Titanarum

Begonia Rex. Ah. The trouble that plant has brought me. But not for much longer. I told you weeks ago about the history of my exemplar: kept in a tiny plastic pot for 4 years in a baking hot south facing window sill the magenta red leaves had me entranced. When its owner, a dear friend, decided to emigrate to Bavaria in Germany, I put a bid in for adoption. I won, needless to say. And in my gratitude I gave the plant a new life with fresh soil and room for the roots to grow forth and multiply. And the leaves grew brown and beige and darkly green. So a few weeks back I did the only thing I could think of. I cut it back and crammed the roots into the smallest pot I could find with barely a hint a humus to keep them moist. I watered sparingly and am now waiting for the red leaves to grow. I have already seen enough signs of redness to cheer me up. And to chill me to the bone. You’d think goodness begets goodness. But that is not always the case. It scares me to think what other analogies can be drawn from the example of Begonia Rex.

Now that Easter has wiped out all bugs and tender plants I’m with Andrewdotcom in hoping for a long warm summer. His pictures, to be seen on www.lavendongarden.com, of snowclad ground and buildings remind us of the contrasts we in the UK and many other places around the world, have got to put up with. Sigh.

Wonderful idea this: www.twowests.co.uk. Why didn’t I think of that?

The generosity of spirit of some people puts me to shame. Take Greenforks.com, who is not only feeding pigeons, but is protecting the food of pigeons from squirrels!

If only the growing of strawberries could be cut short too.

A good friend M needs her lawn trimmed. I’ve been helping her out on and off for the past five years. As she loves her garden but has too many health problems to keep it tending her small patch is a pleasure for me. Apart from the lawn I will be checking out the passionflower. It took ill last year and having tried various remedies I expect we will have to start afresh. They self seed easily and we have at least 10 contenders at knee height. I will also be helping her decide on a fitting tribute to her cat Shelley, who passed away last autumn. The last time I saw her she had just come back from the vet and was still not feeding very well. But she ventured into the garden, found  a sunny spot, and with her eyes closed and her whiskers whirring, she picked up scents and movements in the air. She was a gentle, loving cat, timid with people she didn’t know very well, including me. Her ginger fur hung loosely from her body as she had lost a lot of weight but she was at peace and looked contented and happy. M will be choosing a shrub or a plant in her memory and I will be planting and tending it. I look forward to that.

Finally dragged myself down to the plot. Fearing the worst the damage was bearable. One of my three compost bins must have flown off and found a new home. Easy come easy go. You may recall the composting course I wrote about back in the autumn. The local council, in their effort to make everybody recycle, offered a free bin to everybody attending this course. I got mine through attending the course and then blagged myself another one because it was spare and a bit wonky. Well, it is the wonky one that has flown the nest. I clearly didn’t need it because if I did it would have been filled with wilted cabbage leaves and the like to keep it in place. Other than losing a bin the plot was not bad. I picked some flat leaved parsley and noticed that the cabbages I planted last year could probably be grown on to yield this summer. And the sprouting broccoli has set little heads and will be pickable in a few weeks. The blueberry bushes also looked promising. Hardly any trimming seems to be needed and lots of buds set on their red stalks. So all in all a reasonably trauma free visit.

Today I was asked if it was my bin in photo shown in the ‘Fresia Friend’ post The questioner used to be a friend but, as I divulge our conversation, I’m sure you’ll understand why this person is now merely an acquaintance.

‘You don’t compost vegetable leftovers and newspapers?’

‘I compost what I please when I please’ I replied. ‘Doesn’t everybody?’

‘I thought you had turned over a new leaf?  What with the council giving you free recycling boxes and you having no less than three 100 litre containers?’

‘Yeah. And your point is?’

 ‘That you aren’t practicing what you preach.’

How dare this person, whom I shan’t bother to give a gender, claim the moral high ground? I’m not having it. Doesn’t it suffice that I watched Hugh’s Chicken Run and Jamie’s Fowl Dinners and no longer eat battery chicken (not even in take-aways and ready meals, apart from now and again)? What more does the world want?

‘We all have a responsibility to the planet and to future generations. And you, of all people, ought to know it.’

I couldn’t bear it. With no answer to offer I did the only thing I could: hung up.

January. What a month. To depress myself further I’ve decided to make a list of what is most horrid about this long, dark period. 1 It is we.  2 It is cold.  3 The wind blows too harshly.  4 The heating bills are ridiculous and set to rise even further due to greedy energy companies.5 I have to pay my annual allotment fee. I don’t mind that as it is very cheap but it means remembering the number of my plot, and I can’t, so I have to go down there, heaven forbid, and find out. I do mind that.  6 I’m sick of clementines.  7 I’m bored with cabbage and potatoes.  8 There are too many daffodils bulbs emerging. Ugly. Ugly. Ugly. 9 The buds on trees and shrubs are swelling up. Frost will kill every single one of them.  10 Tax has to be calculated and returned to the Inland Revenue.  

See. Wasn’t that just minging? And there’s still another 8 days to go before February can take over. And it isn’t as if that month is much better. But at least it is shorter. Let us be grateful for small mercies.

I am not alone. Love Thyself