Munstead Wood and Sweet Hermione the perfect summer roses ...

Sweet Hermione

Taking cuttings from your woody herbs ...

I was supposed to go and see the Rubens exhibition at the Royal Academy today, but it was just too nice outside in my garden to spend the morning cloistered indoors with a bunch of porridgy nudes. I'm convinced the great man must have been a total misogynist: what other reason could there be for him to have painted such lumpy, washed-out, unattractive ladies? Maybe I'm mistaken and they were simply his type. Maybe I'll make it tomorrow ... if the sun's not shining ... and I don't get a better offer.

And so today I've been busy digging in the dirt outside, which, for me, is a total joy at this time of the year. My sage bush is looking its age - a bit like one of Rubens's women, and my rosemary bushes are in danger of getting devoured alive. I love rosemary, and manage to add it to just about everything I cook. So in order to big up my supply lines I've taken some cuttings of both the sage and the rosemary.

In a few weeks' time my rosemary will probably be in flower, and as the sap is rising and the growth hormones are stirring it seems to me that this is probably the perfect moment to take cuttings. And the process is about as easy as tripping over the door mat.

All you need to do is slip off a side shoot of about 5 to 6 cm (2 + inches) from the main stem of your plant. It's not brain surgery so you don't have to be too exact. Just bear in mind that if the cutting is too long it makes it more difficult for the emerging roots to support the whole thing, and get it growing as an independent plant.

The (groovy pink) arrows in the photo above are pointing to suitable side shoots that could be slipped as potentially viable cuttings. And the photo below shows a whole bunch that I've slipped off.

I gathered my little bunch together and put them in a jar of water for a few minutes so that they would stay hydrated, and to ensure that the ends were wet when I put them in the rooting powder. That way a lot more of the powder sticks to them.

I used some special seed and cutting compost for potting them up. It's better than regular compost because it's got a finer texture with better drainage so that the cuttings don't rot before they root, and the finer texture creates less obstacles for nascent root growth. You could make your own. There are hundreds of recipes out there in cyber-land, but I took the easy route and bought some from my local garden centre. 

Now you need to remove all the leaves from the bottom 3cm of each cutting. The idea is not to have any greenery that will sit below the soil line or be in contact with it as it'll probably rot and ruin the chances of your cutting taking root. 

Next  dip the cutting in some rooting powder to help the rooting process along as much as possible. You can buy rooting powder in just about any garden centre. Then using your finger make a hole in the compost at the edge of the pot and plant your cutting, gently firming the compost around it to hold it in place. You should aim to have about a couple of centimetres of the stem below the soil line. Carry on with your other cuttings, planting them all around the edge of the pot, so that they'll be easier to separate after they've taken root and started to grow into independent plants. 

When they are all planted up you need to place them in a sheltered spot and make sure that they stay moist without allowing the soil to get waterlogged. I've place mine on top of one of my larger pots that I have yet to plant up for springtime. The pots with the cuttings will be able to draw a certain amount of moisture from the larger pot beneath, and they'll be able to drain into it as well. 

With any luck I should have enough little plants to share with my friends in town who like to grow cooking herbs on their balconies. 

All the best for now,

Bonny x

West London garden birds ...

I've only gone and got myself a brand new hobby ... .

 I've become a twitcher!

Now let me quickly clarify exactly what this new passion of mine consists of ... before you start thinking I've developed some sort of itchy skin complaint or an embarrassing nervous condition.

I've started to watch the birds in my back garden ... obsessively.

It all started innocently enough with a vague feeling that my poor little feathered friends must have been suffering from a serious case of the January blues when the frost froze the ground to the point where normal food foraging became impossible.

I trooped off down to the garden store and bought some bird feeders, which I strung up on random branches around the back garden. Well I say random, but to tell the story straight there was nothing random about it: the branches were all strategically chosen so that the little critters wouldn't poop-bomb my decking and garden furniture.

And thus began my obsession with what was going on outside my kitchen window.

I've had all manner of furred and feathered visitors.

A ravenous flock of these cheeky green chaps seem to live hereabouts.

I think they're parakeets. And let's just say that I was more than a  little surprised when they showed up en masse to raid my feeders. I boasted about them to my chum, the Whippet Mummy, at the school gates. Whippet Mummy was not impressed.

They hang out in her garden, raid her cherry tree and kick up a merry racket like a bunch of teenage delinquents at their first cider party. I have since learnt how eloquently her words sum up the squawk-along antics of our green-feathered friends.

Luckily we have some other very well-behaved native birds. 

The pigeons love, love, love the berries on my ivy. 

And, being British pigeons, they form a nice orderly queue to take their turn feasting on the vines.

I got very excited when I saw this handsome chap, and had to follow him around the garden with my telephoto for ages before I could get a decent angle on him. I think he's a great spotted woodpecker.

Great spotted woodpecker

Next up was this very handsome fellow, who came with one of his chums. If I knew how to sex a starling I might have been able to say whether it was his girlfriend or not. In any event I'm pretty sure he's a starling.

Now this little man has got to be my favourite. I have a great, big, soft spot for the robin. Here he is, balanced on top of Emi's swing, waiting his chance with the peanuts. What a well-mannered little boy he is.

These birds were rather splendid. Sadly they're not really in focus. I think they may be some type of sparrows. They came in a big feathered gang.

I have a lovely little blackbird who sweetly serenades me with song before she partakes of my back-garden bounty.

And then there's old Cheeky Paws, who's not even a bird, although he thinks he's cock of the walk in this garden. He usually arrives over the garden wall, pausing on his way past to have a good look in through the kitchen window. 

He went to investigate the peanuts first ...

... hmmm ... very nice! Very nice, indeed. Don't mind if I have a few of these. 

... in fact, why stop at a few? After all I am trying to store some fat under this fine fur coat of mine.

... Aha ... and what's this other thing she's hung up for me? 

... I'm not sure, but it tastes good ...

... really, really, really good. 

Like why don't I just take this baby back to my drey, and have it all for myself ... . 

A serious amount of pulling and tugging ensued, accompanied no doubt by some mild squirrel bad language, which doesn't bear repeating.

I've done it! Eureka! I'm so outta here!

 And this little fat ball's comin' with me. It's got my name all over it!

And that was the end of one of my fat balls. 

It's a circus out there, and I seem to be spending an unhealthy amount of time watching it. In fact I'm beginning to wonder whether I'm freaking the neighbours out. I mean how would you feel if there was this weird woman with a telephoto lens that seemed to be trained on your bedroom windows all the time ?? ERRR... 

All the best for now,

Bonny x

Osterley Park's Christmas Bling ...

This morning dawned cold and frosty with clear skies and December sunshine: a perfect winter's day.

Emi and I headed out to Osterley Park to make the most of the good weather. I'd heard that they'd got all their Christmas decorations up and were opening the doors to let us in for a look at their Christmas bling.

I've written about Osterley before (The Jersey paintings return to Osterley Park and Bluebells in Osterley Park). It's a wonderful National Trust property just down the road from where we live, and is one of our favourite haunts for walking the Wonder Dog. When we want some fresh air and can't think where to go this is usually where we end up.

We had to leave the Wonder Dog behind as we were going inside, so we were able to stop and watch the ducks for a while. The Wonder Dog does not approve of ducks, and we normally have to walk quickly on by so as not to upset them with his barking.

It's hard to believe that this place is in Greater London. You can just about make out the aeroplane on its descent to nearby Heathrow.

As you walk around the estate you sometimes hear the roar of distant traffic, but otherwise it's incredibly peaceful. It's a great spot to come and enjoy Mother Nature's seasonal best. For those of us who live in the city it's easy to miss the passing seasons, but a quick trip out here soon puts us in touch with the natural world.

I like to sit on these chairs, with the sun on my face listening to the birds.

I love the majestic sweep of the branches of this Cedar of Lebanon that trail down to the water's edge. This old chap's got to be my ultimate Christmas tree.

Another old friend of mine lives on the opposite side of the house. He's an oriental plane tree who's been there since about 1755.

 They think that he originally came from Iran or Turkey. Isn't he amazing? His branches grow in strange ways, almost like the arms of a monkey who leans on his knuckles as he walks along.

Can you see little Emi standing amidst the branches to give some sense of perspective? If this old tree could talk, his tales would be well worth listening to.

The rest of the gardens were looking neat, but at this time of the year they owe their splendour to the beautiful rise and sweep of the trees.

Here and there we found the odd little reindeer, flexing his muscles and gearing up for the Big Night.

The gardeners had given each one a name. The chap above was called Blixen. Emi had a great time running from one to the next discovering their names and shouting them out into the cold air for everyone else's benefit.

Finally we remembered what we'd come for and headed inside.

In the long gallery, one of the surviving Tudor parts of the house, we found the most magnificent tree. Doesn't it look grand?

Queen Elizabeth I, the Virgin Queen, came to visit Osterley on at least two occasions. I like to imagine her striding energetically up and down in here on rainy days with her courtiers fluttering after her like great black crows in a newly ploughed field.

It's a cracking room with exquisite paintings and objets d'art dotted around.

One of the many, many things that I love about this place is the staff who volunteer to help. They're all so enthusiastic about the place. This morning many of them had dressed in stunning period costumes. And without exception they were happy to chat about the place and answer Emi's questions.

Emi had a game of Devil Among the Tailors with a lovely young man who was bewigged (18th century style) and volunteering as a guide. The object of the game is to send the spinning top whizzing around the table to knock over as many skittles as possible. Each skittle has a number value and you have to take your aim with a view to hitting as many of the high-value skittles as possible. It's a game of skill and strategy that was once popular in London's many public houses.

Devil Among the Tailors is a name that was given to the game of table skittles after a group of tailors kicked up a rumpus outside a London theatre where they were staging a play called The Tailors: a Tragedy for Warm Weather. The play satirised the London tailors, and they took umbrage at the way in which they were being portrayed. They showed up en masse on 15th August, 1805 and started to riot. The special constables of the day were helpless against the numbers of angry tailors brandishing scissors and whatever else they had to hand. The Life Guards were called in and they did the job of dispersing the rioters so effectively that they were compared to a ball ploughing through the skittles.  And ever after the game of table skittles was known to Londoners as Devil Among the Tailors. 

Having made some Dried Orange Slice and Cinnamon Stick Christmas tree decorations I was interested to see how they had used dried fruit to make decorations too. In the Long Gallery they'd brought in lots of standard bay trees, which looked amazing with slices of dried apple and orange and whole dried clementines and limes: so many ideas for next year ... .

In the hallway they had a wishing tree, where Emi recorded his Christmas wish on a special label. Here he is with another of the lovely volunteer guides, writing it out carefully in his very best handwriting. 

And then he tied it to the tree along with all the other children's Christmas wishes. It reminded me a little of Buddhist Temples I've visited in the Far East where people write out prayers and tie them to trees in the Temple gardens. Our guide told us that this was once an authentic English tradition. I've never heard of it before, but as I think it's rather charming, it's one I'd be happy to adopt. 

This wonderful table centrepiece caught my eye. Back in the day the pineapple on top was probably worth more than they paid the cook in a year. 

Or how about this dumb waiter, groaning under the weight of its seasonal delights?

And every mantlepiece seemed to sport its own festive garlands and decorations.

Down in the kitchens they were making griddle cakes and we had a go at stirring the Christmas pudding. The cosy warmth from the old range cooker and the smell of Christmas spices were magical. 

We came away with grand plans for further embellishments to our own modest decorations at home. Emi has spent a good part of the afternoon working on his paper chains. If you're in the London area and you need something to reboot your Christmas mojo you might like to consider a trip out to Osterley Park. You can find their website here: Osterley Park.

All the best for now,

Bonny x

As shared on image-in-ing

Tresco Abbey Garden, Tresco, Isles of Scilly

Last Friday we set off for the Scilly Isles, which lie just off the south coast of Cornwall. It felt like a real adventure, which was due in no small measure to the little propeller plane in which we made the journey. Flying across the sea at an altitude of only a couple of thousand feet was amazing. We spent our time, squinting down at the rugged Cornish coastline, trying to spot familiar features.

Cornish Coast

The boys in our party (Emi and his Grandpa) were especially excited about our mode of transport. It was a short flight (half an hour) from Newquay to St. Mary's Airport on the big island of St. Mary's, and they enjoyed every last second of it. We were seated directly behind the pilot, so they had ring side seats from which they watched him closely.

Here we are coming in to land:

St. Mary's, Isles of Scilly

What can I say about the Isles of Scilly? Well on a balmy day in July with gentle sea breezes and warm sunshine they're pretty close to being a perfect island paradise. I must confess that they hadn't exactly featured large on my radar before our trip: I was vaguely aware that they existed from the bundles of lovely narcissi that they export to the mainland each year. It was my mother who suggested going there. She's a gardening buff and wanted to go to see the famous Tresco Abbey Garden for herself.

So, on arriving, we caught a ferry for Tresco, and sailed across the very calm inter-island sea.

St. Mary's, Isles of Scilly

The water was crystal clear with forests of waving seaweed that moved gently to and fro with the current as we passed by.

Sea Forest

Once again the next leg of the journey to our destination was an integral part of our adventure, but then as T.S. Eliot once said: the journey not the arrival matters. The scenery was simply stunning with deserted, sandy beaches that seemed to go on and on forever.

Tresco, Isles of Scilly

Before long I had developed a serious case of agapanthus envy. Everywhere you go on the islands you see these beautiful plants. No one seems to have planted them, or to be caring for them but they're flourishing all over the place, their wonderful blowsy flower heads nodding gently in the breeze. Just look at these chaps growing on some untended common land beside a pathway.

Agapanthus

Or these chaps growing in the sand dunes where we landed on Tresco.

Wild Agapanthus growing on Tresco

When we finally arrived at our destination the beautiful gardens did not disappoint. Over the years they have been exquisitely designed, landscaped and maintained. My parents were delighted with them.

Tresco Abbey Garden, Tresco, Isles of Scilly

In fact we found it hard to believe that we were still in the United Kingdom, such was the abundance of rare plants from warmer climes. 

 Exotics growing in Tresco Abbey Garden, Tresco, Isles of Scilly

There were formal gardens with gothic arches that framed the views beyond with verdant foliage.

Tresco Abbey Garden, Tresco, Isles of Scilly

And there was the most amazing shell house, which is just visible in the photo above. But, trust me, you really do need to take a closer look at this little beauty.

Tresco Abbey Garden, Tresco, Isles of Scilly

Isn't it amazing? So many shells collected from the beaches and painstakingly arranged to make mosaics of such wonderful colour and texture.

Tresco Abbey Garden, Tresco, Isles of Scilly

There were formal pathways that led off to immaculate lawns.

Tresco Abbey Garden, Tresco, Isles of Scilly

And wild terraces where everything seemed to belong in another latitude or perhaps in a totally different hemisphere.

Tresco Abbey Garden, Tresco, Isles of Scilly

This really doesn't look much like dear old Blighty, does it?

Tresco Abbey Garden, Tresco, Isles of Scilly

Now the other thing that has to be said is that the gardens are pretty huge. We set off with great plans of following a methodical course up and down and back and forth along the pathways. My father was our designated map-reader, but we quickly abandoned the idea and wandered around at will, oohing and aahing with delight at each wonderful new thing we saw.

Tresco Abbey Garden, Tresco, Isles of Scilly

You can meander up and down steps from one terrace to another.

Tresco Abbey Garden, Tresco, Isles of Scilly

You might even meet Neptune on your travels.

Tresco Abbey Garden, Tresco, Isles of Scilly

Or the children of Scilly, playing happily in the sunshine.

Tresco Abbey Garden, Tresco, Isles of Scilly

The gardens were laid out by a chap called Augustus Smith, who leased the Isles of Scilly from the Duchy of Cornwall in 1834 and created the (rather grand) title for himself of Lord Proprietor of the Isles of Scilly. He chose Tresco for his home, where he built a house, which he called Tresco Abbey. It looks over the grounds of St. Nicholas's, a ruined Benedictine priory on the landward side and across the inter-island sea to St. Mary's on the other side, and remains in private ownership.

Tresco Abbey Garden, Tresco, Isles of Scilly

He used the old priory walls to shelter his garden, and also planted lots of tall trees such as Monterey Pines and Monterey Cypresses from California in groups on the upper seaward slopes to serve as wind breaks creating a sheltered eco-climate within his south-facing gardens.

Tresco Abbey Garden, Tresco, Isles of Scilly

And, as you'd expect from any decent garden design, the ruins of the old Priory have been elegantly worked into the landscape to create the most sublime suite of gardens.

Tresco Abbey Garden, Tresco, Isles of Scilly

I loved the ancient stone walls, covered with the most luxuriant lichen I have ever beheld. Check out the old stones with the ultimate in designer stubble:

 St. Nicholas's Priory was built in about the twelfth century. In 1114 King Henry I granted a charter, through the Bishop of Exeter, to the Monks of Tavistock charging them with taking over the simple religious buildings on Scilly and establishing a priory on Tresco.

Tresco Abbey Garden, Tresco, Isles of Scilly

This they duly did, importing some of the stone used to build their religious house from as far away as France. The priory operated until the late fifteenth century when it fell into disuse and disrepair, having been abandoned by the community under the pressure of recurring attacks by sea pirates. 

Tresco Abbey Garden, Tresco, Isles of Scilly

The islanders still held the grounds of the priory in great affection, and persisted in burying their dead there until the nineteenth century when the new cemetery at Old Grimsby was opened. 

Tresco Abbey Garden, Tresco, Isles of Scilly

In about 1840, once he'd got himself nicely settled in at his new estate, and grown used to his rather grand title, Augustus Smith started to collect figureheads from the many ships that were ship-wrecked around the islands each year. There were rich pickings because the islands rise gently out of the sea, are surrounded by treacherous rocks that may not be visible at high tide and are frequently buffeted by gale-force winds and enshrouded in winter fogs making it difficult for sailors to spot the dangers until it's too late. In fact there are more shipwrecks around the Isles of Scilly than anywhere else in the world. 

Valhalla, Tresco Abbey Garden, Tresco, Isles of Scilly

Augustus Smith had the mastheads cleaned and restored. Then he built a special gallery to display them, which he called the Masthead Valhalla. After his death in 1872 his family carried on the collection, adding further mastheads from ships that ran aground over the ensuing years.

Valhalla, Tresco Abbey Garden, Tresco, Isles of Scilly

And at the other end of the spectrum there's also a rather more domestic kitchen and cutting garden, which is lovely in its own right even if it lacks the drama of other parts of the gardens.

Tresco Abbey Garden, Tresco, Isles of Scilly

Whilst the Tresco Abbey Garden was epic, I don't mean to suggest that it's the only attraction on the islands. The miles of lovely sandy beaches are well worth a visit too.

Tresco, Isles of Scilly

 And there's a lot of fun to be had just messing about in boats, or diving to find some of those shipwrecks.

Tresco, Isles of Scilly

The islands were bitterly fought over during the English Civil War being held at different times by the Royalists and the Parliamentarians. As a result there are a few bits and pieces from that era to visit as well. The tower in the picture below was built as a garrison by the Parliamentarians and is known as Cromwell's Castle. 

Cromwell's Castle, Tresco, Isles of Scilly

The islands are a brilliant place to kick back, slow down and relax, and we had a great time doing just that. We pottered around at our own (rather slow) pace, ate very well and enjoyed one another's company. I'd definitely recommend them as a chilled out destination for a great family holiday.

All the best for now,

Bonny x

As shared on Friday Finds