 |
| Among other things the prunus blots out sight of the street lamp. (Below) Men of the soil are forgetful and prefer pictures |
The prunus has figured in Tone Deaf before, but never so gloriously. It occupies a unique position in the arboreal world.
It is no secret I loathe digging, raking, mulching, pruning, dibbing, dead-heading, terracotta-ring, potting-up and/or bedding-down. On retirement we spent a year looking for a new house; a major proviso being that the garden had to be large enough for two people in upright chairs to share a chilled bottle of white burgundy… with space for nothing more.
The fact that our current four-bedroom-detached-with-integral-garage residence came at such an unbelievably low price was the only reason why we acquired a garden four times bigger than specified above. Today I trekked to another part of the estate with the above Garden Plan to tempt yet another gardener. Over twenty-odd years much moolah has been spent on descendants of Old Adam, willing to break their backs on our behalf, digging down through a foot of earth into a mile of builder’s rubble.
But I have had my gardening moments. One problem of living cheek by jowl with someone for sixty years is finding something suitable and novel for a birthday present. Way, way back VR suggested her own prezzie: a tree! Off we went to the tree supermarket and chose the aforementioned prunus, then a mere sapling. Apart from supplying the cash I also did the planting. Prized up a paving-stone in the patio, dug a hole, shoved it in.
Perhaps my main antipathy towards horticultural and related matters is that I have no faith that anything will ensue. But the prunus proved me wrong. It has flourished, as you see, as has the sentiment that went with it. But taking hold of a spade still makes me shudder.
Prunus looks gorgeous, RR. I, too, am not interested in "gardening". I am not quite in the mode of "concrete it and paint it green" since I do enjoy trees. When we arrived at this newly built house the ground was much like yours, a light top dressing of soil followed by builders' rubble and then down into Kentish heavy clay.
ReplyDeleteI fought with all this to plant a crab apple, hawthorns and several silver birches. The latter (the lady of the forest) I have always loved and the remainder were for the blossom and have not disappointed.
Avus: There is an alternative, albeit only for bush-size trees. That's to plant them in large pots. That way you create manageable earth. We have two acers in pots.
DeleteI too like silver birches. But isn't there a risk that they might become too tall?
Yes, if you wish to keep them to a manageable size they need yearly, judicious pruning. This also encourages them to spread rather than shoot up straight.
DeleteI have to force myself to dig and prune. Once I get started all my cares and worries fall by the wayside, and I'm happy playing in the dirt. However, I must admit that if it came to digging a hole deep enough to plant a small tree, even a sapling, I would ask my husband to do it. It takes more strength than I can muster. I hate admitting that.
ReplyDeleteColette: Alas, the catharsis you describe doesn't happen with me. What descends is faintly reminiscent of Somerset Maugham's summary of the sexual act: The pleasure is brief, the position ridiculous and the expense abominable.
DeleteTo which may be added: a growing torch of pain in the lumbar region.
From my garden posts, you know what land of green thumb I come from. Your Prunus is beautiful and even more so, for being a gift. We have been here long enough we are replacing trees/bushes/plants, so it the gardenscape always changing. I wouldn't have survived the last year without gardening. Love your plot plan...with instructions.
ReplyDeleteSandi: Singing lessons (once face to face, now via Skype) are my equivalent of gardening and have been for the last five years. There's a physical side to singing, notably with regard to breath control, but with no need to bend down as when pulling out weeds. The great thing is I'm doing the creating - bringing about performances that have never previously existed - and as I progress into the more demanding aspects of interpretation I move closer (if only fractionally) towards the skills of the singers I previously only listened to (Janet Baker, Jonas Kauffman, Joyce di Donato, Fritz Wunderlich, Dietrich Fischer-Dieskau, Renée Fleming, etc, etc). On top of that I'm drawn into the culture and languages of other countries, especially Germany.
DeleteIt may all sound a bit poncy but singing is also compensation for the horrors of Brexit and the way the UK has drawn back into its self-centred shell, living on its dubious past glories.