londonbard: walking tabby cat, (Tyger) (mebyme)
It's getting easier to use the journal again now that I'm adjusting to this new laptop. I would never have thought that one day I'd be using a machine with hard plastic taped over its touch-pad because it's ticklish, but if I don't protect it the cursor jumps, wriggles and it's clearly only a matter of time before it hits something vital and deletes it.

So now I'm updating in arrears. I was there for the last moments of one of my old gardens. I was passing to go to the supermarket, heard the machines and ... just had a feeling about it. I'm not sure why I went down the ramp.

It was the front garden, the one in the icon. So I was standing, helplessly, while it was returned to the nitrogen cycle. I tried to get cuttings but it was the wrong time of year and, as far as I know, nobody ever managed to strike or save a cutting from the tough old honeysuckle that made up most of the hedge.

A honeysuckle hedge is a lovely feature; it isn't self-supporting but it will run joyously over almost any kind of fencing material. (It's also possible to have it growing over one little section that slides along and back, so the garden apparently has no entrance unless you know exactly how to do it)

28 years - at least, I was there for that long. I've been here since 2010 so the gardens at the old place were about 32 years old. (I got the huge golden rose the month N was born.)

They were strips of mud and rubble when I moved into the old place, as fertile as a wet brick. (I terraformed them both; the back garden was so bad that it needed methods from a Heinlein book - strips and pockets of fertile soil together with earthworms begged from a friend in Addlestone. The worms clean and colonise the surrounding ... stuff. You can judge when soil becomes wholesome by the colour of your earthworms.)

Afterwards I was trying to get the old laptop to work well enough to make a post about it; however, when I read my f'list a friend's beloved pet had died on her birthday, and she wrote, "As though he had waited for me". I cried a bit when I read that, and then a little more every time I thought of those words over the next few days.

The other side of the building is completely fenced off. I have no idea whether the back garden, with its wall of scented golden roses, is still living or not - but I brought a lot of that one with me.


Farewell to my garden,
the bulldozers roll,
To take down the place
that gave balm to my soul.
The place full of birdsong,
the place full of quiet,
(the border of roses,
that saved me from riot.)

Farewell to the fuschias,
they've grown into trees,
bedizened with bells
that ring quiet in the breeze.
Farewell to the place
that my heart loves the most,
While the trumpets of daffodils,
Sound the Last Post.
and now

This has been a grand year for roses, so far. "R's rose" (the big Rosa Schoolgirl by the fence) flowered so early that it's already over; I must prune and hope for a second flush of blossom.

The Dreaming Spires are gorgeous, this year. I have those front and back, here. One is espaliered against the bungalow wall, in front, and the other three are against the wall that runs between me and the school playground. I could see them peeping over the top when I went into the school to vote.
londonbard: walking tabby cat, (Tyger) (mebyme)
"50 Shades of Fuchsia"

Clippers and nippers
and neat cross-wired braces,
keeping the branches
tied into their places,
gauntlets to deal
with the plants
that have stings
these are a few
of a gardener's things.

Hatchets and ratchets
and saws that cut meanly
little paint-brushes
to pollinate cleanly,
scalpels and duct-tape
are used in the craft
some kinds of roses
are really hard graft!

Greenfly may bite
There's some dry blight
but my hard work shows.
There's so many ways
one can ... discipline...plants
that only a gardener knows!


londonbard: walking tabby cat, (Tyger) (Default)

June 2017

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