WOMAD Festival 2008 at Charlton Park

We've just got back from a wonderful weekend basking in the sunshine at WOMAD where we were providing the flowers for the artists' dressing rooms. In the photo you can see me putting together the vases ready to get buggied around site to the various stages.

I was a bit worried that they might succumb to heatstroke and keel over by Saturday afternoon but they did us proud and looked great all weekend although they certainly needed their water topped up a couple of times. So now we can sort of say that we have done flowers for Martha Wainright, Squeeze and Eddie Grant.

We're off to do it all over again at The Big Chill this weekend so fingers crossed for some more sunshine.

St Swithin's Day

St Swithun's day if thou dost rain

For forty days it will remain

St Swithun's day if thou be fair

For forty days 'twill rain na mair

He may have been a 10th Century Bishop, misquoted by generations of 'scholars', but at least it's good to see one of them attribute a rubbish Scots accent to him, just to make his big moment scan. And only in Britain could we have a patron saint of 'weather lore', along with his contemporary; St Cuthbert; Patron Saint of Comfortable Shoes, St Wesley, Patron Saint of a Good Sit-Down and Saint Franklyn, the Patron Saint of Orderly Queuing. We don't care, any scrap of half-baked pagan theology, re-branded and re-cycled to the masses; if it says blue-skies ahead, count me in, that's good enough; where do I buy a flag and badge, a headscarf or a briar whipping-stick? He's my saint now.

And only three drops of rain so far today, I know there's three and a half hours left, but we can make it.

With Festivals coming up (WOMAD, BigChill), more stalls and orders, we need sunshine, by the KiloPascal, and by gods, or his unwitting misrepresented contemporary figurehead, Swithun, we're going to get it . . . !

Definitions of sunshine on the Web:

sunlight: the rays of the sun; "the shingles were weathered by the sun and wind"

fair weather: moderate weather; suitable for outdoor activities

cheerfulness: the quality of being cheerful and dispelling gloom; "flowers added a note of cheerfulness to the drab room"
wordnet.princeton.edu/perl/webwn

JP

Okay, it can stop raining now!

What is going on with this weather? It seems to have rained continually for a week now. I had to slosh along the paths between the beds this morning to cut flowers for a delivery this afternoon. Thank goodness we raised the beds, otherwise I dread to think what state the plants would be in. Two things that don't seem to mind the wet at all are Docks and Chickweed. If there was money in Docks we'd be lying on an Antiguan beach right now.

Yesterday I was staring at a bed, scratching my chin sure that I had planted something in there when I realised that there were a hundred young Solidago (Goldenrod) plants struggling to out grow the encroaching Docks. So I downed whatever I was doing and spent the next couple of hours clearing some space for them to breathe and grow. Actually, strange though it may sound I'm quite happy with our choice of weeds on the farm. Dock is the only perennial problem we have and as weeds go it's quite upfront about things. Basically as long as you get the root up when you pull the plant and stop any of them from seeding, job done. I'm optimistic that as we loosen up the soil structure over the next couple of years we'll get on top of the docks.

Absolutely the worst weed I have had ever had the misfortune of working with/against is Ground Elder. I defy anyone to be organic and optimistic trying to defeat Ground Elder. It's roots are so persistent and it forms such a dense matt of growth. We tried everything , even attempting to smother it with African Marigold Tagetes erecta which releases a chemical from its roots which inhibits the Ground Elder's growth. I don't remember it working particularly well but I don't think we tried it for long enough.

Another really difficult weed, particularly with flowers is Bind Weed. It sneaks up when you turn your back and the wraps itself around all your precious flowers making harvesting a tortuous and impossible affair, and by that time it's too late to do anything about it. So no, I'm happy with Dock, it's there, you pull it, it's gone.

A summer, purging . . . .

Sunday afternoon; and while we should be pulling docks and tending flowers up at Hackmead; here we are cowering indoors at Whitelands as thunder, lightening, rain and gales thrash the living daylights out of everything outdoors. This will test the mettle of the plants up there; open and exposed as they are; faces up and open to the beating of the hammering rain!

Midsomer Norton Farmers Market

We are not stopping!!!!

I love these - We had a bunch of Acrolinium left over from a wedding a fortnight ago, so I took some in for the reception of the Wool Hall, the business centre I work at in Bristol. And with some grasses, they've been fantastic, lasted almost two weeks and only now the heads are starting to lower like they've been too long at a party. The colours and vivid brightness remain, its just the necks droop and they look like they've fallen asleep. You can almost see them panting, when you lift them up with a delicate finger. They don't look like they are dead flowers, just resting, waiting for the next party.
JP

Eunice's Husband's Sweet Peas

Earlier in the week, a friend Claire phoned to say that her elderly neighbour, Eunice, was finally moving out of her cottage after 55 years. Her husband had died about 8 years ago and Eunice now needed the support of her daughter and son in law.

Eunice's husband used to exhibit Sweet Peas and Chrysanthemums at local and national shows. In fact she proudly mentioned that he won a Bronze at the National Sweet Pea Show in the 60's, no mean feat. The shed at the bottom of the garden was full of all his paraphernalia of industrious enthusiasm which, was in danger of becoming landfill if not found a new home.

Claire wondered if I might be able to use these wonderful Sweet Pea exhibition vases and I immediately said yes. I took Eunice an enormous bunch of Sweet Peas and her eyes lit up as she recognised familiar varieties of a flower that she knew so intimately. She pointed to a stool in the immaculate, untouched, original 50's kitchen with it's sky blue, curved melanamin cupboards and told me how her husband used to sit for hours before a show straightening the petals on his unruly Chrysanthemums and how there would be flowers all over the house carefully placed at different temperatures in order to slow or quicken their development. She also offered me a small leather pencil case whose zip was rusted shut which contained the little tools and brushes he would use to groom his flowers on the show bench. As I took them from her hands , I wanted to turn her kitchen clock back and have him sit there again.

I promise to look after them for you Eunice and who knows, maybe the show bench might beckon some time in the future.