early morning at Dixter
May 25, 2013
The nursery at Great Dixter opens well before the garden. This is a very good arrangement for us locals as we can shop and then start the journey around the garden (as a Friend, of course) before the world arrives. There was a fresh energy in the air this morning. Folks who know the set up will understand the chronology of the pics that follow. The group of malus by the lane full of frothy white blossom partners the line of ash opposite looking OK??? fingers crossed . . .
. . delicate touch on the woven fence – just enough for the country setting. Stacks/heaps/piles of hazel and… and … other timber.
Into the Front Meadow carpeted now with camassia.
And a couple of residents enjoying the sun at last by the front door. People who know me well also know that I am a little taken with these. They remind me of the 4 that I’ve had over many years. This is 2 year old Conifer in the foreground . . .
. . . and Miscanthus who is about 6 months old. She’s very sweet.
Strolling around to the Peacock Garden and the Carnival of Birds – my rename of Daisy Lloyd’s Parliament of Birds . . . I see the first of many Ferula with main stalk thrusting skywards.
A few views from the Cat Garden, High Garden and the Orchard Garden in no particular order.
By know I’ve decided that Fergus has become obsessed with ferulas – similar to his great liking of verbascums a couple of years ago. But then he’s master of the visual and the horticultural. Down to the Orchard where orchids are just flirting with the buttercups . . .
. . and on down the Long Border where a snapshot of the strong colour combinations that Christo enjoyed was framed.
Muso basjoo, in the Exotic garden, still in their winter clothes but signs of delights flowering well on the walls around the Sunken Garden and a glimpse of a ghost.
And for those students of Hadlow and University of Greenwich, I caught up with Kemal who was looking suitably nervous about his plant idents for the Great Dixter study days – some sympathy or a wry smile maybe, but fond memories.
Within my Garden, rides a Bird Upon a single Wheel -- Whose spokes a dizzy Music make As 'twere a travelling Mill -- He never stops, but slackens Above the Ripest Rose -- Partakes without alighting And praises as he goes, Till every spice is tasted -- And then his Fairy Gig Reels in remoter atmospheres -- And I rejoin my Dog, And He and I, perplex us If positive, 'twere we -- Or bore the Garden in the Brain This Curiosity -- But He, the best Logician, Refers my clumsy eye -- To just vibrating Blossoms! An Exquisite Reply! Emily Dickinson