The weather this week has been so warm it has me worrying about a March freeze or something. I mean, look at those nectarine buds! Pink! Full! Burgeoning! If a freeze comes along my plan of eating fresh nectarines while lolling on the lawn will come to naught. And if that happens I might be forced to use my Doctor Who In Your Pocket Talking Voice Keychain. It might not do anything but still. One can pretend.
The sorrel is out and tasting very lemony this time of year. I like spring sorrel: soft leaves, thin ribs, and no seed heads to continually pinch off. Sorrel makes for good soup and even better chopped fine over a salad. We like to roll it up around hummus.
This was such a VERDANTLY provocative shot I couldn't resist. And no, it's not all my yard. You can't see the chicken wire fencing I put up to remind Oliver the Idiot Lab about where his boundaries end and mine begin, but it's there. Trust me.
Here is a terracotta pot, upended to show how it's been 'forcing' the rhubarb. I learned this trick from a local gardener and it's a remarkably effective one, too. My one regret is that here I am typing this gem of information for you all while simultaneously remembering that I forgot to replace the terracotta pot afterwards. And here it is late at night. Cold weather is no doubt enveloping my tender rhubarb. Sigh. The perils of my life...
Dominic's purple sprouting broccoli is doing well. Even if it is surrounded by that dratted Bishop's Weed.
I know I always include shots of this plant, but it's so lovely I can't resist. Pulmonaria - lungwort. Beautiful blues this time of year.
These burst out of the ground while we were away. We came back to swathes of purple gems across the front lawn. Sometimes I think I am under the sea, because they open and close according to the sunlight that hits them. It's like living with glistening sea anemones.
My neighbour moved away and gave me these two large rocks. I've been coveting these rocks for the past 2 years, sneaking glances at them every time I walked past the side of the house where they lay, buried somewhat under piles of concrete and mud. Fortunately R. the Long Suffering and Super Strong pushed them up the hill to the front garden for me, because I sure wouldn't have been able to. Now they lounge with the cottage primroses and scented violets.
It only took close to 3 years but the Harry Lauder's Walking finally looks quite cool and atmospheric in the garden. Who says I'm not patient?
That piece of wood, which looks strikingly like a narwhale, was carried in our very inadequate van from our summer place up island all the way down to this garden. It was tucked rather tightly in between the kids, who all voiced their displeasure at having to share such awkward quarters with a large log. No imagination, these kids. It's a narwhale, I told them. And here it is, before the summer blackberries envelopes it.
The garlic is looking robust. As is the tape around my crumbling compost bin. Why do compost bins never survive in my care? Why must I always resort to such ridiculous tactics in order to keep these things intact? It's mildly humiliating.
So there you have it: Garden Thursday around these parts.