A thing of Beauty..........

Another delayed post.

One of those odd ‘local’ holidays today (Monday 12^th July). The village shop is open and the post is being delivered but the surgery is closed. Aberdeen Trades so the city and many of its satellites, such as Portlethen and Westhill are off. But in recent years the edges are rather blurred. The big supermarkets are open as are most of the banks; the garages, even big chain ones appear not to be. Some took Friday off as well, though not officially.

When I moved here 20 years ago I found it odd and oddly disconcerting. Along with the schools’ occasional days and regional variations in holiday and in service days. Absolutely bonkers if you have family in different schools or work across a county boundary; not unusual or difficult in southern Aberdeenshire. I have not yet found a particularly good reason for them to still be in practice; when most communities consist largely of those working outwith the boundaries of the local community, and many of those communities are almost seamlessly merging, one into the other as consecutive developments sprawl ever further across the landscape. Perhaps it still makes the smallest sense for a large city, but then what about visitors? I cannot imagine

Perhaps there are readers who can offer enlightenment. Otherwise I shall remain yours, ‘ perplexed of Pitlochry’ (OK, I admit I am not from Pitlochry, but none of the real place names fit).

I suppose the good thing about unexpected, unplanned down days, when no-one is answering my phone calls or emails, especially if they are sunny ones, is the opportunity to do something unexpected. So, after the madness of the midday sun had passed I booted up, grabbed as many armfuls of tools and equipment as I might need and started up the north face of the Eiger. I had no plan, but there is always more to do than can be achieved and in the back of my mind was some pruning; some opening up.

I am several minds (that is a number most definitely greater than two) over my garden. It is largish (80 metres from tip to toe) and mature; though some might go a step further and call it elderly. It is on a slope in two directions and surrounded by slightly too well developed trees, ensuring few totally sunny areas.

The large expanse of grass is if truth be told, mostly moss, interspersed with variety of broad leaved invasive weeds, tree roots and suckers. Not sure if Alan Titchmarsh quite meant this when he suggested that ‘if it’s mostly green, leave it alone’.

At this time of year, much of the rest of the woodland pockets and wide sweeping borders of the main open garden are lush and verdant. That is not to say that most or even much of it is planned or beautiful; most it is managed to a reasonable degree, though this year again Ground Elder has taken hold with grasping, twisting knotted white knuckled fingers lassoing all in its path .

Taking on so large a task was not within the remit of time available so instead I got all brutal with an Escallonia, the one with a profusion of little glossy dark leaves and pink flowers that loves the sea air. Doesn’t seem to mind the stuff that curls round the edge of the Grampian foothills either. It’s not pretty; the trampled spent brown and bruised daffodils and bedraggled peonies beneath, nor the severely curtailed limbs, some 2 inches on diameter. But there are green shoots (oh that sounds so like an economic prediction and there is almost hiding space for there to be an elephant in the room) and it Will Survive ............ Go Gloria G, and possibly even prosper.

Perhaps it is a good time to make such drastic reduction, since the garden is showing signs of that late summer gap, and I am a tad disappointed to have little but roses to cut and take into the house. I have been lambasted in the past for such butchery but as I can’t see my garden from the house; well not unless I stand on the toilet seat in the boys bathroom, crane my neck, lean on one foot at a perilous angle and peer through the velux. And even then, in summer I can scarcely see beyond the lilac banking unless someone is moving about in very bright clothing beyond.

So, there are times in the year when the house is full to bursting, every nook and cranny crammed full of jugs, ots, buckets, urns, bowls and vases of whatever is blooming, broken or in danger of storm battering. First bluebells of all shades of creamy white, blues, bluey purples and pinks and possibly some hellebores . Then lilac, mostly white, that flower profusely high on the untamed bushes that serve as a boundary from the approach and the garden proper. Then a heady mix of aquilegia, the dusky Michelle Guinness and girly giggly pink and frilly Nora Barlow are favoured, mixed with Cerastium and multi hued Astrantia. Finally, and just before the roses please with their perfumed profusion comes the blowsy acidic froth of the Alchimilla Mollis, sometime punctuated by a droopy dangling blood red Peony, a spike of purple Lupin, some late flowering Michelle Guinness or a spike of Agapanthus.

Today (Wednesday) - yes it takes me a long time to edit, or rather STOP editing and amending. I need to return to last week's notes - it is raining; and cool; and breezy; and a hazy shade of summer. Variety in all things is ok.