Birds, bank hols and bluebells: 8th May 2020

In a week that seems to have been nothing but online meetings on Teams or Zoom, the moments grabbed in the garden have been extremely valuable. I want to say more about how gardening is affecting my general wellbeing but I suspect it will turn into a longer post than I have time for right now.

Bugger patriotism

Today's a bank holiday in the UK. It should have been Monday, to celebrate the workers of the world, but it's been changed - I hope for one year only - to mark the 75th anniversary of VE Day. Don't get me wrong: of course, I am full of gratitude for those who fought the fascists. I just feel conflicted about the way it's been taken over by jingo-lingo and nationalism, because it feels like the very thing the soldiers gave their lives to resist. Hence, no scones, jam or flag-waving for me; I'm staying out of it.

Anyway, forget the fash for now. The point is I was not plagued by meetings and spent a bit of time out in the sunshine and the soft May air. And very lovely it was too.

Latest plantings

I planted some more seeds, because at the moment there is nothing more exciting than seeing them sprout a couple of weeks later. Today's planting: rocket and borage. (These are two things my mother never planted, so I can't feel overshadowed by her greener fingers. I have never eaten borage leaves. They are supposed to taste of cucumber which in turn tastes of very little). But the pics of the flowers look nice.

We scarified the remaining two patches of grass (too scrappy to be really called lawns) and put lawn seed down in an attempt to revive them.

And almost immediately this little chap turned up.

I know, it's not a great photo, but it was snatched on my phone. S/he actually started pecking the grass seed, so I am not sure how much of it will survive. I can't be too annoyed though. In The Secret Garden (c.f., blog post from May 3rd), the robin is symbolic of Mary's growing relationship with nature. So this was my sort of Secret Garden moment. Sitting watching a young robin within a couple of feet, pecking around your garden, is more life-enhancing than being on sodding Zoom or Teams, I can tell you.

And now we turn to bluebells.

You will forgive my irritation when I say that the bastard slope, which took a lot of hard work to dig and weed a few weeks ago, has now been over-run with bluebells. All are self-seeded.

They are not English bluebells, which are now rather rare. They are, I believe, a Spanish-English hybrid, which is one of the most common varieties to be found in the UK now.

Does it matter? Only in the sense that I would not want the old English variety to die out. I don't get concerned about Spanish invaders, though, particularly when I read that they first came over to the UK in the seventeenth century. And these hybrids are nice enough. I'm just annoyed that I'm going to have to dig over that utter swine of a slope again, as soon as they die back, to give anything else a chance to grow.

In other news

The blooms on the clematis we planted a few weeks ago are unreal and it's covered in more buds.

And the boggy bit at the side of the pond is still boggy, thanks to us being very assiduous in the watering (because we have only had one rainy day since I started blogging back in March).

And further excitement for tonight: a new episode of Gardener's World, which I have suddenly grown to love. Oh god, just like my mother before me. Maybe I'll watch it with a glass of chilled white wine. She didn't drink. I, on the other hand...