The Gardeners & The Hare

My very talented cousin Heath Rosselli has painted this fine diptych portrait of Joakim and Susanah in the garden. The Lime Alley and the wild-flower meadow are behind us, and if you look very closely you can also see a portrait of the resident hare!

We are really delighted with the painting, though the quality of the photograph does not really do it justice. I know it's rather self-indulgent, but I thought regular visitors might like to see an image of the garden I write about.

Heath lives near Bury-St-Edmunds, Suffolk. You can see more of her work here. She is also a Church of England Lay Elder at All Saints, Worlington - the equivalent of a Reader with us - though she doesn't look old enough for such a fierce title!

A brisk Spring walk

Only a few days ago we were back in winter’s grip, with freezing fog decorating everything with hoary rime. But at last its spell has been broken, and I seem to have woken from hibernation to begin putting manners on the untidy garden, which I have so neglected since November.

I’ve started to push back the hedges and shrubberies, though much still needs to be done. Glyphosate has been applied to the overgrown vegetable garden, which I didn’t cultivate last year, in readiness for digging and rotivating. If I’d tackled these jobs when they should have been done they would only have been half the work! The mower hospital has fixed the broken clutch cable and sharpened the blunted blades, and as soon as I collected the machine yesterday I made a start on the main paths and the croquet lawn.

The later purple and white crocuses are making a fine splash down the lime alley, though the slightly earlier yellow ones were a disappointment this year. When I checked, I found most of the new leaves and buds had been eaten down to the ground. My suspicions were confirmed ten days ago when I spotted the resident hare grazing where they should be. And I suspect he has barked one of the young walnut trees, given us by a friend who grew them from seed. It and its twin are now protected with ugly curly plastic guards, but I fear the barked one may be a goner. The hare has made a form among the Verbena bonariensis seedlings in one of the yew beds. He (or she – I can’t sex a hare at a distance!) gives Susannah and me so much pleasure that we don’t mind putting up with the little damage he does. I also notice that one of the limes in the alley has been used as a scratching post, and some species tulips I planted in the wild-flower meadow have been grubbed up: I’ve never heard of hares grubbing in grass, so perhaps this was done by a visiting badger – I have been told of a sett not far from here - I rather hope so!

Yesterday Susannah came rushing in from feeding her birds in great excitement: she had found a big mass of frog-spawn in the small pond on the patio. We have had frogs in the garden since we came here, and when I strim the wild-flower meadow in autumn I always dread the occasional splat as one gets in the way, but we have never had spawn before. When I went out to look I could only see the one frog in the pond, a female I think by its size. I do hope at least one male had been there earlier to fertilise the eggs, so that we will have tadpoles! Susannah’s birds must be the best fed in the county, and have been entertaining us all winter from the kitchen window. This morning I was delighted to see a charm of goldfinches. They were feeding on peanuts, which is unusual because they are specialist seed eaters, and we rarely see them on the bird table.

Spring started in January like a toddler, but has already moved into a brisk walk. The snowdrops are almost over, I can see the daffodils nodding as I write, Spring Snowflake (Leucojum vernum) is in full blow, and the Prunus x subhirtella ‘Autumnalis Rosea’ by the front door has bright pink flowers on bare wood – the latter is badly named I think, because for us at least it never flowers in autumn. Spring will be racing around like a ten-year-old by Easter!

Easter is so early this year, March 23rd, before my birthday which is unusual. I was born on Easter day. According to my mother, God bless her, I caused the nuns tending her to miss Mass, and I’ve been a trouble ever since! In fact Easter will not fall on March 23rd again until long after my death in 2160. The earliest day Easter can possibly be is March 22nd, which last occurred in 1818, and will not do so again until 2285. Easter will be very special this year!

When is kissing out of fashion?

When the gorse is out of blossom!

But then the gorse blooms 12 months of the year here in Ireland, as I was reminded as I drove country roads on New Years Eve. We Irish seem to have become very kissy people in recent years - which I think is lovely - so this made the perfect justification for kissing all the ladies at the New Years party in the Club later on! It was a very civilised affair, bring-a-bottle and a dish to share, plenty of chat with old friends and new, and great jollity. 2008 is off to a good start.

A cousin sent me with his New Year wishes this BLUEBEAUTY link with amazing photos of our planet Earth from space. If you have Powerpoint, click on the link, open it and click on the screen to see the slideshow. If you don't, you could try this link, but the Powerpoint version is better. As a Buddhist, he says it has a spiritual message: we are but an infinite speck on an infinite speck, so nothing should be taken too seriously! As a Christian, I agree that it has a spiritual message, but a rather different one I think. I see in this delicate jewel the traces of a loving Father-like God, through whose creative power we humankind have evolved. He has endowed us with this bountiful planet to meet all our needs. He has made us in his image to be souls: moral beings knowing right from wrong; with cleverness to understand creation; and with free will to use it for good or evil. We must take it all very seriously I believe. But that doesn't mean we shouldn't enjoy a good party, as they did at the wedding in Cana of Galilee! As in so much else, Jesus shows us the way, and the Spirit sustains us!

Christmas Greetings!

Every Blessing for Christmas

and throughout 2008

Gaudenzio Ferrari, Glory of Angels, in Santa Maria dei Miracoli, Saronno

Glory to God in the highest,

and on earth peace, good will toward men and women!

from Joakim and Susanna

God in the Garden in July – Fruits

Summer has arrived at last, after twelve weeks with at least a little rain every day, I think. Of course we haven’t suffered as badly as so many in England. I offer a prayer for those with flooded houses, farms and businesses. But I was blessed with sun for my commisssioning as a Reader last Sunday, and it has been sunny and dry since, thank God for it.

Today I attacked the fan-trained Victoria plum. ‘Pinch the side shoots back to six leaves in July’, advises the pruning guide, ‘and after harvest cut back to half their length’. That may be the ideal if you’ve kept the fan properly, but I have let it overgrow, and it’s grafted on too vigorous a root-stock for the space allowed it. So I just hack it to size and trim it to my best judgement. There’s a good set of fruit, but as usual I notice some with the drop of resin that betrays the plum sawfly grub inside. The pears and apples too have set well. The raspberries and loganberries are finished, but I’ve just picked a good bowl of blackcurrants. Not a big yield from four bushes, but sufficient for a summer-pudding. They are quite overgrown by goat-willows eight feet tall that should have been dug out ages ago, which is why the yield is poor – proving that open ground here will revert to willow scrub within five years if it isn’t mowed or cultivated!

The fruit swells too on the wildlings, the damsons, sloes, elderberries and brambles in the hedge, and the Whitebeam and Spindle in the wilderness. The berries on the Mountain Ash and the Guelder Rose are starting to colour, as are the haws. Autumn is almost upon us, before we have had time to enjoy the Summer!

To my surprise I see that several of our young trees are also starting to fruit. There were seeds on one of the Limes in the Alley last year, but this year there are acorns on one of the hybrid oaks, grown from seed collected in the Botanical Gardens in Glasnevin. There are also cones on Cupressus goveniana grown from seed collected in California, on Cunninghamia lanceolata ‘Glauca’ bought as a seedling at an IGPS plant sale, and on Cryptomeria japonica ‘Elegans’ given to Susanna by a friend and barely four-foot tall. I think most gardeners feel their trees are a bit like children, but it seems Joakim may not have to wait too long for trees like grandchildren!

To my great joy three real grandsons, Cal, Gabe and Finn, came to stay for my commissioning. It was lovely to watch them playing together in the garden, cousins reforging old friendships. One game they played they called ‘mob’, a name new to me, but a kind of tag in which the one who was ‘it’ had to touch the last tree in the Lime alley without being caught by the others. So much hiding and stalking, and squealing, frantic dashes down the paths and through the wilderness. Now they’re gone, I’m surprised to see how little damage the garden has suffered: a small boot print in a flowerbed here, a broken branch on a shrub there, nothing of any consequence. This is what the garden was made for! They too are fruits; fruits of love, the apples of my eye. Some of the loves that went to make them are broken now, but I pray they never doubt their origins in love.

Not all fruits are good to eat. After the commissioning service, the boys were clambering in the old Laburnum trees beside the Church, and discovered the pods full of seeds like tiny little peas. Forgetting mother’s warnings, two of them ate some of the very poisonous seeds. They had to be rushed to A&E, where I’m glad to say they were given very nasty activated charcoal to drink, to neutralise the poison. They are all fine now, thank God, but they won’t be such silly boys again I’m sure!

Paul in Galatians describes the fruits of the Spirit as ‘love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, generosity, faithfulness, gentleness, and self-control’. Please God these fruits will flourish in this garden too.

God in the Garden in June – Midsummer Madness

A midsummer day lasts 17 hours here, and the night only 7. I love the long bright mid summer evenings: the sun will set after 10 pm, and it will still be twilight at 11. I give thanks to God that we live so far west in our time zone!

On the summer solstice it poured and it blew, so different to the bright sun and balmy warmth of the winter solstice last December. This June has been unusually wet and grey, which has rather delayed my getting to grips with the garden after my recent absence on the hustings. I’m still clearing the autumn bed for the dahlias and tender salvias. I’m close to giving up on the vegetable garden, though I still hope to get in a few rows of beans and peas.

In the gaps between the showers, I’ve been out looking for bees, prompted by a fine website set up by researchers at TCD (google ‘Trinity bees’). We have 101 bee species in Ireland, including 1 native honeybee and 19 bumblebees. Very many of them are in serious decline. I found two common bumblebees in the garden, the white tailed and the common carder, and I was also delighted to find the red tailed, which is supposed to be becoming scarce. After days of searching at last I saw a single honeybee. It is very disturbing that this species once so common is now hard to find. The Varroa mite is said to have wiped out many wild colonies, and I suppose no one locally keeps bees any more.

‘Where the bees suck, there suck I’, sings Ariel in Shakespeare’s Tempest. Earlier the bumblebees busily worked Susanna’s tall foxgloves (Digitalis purpurea in purple, pink and white forms), now nearly over. Then they moved to the smaller perennial D. obscura from Spain, with its yellow foxglove-flowers marked inside with red veins. The tiny lemon yellow blossoms of D. lutea from Italy seemed to defeat them – it was rather pathetic to watch a big bee trying to squeeze itself into a flower half its girth! Now they are starting on Penstemon ‘Garnet’, a foxglove relative from America, in which they fit snugly.

Great excitement: Susanna’s Cornus capitata trees, grown from seed given her in South Africa ten years ago, are flowering for the first time. Just a few flowers, but I hope a promise of more in future years. The tiny green flowers, surrounded by creamy yellow bracts two inches long, will be followed by red fruit clusters looking like large strawberries. Now 10 foot high, the trees should grow to around 40 foot, if not killed by frost - they are reputed to be a little tender. Please God we and they will be spared long enough to see them put on a big show!

As I go down to cut some artichokes for supper, I spot green and silver caterpillars eating the last leaves and developing seed pods on the Dames Violet (Hesperis matronalis). Unsure what they are, when I look them up I find they are larvae of the Orange Tip butterfly. I stop to look around when I hear some soft but urgent bird-calls. I catch sight of the bright carmine breast of a cock bullfinch, a flash of wing betrays the hen, and then I realise the calls are from several fledglings, just out of the nest. This is the most dangerous time of their young lives, and I hope they make it, but I also hope they will leave a few caterpillars to grow into butterflies to enchant us next spring!

Tonight is St John’s Eve, tomorrow is the feast of the birth of John the Baptist, six months before the birth of Jesus at Christmas, as Luke tells us. Country people used to celebrate it by lighting bonfires, making merry and indulging in all sorts of midsummer high jinks. But this ancient custom has its roots in pre-Christian times. Midsummer Night was when the Celts celebrated Áine, a Goddess of love and growth associated with light and the sun. Later she was Christianised as Naomh Áine and rituals in her honour took place until the nineteenth century on Knockainy (Cnoc Áine – the Hill of Áine) in County Limerick. Shakespeare’s Midsummer Night’s Dream also celebrates midsummer madness. And in the 21st century, we celebrate it still – Susanna and I will go to the Midsummer Ball tonight, where we too will make merry and indulge in midsummer high jinks, dancing till dawn with our friends.

God in the Garden in May – Praying for Victory

It’s Bertie’s fault for calling a May Election, as my every waking hour is taken up with the campaign: oh, the frustration of not having the time to garden in May! Flower beds are uncultivated and vegetables unplanted. The lawns turn into meadows as the grasses flower: soon a scythe will be needed not a lawn mower! Susanna and I have been away in May before, and each time we swear never again, but this year is worse - I’m here to watch as weeds take over!

Yet still, thank God, returning from the campaign to pour myself a large glass of wine and walk around the garden, there is so much of beauty and interest to help me unwind. Rambling rose Neige d’Avril is particularly spectacular this year because I did not prune it earlier, a white snowdrift over the arch to the patio; and I’m delighted by other early roses, including Souvenir de St Annes, and Madame Gregoire Staechelin. Foxgloves and lupins make Susanna’s Labyrinth spiky but beautiful this year. Once again I marvel at how Cotinus Royal Purple with an acid-green Euphorbia, and native Bloody Cranesbill Geranium sanguineum, set each other off – a happy combination that I wish I could say was planned! Yellow flowered turnips and white flowered radishes are bolting in the raised beds alongside blue drifts of Forget-me-not which were not planted out in the autumn – even my indolence is forgiven it seems.

My thoughts turn to Balfour Brickner. I found his book Finding God in the Garden (subtitled Backyard Reflections on Life, Love and Compost) when I googled my own blog to see if the search engines had found it. I ordered it immediately from Amazon, and I recommend it highly. A Rabbi associated with Reform Judaism in New York, he retired to tend a garden in Massachusetts. The wise thoughts his gardening prompted show that he and I worship the same loving-father God. Rooted in his own tradition, as I see it he does not recognise the full flowering of the God we share in the other two persons of the Trinity – but he would not agree with me. I was sad to discover that he died a couple of years ago, because I would have loved to talk to him about it.

One profound insight he has given me is this: ‘God does not need our prayers – we do’. Which gets me thinking about the nature of prayer. Politically engaged as I am, can I pray for the success of my candidate in this general election? I could not support her as I do if I did not think that her election would be a step, albeit a small one, toward God’s kingdom. But I can see that other Christians might take the same view about other candidates. How can I expect God to favour my prayers above those of others?

As ever, I think Jesus gives us the key. In the garden of Gethsemane, he prayed for himself: 'My Father, if it is possible, let this cup pass from me; yet not what I want but what you want'. We are allowed to pray for what we want, to offer to God what we see as our deep wishes and needs, but only if we also accept that our loving-father God's wishes are what really matters.

Postscript: In his wisdom God did not answer my prayer; my candidate was not elected. It is God's will that matters.