Green fingers, brown plants

I have many interests, even birding allegedly. I have more interests than time, which means that by necessity they ebb and flow, sometimes even getting dropped for a period of time that might be measured in months, possibly years. That's happened to birding at the moment by the looks of things, but it is the summer, a traditionally quiet time of year. Many of my fellow patch-workers have reverted to insects and pan-listing, which is a very frequent summer pursuit for birders. I've instead gone back to my plants, which have been severely neglected over the past few years.

It all started back in Beckton, which is where we lived before we moved to Chateau L in Wanstead. It was a tiny house, two up two down, but it came with a fabulous bespoke conservatory on the back. Gradually I filled this with tropical plants, as well as a small greenhouse at the bottom of the garden, and I tended them all lovingly. When we moved a few years later, there was the small matter of what on earth to do with them all. Some I donated to Kew, for they were fairly rare and specialist in nature, and even today you can walk around the Palm House and see my name on some of the labels. The rest came with me to Wanstead, and frankly they were not the lucky ones, or at least not in the long run.

It started well. I built a huge greenhouse, the kind of greenhouse I had always coveted, and I stuffed it to the gills with amazing things. It had electricity, running water, heating, lights and a radio. It even had a stash of whisky and a tumbler. I spent many happy hours in it pottering away, listening to TMS and drinking illicitly. I raised seedlings, and grew the larger plants bigger. It was a haven, my own private kingdom and a place to retreat to after the craziness of the working day. And then gradually other things came along. Birds for one, and photography. Writing, travel, busier with the kids, busier at work. The interest in plants started to wane, and the plants themselves started to decline. Insect pests started to invade and multiply, and I lost a few specimen plants over a series of hard winters that were impossible to replace. I moved some of the survivors into the conservatory where I could monitor them more closely, but essentially I lost my love for growing plants and things went from bad to worse, a spiral of depression. I had to physically drag myself down to the greenhouse to water them, and the bugs took over. I went there less and less, actively finding reasons to do something else. I didn't set foot in there from October 2015 to February 2016. When in early spring I eventually ventured in it was carnage. Dried and curled foliage, dead plants in pot after pot of bone-dry soil. I sprinkled some water and beat a hasty retreat. I couldn't take it, couldn't cope with it.

 I am hoping these will germinate into some tropical Araucaria pines

Determination finally overcame apathy about six weeks ago. With various other things going on I needed a release that was close to home. Birding the patch would have been a bit radical (and it was June) so I rolled my sleeves up and got going. It was dreadful. I spent an entire weekend making repeated trips to the dump with full loads of what were once my pride and joy. As each bench was sorted through and severely thinned out, things began to take shape. Some plants were still OK, still hanging on. Huge numbers of scale insects, one of my constant scourges, meant that I had to cut off almost every leaf so that I was left with seemingly empty pots. Some plants were spared, cleaned and moved outside to recover, and with the greenhouse now almost empty I got on with the mucky job of cleaning it with the aid of a pressure washer.

Several weekends further on and now it sparkles. Some of the neglected plants have started growing again, and I've repopulated barer areas of it with plants from the house and some new purchases. Once again I enjoy going down there. It's clean and tidy with a sense of order. Remarkably there were still two bottles of whisky down there. Snails have eaten the labels but the spirit seems fine. I still need to replace the light bulb and sort a few bits and pieces out, but overall I am very happy. Last weekend I fixed the drainpipes on it and sawed off some substantial overhanging tree branches. It feels light, airy and positive, a good job done. Getting it sorted out has also spurred me on elsewhere in the garden and around the house. I've repotted a number of plants that had outgrown their containers, divided some that had grown offshoots, and made huge strides on the population of mealy bugs in the conservatory. Stressed plants are generally the first to get diseases or pests, with the new care regime they're flourishing and the bugs are losing the battle, having been winning for many seasons. I've bought new compost, new fertiliser, and the newly weeded and swept terrace now looks like a sub-tropical jungle that is fantastic to sit on and to walk through. Succulents that had withdrawn into themselves are now fleshing back out as they recover their moisture content, and the rustle of palms and bamboo, all pushing through new stems and leaves like nobody's business, is like music to my ears. Herbs have been replanted and the bougainvillea is flowering. I'm loving it.

Rejunevantion

The challenge of course is to keep the momentum going. In the current hot weather many of the plants need daily watering. Many are drought-tolerant, but nonetheless watering properly takes time - I'm getting up earlier to do it, consciously making the time. I do daily rounds looking for bugs, I'm dusting leaves, misting, and generally making sure everything remains good. As autumn starts however, how am I going to make sure that I continue to devote sufficient time? I do still want to go birding, to take photos, and to jump on airplanes. All of these things take time, but for now I'm back in business and I feel like I have all the time in the world.

Lazy Birdless Days

I've barely lifted binoculars to my eyes these past few days, can you believe it? The best bird I've seen (and bearing in mind I've barely left the garden) has been a Swallow. Or maybe a Kestrel (which is good for the garden). This is the price of being ridiculously relaxed, and it still being the Easter holidays. The weather has been glorious, so glorious that all the good birds have continued to the Arctic Circle without stopping in Wanstead, so by schlepping around in the garden I've not really missed much. Of course I've been hoping for a flyover Honey Buzzard, but without kidnapping Mark P and installing him in a matola on the roof to attract migrating raptors, my chances are extremely slim.

In the absence of birds, the kids and I have been bumming about. The paddling pool is out - no waders yet, though there is now so much muck in it that it looks pretty a good bet - and we've been doing a serious amount of playing in the garden. A couple of short trips, a couple of parties, nothing ambitious whatsoever, and we're all extremely happy. Me particularly, as we now have beer...

Summer!

I was playing with Pudding in the garden this morning when a Red Admiral butterfly flew past. You could have knocked me over. A couple of weeks ago there was snow all over the place, and now there are butterflies. Eh? My conclusion is that it is now summer.

A couple of hours later and all of a sudden there were two flitting around the terrace. To prove I am not butterfly-stringing, I took a photo. You can tell this is my house because Pudding is inside. There is another way you can tell though - can anyone spot what it is?

One Swallow doesn't make a Summer

Yesterday I saw my first Swallow of the year. It flitted over the garden as I was having lunch, and made me happy. Anorak owners will be interested to know that this is a full eight days earlier than my previous earliest record. Time to break out the shorts and sunnies? Er, no. Time to break out the fleece-lined trousers and wooly hat. The original meaning of the proverb, well, who knows? The literal meaning? Spot on.

It is FREEZING again. I was assaulted by a bitter wind on the school run, and the rain came at me sideways. The amber "It's quite cold" warning light came on in the car. It seems to have got worse since I got back, so perhaps on the pick-up the red "It's really cold" one will come on?

Honestly, this is intolerable. We have just had the longest, coldest, darkest and most miserable winter that I can remember for a very very long time, and as soon as the clocks go forward, it's like January all over again. Cold, dark, wet mornings. I'm sitting here in a fleece with a steaming mug of tea. I've had a look out of the window at my poor plants. I have an Araucaria tree from Brazil, a relative of the Monkey Puzzle, that spent the whole winter in hibernation in the greenhouse at the end of the garden. I put it back on the terrace about ten days ago, but at this rate I might have to lug it back there down again. I didn't think I was being premature, I honestly thought we were all done.



Needless to say I have not seen any more Swallows today. If they have any sense, they will have turned tail and headed back south.

Common or Garden Buzzard

It has been simply glorious weather and the kids and I have spent the last two days in the garden. Once back from the school run I throw open the back door, we all pile out, and that is where we stay until it is time to do the pick-up. Many tasks have been achieved. What passes for my lawn has been mown, edges have been done, dandelions, brambles and sycamore seedlings removed, and if I don't say so myself, it is all looking rather neat and tidy. Mrs L has has guided tours each evening, and I fancy I may have earned a few BPs (not that I am in positive territory of course, that would just be wrong...)

The gardening has been interspersed with looking at the sky. A lot. And with some success too. Yesterday I scored a garden tick with a Peregrine gliding over, and today two more with a Greylag low over, and then a Buzzard after lunch. I was of course looking for Osprey and Red Kite, but beggars can't be choosers, and there is always tomorrow, where much of the same is planned. The expression "Common or garden" is particularly apt here - this one is a Garden, I am sure of it.

Buteo gardenus

Another first today was that I twitched my own patch. Howard, based in Kent, phoned at about 8pm to tell me that another birder had seen a pair of Garganey on the Heronry Pond during the afternoon. The same Heronry Pond that I had checked for Garganey this morning... There was nothing for it, I had to go, so wheeled out the trusty pushbike and fortunately they were still there. #94 for my Wanstead list. Funny how news travels isn't it?

Spring is here!

It's official, Spring is here. How do I know this? You may think that it's because today I saw a Willow Warbler, a Yellow Wag, 2 Little Gulls, some Sand Martins and a pair of Garganey, and because there are 19 million Chiffchaffs singing in Bush Wood, but you would be wrong.

Here, neatly summed up in a single image, is why:

Punxsutawney Toe

I am still going through all the photos from Australia, it will likely take the rest of my life. Digital is great, but encourages profligacy. In the meantime, here is why I didn't get quite as much birding done as I had hoped...

Coffs Harbour last week. It's fair to say it rained a bit.