Crash and Tumble.

That's what it feels like my garden and I are doing this week. I was away for nearly two weeks, and when I came back, the garden had exploded. I have been picking up the detritus since.
But here's my six this Saturday

1. Staking woes: If vampire-hunters saw my staking abilities, they would disown me. For far too long, I teetered between wrapping plants up like parcels and letting them flop. These days, I try to remember the basics and take the trouble to tie each plant separately. All the same, I am not too good at it. Can anyone recommend a good online plant-staking class?
Before staking:

 

And here's after staking. And pulling my hair, and grunting, and some swearing.

But there is nothing I can do about these:

 2. The bane of my life. Cuscuta is. This year, I managed to get all but one little bit. When I returned home, this is what it had grown into. Need to get it before it sets seed now. Which means I need to balance on a ladder and reach into the prickles. Humph. Grumble. Gripe.

3. Lavender cuttings. I took 20 cuttings this year. And then I left for a week. All but two died. Then I left for two weeks. Now one is at death's door. At this rate, that lavender walk of my dreams is a loooong way away.

4. More woes, but not mine. I might have had a rough week, but the rooster has had a far worse one. Firstly, his eldest son is now grown up, quite handsome in an adolescent kind of way and making passes at the older rooster's wives. And they are not rejecting him either. And at this time when the rooster needs to hang on to every shred of his dignity and handsomeness, he goes and loses his tail feathers. The poor guy.

5. Shimmery grass: All year I nurture these for and wait for when they bloom. But it's well worth it, I think. I could not quite capture the satiny, shiny texture of these flowers, but do try and imagine it  please.

And here's a bonus shot of them against the sky

6. Promise. When I returned home,I did not return alone. Mian came back too. With his bag of gifties. Here's what he got for me. So excited about sowing these!

Do go on to The Propagator's Six-on-Saturday series. There's lots of good stuff to read there!

Beautiful inside and out- my compost toilet!

I have made no secret of the fact that right now, the prettiest spot in my garden is the entrance to the toilet. Let me show you a picture again:

Here I sniff marigolds, listen to the hum of the bees, and look at what the autumn light does to my plants.

But today I went around to the back and looked inside.

When I first saw these toilets in Bihar, I was told that it takes a year for a small family to fill one compartment. Then you switch over to the next. By the time that fills, the first pit has been slowly composting for two years and is ready for use. For the two of us, I thought, it would take two years to fill, so we would have four-year old compost. Gold, my friends. Pure gold. February 2021 would be the year of the Great Reveal, I told everyone.

I didn't reckon on my impatience.

I have just returned from nearly two weeks out, and thought it would be as good a time as any to check on the compost*. And so I did.

It's beautiful!

It's already decomposed- there is no raw waste at all.  The thing that has not decomposed well is the leaf 'bed' that I had laid down at the beginning, and some toilet paper that wafted to the corners. But the rest is clean, dry, powdery compost.

Here's a picture

And here's a closeup

How does it smell? Like the very best gill ittar available in Lucknow.

Forget February 2021. My roses are getting the compost the coming spring.

What would I do differently now that I have seen the compost? By the way, this might be TMI for sensitive folks..

• I would still lay down the leaf bed..somehow it gives me some comfort. 
• I would be less anxious about not peeing inside the bin. From what I see, because we use leaf-litter and toilet paper instead of ash, we have a lot of carbon and need extra nitrogen-rich moisture. 
• I would not be too lazy to gather leaves and use pine shavings instead. They take forever to decompose
• I might give a small spraying with water once in a while.

*  Why yes, I do shake the presents I receive before I am allowed to open them. How did you ever guess?

I am not late; I am just making an entrance: Six on Saturday

Here it is. This week’s six. (See how cleverly I have sidestepped the whole Saturday/Sunday issue?).

Since we last spoke, the garden has gone further to autumn.

Here are the marigolds that were just a promise last week. They have really come into their own now. And do not the stripey one- that’s a first this year, it is!

The beans too, have ripened. This is not the peak of the harvest time, but the trickle has begun. Pretty , aren’t they? This is a local variety called ‘chitra’- it means ‘picture’ and is probably called that for it’s markings.

The agapanthus is done flowering and just the seedheads remain. These will be dried and hung from the ceiling this winter.

We are still hanging on to the last of summer though. This is not strictly within the garden, but Madhu and I walked down to the stream at the bottom of  the hill. She had a swim, I paddled.

Another person who still believes in summer is Chaunch-e-Cheel (Beaked-like-hawk). She was named for her sadly deformed beak; Mian and I had despaired of her ever being able to feed herself. But she’s survived and become a very good mother. Here she is, sitting on 4 as-yet unhatched eggs and two chicks.

Finally, a view down the path to the house in its late-summer glory. The weigela and foxgloves are over, the chrysanthemums are still to flower. The marigolds and salvia  are very much here.

 Do also go on to The Propagator’s blog. He is hosting this weekly get together – lots of lovely gardens up there!

The end of summer: six on saturday

I have enjoyed reading The Propagator's 'Six on Saturday' series for a while now (Actually I enjoy his whole blog..but this is about the series). In his words, it is "Six things, in the garden, on a Saturday.  Could be anything.  A job completed, a project, a pest, an interesting plant, a boring plant, anything at all!"
Why not, I thought..might just refresh this blog of mine.
Here are my six.
1. The mornings. Autumn is just coming in. And at no time is this more evident than at that magic moment when the sun just peeks over the hill. The mist is still there, backlit by the sun, and for a few minutes the whole world is made of copper and pearls.

2. Fragrance. The honeysuckle is putting out its second flush of blooms. And in the mornings as I potter around with my coffee, every now and then I catch that lovely, lovely,scent. And then I miss my Mian.

3. Birds. Marauders. Actually, they are the latter only when they attack my persimmons. The amaranth, buckwheat, sunflowers and bajra are grown for them. And to be honest, for my pleasure when I watch them snack on the seeds.I wish they would leave my persimmons alone though.

4. Sex. At least I think that's what was going on with these two butterflies. They were flying around each other all around the garden before finally resting on a leaf. Lovely to watch, but if they've laid eggs on my beans, I shall be very cross indeed.

 5. Food. This has been a good year for beans. We have planted two types, a white bean a friend had given me many years ago, and some 'chitra' beans. All fruiting nicely, so I think we will have enough beans for the next year. Despite my habit of snacking on the tender beans as I walk past.

6.Glow. I planted out lots of orangey-yellow flowers for this fall. The chrysanthemums are yet to come  in, and quite a few of the marigolds too. But the sunflowers are quite enough.

Garud Buti

 Today G came and showed me this plant. He found  it  among our corn.

Lovely, isn't it? And it is so much more than that. It's called 'Garud Buti' or the 'herb of the eagle' because it vanquishes snakes and scorpions. The bulb is considered to be a sure-fire remedy against all poisonous bites.

Sadly, after the initial gushing, G received a gentle reminder to allow the next herb he finds to set seed. I do want to propagate this. So instead of keeping the bulb in my medicine cabinet as G instructed me to do, I have planted it. Also,  I looked it up and it is the Indian Grass Lily, or Iphigenia indica. I haven't been able to find a mention of its medicinal properties, and that's okay.

Chances are high that the bulb works as a placebo. This is not to be sneezed at. Given that there are far more non-venomous snakes than venomous in this area, statistically chances are high that a bite is non-lethal. Administering a respected and safe placebo can help alleviate panic and some of the more gruesome 'remedies' that I have heard of .

 

It is a shockingly pretty plant. I hope, in a few years, to build up my stock enough to have a passable garden bed. Maybe planted with fleabane..

If you are interested in trying it out, the remedy is as follows:

Grind up one bulb (dry or fresh) in a bit of water, add one or two crushed black peppers, close your eyes and drink.

The bulb is bitter, which means that Mian and I are thinking of adding it to our bitters..after I build up a stock, of course. 

 

Walking the bees home

Just two days after Mian and I captured a swarm, the bees swarmed again. And this time,we had no hive conveniently ready to house them. So Mian and I called G, to call a young man we knew who had recently lost his bees and wanted some more. Instead, G came over in the afternoon. 'It is time I learnt, Madam' he said. I am vain enough to think that our efforts helped demystify beekeeping for him.

Our 'new' hive

He had come with bee keeper's tools-a veiled hat and a basket- borrowed from a friend. The hat was standard gear, the basket was homemade. Over here, it is considered essential for capturing a swarm. Rather than 'plopping' the swarm into a box, as the admittedly uncouth pair of us had done, the local beekeepers invite the bees in. The 'basket' is a woven cone covered with jute fabric. Honey and wax is rubbed into the fabric. The bee whisperer then holds this basket close to the swarm and coaxes them to move onto it.

The swarm-catching basket

Once he had seen the bees, Mian, I and G scurried around to complete his outfit. In lieu of beekeeper's overalls, we scrounged together a cooking ladle, Mian's bomber jacket and my gardening gloves for G. Mian and I followed in our shirtsleeves, Madhu was far more circumspect.

G scopes out the swarm

G sat down close to the swarm and held the basket almost touching them.

Introducing the bees to the basket

Some drones got interested enough to check it out. Soon, he began slowly directing them to the basket with the ladle. This was a gentle unhurried process with the ladle being used more to show the bees where they might like to go than to push them there.

Gently coaxing the bees in with a ladle

The relaxed pace means that the bees stay calm, but it also takes a while. G's arm rapidly tired but he refused all offers of help.

Waiting for the bees to make up their collective mind

Finally, after more than half an hour, the queen moved to the basket. While we could not see her, we knew it by the change in pace. Suddenly, the basket was the happening place to be and the workers could not get there fast enough.

They make up their mind. At this point, the bees are walking in by themselves

Soon, they were all in the basket, and a tired but triumphant G was holding up his new friends.

All aboard!

And then he turned around and trudged off for the kilometer-long walk home. Carrying a few hundred bees in an upside down basket.

The long walk home. Good thing he's got company. Lots of it

Our garden wakes up

Just yesterday, Mian and I stood in the garden and thought, 'It's coming together..slowly, but it's happening.'
That 'it' of course is our garden. Still very much  a work in progress, still with too many 'placeholders' and blank gaps, still too many failures swaggering in front of me.
But now it is spring and time to celebrate the magic of flowers.
Here is  what is in bloom in my garden at the moment, starting with the gifts I have been given- the wild flowers on our land.

The autumn olive (Eleagnus sp). Not invasive here and fills the orchard with its fragrance. Butterflies love it!

Kilmora (Berberis Aristata), has interest all the year around, attracts pollinators and birds.

I have taken to spreading those two shrubs around our garden, and they thank me so prettily.

Another inherited flower- the 'wilson' apple. A variety with a fascinating history. And oh, the fragrance!

 And now for the plants in my garden

Lady Bank's rose (Rosa Banksiae) . Such a cheerful flower with a direct link to the interesting Joseph Banks

I have struggled with this rose.When I first planted it four years ago, I covered it with shade thinking it would protect it from scorching. Result- it never grew. And though I removed the cover later, somehow  that rose never did well. This year it has put on a massive show. Perhaps the worst is over?

Sweet peas! finally!

Another plant I have struggled with. I followed the instructions the first year and planted them in spring. The poor little seedlings got scorched almost as soon as they poked their heads out. And then I came across a passage by Gertrude Jekyll in which she boasted of getting sweetpea flowers six weeks before her neighbours by planting the seeds in the autumn. And that's what I did. I planted the seeds, G fashioned a cover for them. And throughout the frosty weeks, those peas got coddled. Well worth the effort I think as I inhale their fragrance.

An old dependable..The 'iris bed' I had planned under the pear tree is finally recognizable as such. 

I got this iris from a kind neighbour. Such lovely colours and a deep, musky fragrance.

So that's my garden right now. And everywhere there's lots of promise. Borage, and nasturtiums have sprouted and doing well. The roses are displaying fat buds. Spring, it is here.

In which Mian and Chicu astound themselves

G warned me a couple of weeks ago that our bees would likely swarm this month. Apparently, they do that after a year in the hive.

'Mine, all Mine. And they will stay that way', said I and sent him off to 'borrow' a hive box from A and D.

And then I left for a week-long workshop in another state.
I got back yesterday and noticed that the box had arrived. I decided to spend the next afternoon cleaning and mending it.

The bees had other plans.  As Mian and I sat drinking coffee today I noticed a lump on a peach tree. A curiously vibrating, shimmering lump. Our bees had swarmed!

 A cursory search on the internet revealed that this is when bees are most docile. Apparently, it is easy enough to drop them into a box. When I called G to share the good news of the swarm and our plans to capture it, he was adamant. 'You absolutely will not do this, Madam. I will send someone.'

Humph.

I busied myself cleaning the borrowed hive of all the muck of its neglected past. It was washed, dried, sunned and still no bee whisperer.

In the meantime, Mian had done his research. We decided to go ahead with capturing the hive.
Now in the mountains, women are not supposed to touch a hive. But of the two of us, Mian has far stronger biceps. So he got the job of holding the hive box under the swarm while I scraped the bees off the branch using a stick. They fell in one mass with a plop, accompanied with a smothered yelp from Mian. He got  stung on the forehead. But considering both of us had minimal gear- sun hats (no veil) and gardening gloves, I am  impressed with the single sting.

And after that, it was sit and wait while we made sure the queen was in the hive and the swarm was content. As of now, they seem to have accepted their home.

Our tasks today?
Move the hive into the fenced garden after sunset. Replace the panels. Remove old wire from one entrance. Secure the box lid with wire.
And I am so very very proud. Think of it. Beekeeping here has a mysticism. there are three bee-whisperers in the area, and they are the only ones who handle hives. And here are Mian and I, amateurs sans gear, who managed to hold on to a swarm. I am happy.

A mulch of money

After I wrote the last post, I emailed it to my family, sat back, and waited for congratulations. They did arrive eventually, but the first reply was not what I expected 'you spent 40K and don't even have walls', she said.

Ouch. 'I wanted it very much' , I replied. And then I thought about it.

The photo that started this chain of thought

 My reply must have seemed arrogant It probably was.
I definitely do not regret the toilet. It gives me great pleasure, it feeds my garden, it has removed a lot of tension over water, and I get a major kick just dreaming of all I will do with the compost. I would do it all over again, and happily.
But that conversation got me to thinking about my spending on the garden. Is it too much? How does one estimate whether spending on a hobby is justifiable?

This amazing display, all gifted by a friend from her extras

 As far as possible, I am a DIY person. The 'make do or do without' philosophy is entrenched in me, or so I thought. But now I wonder.
I don't spend on frills. My garden has no tchotkes, none of the fancy gear that is considered indispensable. My bird table  is a plank wedged into a tree. I propagate my plants. I handwater using a can and a pipe.
But the list of what I consider 'not-frills' is increasing. I spend a lot on labour. I got the patio-wall resurfaced, the veg garden fenced in, the upper fields ploughed. When Mian goes to the States at Christmas, he always goes accompanied by a list of seeds. Not all of them survive.

My seed stash. Part bought, part collected. Mian doubled this stash with his annual spring gift

 I now am in contact with a supplier of bulbs in Kalimpong and 'treated myself' to an embarrassingly luxurious order last fall.

Part of my luxurious bulb order- on the resurfaced patio wall

 I want a golden azalea, I have decided. I want a proper rose arch, not my current jugad one. I want a proper path down to the house. I want garden furniture to sit in. I want. I want.

The 'jugaad' rose arch I want to replace

But the rose couldn't care less. Definitely a 'want' and not a 'need'

And there are two things running through my head now. One is from a book  I am currently reading, which says that gardeners who don't have creative capabilities try to cover up deficiencies with 'a mulch of money'. And the other is what a friend had told me once, when we were discussing the concepts of 'high maintenance' women. 'You are the worst of both worlds' she said. 'You look low maintenance, but are high maintenance'