Weather

The weather continues to confound: unseasonable cold combined with (seasonably reasonable) showers, the whole meaning late sowing, slow growing. Thankfully, the glasshouse provides enough shelter for peas and beans to start off. Up at the allotment, the bare and ready soil reproaches me--I feel I should have planted lots by now. But garden writers do remind us that a week or two of delay due to cold weather now shouldn't make too much difference later in the season.

Last weekend, my wonderful gardening aunt gave me a tour of her garden, glasshouse and polytunnel. At 88 going on 89 she's still tending her garden (planning, digging, sowing, planting, keeping a weather eye out for frost), looking after her hens, cooking up a storm, and winning prizes in agricultural shows for her wonderful vegetables. She's an inspiration. We saw how her peas are doing (sown in half-pipes, ready to be slid into the prepared ground in her vegetable garden) and her potatoes: she has planted Sharpe's Express, as I have, but while mine are barely showing (and I have started to earth them up in anticipation of frost), hers are about 20cm high already, safe and warm in the tunnel. Shallots and onions, a grapevine and tomatoes are also on the go; not to mention rhubarb, apples, strawberries, raspberries, and soon barley for her hens and for its straw. Not bad... (Thanks for the tour and inspiration, CM). 

As well as an encouraging visit to my aunt's garden, we spent time with my cousin in Athlone: a warm welcome, a lovely dinner, good chat, and a walk by the Shannon, which took in the Big Meadow, south of Athlone, part of the protected Shannon callows. We didn't see any bird life--wrong time--but the cheerful Marsh Marigold was blooming in the grasses. Thanks for a lovely day, KM.

Marsh Marigold, Caltha palustris

Away from the Big Meadow, back in my Small Garden, this week saw the exquisite dead nettle, Lamium orvala, come into its own. I got this last year from Mount Venus, couldn't resist it really, and it's more than earning its keep now. Like many plants in my garden--and I'm not sure why this is--it's quite subtle and requires a little bit of effort (like getting up close and personal) to truly appreciate it. It's a gorgeous thing though, and look how well those flowers do at being attractive to the ones that really matter, from the plant's point of view, the pollinators. What bee could resist the siren call of those wonderfully striped nectar guides, pointing the way to the treasures within. And on the way in and out, the bee's back will be nicely dusted with pollen which it will unwittingly carry to the next flower. 

Deadnettle, Lamium orvala

Nectar guides on a Lamium flower

I do occasionally leave subtlety behind though; witness the showier Bleeding Heart (also called Dutchman's Breeches) and the common, but nonetheless delightful, Forget-Me-Not which are are doing their thing too.

Bleeding Heart, Dicentra spectabilis

Forget-Me-Not, Brunnera macrophylla

We hadn't been to the Dargle valley for a while so we headed back there last weekend for a walk, in the hope of finding Spring delights. We were a little early, although Izzy did point out that the ramsons, or wild garlic, were worth a second look.

Schnauzer gets to grips with Ramsons, wild garlic, Allium ursinum

In spite of the cold weather, which will continue next week apparently, we had sunshine too. On an evening walk with Iz in the local park, the setting sun spotlit the Scots Pines and other conifers, reminding us that this is April, after all. And to make up for such a melancholy blackbird poem from Mr Kavanagh recently, here's something else: it's an anonymous 9th Century Irish monastic poem, that's almost haiku-like in its simplicity; translated by Thomas Kinsella for the 1986 New Oxford Book of Irish Verse.

Evening sun spotlight

And finally for someone whose birthday falls in blossom time: have a good one LB, looking forward to celebrating it with you. 

Happy Birthday LB