A rhododendron distraction...
Brr... Eight degrees Celsius! No flax axing today - too wet and cold - so I'm off to the rhododendron nursery. It's having a closing down sale, hee hee. Dreams are free, and good quality rhododendrons are forty percent off. All my un-named rhododendrons came from the bargain bin at this nursery, back in the early 2000 years...
And just now, peeping through their on-line catalogue, I think I've identified the pinky medium sized shrub in the Stumpy (AKA Willow Tree) Garden as Virginia Richards and the waxy orange one as Trewithen Orange. Their images seem fairly distinctive.
I Think This is Virginia Richards
Right. I'm back, and I need to clear my head. There are still a lot of rhododendrons available, and from this Saturday they'll be even cheaper. So let's get this sorted. First of all, the following important question has to be asked :
- Do I need any more rhododendrons?
While the honest answer may well be 'probably not', let's choose the affirmative for now. This is much more fun to think about on a cold wet indoors day. Two more questions, then.
- Do I know where they will be planted?
- And will this planting position be suitable? Irrigated? Sun-shady enough? Not too windy?
Hmm. Late season rhododendrons are not suitable, since early summer in my garden can be hot and dry, with flowers hardly lasting a day before wilting. After early spring's yellows (daffodils) I really appreciate the colour pink. Therefore pretty pink flowers would be nice. Hee hee. I'm talking myself into something here!
Phormiums
Thursday 17th March
Now I'm in a total rhododendron dither, and this is really silly. What I need to be doing is chopping out Phormiums. Aha! I've just had a brainwave. In the gaps thus created I could plant new rhododendrons, hee hee. Hopeless...
Three Hours Later...
Humph. I've knife-trimmed the Phormium behind the garage as much as I can. There's no way I'll be able to dig underneath to get it out, so I've started breaking into its monstrous base with the axe. This is hard work for me - well, it's certainly slow going, slimy work, and I may have to ask Non-Gardening Partner to help me. Maybe it's too hard...
Later...
Well, that was very, very, very close. I almost gave up in a sulk. But then my inner gardening voice told me that when the going gets tough, the tough older-woman stops sulking and gets going. And then keeps going. And so I did, and I eventually got that dreadful Phormium out.
The Phormium has Gone
Yippee! I am so proud. Time to rest up on the patio and peep at one of my new library books. A fruity cider would be a good reward, I reckon.
Escher
Friday 18th March
Big brown dog Escher is easily fooled. I don't him loose in the garden - he's on a diet, and the lure of the front paddock (sheep poos) or the orchard paddock (hazelnuts on the ground) is far too strong. This afternoon I'm attacking another huge Phormium, and again I've clipped him to his long tether. But I don't attach the other end to anything, so technically he can wander here there and everywhere.
Hee hee. He thinks he's tied up, so he 'humphs', lies down, and pretends to be bored.
The next Phormium on my hit list is in the early stages of destruction. It's taken an hour and a half. and I've removed four barrowfuls of pieces. As yesterday, I have short sharp rests during this tedious process. When I get totally bored I move to the garden in the middle of the back lawn and do a spot of weeding and trimming.
I Think This is Elina
This wee garden smells delicious, thanks to a recycled lemon hybrid tea rose (which I'm sure is Elina) flowering at the moment. Then I pop inside for a drink. A bit early for cider, though...
Right. Back outside I go.
Later...
One quarter of the way through this newest flax, I reckon. So hard! Don't give up. Have faith. Hurry slowly. Do a bit at a time. You can do this! It all adds up. Subdivide the end result into lots of little goals. Rome wasn't built in a day. Etc...
Optimistic Update...
Histeria, my tabby cat who has lost a lot of weight, has now had three good days of enthusiastic eating. Well done, Hissy! She's such a character, only nine years old. But I feel a bit sad when I look at her. Hissy has never totally lost her wild cat instincts, and so I can't get her to the vet. Maybe she's just turned into a fussy eater with bad teeth in her medium-old age. Hmm... Sounds familiar.