Given the numerous constraints on what is possible in the garden, identifying what will grow and thrive and what will simply fade away has been hit and miss. The first experiment followed a substantial digging over of the south facing border, fertilizing and enriching the soil, and setting the scene for horticultural success. The grand plan included graduated planting, with several nepeta in the back row, fronted by verbena, and with hardy geraniums along the edge. Other plants included campanula lactiflora, penstemon, loosestrife (lysimacia vulgaris) and acanthus.
In the first season, the nepeta, evidently enjoying the refreshed soil in which it found itself, proved to be a bully. The other plants also thrived in varying degrees. The verbena provided the effect intended -- dots of bright purple flowers at medium height randomly along the border -- but the penstemon proved to be a disappointment -- they simply don't what the south border offers them. The geraniums, meantime, simply got on with things and in their various varieties provided colour throughout the season, with the indestructible Wargrave pink (gernium endressii) continuing to flower right into the autumn.
From this first season, I learned that best laid garden plans don't always work out. The nepeta certainly performed, but it simply took over the border. The next season, having no doubt exhausted itself the previous year, it simply sulked and virtually failed to appear at all, so it became a victim to a rapidly emerging principle: if it doesn't thrive, get rid of it. To some extent, of course, the principle is self fulfilling, since plants that don't thrive will usually die away, but some can take several seasons to do so, meanwhile occupying garden space which could be better employed by something else. So, I reckon that at the first signs of weakness, plants should be removed and replaced by something else with better prospects (or, if they will thrive in a pot, put them up.)
In the case of our border, this replacement also tended to take care of itself: the hardy geranium, more or less regardless of weather and season, seems to thrive, so what started out as a kind of mixed border has ended up largely devoted to hardy geraniums. Fortunately, they come in a wide range of types, growing habits and colours, the classic type being very similar to the cranesbill, which is the uncultivated form. Some have been acquired as gifts, so a long flowering variety which, if supported, grows to nearly a metre in height, is forever known in our household as 'Pauline's geranium'. It puts forth a small, intense raspberry pink flower, and these punctuate the mid border very effectively for most of the summer. They are also very robust and seem to tolerate drought, frost, snow, and pretty well everything that the weather throws at them.
This they had to do in the summer of the drought -- 2006 I think. The classic herbaceous border, of which ours is a modest example, depends on a damp, temperate English climate. That summer we experienced week after week without rain, and this drought, combined with the heat (record breaking temperatures were recorded) and the tendency of the garden to dry out, thanks to the demands of the nearby copper beech, meant that only the really hardy would survive. This further reinforced my guiding gardening principle, and also led to finding out about drought tolerant plants.
With the advent of the web and the Web 2.0 world we now live in, obtaining information and advice on what to plants where is easy -- in fact, potentially overwhelming. Anyway, some web searches combined with a happy discovery identified the salvias as a drought tolerant species.
I had always associated salvias with the fire engine red flowers of an annual bedding plant much beloved of civic gardeners, and I remember my parents planting salvias 'for colour'. Annuals are a bother -- they have to be propagated or purchased and since they only last one season, have to be replaced. Derived from my leading gardening principle is the second principle: give room to plants which won't need to be replaced. So, salvias weren't at first something which I had considered for drought free planting, until I realized that the hardy salvia I had purchased as Wisely a year or so previously was one of the drought tolerant variety which , happily, matched both of my gardening principles.
Savlias are, of course, part of the great sage family, and come in a great range of types, from those which form small shrubs, to those which do well in pots, or indeed, both. So, the salvias have, along with the hardy geranium, become a garden staple, and because they don't form vast, vulgar banks of colour, fit into the fairly muted colouration of the border. They also have a long flowering life, so, as with some of the geraniums, such as Wargrave pink, they provide prolonged pleasure through the season. And, as their survival through last winter demonstrates, they tolerate weather extremes.
So, over nearly ten seasons, the garden has arrived at a point where certain plants are an integral part of the basic structure. Although this means that, in comparison with the classic mixed herbaceous border, there is a relatively restricted range of planting, at least I know from experience that what is there will cope with both the constraints of the site and extremes of weather. And, in any case, there is a range of foliage provided by other long haul inhabitants (such as the acanthus) as well as flower type and colour (loosestrife, salvias, geraniums) so that despite the limited range of planting, there's a surprising diversity of form and colour throughout the season. In short, a small scale success, which, above all, gives us a great deal of pleasure -- which, ultimately must surely be the point of gardening.
Monday 31 May 2010
Saturday 29 May 2010
Garden: major works & change
Having inherited someone else's idea of a garden -- together with some hard landscaping (the koi carp tank) -- we had to decide on what to tackle first, keeping in mind that the first priority when moving into a new house is to deal with the interior rather than set to work in the garden. In the event, both the exterior and interior proved to be the work of some years, from which a lesson may be drawn: deal with significant changes asap. For instance, the living area of the house had been decorated in a yellow of considerable vileness. (Why on earth anyone would choose yellow as an interior colour is beyond belief, but given the character of the ghastly vendor, her choice of colour was not all that surprising.) Anyway, we tolerated the dreadful colour for a year, until it reached a point when we could no longer ignore it. And much work ensued (interior decorating always proves to be more time, energy and £ consuming than envisaged, and is a bit like parenthood, with a similar mixture of pain and delight!)
As to the garden, we eventually filled in the tank (or at least, we employed someone to do it), repaved the upper patio and used the paving to pave the lower one, removed the lanky tamarisk, the overbearing cherry laurel (whose flowers exude a very nauseous scent), the energetic forsythia (whose upward and lateral growth required major trimming each summer), and miscellaneous other unwanted plants. Eventually the borders were more or less cleared for action.
Meanwhile, I planted three bamboo, two yellow and one black, in the bed which separates the lower patio from the lawn. These keep company with the cordyline and the fan palm, so all together form a vaguely exotic screen, beyond which the lower patio is visible. This has proved to be a useful spot for storing pots and bags of potting mixture, as well as an ideal location for potted hostas, which thrive in this semi shaded spot.
The planting of the borders was to be the next project, and it remains a work in progress. But then, all gardening is a work in progress. The main lesson to be taken from our experience of inheriting a garden is, firstly, allow a season for border plants to reveal themselves -- spring bulbs, for instance, had died back when we moved in, so it was wise to wait until next spring to see what surprises would be in store. Secondly, if there are big shrubs and trees which are beyond their useful life, including those which are now out of scale with the garden, get rid of them expeditiously. They are usually a problem, often being deep rooted, and will therefore take a lot of effort, as well as a need to remove the remains, and all of that is best done in one fell swoop.
I suspect that there are lessons for wider application in this. When moving into a significant management position in a new organization, spend some time (e.g. 100 days) sussing things out by doing a lot of listening and noting, and then, having identified areas that need change, go for it. Ultimately, and unfortunately, that may involve transplanting or even removing some plants/people. At best, it may mean having to do some careful cultivation and retraining because, of course, people like plants grow into certain attitudes and patterns of behaviour which can't be altered instantly.
As to the garden, we eventually filled in the tank (or at least, we employed someone to do it), repaved the upper patio and used the paving to pave the lower one, removed the lanky tamarisk, the overbearing cherry laurel (whose flowers exude a very nauseous scent), the energetic forsythia (whose upward and lateral growth required major trimming each summer), and miscellaneous other unwanted plants. Eventually the borders were more or less cleared for action.
Meanwhile, I planted three bamboo, two yellow and one black, in the bed which separates the lower patio from the lawn. These keep company with the cordyline and the fan palm, so all together form a vaguely exotic screen, beyond which the lower patio is visible. This has proved to be a useful spot for storing pots and bags of potting mixture, as well as an ideal location for potted hostas, which thrive in this semi shaded spot.
The planting of the borders was to be the next project, and it remains a work in progress. But then, all gardening is a work in progress. The main lesson to be taken from our experience of inheriting a garden is, firstly, allow a season for border plants to reveal themselves -- spring bulbs, for instance, had died back when we moved in, so it was wise to wait until next spring to see what surprises would be in store. Secondly, if there are big shrubs and trees which are beyond their useful life, including those which are now out of scale with the garden, get rid of them expeditiously. They are usually a problem, often being deep rooted, and will therefore take a lot of effort, as well as a need to remove the remains, and all of that is best done in one fell swoop.
I suspect that there are lessons for wider application in this. When moving into a significant management position in a new organization, spend some time (e.g. 100 days) sussing things out by doing a lot of listening and noting, and then, having identified areas that need change, go for it. Ultimately, and unfortunately, that may involve transplanting or even removing some plants/people. At best, it may mean having to do some careful cultivation and retraining because, of course, people like plants grow into certain attitudes and patterns of behaviour which can't be altered instantly.
Thursday 27 May 2010
My Garden Blog: Change
Next door, Patrick, our neighbour has employed a gardener to make some significant changes to the garden -- changes which have some impact on our own. The division between our gardens consists largely of an unplanned mixed hedge, with bushes and climbing plants on both sides, including masses of ivy. Similarly, along the back fence, which overlooks the lane which goes out onto the footpath and road on Gravel Hill, there is a substantial array of ivy which over the years has formed a high, thick hedge which provides shelter and privacy. Our neighbour has decided to get rid of the ivy, and in doing so is reducing both the shelter and the privacy. So, the rather snug and private haven of our garden is being compromised. Worrying.
Ivy is, of course, a pest, and is best not invited into the garden at all. When she replaced the dividing fence between our gardens last summer, Pamela our other neighbour agreed that we must nuke all the ivy which had grown up along the old fence. It had, in fact, become a weed, and despite being cut back, kept vigorously reasserting itself and overwhelming other plants. Our attack seems to have worked, and on that side, we have an ivy free zone.
I shan't be sorry to see most of the ivy go on the other side, but am now considering the consequential changes, top of which will be installing a new fence. That, however, will have to wait until the end of the year, when there will be seasonal cutting back, and the garden will be in winter mode. Meanwhile, it looks as if we're going to have to get used to a new era of openness.
I've posted a few garden pix on my Flickr page. Visit:
http://www.flickr.com/photos/gravelhill/
Ivy is, of course, a pest, and is best not invited into the garden at all. When she replaced the dividing fence between our gardens last summer, Pamela our other neighbour agreed that we must nuke all the ivy which had grown up along the old fence. It had, in fact, become a weed, and despite being cut back, kept vigorously reasserting itself and overwhelming other plants. Our attack seems to have worked, and on that side, we have an ivy free zone.
I shan't be sorry to see most of the ivy go on the other side, but am now considering the consequential changes, top of which will be installing a new fence. That, however, will have to wait until the end of the year, when there will be seasonal cutting back, and the garden will be in winter mode. Meanwhile, it looks as if we're going to have to get used to a new era of openness.
I've posted a few garden pix on my Flickr page. Visit:
http://www.flickr.com/photos/gravelhill/
Change: the John Lewis case
In his FT column, Stefan Stern (24th May) commented on the success of the John Lewis organization in implementing some major changes, which included, for a notably paternalistic organization, some pretty hard nosed changes to its business model, with the loss of 250 jobs on the closure of a warehouse, and other redundancies linked to further changes. Significantly, the senior management decided to commission a consultant specializing in change management to advise them during the transition.
He reports that the consultant, Catherine Sandler, co-founder of the London based Sandler Lanz consultancy, advised that at times of great turbulence and uncertainty, leaders need to offer “psychological containment”. She explains that “There has to be congruence between what employees are feeling and how leaders behave.” And she lists four things which leaders have to do.
1. They need to be on the front foot, taking “prompt, visible and considered action”.
2. They have to communicate honestly, on the basis that people prefer to know the worst than fear the worst.
3. If possible, they need to find a positive and even inspiring message amid the bad news.
4. Last – and hardest of all – they need to convey empathy, “in a way that is authentic to them”.
Stern reports that the first time the MD suggested to senior managers that they discuss 'how all this feels', he was greeted with groans because these are people who are highly task focused, and displaying empathy isn't a high priority for people under considerable pressure. Evidently some of this approach must have rubbed off on them, however, and the company has managed to come through the transition very successfully, with sales up by 15 per cent for the first quarter -- comfortably ahead of the competition.
John Lewis is an exceptional organization, but is not above taking some tough decisions. However, it appears to have done so in a way which is congruent with its unique and long standing set of values, as established by John Spedan Lewis, who, on the verge of the great depression, established the partnership model of corporate ownership which is unique to the organization. Ensuring the survival of that model and of the set of values associated with it, not to mention the business itself, the current leadership realized that significant changes would be needed, and rather than shying away from them, they took good advice and went ahead. A salutary lesson in both recognizing the need for change and in managing it successfully.
He reports that the consultant, Catherine Sandler, co-founder of the London based Sandler Lanz consultancy, advised that at times of great turbulence and uncertainty, leaders need to offer “psychological containment”. She explains that “There has to be congruence between what employees are feeling and how leaders behave.” And she lists four things which leaders have to do.
1. They need to be on the front foot, taking “prompt, visible and considered action”.
2. They have to communicate honestly, on the basis that people prefer to know the worst than fear the worst.
3. If possible, they need to find a positive and even inspiring message amid the bad news.
4. Last – and hardest of all – they need to convey empathy, “in a way that is authentic to them”.
Stern reports that the first time the MD suggested to senior managers that they discuss 'how all this feels', he was greeted with groans because these are people who are highly task focused, and displaying empathy isn't a high priority for people under considerable pressure. Evidently some of this approach must have rubbed off on them, however, and the company has managed to come through the transition very successfully, with sales up by 15 per cent for the first quarter -- comfortably ahead of the competition.
John Lewis is an exceptional organization, but is not above taking some tough decisions. However, it appears to have done so in a way which is congruent with its unique and long standing set of values, as established by John Spedan Lewis, who, on the verge of the great depression, established the partnership model of corporate ownership which is unique to the organization. Ensuring the survival of that model and of the set of values associated with it, not to mention the business itself, the current leadership realized that significant changes would be needed, and rather than shying away from them, they took good advice and went ahead. A salutary lesson in both recognizing the need for change and in managing it successfully.
Tuesday 25 May 2010
My Garden Blog: The Legacy
When moving into an existing house, new owners will discover a legacy waiting them in the garden. In our case, the house was originally owned by a lady who was, according to neighbours, a bit of a blue stocking, and the garden had been planted with a carefully selected range of plants which, however, over the years had become too large or too tired, while, during the several years before we moved in, the house had been let, and the tenants had obviously had a very limited interested in gardening. So, we inherited a mixed legacy.
The garden (which, in metric measures is about 17 by 6 metres -- not an acreage) can be thought of as consisting of four quarters, and three main sections. The upper and lower quarters are patios, while the middle two quarters consist of a lawn. On either side, there are borders, south and north facing respectively. When we moved in, we discovered that in the bottom (or eastern) quarter, there was a deep tank which, we learned, had been constructed, under duress, by the estranged and soon to be former husband of the shrewish woman from whom we bought the house (we never actually met her, as throughout the difficult transaction she proved to be totally elusive). The tank had been the home for koi carp which, along with the venomous vender, had long since removed to a new home. The squalid contents of the abandoned tank resembled those of a large tea pot: tea coloured water and a mass of leaves from the copper beech overhead. It was clear that this curious piece of legacy would have to go, although achieving this looked more like being a piece of civil engineering than gardening!
Between the lower quarter and the lawn was a bed, covered in a semi-permeable membrane and mulch, in which were planted a cordyline australis, or, as it is better known in my native New Zealand, a cabbage tree, a fan palm, and a yew somewhat half heartedly trained over an arch way which separated the lower and middle halves of the garden.
The south facing border was a bit of a jumble, with lots of ill disciplined, and in some cases, invasive shrubs and ivy forming a virtual hedge. There was, nearest the upper patio, a flowering peony and a very played out tamarix tetrandra (or tamarisk). There were also several roses, some planted too close to the fence cum hedge, and one which was extensively growing in the hedge. This would prove to be the Kiftsgate rose, a vigorous climber, named after the garden where it was originally cultivated. [http://www.kiftsgate.co.uk/]
From nearest the upper patio, the north facing border contained a japanese quince (or Chaenomeles), an all over the place Forsythia, a cherry laurel, and a mature prunus. This border was also copiously filled with Euphorbia Amygdaloides, var. Robiae (or Mrs Robb's bonnet). As the garden books point out, she 'can be invasive'.
The upper patio included a built in planter along its eastern edge, in which there was a sad rose and other sorry planting.
Both side borders also contained a selection of miscellaneous plants, including various kinds of spring flowering bulbs, some yellow loosestrife and bits and pieces whose identity would be revealed in due course.
So, what we had was the ghost of someone else's idea of a garden. Or, indeed, at least two people's ideas of a garden. Of all of these pieces of legacy, the only really useful inheritance was likely to be the garden shed, located in the lowest part of the garden, the cordyline, the palm and the prunus. The challenge from now on was how to avoid being imprisoned by these other ideas, and, while preserving some of the legacy, attempting to put our own stamp on the garden. In short, we were faced by the challenges which face all change agents: existing structures and practices which militate against introducing innovation. And, as I was to learn, plants, like people, have their own habits and preferences, so over the years, the half formed visions of how the garden should look have been subject to many a compromise. Of which more anon.
The garden (which, in metric measures is about 17 by 6 metres -- not an acreage) can be thought of as consisting of four quarters, and three main sections. The upper and lower quarters are patios, while the middle two quarters consist of a lawn. On either side, there are borders, south and north facing respectively. When we moved in, we discovered that in the bottom (or eastern) quarter, there was a deep tank which, we learned, had been constructed, under duress, by the estranged and soon to be former husband of the shrewish woman from whom we bought the house (we never actually met her, as throughout the difficult transaction she proved to be totally elusive). The tank had been the home for koi carp which, along with the venomous vender, had long since removed to a new home. The squalid contents of the abandoned tank resembled those of a large tea pot: tea coloured water and a mass of leaves from the copper beech overhead. It was clear that this curious piece of legacy would have to go, although achieving this looked more like being a piece of civil engineering than gardening!
Between the lower quarter and the lawn was a bed, covered in a semi-permeable membrane and mulch, in which were planted a cordyline australis, or, as it is better known in my native New Zealand, a cabbage tree, a fan palm, and a yew somewhat half heartedly trained over an arch way which separated the lower and middle halves of the garden.
The south facing border was a bit of a jumble, with lots of ill disciplined, and in some cases, invasive shrubs and ivy forming a virtual hedge. There was, nearest the upper patio, a flowering peony and a very played out tamarix tetrandra (or tamarisk). There were also several roses, some planted too close to the fence cum hedge, and one which was extensively growing in the hedge. This would prove to be the Kiftsgate rose, a vigorous climber, named after the garden where it was originally cultivated. [http://www.kiftsgate.co.uk/]
From nearest the upper patio, the north facing border contained a japanese quince (or Chaenomeles), an all over the place Forsythia, a cherry laurel, and a mature prunus. This border was also copiously filled with Euphorbia Amygdaloides, var. Robiae (or Mrs Robb's bonnet). As the garden books point out, she 'can be invasive'.
The upper patio included a built in planter along its eastern edge, in which there was a sad rose and other sorry planting.
Both side borders also contained a selection of miscellaneous plants, including various kinds of spring flowering bulbs, some yellow loosestrife and bits and pieces whose identity would be revealed in due course.
So, what we had was the ghost of someone else's idea of a garden. Or, indeed, at least two people's ideas of a garden. Of all of these pieces of legacy, the only really useful inheritance was likely to be the garden shed, located in the lowest part of the garden, the cordyline, the palm and the prunus. The challenge from now on was how to avoid being imprisoned by these other ideas, and, while preserving some of the legacy, attempting to put our own stamp on the garden. In short, we were faced by the challenges which face all change agents: existing structures and practices which militate against introducing innovation. And, as I was to learn, plants, like people, have their own habits and preferences, so over the years, the half formed visions of how the garden should look have been subject to many a compromise. Of which more anon.
Monday 24 May 2010
My Garden Blog
Having pondered on whether or not to get involved in blogging, I've decided to give it a go. My real concern with blogging is finding a topic to blog about. After all, a blog about the blogger has a limited appeal. So, this thought came to me in the garden: why not blog about the garden?
I'm not a highly informed verging on professional gardener who knows all about soil characteristics, types of fertilizer, pruning regimes, and so on. I'm just a potterer who enjoys trying to translate some incompletely formed ideas about what I would like the garden to look like into tangible form -- and learning quite a lot of things not only about gardening, but about Life in General along the way.
The context: we live in a small terrace house in the side of Gravel Hill in Henley-on-Thames which, as its name indicates is in a river valley. We are on the west side of the valley, and our house faces east west, with the garden at the rear, so it receives morning sunshine. The housing estate in which we live was built in the early 1970s on the site of Paradise House, a Georgian mansion of no great architectural merit, but possessing grounds planted with specimen trees, most of which were preserved in the transition to a small housing estate consisting predominantly of terraced houses in a curious melange of suburban 'Georgian' and sort of modern styles.
Our terrace of four dwellings is in the middle of the estate (or 'Close' to be precise -- the estate is a cul de sac so there is no thru traffic). The gardens are roughly 60 feet by 20 feet, and those larger gardens at each end of the terrace contain one of the specimen trees, a pink horse chestnut in the southern one, and a huge copper beech in the northern one. These, and other remaining old trees -- they will all be around 200 years old -- provide a feeling of maturity to an otherwise characterless housing development.
However, for gardeners, these trees are a mixed blessing. Large trees provide shade -- potentially, an excess of it -- and they are water and nutrient hungry. So, gardening in their proximity is a bit of a challenge.
When the estate came onto the market, a number of the original owners (of whom there are about two remaining, one being one of our neighbours) were retiring professionals. And some of these were very keen and knowledgeable gardeners. So, when we moved in here nine years ago, we inherited some mature planting, some of which was either straggly and unkempt, or had really reached the end of its life cycle. Among these was a fine tree peony, of which more another time.
The gardens are fenced, and down the northern fence, there has evolved a miscellaneous mixture of shrubs and ivy (of which more another time, too). The northern side is south facing, and so it's the only part of the garden which stands much chance of receiving sunshine. It's also in the lee of the copper beach. The southern side is north facing, so represents a challenge since anything planted there will have to survive on a limited sunshine diet. Again, a gardening challenge.
The middle section is lawn. As I'm not a lawn enthusiast (except when other people are responsible for its upkeep!), this has been left pretty much to look after itself. This is in contrast to the approach of our neighbours. Our northern neighbour, Patrick, has the responsibility for maintaining the protected beech tree. But this same tree means that achieving a thriving lawn is pretty well impossible. Our immediate southern neighbour, Pamela, although quite a keen gardener, had her plot paved over, with space for a pool and a south facing border. So, she is lawnless. Finally. Rumen, the guardian of the pink horse chestnut ('One of the reasons we bought the house', he says) is a lawn enthusiast, and has just had a new lawn laid to replace its moss ridden predecessor.
So, that's the context. More to follow in subsequent blogs
I'm not a highly informed verging on professional gardener who knows all about soil characteristics, types of fertilizer, pruning regimes, and so on. I'm just a potterer who enjoys trying to translate some incompletely formed ideas about what I would like the garden to look like into tangible form -- and learning quite a lot of things not only about gardening, but about Life in General along the way.
The context: we live in a small terrace house in the side of Gravel Hill in Henley-on-Thames which, as its name indicates is in a river valley. We are on the west side of the valley, and our house faces east west, with the garden at the rear, so it receives morning sunshine. The housing estate in which we live was built in the early 1970s on the site of Paradise House, a Georgian mansion of no great architectural merit, but possessing grounds planted with specimen trees, most of which were preserved in the transition to a small housing estate consisting predominantly of terraced houses in a curious melange of suburban 'Georgian' and sort of modern styles.
Our terrace of four dwellings is in the middle of the estate (or 'Close' to be precise -- the estate is a cul de sac so there is no thru traffic). The gardens are roughly 60 feet by 20 feet, and those larger gardens at each end of the terrace contain one of the specimen trees, a pink horse chestnut in the southern one, and a huge copper beech in the northern one. These, and other remaining old trees -- they will all be around 200 years old -- provide a feeling of maturity to an otherwise characterless housing development.
However, for gardeners, these trees are a mixed blessing. Large trees provide shade -- potentially, an excess of it -- and they are water and nutrient hungry. So, gardening in their proximity is a bit of a challenge.
When the estate came onto the market, a number of the original owners (of whom there are about two remaining, one being one of our neighbours) were retiring professionals. And some of these were very keen and knowledgeable gardeners. So, when we moved in here nine years ago, we inherited some mature planting, some of which was either straggly and unkempt, or had really reached the end of its life cycle. Among these was a fine tree peony, of which more another time.
The gardens are fenced, and down the northern fence, there has evolved a miscellaneous mixture of shrubs and ivy (of which more another time, too). The northern side is south facing, and so it's the only part of the garden which stands much chance of receiving sunshine. It's also in the lee of the copper beach. The southern side is north facing, so represents a challenge since anything planted there will have to survive on a limited sunshine diet. Again, a gardening challenge.
The middle section is lawn. As I'm not a lawn enthusiast (except when other people are responsible for its upkeep!), this has been left pretty much to look after itself. This is in contrast to the approach of our neighbours. Our northern neighbour, Patrick, has the responsibility for maintaining the protected beech tree. But this same tree means that achieving a thriving lawn is pretty well impossible. Our immediate southern neighbour, Pamela, although quite a keen gardener, had her plot paved over, with space for a pool and a south facing border. So, she is lawnless. Finally. Rumen, the guardian of the pink horse chestnut ('One of the reasons we bought the house', he says) is a lawn enthusiast, and has just had a new lawn laid to replace its moss ridden predecessor.
So, that's the context. More to follow in subsequent blogs
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