I don't know the name of this rose. I don't know its age or where it came from. Not being very clever with roses I can't even tell you what type of rose it is. I do know that it was here when I came nearly 3 years ago and that it is carrying this single bloom just now as we head towards November.
It's probably not a rose I would have chosen, but when I look at it on a rather dreich autumn day it looks beautiful to me and, certainly, I have no intention of replacing it with anything else.
I also did not choose another plant that is still in bloom. I bought it, I planted it, and I have since increased it by cuttings, but it was never my intention to have a white decorative type. I thought I had bought a colourful single bloom called "Braveheart" that would mark Scotland's winning of independence in 2014. Well, Scotland got no Independence and I got no Braveheart, Instead, I got the unknown bloom below.
And for Rose and Dahlia I am deeply grateful, as indeed I am for all the life in this back garden.
In the October of this life in a back garden is it compulsory to become despondent? Is it inevitable that we lament the passing of spring and summer joys we shall never see again? Is it our fate to regret the opportunities missed and rue our failures? Do we see only the encroaching darkness of winter approaching and see everything coming to a cold, empty end in December? Some would have you believe that is all there is to see.
However, in this back garden while all things must pass, nothing ever really ends. Some might say that is just a point of view.
But here is the reality. Last autumn leaves fell from the trees, were collected, chopped, put in pile in a cage and left to do their thing. And over the past year, as flowers go over, shrubs are cut back and perennials die back all this stuff is put in the compost bins and with the occasional turn is left for the worms and microbes to have a feast.
And now I have bags of Leaf Mould and Garden Compost - sieved to make it manageable and the bits left over put on the bottom of the bin to start the process again. This glorious stuff, produce of the garden, will now be returned to garden - nourishing the soil, maintaining its structure, promoting the fungi that keep the whole garden alive and magically helping with both drainage and moisture retention.
All things must pass and nothing ends.
At this time of year, we even get some easily visible evidence of the fungal wonders that are going on underground all year round.
Having lifted the old strawberry plants and potted up the runners, this patch can take a new crop to accompany the Monarda and Verbena bonariensis. I've planted six Hollyhocks (Alcea rosea) that I have grown from seed in the hope they will give me magnificent spires of flowers next year. A mulch of garden compost should give them a fighting chance as should the copper collars around their feet. I have never grown Hollyhocks before - so there is something new happening here, this October.
Just in case you were worried about the strawberry plants - here they are in their own little cosy nursery. They shall grow up next year and give a crop the year after that.
In what way is this the end of things?
What of the glories of spring and summer?
The flowers of this Allium hollandicum 'Purple Sensation' have done their stuff and produced the seed - some of which I have sown and some of which I have left to self-seed. The foliage died back in its own time, refreshing the bulb which will bloom again next year. And in my view, what remains still looks beautiful in the low autumn light.
The empty seed pods of Honesty (Lunaria annua) look pretty spectacular to me too - indeed this is the main reason I have grown them and why I have collected a load of their seed to start their biennial cycle again.
However, summer has not finished with me yet. This is Dahlia 'Bishop of Llandaff' - a little restrained but nonetheless delightful to me.
Dahlia 'Sunshine' keeps smiling too. Tonight looks like it may be frosty and maybe this will be blackened tomorrow, but then I shall be free to lift the tuber and nurture it through the winter to start back into growth next February,
I've begun lifting the Zonal Geraniums (Pelargonium) and my hope is that I shall be able to take cuttings from these in spring next year - something else I have never done before: this life is so full of new experiences. The hanging plant is some Honesty I am drying for use as a winter decoration in the house reflected in the window. Outside the potting shed you can see still flowering are Fuchsia (unknown variety) and Gayfeather, Liatris spicata.
Looking from the potting shed I can still see dots of colour leaves of the Hawthorn beginning to pepper the path - leaves that will return to the garden next autumn.
The orange Spanish Poppies (Papaver rupifragum) have been flowering continuously since the beginning of May. How's that for good value - and hey they just seem to follow me around wherever I go.
Cyclamen hederifolium started flowering a few weeks ago and its mottled ivy-shaped foliage is now beginning to emerge and that will carry this plant through until it returns to sleep next spring.
So, it may be October but the path ahead certainly does not look dark to me. It is filled with hope and anticipation. It is a place where life is dependent upon death and where both states are transitory - all things must pass and nothing ends.
