A Garden for Pablo: Bluebell time

Friday, 9 May 2014

Bluebell time

Just a reminder that the bluebells are out in all their glory this month and one of the best places to see them is in the woods on Hollingside Lane, opposite the entrance to Durham University's Botanic Gardens. There are literally hundreds of thousands of them and you don't have to walk far into the wood before they appear. Just pop through the small entrance gate and there they are!


Bluebells and ferns - good companions

Just a reminder that if you are looking for perennials to fill your garden borders, then do go to the Botanic Garden's annual plant sale this coming Sunday, 11th May. from 10.00am. There are some real bargains to be had and the coffee shop is open.

See you there.

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Garden Lore

Who will take care of this garden, who will nurture it?

I will, said January.

I will anchor it to the earth with snowdrops.

I will give it my stone, the garnet.

It is mine, said February.

I will feed it the memory of all that grows.

I will welcome it with amethyst and primrose.

I will coax it with bloodstone and daffodil, said March.

Like a boxer battered by winter

I will lift myself from the frosty canvas of the earth to welcome it.

With diamond and daisy I will seduce it.

I will soak it in shower after shower, said April.

In the yawny earth its seeds will riot.

I will make it dizzy with emeralds

And the fumes of the hawthorn, said May.

It will know of nothing but play.

And I will adorn it with a necklace

Of honeysuckle and ruby, said June.

It will dance to my languid tune.

I will contain it, said July.

I will handcuff it with briar and chrysolite,

Drug it with the scent of roses.

August spoke from the garden’s stillness.

I will weep layer upon layer of sardonyx.

I will teach it the brevity of poppies.

When its bones begin to creak

I will cure it with aster and opal,

promised September.

I will guide it towards sleep with the cold light of sapphires;

For its lullaby I will provide the swan song of dahlias,

said October.

Under the weight of dead chrysanthemums I will bury it,

said November. I will give it a headstone of topaz,

a rosary of berries.

And I will guard its sleep, said December.

On a pillow of moonstone

It will dream of holly and the coming snowdrop.

Brian Patten