No I’m still here, enjoying the glorious weather on the Hebridean riviera, cosseting our holiday cottage visitors, planting bulbs and seeds, harvesting and preserving enough for a winter of apocalyptic proportions, and masquerading as a domestic goddess. Oh and in my spare time I’m general factotum, galley slave and supplier of tea and cakes.
Nothing new, but the absence of bulletins from the croft garden and pithy, erudite, learned comments usually means that my muse is either sulking or AWOL. The flibbertigibbet was just a bit miffed by the minor disarray caused by the arrival of the builders, the swathing of the house in green plastic sheets, the nuclear winter of plaster dust, the hammering, sawing and smell of paint. However, the final straw was the eviction from the home office and the disconnection of the faithful “all singing all dancing” desktop PC. The temporary replacement with the “etch-a-sketch touch screen thing” was too much for her sensitive artistic constitution, and having to listen to me curse such new fangled machines as the “spawn of the devil” was so traumatic that she decamped to the nearest spa (aka pub) to “take the waters”.
Unless there are any other unpleasant surprises to be revealed by the builders, work should be finished in another two weeks. So I’m shaking the moths out of my Harris tweed jacket, taking the cashmere out of mothballs, polishing the brogues, taming my hair and deserting the croft and mayhem for a few days to visit my family on the big island.
Normal service will be resumed at some point, so “hasta la vista baby “.
This summer we have had some particularly warm and calm days. On afternoons when it was too hot to garden, seeking just a zephyr of a breeze, I spent my time exploring the pools and rocky shore of the headland. I can devote hours to watching the movement of the seaweeds in the clear water and I’m totally entranced by the vibrant colours. Beautiful sea gardens created by nature.
With the increase in sea temperatures the marine fauna and flora around coasts is starting to change – as creatures from the south move northwards and those which prefer cooler waters retreat north. This summer gave me just a hint of this process in action as we had unusually large numbers of jellyfish in the coastal waters; including the compass jellyfish (Chrysaora hysoscella) which is normally found off the south west coast of Britain. When stranded on the beaches there is no hint of their delicate beauty, but when afloat they become almost ethereal.
Compass jellyfish (Chrysaora hysoscella)
The summer days pass too quickly and the autumn equinox approaches. When the pressure drops and the wind whistles in from the west, the local bird watchers start to twitch with excitement, anticipating the arrival of migrating birds blown off course as they move south to their wintering grounds. Leaving the twitchers to dash around after rare birds, I prefer to meander along the beach to see what the tide has washed in. Amongst the debris of plastic bottles, fish floats and mangled lobster creels, tangles of seaweed and crèches of bleached limpet and whelk shells, there is always something interesting and a potential addition to the cabinet of curiosities. Sometimes it is just a piece of driftwood, which if interestingly sculpted by time and tide is a destined for the garden, or a sheep skull or bleached crab claw. On other days, and usually when you least expect it, there will be a piece of whale bone, a perfectly polished piece of quartz, or an otter eating a fish.
This August we are having a foretaste of autumn as the tail of hurricane Bertha has been followed by blustery winds and squally showers. Too early to deliver rare birds, but the westerly winds brought some exotic creatures to our shores. Buoy barnacles (Dosima fascicularis) and by-the-wind-sailors (Velella velella), more commonly seen off Cornwall and the west coast of Ireland, have been washed up on our beaches. These are pelagic species usually found in the warm waters of the Atlantic and the Pacific. Millions of Velella have been stranded on the coast of North America this summer, not an unusual event, but much earlier in the year than expected, perhaps due to the early arrival of strong westerly winds. Indications of a strengthening El Niño or climatic oscillations associated with long-term climate change? I can only watch and wonder as these beautiful creatures appear and perhaps try to minimise the size of my footsteps on the planet.
August may seem rather early in the gardening year to be thinking about the planting plan for next summer, but this far north I can see autumn over the garden wall. The glory of our island cottage garden is short: it is slow to start, building up to an explosion of colour and then a rapid, gentle decline and annihilation as the autumn gales arrive. Our season is too short for the late flowering perennials and in some years it can even be a struggle for the tough and dependable Sedum telephium ‘Autumn Joy’.
When I started planning the cottage garden, I knew that the geography, soil and climate would determine not only what I could grow but also my choice of features. A garden without trees, shrubs and climbing plants to provide the skeleton with a limited choice of herbaceous plants required some lateral thinking. The obvious answer seemed to be a version of the Dutch style of perennial ecological planting, but could it be successfully scaled down to cottage garden size? I also knew I could never compete with nature’s own ecological planting plan when the machair bloomed on the other side of the garden wall.
Three years later and I feel that I am making progress and trying not be too frustrated by my failures. I am slowly learning what will grow and how to put plant combinations together. Most of the successes are serendipity rather than good planning and whilst I have to admit that I would not deliberately put pink and orange together or even juxtapose blue or red with orange, the effect can be stunning. The softer shades of blue, mauve and pink tend to prevail, but with our very strong coastal light there have to be splashes of vibrant colour.
Marigolds with borage
California poppies with maiden pinks
Nasturtiums with California poppies
The borders are currently too narrow and need to be widened to enable my design to flourish. As space is limited, I plan to weave swathes of plant combinations through the borders to make ribbons of colour, an approach which might be more effective than planting large blocks of single species. This requires large numbers of plants, therefore I need to propagate my “successful” plants to make progress. This will take time, but I am now more confident that I can make my concept work. However, I am still chasing rainbows trying to devise new plant combinations. I have yet to learn the value of simplicity and want to try just one or two more species!
I have also discovered that there are parts of the garden where it is impossible to get herbaceous plants to grow. I tried various combinations of ground hugging plants, but as these were slowly wiped out by the winter gales I was left with a mixture of sedums. In the summer they flower profusely and are joined by self-seeded harebells (Campanula rotundifolia), thrift and alchemilla erythropoda. In this very exposed border these will not endure the winter gales, but the sedums survive by retreating into the protected pockets between the stones. This mulch of beach cobbles also prevents the soil from being eroded by the wind and helps mask the empty border syndrome in the winter and early spring.
Although not part of my original plan, the more exposed parts of the garden are slowly being covered by my sedum litho-mulch. It is rather more attractive than the patches of scrubby grass posing as “lawn” and easier to maintain.
We have had a glorious summer and the garden has flowered with remarkable vigour and exuberance, surviving hoards of hungry slugs and battalions of weeds. The borders are now past their best and gently starting to fade. Perhaps a little blowsy, but still producing interesting colours and textures as the flowers are replaced by seed heads. This seems to suit the more gentle, golden light of the late summer as the shadows lengthen in the early evening.With the threat of being lashed by the tail of Hurricane Bertha, I really could not decide whether to be bold and take a scythe to the herbaceous borders and the herb garden or take my chance and keep my fingers crossed. In the end I decided that even this far north it was far too early to take such a drastic step. Although some plants are past their best, there are others which are still flowering and providing pollen and nectar for the bees. So the bees won and I will keep my fingers crossed and clear up the devastation if necessary.