I Never Promised You A Rose Garden

Last year there was a summer in this particular part of Scotland wherein lies my back garden.  This year, we are still waiting.

Meanwhile, the rain keeps falling and when it's not falling the sky is often grey and even when the sky is not grey it doesn't feel especially warm.  Some of us are grumbling.

Some of the plants are not happy.

Poor old Rose - she's not really enjoying this much at all.

I can't say her slightly sturdier friend, also called Rose, is much happier.

The African Daisies (Osteospermum) have just shut themselves up altogether - there's no way they are coming out to play today.

The poor old Cornflower (Centaurea cyanus) is trying to duck down under this pot for cover, but without much success.

And the Delphinium though much bigger and therefore, you might think, having greater resources and the benefit of Fuchsia magellanica to hide behind, isn't doing much better.

Corn Poppies (Papaver rhoeas) that like to dance in the sun are simply pooped.

Meadow grass is mashed.

Ox eye daisies (Leucanthemum vulgare) are giving way under the yoke of the deluge.

And even the stinging nettles (Urtica dioica) are being splayed.

But some things love all this rain.

Slugs.  Even on gravel the slugs are managing to get in and eat the Hollyhock (Alcea rosea) seedlings.

Mind you the slugs haven't yet devastated the Hostas which particularly love rain - indeed they do.  This is Hosta sieboldiana.

And raindrops can look pretty on the leaves of Lady's Mantle - Alchemilla mollis.

Fuchsia from the wetlands of South America seems quite happy too as does this Sedge - Carex comans.

The prostate Hypericum is a little bedraggled in places but is still shining in the gloom.

While standing at over 6 feet now, the Filipendula rubra 'Venusta' is thinking about coming into bloom - although it's common name is Queen of the Prairies which implies it likes dryness, it actually thrives on having its feet in the damp.


If you have been out in the countryside here or in the North of England you may notice it's creamy foamy British relative, Meadowsweet, is looking particularly spectacular just now.

Yellow Wax Bells (Kirengishoma palamata) is now in its second year and is enjoying this wetness particularly as the copper band around its base also seems to be keeping the slugs away.

It may even flower this year.

And some sunny flowers don't mind the rain, like this simply dazzling Pot or English Marigold - Calendula officinalis.

From a distance parts of the garden look normal.  Some flowers are open.  Some flowers are shut.  Some are struggling and I am guessing that means the bees must be struggling too which is not good news.


Things are very green.

The roses are not so vibrant,


But then . . . .



. . . . .  I never promised you a Rose Garden:

The Silly Back Garden.

When I am depressed I am simultaneously the most arrogant and most self-hating person I know.  I know I am the only person in the world who really cares or who is right about everything while at the same time I know I know nothing and that I don't really care about anyone.  None of you are okay and I'm certainly not okay as the Transactional Analysts might put it.

Some people say their race or nation or religion is the best in the world and needs to be promoted while at the same time believing their religion or nation or race is so weak it needs to be protected from annihilation by infidels, foreigners or aliens.

My Back Garden doesn't seem to suffer from any of those afflictions.  It seems to welcome everyone who wants to thrive in it regardless of where they come from, regardless of what they look like, and regardless of who they have interbred with.  It doesn't appear remotely interested in my beliefs or anyone else's.

What a silly garden.

Rosmarinus officinalis (Rosemary) and Foeniculum vulgare 'Purpureum' (Bronze Fennel) from the Mediterranean Basin; red Papaver rhoeas (Corn Poppy) which used to bloom in the No Man's Land fought over by France, Germany and Britain a hundred years ago; Pelargonium (most people call these Geraniums) from Southern Africa; Filipendula rubra from the prairies of the USA; Fuchsia magellanica from South America; Leucanthemum vulgare (Oxeye Daisy) from across Europe and temperate Asia; Ligustrum ovalifolium (Privet Hedge) from Korea and Japan.

Madness.

Yellow flowers of Hypericum - this genus grows everywhere in the world except the poles, the deserts and the deepest tropics - bit of a Gypsy one might say.

The species Hypericum perforatum (St John's Wort) is one of the oldest known antidepressants.  How could such a joyful flower be anything else?

The grooved leaves in the foreground belong Tricyrtis formosana from Taiwan.

A pure English Rose (Rosa) that was growing here when I came to this garden.  Except that this is almost certainly a hybrid descendant from a mix of Persian and Chinese roses - the root stock upon which it grows might be British though.

More orientals - this Lily is Lilium regale from China.  Its stunning scent pervades the evening garden.

Beware of China, some people say.

Not happy with just one Lily this is Lilium 'Eyeliner' - not such a strong scent but a very domineering bloom.

Back to our old colony South Africa and Osteospermum (Cape Daisy).

Some people don't want to see Africans crossing the Channel to bloom on our island shores.

Oenothera speciosa (Mexican Evening Primrose) doesn't even recognise the Rio Grande borderline - being native to both Mexico and the southern states of the USA.

The quintessential English or British cottage Garden favourite - the tall Delphinium is another dis-respecter of national boundaries coming from all over the Northern hemisphere and the mountains of Africa.

The same is true of Dianthus, the two flowering genera in the foreground: Dianthus 'Rebekah' and Dianthus deltoides.

English lavender must be English of course - well actually it seems to originate from the mountains of Spain.  This form is from a beautiful English Garden designed by an American: Lavandula angustifolia 'Hidcote'.

Don't I grow any British natives?  Of course.  The yellow flower here is Hieracium pilosella - Hawkweed.  Of course, most British people who want a tidy unspoiled British garden see it as a weed that contaminates their immaculate lawns or pollutes their driveways.

To me I think I goes rather well with the bright red of the Begonia from the world's tropical areas.









And I guess that's me and my back garden.  When we are okay then everyone is okay and if I keep thinking that way then depression and all the attendant hate that goes with it is kept at bay where it belongs.  Instead both myself and the flowers prosper while the love these plants engender inspires me to grow more for next year:

And where do all these plants from all over the world belong?  They belong in my back garden and it would be wonderful if you thought some of them belonged in your garden too.  But that's up to you.

To Be A Flower, A Fruit Or A Seed?

To be a flower, a fruit or a seed?  That is the question.  Or at least I used to think that was the question.

To be a flower?  And if a flower, then what kind of flower?

Corn Poppy dropping its head in the rain: Papaver rhoeas.

Cobweb House Leek so called because of the apparent web on the foliage: Sempervivium arachnoideum 'Rubrum'.

What you may think is the flower here is not - the flowers are those tiny things in the middle - hundreds of them.  This is a form of Fleabane: Erigeron.

This flower is so torn it is actually called Ragged Robin: Lychnis flos-cuculi.  It has hitched a lift here in a pot of Red Campion - not entirely sure how as it usually likes damp places - maybe the drainage in this pot isn't up to much.

A single rose - Rosa - : single meaning it has only the one set of petals as opposed to the more common garden rose which has rows and rows of petals.  Bees like these while the other roses are pretty useless from their point of view.

This is what remains of the sumptuous and scented red Rosa 'Etoile d'Hollande' whose picture I posted back in June - has it been pollinated?  I'd be surprised really, but is that a fruit forming?

The spectacular trumpets of the Asiatic Lily - Lilium 'Blackout'.

The simple yet exquisite beauty of our native Meadow Cranesbill - Geranium pratense - flowering for the first time in this garden.

One of the first flowers whose form caught my imagination as an adult years ago when I knew even less than I do now, this is Fuchsia magellanica - delicate and exotic-looking but tough as old nails (although I have often found rusty old nails to be a bit fragile I assume the makers of traditional similes knew what they were doing).

Yellow florets of Hieracium pilosella while the first red flowers of the tuberous Begonia are appearing - the latter are in a container as I think it would be tricky to get these two plants to grow happily alongside each other in the ground.

More florets - this time the orange of Fox and Cubs - Pilosella aurantiaca - and of course, those grasses are in flower as is the Red Campion - Silene dioica.

Is this grass in flower or is it in seed?  I think it is both, maybe: Greater Quaking Grass - Briza maxima.

Urtica dioica - stinging nettle - just lets its flowers dangle while sending vigorous rhizomes underground - so does it really need the flowers?  Well they help sustain genetic diversity in the species thus improving its survivability - a good argument against racism as well, by the way.

Honeysuckle - in this case it is Lonicera periclymenum 'Graham Thomas'.

Some flowers look like they were made for bees - or were bees made for them?  A white Foxglove - Digitalis purpurea f. albiflora.  The answer, of course, is that they both evolved - but how?

The Maiden Pink - Dianthus deltoides - is the plant dominating this picture - called Pink not because of its colour but because of the pinking around the edge of its petals as if they had been trimmed with pinking shears.

And finally, florally speaking, a carpet of Creeping Red Thyme developing - Thymus coccineus, although I also have it listed as Thymus serpyllum 'Coccineus'.  So, which is the correct name?  I don't know, but either way don't let anyone steal it ....






To be a fruit?  And if a fruit, then what kind of fruit?

A Blueberry with fruits swollen waiting to turn purple - last year the blackbirds enjoyed these: Vaccinium corymbosum 'Patriot'.

But the Blackbirds aren't getting my strawberries - Fragaria - hence the netting.  They are slowly turning beautifully red and the botanists tell me they aren't really berries at all - but they are a fruit.

A flower that will be a fruit full of seeds: Bramble, or Blackberry - Ribes spp. - growing up through one of the Yew trees.

Fruit or seed?  Or both? Peony Rose, Paeonia, looks prehistoric to my eye and just a little bit scary.













To be a seed?  And if a seed, then what seed?

Seeds of the Snake's Head Fritillary - Fritillaria meleagris.  I collected these after taking this picture and will have a bash at growing some from seed - patience will be required.






On the plant you more often see the case that contains the seed (that would be a fruit, or a nut or whatever...).

Poppy - in this instance it is the orange Spanish Poppy- Papaver rupifragum.  Very pretty with its little windows at the top of the capsule through which the ripe seed will spill on a suitably windy day.

Poppy too and yet it manages to be both very different and very similar to the Spanish Poppy at the same time.  This is the Welsh Poppy (flower in the background) - Meconopsis cambrica.

Another little capsule full of seeds, this time on Red Campion - Silene dioica - no windows this time, just an open roof.

Some like  Columbine - Aquilegia vulgaris - make fancy little ships with their seed pods.  These belong to a huge family called Ranunculaceae and many of its members make a similar shape e.g Delphinium, Nigella and even Helleborus.  I'd show you if I could but the Delphiniums are still in flower - although I think I have a Hellebore.

Ach, too late - the seeds from this Hellebore or Lenten Rose - Helleborus orientalis hybrid  possibly - have long gone, but maybe you can still get a sense of what I mean.

Some seeds will just drop to the ground as they ripen: Windflower - Anemone blanda 'Blue Shades'.

While some seeds grow wings and fly - this is a cheat as this tree grows in my neighbour's garden but it largely overhangs mine so I feel I belong to it too.  It's a Maple - Acer - of some kind, but I don't know which.  Both flowers and seeds have a lovely crimson tinge and the leaves are clean of black spot unlike my Sycamore - Acer pseudoplatanus.

Honesty, Lunaria annua, has this attractive seedhead - the outer covering will peel off in time revealing the silver coins that I presume gave this its common name and certainly its generic name.








So which is to be? Flower, Fruit or Seed?  Well, I've decided it doesn't matter.  There's more to life than worrying about what stage I am at and while wise men can draw botanical distinctions in real life the boundaries are often very blurred - often it depends on your point of view.  They key for me is to try and savour whatever stage I am at and while looking at the detail is fascinating it is also good to keep my eye on the big pictures:

Of course, sometimes the big picture can look a mess but it's my mess and I am very grateful for it.