greengages and the orchid pot problem

As winter approaches, and the bare root season approaches, my mind naturally turns to trees. Specifically, a greengage. I'm quite fond of plums (ooer missus)  and my favourite in all the family is the understated, honeyed delight of the humble greengage. I don't really have space in my garden for a greengage (particularly as they really do do better with a pollination partner so you're planting two trees not one), which is why I got an allotment. But it is possible that I don't have space for an allotment in my life, and also, having your greengages a ten minute walk away sounds like an engraved invitation to the blackbirds of East Oxford to tidy up your crop for you. And if they make me give up the allotment for being too neglectful, then what? I lose my gage.

But, potentially, I could plant a stepover. There's also a gage/plum cross called Opal that would make a beautiful pollination partner. Would I, could I, should I try to do this in my back garden? Or should I opt for a pair of cheaper dwarfing trees, pop them up on the allotment and take the risk?

In other news, my bathroom orchids Manager's Special and Seasonal Clearance have outgrown their already fairly large pots. It's possible that they have actually outgrown the (quite small) windowsill, but a clear square tower pot would certainly help them fit better than the round pots they're in currently. Weirdly, though, this seems like a bit of an ask. Briefly I thought I'd found something useful on Amazon, but then it turned out to be ineligible for click and collect (what is that about) and it was expensive enough to give me pause, and it's now lost in my discarded browsing history, good luck finding that again (although at £8.99 per pot, I feel I can do better). Sorry orchids, hang in there. I'm sure the right pot will pop out of google, er, any time now.

I don't want to move them out of the bathroom. When they're both in flower, it's fireworks:

green roofs of London

When you're up here, and doing this, what should a person do?



Spot out the capital's amazing and expanding roster of green roofs and roof gardens of course!

I like these: functional, industrial green, green that's put in alongside the aircon and the liftshaft, to service the needs of the building. It's brown at this time of year of course and intentionally; that doesn't mean it's dead. It's drought-tolerant.



But how about this green island in the sky? There is always room at the top! Mediterranean planting, curvy benches, a human-accessible roofspace with a view across the solar-panel field. Optimised roof; there's even a dramatic light well in the middle.



The planting is très modern, too. But here's a more trad park space, with deck-chairs and borders, umbrellas and awnings and cloud cut hedges and lawns, which must be watered, perpetually.



Not many people here, though. Where are the people? They're having a meeting. They're eating their lunch. On balconies de-bleaked by hedges and troughs and planters shading in green into their peripheral visions. It's mid-week, mid-summer; time for shirt sleeves, weekend sunburn, frayed tempers.



The concept of a "garden room" is powerful. Here and there the roof greenery reflects the surrounding architecture; a green grid echoing back the squares of the towerblock windows, green pits creating a solemn echo of giant domed solars.



Green doesn't always stay on the roof, of course. Green wall one is a burgeoning creeper; green wall two is cladding designed to look like the building has a creeper. I'd be annoyed but look at the roof. It's got green walls and a green roof, albeit the functional, non-accessible kind.



But green spaces don't have to be huge projects. Look at this tiny garden crammed into rooftops, or the pair of beehives shoved in the corner of a commercial roofspace. In spaces where you can only agree to green up a tiny corner, it can still work well.



Or you can bring in the astroturf and Cordylines - the plant which could always be plastic or real.



The wharf houses sprouting rooftop gardens, back-gardens in the sky, communal and personal and shaded and sheltered in the warm Thamesside microclimate.



Wild meadows tucked onto the tops of building blocks, as if someone had introduced a grass block onto a towertop in Minecraft.



Elevated train lines creating storey-up waste ground, thick with native weeds, mice, birds.



Balconies and roof-scraps pressed into service as skygardens sheltering and softening and covering domestic life in the city.



And as to what's coming next; well, it's under construction. But there's a green roof on it.

october not in the garden

Happy Halloween. My shed is full of tender plants, scrambled in before the frosts this week, some of which have been hard. Autumn is on us:

Nuts from the Farmer's Market; cherry leaves in the weird new art garden by the Westgate; a Zinnia in a neighbour's allotment; apple chutney made from a friend's apples.

Ink caps on the tow path; the last of the Morning Glories; Inktober; wheat at an archaeobotany stand at the Science and Ideas festival.

Inktober continues; a cat in the fuchsias; Diwali wedding lights on Iffley Road; Virginia Creeper on the turn (but still surprisingly green for the end of October).

Garden-related selection from Instagram where I am @mrsjeremyday

inexorability of tree progress in the urban environment

 

 

a focal point for the big bed

It's always been a joke that it's my jungle; and that my jungle is massive. But this year for the first time the rain was so limited that the jungle seemed small and mean; did not flower; was crowded with every seasonal weed as they sensed weakness in the introduced plants, and moved in, busily and greenly, to take over.

I need a new perspective on the big bed, a focus that can be relied upon if the weather won't bring the flowers. Fortunately, I went to an art show this year that was full of great ideas in this area:

Idea 1: Statues



The obvious solution is a statue. My partner got quite excited by the idea of having a massive head or torso in the garden, something like a Frink or a Hirst. But I worry that may crowd out the flowers, I'd prefer something more vertical - not that that means I need to change artist of course. Try this Frink, that'd work, plenty of spaces to let the light through.

Idea 2: Columns




All-year round upright interest can be provided by columns. Columnar Cyprus are the normal solution here, but I don't trust my soil to keep them alive. I need something a bit more self-contained. White concrete will probably be less stressful and polluting than the rusty steel, but that does look lovely against the green foliage. Including teeth in the column may actually be possible; I could cast them from my denture.

Idea 3: Colourful Screens



Playmobil coloured perspex, lazer-cut painted wood, but either way, the sun can reach the plants here. The interest is in looking through the screen, and how this changes the plants around it. Pros: I might just be able to get everything I need from a local skip. Cons: it might just look like I raided a local skip.

Idea 4: Birds on Sticks



Tracey Emin's A moment without you is proper sculpture park art. Not quite enough bronze to tempt the scrappers, but enough to recall a sketch of a Roman Legionary banner, awkwardly drawn by a studious child. Beautiful. Also, as I hoard broomsticks (I'm always sure they'll come in useful, so I saw the dead broom heads off them and keep them in the corner of the garage) and own quite a lot of artificial birds (in some sort of attempt to connect with happy moments of my childhood probably) so could probably knock up some slightly cockeyed and sequinny spoofs of these in an afternoon.

Or I could just knuckle down and pull up the bindweed, tidy the planting, move the roses, put the miniature cherry in the middle, and call it a day, I guess.

Or maybe.....