Acair Fearann

In the last few days I have undertaken to shift a variety of shrubs hither and yon, it being that sort of weather. This gives me plenty of opportunity to practice my hole digging abilities.
I always laugh at the earnest illustrations that accompany many plants…though I have discovered that probably the majority of people out there do Not know how to dig a hole (never mind plant something), so the illustration is needed. Still, the hole is so elegant: a nice symmetrical hole, a nice pile of dirt, a person leaning contemplatively upon a spade… Right. Now, I have had the occasion to dig a few easy holes. It was a revelation when I was helping to plant some trees down in a river valley, in an area of deep soil and no mature trees; this it was clear was what they meant, a few easy scoops and voila!
Now here…well, first off it is sticky, heavy clay till. It can be wet enough to merrily adhere to the shovel even when it is shaken vigourously. There are the rocks, ad infinitum. Then, well then there are the tree roots. Having hacked through the mat of fiber roots at the surface, you hit (usually just where you need to place the root ball of the new plant) great writhing roots. Anything up to two inches can be severed by a shovel* but often, as was the case today, these are roots the size of an arm. I try to dig around those, so much for the symmetry of my holes. Hole digging is a vigourous exercise, aided by a sharp knife at times, sturdy boots, and determination.
In my morbid turns of mind, I have always wondered how on earth grave-diggers did it. You can’t do six feet deep around here. At least I can’t.

*I’ve always felt that ‘blunt instrument’ is a misnomer when applied to a shovel.

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It finally being spring. The elevation changes around here are very evident; down in the valley (lower by about 500 feet) the red maples and star magnolias are just starting to bud out, as are the forsythia and quince. Up here, while definitely almost there, they are not quite there yet.
The crocus continue, primarily the big vernus and flavus types; your classic big bold crocus colors. But the smaller chrysanthus (cream yellow/blue pastels), which have been going for nearly a month, are still quite showy. A few of the ‘Ruby Giant’ tommasinianus are still blooming, but the straight species is done. Interestingly, the small biflorus (very little, white with dark purple striping) which I had thought would be early is only just started up.
The daffodils are contemplating life. Van Sion, the old doubled yellow/green, is blooming quite happily.
The scilla, primarily the classic Siberian blue, is blooming. We also have some of the white/pink/blue bifolia type; those have a pyramidal bunch of upward facing flowers in pastel shades, rather than the Siberian’s few bells of cerulean blue.
The snowflakes, Leucojum vernum, which is Not the more commonly sold Leucojum aestivum, is still blooming. L. vernum blooms beginning in early March; L. aestivum is in May.
The Galanthus are essentially done.
The few remaining Chiondoxa gigantea are blooming. They aren’t especially happy where they are, too many leaves.
The Hellebores are finally starting up. (so much for being Lenten Roses!!!)
The Pulmonaria (Sissinghurst White and Mrs Moon) are blooming.
Others? A bit of chickweed
Yes, yes, I know, you would like pictures…

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It is always astonishing to watch the fields turn green in the spring. One day they are brown, the bleached flat brown of late winter grass that has neither shine nor movement; and then a few days later they are vivid green. You can see it happen: first along the north hedgerow where it is warmest, and then in fingers along areas of wet ground, and then in regular bands where the hay was cut the shortest*, and then the patterns vanish into the grass. Last will be the area shaded by the south hedgerow. On a day like today, when the ground is warm but it is cold and raining, you can actually see the difference during the course of the day.

The lawns are going to look exceedingly good this year. For the first time in living memory, they all got raked in the spring. So no thatch, no matted leaves. We hadn’t raked them in the fall, just let the leaves get mulched in by the mower.

*The cutter bar must have needed a bit of adjustment, not much, just a centimeter or two, but there are noticeable stripes.

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happy chirp from a weatherman about ‘sunny and in the 70’s and isn’t it wonderful!’ I will not be responsible for my actions. My winter squash bed (deep, soft, soil) has cracks in it, in early April. We have a slightly unique problem here, we are much more sensitive to drought issues than the rest of the area. The top of the hill naturally ends up with less water than anywhere else (that old issue of water running Down hill), so strike one. The house-lot is five acres of massive trees, not simply mature but running to as big as possible and as many as possible. Consider how much water must be contained in one dormant 100 foot tall tree and then multiply that by 10, then add about 30 40-80 foot trees…that is a lot of water. Then have all those trees break dormancy. You are looking at thousands of gallons of water which are required.
It is better than last year, slightly less dry, I suppose. And yes, I enjoy complaining about the weather. Railing against something one cannot possibly control is quite satisfying. You can’t feel guilty about the weather.*
In other news, I still haven’t gotten the colour balance in the crocus fence line right, entirely too much white and yellow happening. Clearly the only solution is more bulbs right? What a shame. Meanwhile, picture me swearing at daffodils; narcissus obvallaris (the Tenby daffodil) to be precise. It apparently hates this country, it bloomed well the first year…but by its second and third years…piffle. I’ll stay with my classic King Alfreds and van Sions.**

*I’m sure someone can!

** Which almost certainly are actual King Alfreds and not 20th century imposters, but that is another story.

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