Frederico The Frog...

Watering the plants this morning in the garden I was reminded of the therapeutic value of such moments and the sheer bliss involved. People think of bliss I think as intense pleasure, but I think there is also the sense of inner calm and peace that could be described as bliss. Until the dramatic end to the heatwave a little while back, watering the garden had become not so much a chore, that would be ridiculous, but nevertheless a responsibility. Not that I ever resented it and always enjoy it but anything that by its very nature needs to be done, literally ever day, can at times seems onerous. In other words, it can be easy to see it as a task, rather than a privilege.

 The significant rain in the last two weeks had reduced the need to water the plants so after today's little reminder, I am hoping for no more rain for a while. An activity which is only really possible for about 4 or five month of the year, should be treasured. You don’t know what you got till the whole things gone, the attitude of gratitude, summers lease being all too short etc.

So in probably just over a months’ time, this act will no longer be required and I’ll miss it. It’s a reminder, not only, of carpe diem – I learnt that phrase watching Roxanne with Steve Martin- seizing the day or indeed the moment, but trying to focus on that moment. Our minds are so distracted, filled with worries, pre-occupations, that simple acts such as this do allow one to forget.

“Someone saved my life tonight.” Elton John & Bernie Taupin. 1975

Saving Frederico…Frogs by their physical appearance are more pleasant company than toads.  No–one’s fault. Like with humans, it’s just the luck of the draw. Though a human being who doesn’t have the luck of being easy on the eye at least has the option of working on their personality. Toads, judging by the way the breed, presumably don’t. A violent, graceless, murderous orgy, I think is an apt description. They should do an animated version of Shakespeare’s Titus Andronicus with Toads, I reckon.

A frog’s presence is as soothing as their skin is smooth. Toads; bumpy and bilious, just ain’t got it.  Our frogs have become very approachable. They have a very calming energy too. Very still, sitting in the corner, a few feet away. So it was all the more gratifying that I saved Frederico’s life last night. It was about half-nine, dark, quiet and still and we heard some shuffling. This is perfect weather for frog spotting. Sure enough, it was Frederico, but I looked again and I wasn’t convinced. This frog seemed smaller and paler. It was, me thought, the other frog which appeared a couple of weeks ago. But where is Frederico? Do we have a usurper? Murder most foul amongst our amphibian friends? Should we call this new frog Macbeth? Then more shuffling. It seemed to be coming from the drain. Surely not? Closer inspection revealed a pair of goggly eyes seemingly belonging to Fred. He was trapped. Panic all round. But the cover lifts up and he gratefully and speedily jumped out, an inch from my hand. Joy all round. He then quickly moved past Macbeth (or Lady Macbeth as I think it’s a lady) who remained perfectly still and took his place behind the corner pipe. We ascertained that this is his specific place at night. A stand-off of epic proportions ensued. Neither one batted an eyelid. The tension was palpable. My life is not very exciting of course. Around a half hour later they remained as they were.  So I watered the plants thoroughly and not long after Lady Macbeth set off, presumably now confident in finding a damp corner to spend the night. Either that or Fred's chat was no good. Frogs need a damp place to spend their time. Otherwise they’ll dry out, you see.

Elsewhere the flowers remain sprightly but there are far fewer “buzzing things” to quote Baldrick’s description of a bee (Blackadder Three – The Dictionary) which is sad. The odd honeybee, the odd hoverfly and one or two brown bumbles.

So it’s a question of quality not quantity with my friends the bees and and as with the plant watering, I’ll cherish every moment I see a bee buzzing around before the wind turns to autumn and winter forcing the bees into retirement followed by the next life.

           

A swift end to Summer...? Let's hope not...

“But in nothing are swifts more singular than in their early retreat. They retire, as to the main body of them, by the tenth of August, and sometimes a few days sooner: and every straggler invariably withdraws by the twentieth”. Gilbert White  The Natural History of Selborne 1789

         He’s right, damn him. It’s the 7^th of August and I’ve just realized that I haven’t heard a swift in a few days and seen only one or two. As I said in a previous thread, few things symbolize summer more - in the city at least - than swifts screeching through the skies between the buildings. But does they’re parting symbolize the end of summer? In principle, not at all but it is a sign…

         What is it about summer anyway? What’s its significance? We grow up as children and associate summer with freedom. Freedom from school. Freedom from the humdrum or the routine. As adults, we associate it with freedom too. Unless it involves going to Center parks. But, yes, holidays or beer gardens or taking up tennis or whatever activity it may be that requires relative warmth and no rain. Either way, it’s about being more alive. Which makes sense. In summer everything else is alive. All of nature reveals itself. And this leads to my point. Prior to finding this particular Gilbert White quote regarding the swifts I was thinking about this summer’s continuing magnificence YET it’s imminent demise. So, discovering this particular one seemed pertinent to my thoughts. Ridiculous, you may say, I should be living in the moment, enjoying this glorious weather.  I am, of course, summer is the ultimate season to be in the moment, as it’s the season when we are freest to just “be”. We don’t need to worry about putting on a coat, turning on the heating, staying warm etc., all of which are necessary the rest of the year. It’s when we can get closest to nature. Another means by which we can just “be”. Of course, we have to stay cool in these hot summers, but that is ultimately a nice worry to have, unless you’re stuck on a London tube for too long. Moving into August, however, the last month of summer technically, it is inevitable, for me at least, that it’s on its way out. Truthfully, lamenting something's passing when it’s still here is rather dumb but I can’t help it. Whenever I think of August I feel a bit emotional, who knows why? Decades ago, when I was a football fan, August, the start of the season, was an exciting time. Pop songs were always good in August when I listened to pop songs. Maybe it’s just a nice time of year? It is often the nicest of the summer months but it’s been so splendid since May that it will do well to achieve that this year.

           Summers this hot, dry and long are slightly incongruous in this country. This is the green and pleasant land for a reason. Over two months of almost constant Mediterranean heat is an extraordinary thing, but it’s odd. And it’s also rare, unless the doomsday scenario proves otherwise. So let’s make the most of it. The petunias certainly are. They’re positively proclaiming the power and beauty of nature and the strength that summer gives. The tomatoes are building up a fair head of steam and there’s plenty of insects buzzing about. It’s this burst of life that I’m talking about. It literally gives me a buzz. Mosquitoes aside, which are a menace and rather psychotic here in North London. I remember as a kid, my uncle who lived in London at the time telling me about the mosquitoes in this part of the world. I didn't quite believe him. Growing up in Glasgow I thought mosquitoes only lived in Africa. My basil has grown beautifully but been destroyed but some pest or another, the lavender is attempting a comeback and the scabious remains the main draw for my small but loyal band of bees.

          The birds are quiet, they tend to be in August but there’s been a couple of new and welcome visitors. Frederico the frog now has a friend, or certainly some company. Time will tell if they become friends. The second frog appeared on Saturday night, ate something then disappeared behind a plant. Frogs are useful in the garden; they eat slugs amongst other things so make sure there’s always somewhere damp for them to spend time if you have no pond. The other visitor was a green bush cricket, a striking lime green beastie with big red eyes that seem to look straight at you. I had seen it earlier in the day when I trimmed a tree but it reappeared on Saturday night on the table and circulated several times around it before disappearing. Most amusing.

            So there it is. Who knows what further visitors and experiences are to occur this summer but I’m living in the moment either way.

Words on Wine: "Il faut cultiver son jardin." - Candide by Voltai...

Words on Wine: "Il faut cultiver son jardin." - Candide by Voltai...: My lavender plants are dying, I feel slighted, pained, a failure and confused. Isn't this lavender weather? Sa...

"Il faut cultiver son jardin." - Candide by Voltaire. 1758

My lavender plants are dying, I feel slighted, pained, a failure and confused. Isn't this lavender weather? Saving or reviving a plant’s life does not equate to saving or reviving a person’s life, of course, but the I think the instinct is similar. It’s paternal or maternal.  It’s not the same but there are elements in common. It’s nurturing, it’s protective, it’s a mutual relationship and if a plant suffers or dies you suffer a little.

These nurturing, parental thoughts came to me yesterday. The pink Hydrangea that appeared last summer has finally flowered this year. Its magnificent pink petals were one of the highlights of last year. All the more so as I didn’t even think I think I liked Hydrangeas, in fact I would have struggled to identify one but it had re-appeared as a result of the clearing work I did in that part of the garden the previous summer. Clearing space allowed it to revive itself in a magnificent display. Metaphors about clearing space literally manifest in a garden at times, allowing us to enjoy the beauty of nature, its power, its ability to have a renaissance.  The gardening metaphors are already there of course. We all know them; “Planting new seeds”, "reaping what you sow", "blossoming career". The French philosopher Voltaire said we need to “cultivate our garden” if we are to make something of our lives. Well that's how I understood it. Perhaps he was being ironic or facetious?  The world was far more savage in 1758 than it is now, though eeerily similar in some ways, so he must have been partly serious surely? Read the book, Candide, you'll know what I mean. I always liked that metaphor, it’s beautiful yet simplistic, it’s economical yet powerful, intimate yet vast. Get to the point, please. It took me to thirty-five to really become an actual gardener and I’m still learning. I’m not sure if Voltaire was interested in gardening, but literally cultivating your garden is one way of getting there.

A garden is an emotional relationship…you take responsibility. It’s holistic and reciprocal. It’s different for different people and as I said, I realise that gardening isn’t saving lives or curing diseases, but collectively if more people get involved it can only be good for the common good. I believe if more people in society took up gardening, discovered the joy and journey that is gardening, the world would be a slightly better place. I'm not a pessismistic satirist like Voltaire. I'm not a genius either but I'm a pragmatist and maybe an idealist. Collective responsibility. That’s not so common these days as we all have it a bit too easy, numbed by multi-media, sensationalism and additives. Just look at the politicians we've voted for or allowed to be voted in due to our collective irresponsability or indifference. I'm just saying. Gardening should be on the programme for every primary school on earth.

Anyway, back to this garden, the other news is the bramble bush. Brambles or blackberries, same thing. I’m not sure we could sell them at the local farmers’ market - not that you’d ever see me at a farmers’ market, I worry the smugness may be contagious – bit tiddly, but great to have fruit literally growing wild in the garden. Another metaphor! Should provide a brief feast for the Woodhouse and maybe a Blackcap if one stops by. Haven’t seen one this summer, sadly. Nice bird. Size of a large Robin, with a light body and a blackcap funnily enough.

Oh and the frog came into the house late last night, I opened the doors stepped out for a second, came back and it had hopped in, had to cajole it back out again. Love frogs, but not in the house, though I’ve probably had less agreeable flat-mates in the past.

A "herd" of Goldfinches....

In Gilbert White’s day, Goldfinches were almost certainly a bird of the countryside and not the cities. Today, there’s six of them, two adults and four young on my lawn. Now, there weren’t so many cities in the 18^th century, of course, but the only time you were likely to see a goldfinch in the city would be in a cage, their pretty colours and voices charming our ancestors with their slightly different moral code in regard to domestic pets and many other forms of domesticity, for that matter. I actually saw some goldfinches in a cage in Spain a few years ago and was rather shocked, but is it any worse than having a budgie in a cage? The only difference is that budgies are not native birds so our only experience of them is in a cage. Either way, Goldfinches give far more pleasure out of a cage.

Now the reason they were primarily birds of the country was due to diet. They like seeds. Seeds such as thistle seeds and from other plants of fields and waste ground. These days intensive farming and the like have ensured that such food sources are more likely to be found in cities, railways lines etc. than farmland. Goldfinches are a common sight, certainly in London, I see them more than Chaffinches or Greenfinches, a reverse of my experience as a birder in Glasgow in my youth. In fact, I don’t think I ever saw one, this lack or yearning, perhaps the reason for my inventing a game, whereby my friend Colin Dunlop would violently interrupt our Latin class by pretending to share my enthusiasm. I would move over the side of the class that looked out onto gardens, I would shout to Colin that I’d just seen a “herd” of goldfinches – it’s actually a “charm” - and he would shout “where” and run across the room to spot these imaginary birds, leaving desks and chairs in his wake. Very productive that Latin class. Anyway, I digress, the other factor is of course, the human factor. In Britain we like to feed the birds - rather than putting them in cages -  and Goldfinches take advantage with great enthusiasm. Whoever the bright spark is that designed the Goldfinch feeder, he or she is very bright. Probably a he, that’s not sexism, just that I don’t think any woman capable of such extreme geekism.  The slits in the feeder, exactly fit their bills that they traditionally use to extract seeds from plants.  Thus, essentially mimicking, ergonomically, their natural feeding pattern on a plant. Who had the time to think that up? Within a couple of days of me putting this feeder up, the Goldfinches had arrived. How did they know? Amazing.

Anyway the fact that they are feeding on my lawn is what inspired this article. You see, I want this garden to be a natural food source for the birds, not merely an artificial one. So the fact that they‘re using the lawn rather than the feeder is very interesting. There’s no thistles there, sadly. I like Thistles, must the Scot in me, but there’s clover and another little purple flower. This is great, the clover is also very popular with bees, though many have suffered from the heatwave and have dried out but some are going strong. The clovers that is. Bees can suffer in the heat too, BTW, keep an eye out.

Elsewhere, the yellow rose has suddenly burst into life again from no-where, the wild brambles are coming and the tomatoes are still green but this warm sun should continue their metamorphosis. It’s all wunderbar, not Wonderbra as my spellcheck attempted to convince me! Not that there’s anything wrong with a Wonderbra.           

Finally, no takers yet for my bee apartment yet but they do say it’s a difficult time of year for the property market.     

Anyway, best summer in five years, long may it continue but a little bit of rain wouldn’t go amiss. At night too when we’re sleeping if you’re listening, Ming the Merciless…

Mid-summer garden visitors...

So the colours in the garden may be peaking but the weather’s gone grey. I was beginning to take the blue skies for granted. Always a mistake, don’t take anything or anyone for granted. Always take the time to practise gratitude, Man! I‘m grateful every day for my garden but the harsh truth is that the sun and blue sky just make it better. John Lennon wrote about “sitting in an English garden, waiting for the sun”. He would have waited even longer in Scotland, the point is, he was right, the odds are pretty high on no sun so it’s been all the more amazing this last month. When it’s grey, though everything goes a little quiet, a bit still. The insects like ourselves just seem a bit keener on hanging out, if the sun is out. Still, life goes on.

The birds have, actually, been a bit more active, they seem indifferent to the sun’s presence. I’ve seen blue tits, great tits, blackbirds, magpies, the dreaded woodpigeons, the delightful collared doves, the dunnocks, the ubiquitous robin, a wren, still no summer warblers, sadly, but the swifts continue to thrill, flying through the sky like TIE fighters from Star Wars. Their numbers have augmented too. I saw a screaming frenzy of at least ten fly past this weekend. In addition to my resident frog, we have a wood-mouse, like a normal mouse but with big ears. Very cute, I saw it helping itself to the peanut feeder the other day. Seems to be solitary so like the lonely frog it may have to keep itself entertained.

            An exciting and slightly perturbing visitor the other evening was a Hawker dragonfly. Very large, very fast and quite friendly. They apparently fly close to “investigate”. The other visitor I’m still hoping for has yet to appear. More common in the Mediterranean, the Hummingbird Hawkmoth will familiar to those of you who’ve been to the south of France or Spain. Hovering opposite flowers, to take their nectar, hence the name, they are quite something to behold, but they do sometimes appear in the South-East if the winds favour it. We saw one last year, it was quite surreal and I’m hopeful we’ll see one again, though I wouldn’t bet on it. Another exciting and brief visitor was Britain’s largest hoverfly. You know Hoverflies, like mini bees or wasps, they mimic them to trick potential predators in thinking that they have a sting. The Hornet Hoverfly has taken it to a higher level, actually mimicking in size and colour a hornet. A hornet is Europe’s largest wasp, pretty scary even though they’re pretty docile and fairly rare. Certainly impressive work on the hoverfly’s part. What a clever thing, nature is!

            My venture into the property market that I referred to is not quite what it seems. I purchased a bee apartment. What on earth is that? Well, it’s exactly what it sounds like, a mini-apartment block for solitary bees. They’re less conspicuous than the better known social honey bees partly because they’re much smaller but I love them. They’re also important pollinators. We NEED pollinators. Without them we won’t eat. Honey Bees understandably get the attention because they make honey and that is great but don’t forget the little guys. They're little mini-bees, very cute. They’re very important too. You you can do your bit to help by purchasing a little bee flat. If not, at least have the flowers that all bees love. Lavender, Buddleia, Lobelia, Scabious etc. Keep an eye out for them.

            One other feel good story involves the purple flowers in the picture. The plant almost died but I managed to resurrect it and now it has a regular but solitary visitor. A honey bee which comes every day. It is on the vicinity of the buddleia which is slowly flowering though so that may bring a few more visitors to this particular part of the garden. Anyway, it’s high summer, everything is in bloom, let’s enjoy this moment, it won’t last long; remember what Shakespeare said about summer’s lease.

It's Wimbledon again. Pimms on the pesticide free lawn anyone...

July 1990. North Gardner street, Glasgow's West End. I’m in my grandmother’s house, Wimbledon is on the TV. I’ve been watching it since 1982. My mum was a fan of Jimmy Connors, I wasn’t.  I will, however, forever remember the final of ’82 against McEnroe. I digress. Back to July 1990. It’s 12 degrees and grey in Glasgow. In London it’s 30 degrees and sunny. Hmmm…I remember thinking. I've always liked that decadent Englishness; Pimms on the lawn, Gin and Tonic in the sun etc. that is, not the public school shenanigans or imperialistic slaughter. Enough of the politics.

July 2013. In London, it’s 30 degrees again and Andy Murray is about to win Wimbledon. Now, it isn’t always 30 degrees in London, heatwaves come and go. The last one was in 2013, as it happens.  Andy won’t win this year sadly, obviously and maybe never again, but that memory is there and will never fade. So back to the heatwave. Over 3 weeks it lasted. Three weeks of the Spanish Plume as they call it. It’s basically hot, hot air from the Azores that crosses over the Spanish mainland and makes it all to way us. Well to London, anyway, not always to Scotland but I believe this year, so far, so good. The Blue Nile, one of my favourite bands, who happen to be from Glasgow, once wrote a song called Heatwave. Seems aptly ironic. Listen to it, if you haven’t heard it, pure magic chorus.

 

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PypoQDHG6Kg

            So why all this weather talk? Well we’re in the middle of another heatwave, for those of you on other continents who bother to read my blog. Mediterranean air always feels a little odd, when you’re not in the Mediterranean but a northern European city. Extremely pleasant, but a little incongruous, ultimately, when it lasts so long. Still, I’m not complaining and neither are the pl

 

-ants, until a hosepipe ban comes into force making my watering of them a bit more laborious.

            Not surprisingly, the Mediterranean heat has gone down well with the Mediterranean plants. The Scabious is the bees knees, the Dhalia is literally, in the pink and the Lavender, the Rosemary and Thyme are having a whale of a time and the bees also, as a result.

            Chatting to the lady of the house recently, she concluded that this holy trinity may well be her favourite plants or certainly her favourite herbs, I might have had a Negroni which can affect one’s listening capabilities. I realize Lavender isn't a herb. I cannot disagree with this, they are marvellous plants with unique perfumes and flavour, and dare I say it, personalities. It is, however, dare I also say it, two slightly less glamorous plants that are giving equal pleasure at the moment; Daisies and Clover. I planted the Daisies last year, they not only survived the harsh winter but are positively brimming with life. The clovers have only appeared on the lawn in the last week or so and are very welcome, being particularly reminiscent of my childhood. Of playing football on our back green when I was about 9 or 10. Thinking of that, I think of clovers.  Close contact with grass; a lawn or a park, seems to be something that I did more of as a child, especially a lawn with flowers growing naturally.  That might just be my personal experience but it seems modern gardening and tastes have encouraged prim, weed-free lawns and that has its place but I rather prefer a lawn with some clovers, daisies and buttercups and so on. Obviously if I was playing at Wimbledon, I might be a little less romantic.  Never has an if, been a bigger if.

             Another Mediterranean herb which I love and is also thriving, is the basil. With an extraordinarily heady scent, it’s one of my favourite culinary herbs. It’s lush, green leaves are more reliant on heat and sun than say Thyme or Rosemary so it’s time may be be limited but I’ll enjoy it while it lasts and ensure that the slugs don’t. No pellets in this garden, beer traps only, incidentally, though the dry weather seems to have limited their presence anyway. Fingers crossed.

            The roses remain coy but I think it may be a little English reserve with this undignified and excessive heat. I don’t deal so much with our ornamental garden, that’s the lady’s domaine but I do appreciate what they bring. The petunias have finally appeared, coaxed out, it would seem by this lovely warm air. They have little value for pollinators such as bees and hoverflies but they do provide some wonderful colour and theatricality. Lobelia are equally resplendent but the bees like them which is an added bonus. Look at the insects in your garden. Lots of buzzing things is a good sign. We’ve had some good butterfly sightings this year too. Red Admirals, Cabbage Whites, Speckled wood and a few others including the tiny blue ones. I think few things give me more pleasure at this time of year than a butterfly. Makes you think. What is it this power that can create such beauty and such fragility. Such wistful frivolity and such vulnerability. It's beyond me.

And this weather may even encourage a more exotic and spectacular visitor from Southern Europe in the coming weeks. More of that next time…and of my foray in the property market to try and help the solitary bees and wasps.