in spring, everything seems to have grown like crazy and each year there’s less and less lawn left on the front berm.
Other plants aren’t doing so well, sadly. The lime tree’s leaves were curled and drooping when I got back after 12 days away. I watered it immediately – perhaps it hadn’t been able to get any rain as it was sheltered under the eaves of the house to protect it from frost. Since then, the leaves have all dropped off, although there are still some flower buds and three small limes. If it fails, it will be the second lime tree I have lost.
The underplanting in the container still looks healthy, but I have I overdone that? Has the alyssum and thyme strangled the lime tree?
A bay tree, also in a container, is looking sick and many leaves are dotted with scale. I’ve sprayed it with Eco-oil, watered and fed it.
Is the pot too small? Should I reduce the size of the tree?
I won’t be picking these leaves to use in cooking. The self-sown bay tree by the front gate, however, has luxuriant growth.
It’s not all gloomy coming back from a holiday break. I have treats to enjoy.
And a Lord of the Rings t-shirt from Hobbiton to wear – beside my flowering cherry tree.
Yesterday there was a bellbird singing in one of the flowering kōwhai trees. It piped up just as my brother asked, “Do you get bellbirds in the kōwhai?”
This morning I booked a trip to Tasmania in October next year.
Back to plain clothes and porridge, Dad used to say at the end of a holiday. I don’t mind either of those things, but the break has made me realise how much work there is to do at home. This morning I had to remind myself how I clean the shower. There was laundry to do. Plant pots and containers were dry and needed urgent watering, with some plants quite distressed. The grass is long. I have to cook again, go to the supermarket, feed the cat – and Mum.
But the cherry blossom is out, the anemone bulbs I planted are flowering, the lettuces are ready to eat and so is the kale (although some has bolted). It seems all the plants, in just 12 days, have doubled in size.
And I have photos to look at, some of which I hadn’t included in my blogs. These three are from near Raglan.
Clouds over Ngarunui Beach One of four stone carvings of the elements
On the bus tour I was intrigued by the numerous corrugated iron figures, such as the perched pukeko, as we drove through Tirau, and wall paintings at Trelinnoe Park. I sought out Wardini Books in Napier, having read the two crime fiction books the owners, Gareth and Louise Ward, have co-written and set in their second book shop in Havelock North – which I also saw as we drove through.
A book in the Napier hotel foyer celebrates twenty years (so far) of its farmers’ market.
I was delighted to see this huge art work in Hamilton which I had seen in a documentary about public art by Māori artists. Then I encountered a photograph and information about it in the Museum – much better than my photo taken from the bus.
Other snippets from Hamilton include a glass of wine I enjoyed at The Bank (with a bowl of seafood chowder), the statue of Dame Hilda Ross (so unusual to see a statue of a woman politician), and a colourful photo from the Hamilton Library. There was no natural light in the library, so I hope the alterations in progress at the front include huge windows facing out onto Garden Place.
I love this art work featuring Hamilton by local artist Kate Hill at the Waikato Society of Arts ArtsPost.
Finally, there are some more mundane shots: my hotel room desk where I wrote my journal and blog posts as my holiday drew to a close, the foyer of the hotel where I had breakfast each day and, at Hamilton airport, the ingenious airplane-shaped taps with both washing and drying functions.
So it’s plain clothes and porridge from now on, as Dad said, but I have the memories – and some delicious limes to enjoy from the Raglan garden of my ‘shuttle buddies’ who saved my holiday by sharing their shuttle ride from Auckland airport so that I made it to Hamilton on schedule when the direct flight from Christchurch to Hamilton was cancelled. The flight home was – despite some turbulence and the rather unnerving sight of propellers from my window (how do these aircraft fly?) – blessedly uneventful.
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