Blog about no-dig gardening, nature, pets and life in the Dutch Delta, by Renée Grashoff, a published writer.
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dinsdag 29 juni 2021
12 - Dutch or English? Both, why not! Gardening is universal.
dinsdag 22 juni 2021
11 - Tuinieren op de vierkante meter (Dutch version)
Toen ik in 2018 verhuisde, was "tuin" een belangrijk criterium, net zoals voor veel mensen.
Trendy
Balkontuin
woensdag 16 juni 2021
10 - balcony revamp
Too many small pots!
Before |
When Puck had manouvered herself head-first between the hosta and viburnum and couldn't turn herself around to get out, instead had to back up like a great lumbering truck, I decided some changes had to be made.
Revamping the balcony.
After |
maandag 14 juni 2021
9 - Rock garden plants
That wooden trellis planter I bought when I moved here 4 years ago has seen many plants in its life, and only the nasturtiums were a success really, so disappointing. It must be its shallowness in combination with the growing conditions on my balcony. And my own mistakes obviously: not so strange that a Lonicera, used to dappled shade, was extremely unhappy in the 40 degrees sunshine we had that first summer. I sensibly decided against turning that planter into a pond (the weight!), yes, sometimes sense takes over from sheer enthusiasm. Almost dragged it to the basement lockup to wait for that allotment (When? When?), and then had a brainwave. Now, I have many of those and most are unusable and unrealistic. But this time...
Plants that know how to rock
Campanula on the rampage
Coreopsis |
Plans
Nasturtium Black Velvet |
zaterdag 12 juni 2021
8 - Growing veggies on a clifftop
Grow your vegetables!
We are urged to eat less meat and sugar, and more veggies.
The shadiest corner at 21:30 |
Clifftop conditions
Parsley, aniseed and raddish |
Making plans
woensdag 9 juni 2021
7 - Gardening means Sanity
"What is depression like? It's like drowning, except you can see everyone around you breathing." (HealthyPlace.com)
In spring 2020 the world was thrown into a pandemic and I went to pieces.
Mental health and gardening
My garden is not a luxury, nor a chore. It is a necessity for my mental health. Let me explain.
In February 2020 Covid-19 struck. Except the Netherlands had no clue it did, so our Catholic South celebrated carnival as usual and many other people went on their habitual skiing trip. By March people started to die; we were thrown into strict lockdown and shock. Schools, shops, bars, theatres, all places where people could gather were closed, folk were ordered to work from home. By means of only one governmental commandment (thou shalt stay at home) my existence ground to a halt and I lost my entire social life overnight. I was also prohibited from visiting my gravely ill Mum, who lived in a secure old folks home due to her Alzheimer's and cancer.
Blossom time
Spring. Paradoxically, that Spring was the most gorgeous one I can remember. So at first I admired the blossom on the trees, the sunshine, the suddenly unprecedented clean kerosenetrail free blue skies, and rejoiced in my garden. But pretty soon loneliness sneaked up on me. I loathed the online lessons and meetings, I missed company, my art clubs, my band and most of all I felt I failed my mother. I was not allowed to visit her.
My balcony garden looked amazing in the sunshine. The Pelargoniums were a riot of colour, the Roses and Cannas were gorgeous, the herbs did great, everything seemed hunky dory. But there was this dark Paynes Grey fog slowly but surely creeping over my Eden, and covering me when I sat reading, next to Puck. And it wouldn't lift. Every time I battled medical burocracy, trying to them allow me to see my Mum but failing, that fog got a bit darker. And every time I lost half a newly written test paper at work because of defunct IT whatever, it deepened again.
And then in June Mum took to her bed and didn't come out. She was in pain, so much pain, she told me in a video call helped by a carer, but by the time I had screamed at her doctor and was finally allowed a 10 minute visit, all kitted up in PPE, she didn't recognise me anymore. I wasn't allowed to sit with her during her last hours. She died all alone.
My garden was my solace
Arrangements for her funeral were what kept me going, but afterwards there was a hole as large as the Cornwall porcelain quarry. It felt as bleached bone dry as well. And I turned to what I have done since I was a child in times of distress: I turned to the green spaces. Walking my dog was allowed, and cycling too, so that's what I did. I spent hours sitting amongst my plants, just sitting. You can say what you like, I am convinced that plants heal. Simply being with them, smelling them, brings peace.
I used my Arabian mint to make tea, and watched the wind rustle the leaves of the Cannas, bathing in the scent of the lavender and lemon Pelargoniums. The English rose smiled at me. I imagined it spoke to me. A rose is a rose is a rose, and you will be alright. And I said thank you, for attempting to keep me grounded and sane.You can also follow me on Instagram @songsmith2962 and @grashoffr
zondag 6 juni 2021
6 - Happy Hostas
Some years ago now, I gave up on hostas. But life changes, in this case for the best.
My happy hosta |
Hostas project that lush jungle like vibe that I love. Having grown up in a rural area, surrounded by apple orchards, wheat, sugarbeets and lots of grassland dotted with Friesians (how typically Dutch would you like?), my world was flat, green, and small-leaved. My Mum took me to a hortus botanicus when I was 8, and I fell in love with tropical plants on the spot. Jungle Book became my favourite film, and I dreamed of living in a jungle. Mind you, visiting Aruba when I was 11 quickly made me realise: tropical plants, great, all those venomous insects that thrive there, and snakes, erm...not my thing. "Oh, don't you worry, they won't hurt you if you leave them alone", I was told. Yeah, right. After a very up close and personal encounter with a small scorpion that stung me on the stomach when it had hidden itself in my t-shirt for a nice snooze ("aren't you lucky it was a small one"), I decided jungle life was not for me!
Slugs! Loathe them!
But the love for large green leaves remained. I wanted a gunnera, was told I was barmy, as it would dominate the entire garden. So planted a pergola kiwi instead. Very lush, very green, and it grew huge. And hostas, must have hostas, as they come as close to a 'tropical vibe' as you can get in this climate. But the many slugs and snails in my old garden came to dinner daily, and nothing worked. I tried coffee grains, sharp sand, sharp grit, beer traps, picking them off twice a day, and was still left with just the veins.
Balcony garden
On my balcony though, the picking off method works, hurray! As long as I do it daily. So here I have had two gorgeous hostas for 4 years. They take centre stage, and are admired by everyone that visits. They are blooming at the moment, a month later than usual due to the extremely cold April and May this year. And believe me they are pampered.
vrijdag 4 juni 2021
5 - Ravishing Roses
Shakespeare used a rose to explain something: 'What's in a name? That which we call a rose by any other name would smell as sweet...'
Still, the word rose evokes quite a different image from the word turd, and a turd smelling as sweet as a rose...would we rave about our dog's turds? I doubt it.
Roses are amongst my garden favourites. I walk the longer way home simply to pass the house which is festooned by a climbing New Dawn. So it cannot come as a surprise to you that I had to have some roses in my balcony garden.dinsdag 1 juni 2021
4 - My garden of Eden
"Eden: the beautiful garden where Adam and Eve, the first human beings, lived before they did something God had told them not to and were sent away, often seen as a place of happiness and innocence."
That's according to the Oxford Advanced Learner's Dictionary.
When I first read this it intrigued me, the 'did something', it is surprisingly vague. To me, beautiful gardens are meant to be worked, apples are meant to be picked, otherwise that happiness is swiftly erased by swarms of wasps, slugs and other assorted creepy crawlies. Innocence? Hm. I was told not to use plants taller than 50 cm, but that first summer my verbena bonariensis grew taller than me (I'm 1.69). Luckily there are no snakes on Voorne, otherwise I would have been evicted pronto.
We do have a lot of other wildlife around here. It's the proximity of water and greenery. At the end of my street, near the small ferry to the next isle, there are abandoned playing fields. The football and tennis club have moved out and the animals have moved back in. The large white poplars and summer oaks house ringneck parakeets, woodpeckers, ravens, crows, doves and a roost of jackdaws. In 2019 a buzzard raised two chicks there. Underneath the trees live hares, voles, mice, and I come across the occasional roe deer or two at dawn. Herons fish, mute swans nestle, all kinds of waterfowl make a hell of a racket. We even boast two beavers.
I love it. To me, rewilding is the magical word of the decade. I do realise that parcel of land is meant for a housing project, but long may my council lack the funding! In the meantime I try to lure the wildlife to my garden. The slugs have rather unfortunately made it their home, that wasn't in the plan. But I coo over every ladybird and bumblebee that flies onto my flowers. I'd love butterflies and sorely miss my old pond with damselflies and dragonflies. I've put up an insect hotel and feed the birds. And try to plant pollinator flowers.
So this year I have sown some seeds. Aniseed (especially for the flowers), marigolds, lathyrus, two kinds of nasturtium, and mixed pollinator seed. I put the seed trays on my heated living room floor (that works well for the seedlings, not so much for me, as walking becomes an obstacle course) and meant to put them outside in April, like all normal gardeners do. Except it was so extremely cold, all through April. So they remained indoors.
Those seedlings grew well. Puck thought so too, and bit off all the heads one afternoon when I was out. I cried. There, I'm not ashamed to admit it. But I did put them out in the cold after that and kept my fingers crossed. Well, unlike the cheap red Lidl rescued salvias I had planted to brighten up the gloom, those seedlings took the frost and rainstorms in their stride. They hardly grew at first, and the nasturtiums lost some leaves to the wind, but they survived. Unlike my beloved cannas. Not a shoot in sight so far, deep sigh. I fear I've lost both pots. I adored those blood red cannas, even more so because I rescued the original one from the local DIY centre, where it was thrown onto the rejects tray and I got myself a bargain for €1. I'm big on rescue, my Puck is a rescued dog, many of my plants are and I could use a good rescue myself. Anyway, that one miserable canna was divided into two gorgeous plants last year, and every evening Puck and I sat next to them and praised every flower.
#cannas #rewilding #seedlings #wildlife #thedutchdeltagardener #birds #plantaholic #gardeningistherapy #adoptdontshop #rescueddogYou can read more about my balcony garden at Instagram @songsmith2962 and @grashoffr
2025/3 - Don't believe everything you read
Last week I told you I plan to prune my 'olijfwilg' , or olive willow to you (Elaeagnus Ebbingei), but that I want to make certain...