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Early morning at Maolachy, 17 April
by Georgina Dalton, editor Yvonne Anderson
Putting on the kettle on the turned-down-low Aga is the first task of the day. Second is to don socks, boots, jacket and waterproofs over my nightie, grab some saucepan lids and start a round of the garden on deer watch. A barking Roe leads me to set off behind the house first and walk quietly up the slope beyond the, just a trickle, waterfall. Four sharp bangs of the lids scared off three white rumps and sent them bounding off up the hill through the larches.
Turning back to check on the overnight welfare of the greenhouse plants and sowings. Three “Little Nippers” still unsprung and with their raisin bait in place. No stems nibbled or seeds raided from pots. I have extended the potting benches and the place is full. As seeds are in short supply just now, I’ve sown more than I need incase I can give plugs of brassicas (all sorts) leeks, courgette, beetroot, beans etc away.
I am so chuffed to see the blue Meconopsis seedlings grow stronger from their first pricking out and the second germination coming on. I have been thinking about where I can establish a bed if these plants continue to grow and I think my answer is a bed along the south facing side of the tunnel.
I’ll improve the drainage, compost etc. The polythene’s warmth may help them too. I’ll also plant the rescued Dianthus which had been smothered in moss. A dig in of lime rubble may be welcome. With both these species being sown from my own gathered seed, I feel a sense of achievement in what has been a difficult gardening winter.
Such a gloomy and damp few months with deer invasion and sheep eating all the winter greens, when they got into the tunnel and then Storm Dennis ripping the polythene in two. A tad depressing. The one thing that has grown and spread without check is moss.
Returning to take my morning patrol of the wild garden, the steps took me past a flowering Pieris and the white bells alive with the humming of white tailed or garden bees. I need to check my ID list or take it with me next time. I leave their happy guzzling, bumbling hum to admire the display of The Grooms Woodland, a mixture of daffodils on the bank overlooking Doody’s terrace and vegetable garden.
These bulbs I valiantly dug in when seven months pregnant with our second daughter, late Autumn 1979. I bought a sack of 500 for Tony’s birthday so they might come out for the 31st March. Unlike some other clumps, they have not gone blind and still give us brilliantly cheerful long-lasting joy.
Continuing my walk. I see the pink Dicentra coming out and the newly added Hellebores doing their best. Up the 25 steps awakens the glute muscles and the reward at the top is the sight of the pagoda, Erythroniums, hoping that their being eaten by some undiscovered thief a couple of years ago, is not repeated. Since then I have bought and planted more bulbs in groups to create a community spirit.
I walk the upper path and see the Lent lilies self-seeding, especially onto the path. Up here, there are more daffodils but more blind clumps so added to the task list is to lift, divide and feed and put back deeper and in the newly made open spaces. These daffodils are old fashioned varieties shared from established gardens of friends and I don’t want to lose them altogether. The only Rhododendron out now is Christmas cheer and some of its pink buds have been tinged brown by the frost.
Roy’s bench is looking smart from its sand off and coat of teak oil so a moment to sit as the sun comes up over Tom Sollier to the east above Loch Avich. Looking down at the huge clearance of scrub willow that Christophe helped with for a couple of days this week. Working more than 2 m apart, with our own tools, he chain-sawed down and chopped up thin trunks for logs for the kitchen fire. I tended a good bonfire burning all the thin branches and twigs. It’s lovely to see the trunks of the birch, maple and poplar trees and the view down to the main burn.
I passed the Glen Etive monkey puzzle who is looking very happy, his dark green spiky branches glistening with dew.
(Make mental note - more daffodils could be transplanted around him). Coming back down steps to see the first soft gold leaves of the Alnus Aurora, the mauve purple pompoms of the Denticulata Primula plus the bright pink Primula Rosea herald a new seasons growth.
The hemerocallis are recovering from being well eaten by the deer and thankfully, the Primula Pulverulenta rosettes of new leaves are not a favourite flavour.
One dark red head is about to come out, so still a pleasure in store. Here is an army of them lining the edge of the bog garden path.
I had to put the hose into the burn last night to top up the water in the pond so the frogspawn didn’t dry out. I was glad to see the level was up and also to see and hear the grey headed wagtails return.
These and the long tail tits are good bog garden companions.
Coming up the steps to the shrubbery I am met by ‘Donald’, one of the two scarecrows I made to try to dissuade the deer from coming into the vegetable patch.
I took the rather feeble blackcurrant netting and frame down as it looked so tacky and hoped the bullfinches wouldn’t notice.
Up to to the house via the front, we see the two wonderfully big bouquets of primroses planted under a replacement rowan tree by the corner.
I am hoping that the narrow border in front of the house will be a happy home for some nerines and Kaffir Lilies as they are either “don’t like it” or “grow good” plants as are the aconites and Lily of the Valley.
You soon know what does well or not in Argyll.
Inside to find the kettle boiling and, as I drink the good-for-me lemon and honey, I listen to the persistent “tick bonk” song of the Great Tit and a noisy chaffinch. From the left the window, I can see the miniature Daffs parade their colours in the easterly breeze. The nodding Snakeshead Fritillary on the right side through the open door.
In the courtyard, the pied wagtail is having its morning abolitions in the bird bath - a wide shallow skillet pan rescued from our days at the Cuilfail Hotel in the village. It’s sitting on an old chimney pot with the pots of muscari and tulips round about. The Donation
I hadn’t seen or heard them this spring but, of course being clever, cheeky, greedy souls, they saw me and did a bit of a plunder of fresh buds. But hey ho, live and let live. There is enough fruit for all of us.
Camellia just survived the deep cool night last week.
In this morning’s welcoming sunshine and heart lifting sounds of the birdsong, I hope and pray that it won’t be too long before we can share our gardens and be pleased with our successes and laugh over our failures. A thrush has just hopped into view, head cocked on one side to listen for worms and then a quick delve with its beak – hey presto– breakfast!
So I shall have mine too.
