Spring is a timely reminder of the wonders of nature, a source of surprises and delight. Each day is lovely, each moment a source of past memories.
This past week has been dominated by all the urgent tasks that the lovely weather has precipitated.
Dearest has planted up our large terracotta pots with a selection of half-hardy perennials. At the centre, a Cordyline, around which are different coloured Argyranthemum. The tall Chelsea Girl, with its feathery bluish leaves; Mary Woton, the flower pink and white, both grow to two feet. A tall pink Diascia, Salvia fulgens and the pineapple Saliva, Sphaeralcea, with beautiful cup- shaped pale pink flowers. Around the edges are the skirt-trailing verbenas, malvastioms, diascias and large-flowered sweet peas, any colour but orange. All jostle together, fringed with the grey trailing Helichrysum, to flower until the frosts, about twenty to each pot. You know you have enough when no more will fit in. By mid-summer, the pots are like mini gardens, but they need watering and dead-heading each day, with a once a week foliar feed. The flower containers stand along the terrace like sentinels, they colour this area for six months; what more could you want?
The garden is full of bird song; we like the billing and cooing of the pigeons. One always builds outside Mother’s bedroom, which I share; she sounds as if she is saying “Have a cup of tea Vicar, have another cup”
The tulips in the meadow look better as each day passes, like jewels from heaven.
The essence of spring days is like a source of enduring pleasure, each day lovely, each flower a work of art. The eternal movement of light and shade adds to the garden’s glory and to its eternal pleasures.