Archive for the ‘from summerhouse to summer read’ Category

Mr Rosenblum’s Open Garden!

garden at the Old Smithy

bog garden towards church

My mum, Carol, is a fantastic and passionate gardener, and it’s she who helps me with all horticultural references in my books. I love writing about nature but without a little nudge my peonies would be blooming alongside my primroses, and my lilac would be lovely in July. (Yes, I felt you gardeners shudder).

Sadie’s garden in ‘Mr R’ is inspired by  Carol’s (though Sadie is far more tolerant of weeds and don’t even ask what Carol does to the deer who dare to eat her roses). I’ve watched as over a decade my parents have turned a couple of fields into an idyllic English cottage garden. There is a riotous herbaceous border filled with giant alliums (mum calls them ‘space rockets’), poppies, hellebores, irises, lilies, roses, daisies, lupins and wigwams of Carol’s prized sweat-peas. The striped lawns roll down to a stream, and a bridge leads to a series of bog gardens and ponds — one white, one yellow, one blue — and paths lined with towering bamboo snake to a bench beneath a willow arbour.

Beyond the bog gardens and stream is a field full of grass and wild flowers through which my dad, Clive, has carefully mown a series of paths. There are plantings of young trees — fruit trees and hard wood — and at the bottom lies the grandchildren’s pride: a secluded tree house. And, I can’t possibly discuss the garden without mentioning my dad’s favourite part of the garden: the veg patch. During the summer we enjoy his courgette flower risotto, lettuce plucked straight from the ground as well as home grown strawberries, raspberries, gooseberries, black-currants…

From the garden you can see both the thatched cottage which inspired Jack and Sadie’s home as well as Bulbarrow hill. If you have enough cider, you might even see the flags of Jack’s golf course or the tail of a woolly-pig.

For two days this summer Carol and Clive are opening the garden as part of the National Garden’s scheme and are featured in The Yellow Book (if you don’t know what the yellow book is, just make sure you say it in hushed and reverent tones).

‘The Old Smithy’ garden, Ibberton, Dorset,  is open on Sunday 27th of June between 2-5.30pm. Admission is £3 (children free) and all proceeds go to charity. There are plants for sale and cream teas will be served at Ibberton Village Hall. The postcode for your sat nav is DT11 0EN

I will be there collecting tickets and failing to answer questions about plants.

Leave a comment below if you need further details.

 

Sweet peas

 

Each year my mum grows sweet peas. I remember before we lived in the countryside full time and in the days before Carol used to grow her own, she’d go a little crazy whenever we passed a ramshackle road side stall selling a miserly handfull of dusty stems. She’d cry out ‘sweet peas, stop, Clive, Stop!’  My dad would swerve, break and hand my mum whatever exorbitant fee the flower seller demanded. I understood: sweet peas are beyond price. For me they remain the smell of childhood summers.

Since moving to Dorset and starting her garden, Carol has grown sweet peas every summer. Some (braver than me) might say she grows them slightly obsessively. Every year she panics that she has not started enough seeds and so buys some seedlings too, just in case. She now has three vast wigwams of sweet peas. Some are the classic summer pastels — pink, white, blue, lilac — but she has nurtured some unusual variegated varieties, my favourite is a ink-blot, leopard-spot black.

 

This is from a single cutting session -- it looked like we had barely cut any

A fabulous party

my hair's neat and everything...

I decided to go all out and dressed up in full-on ’30s glam. My dad did a double take, and my mum said that I looked just like old photos of my grandma.

That's my dad at the front, smiling

The Viola party at the Grosvenor House Hotel was so much fun. Thanks so much to everyone who came along and made it such a special night. I did a reading and managed to say ‘brasserie’ instead of ‘brassiere’…

Marcus played Jeff Rona’s viola waltz so beautifully — I had tingles.  And you can get the full version on itunes:

At the end of the night, I’d had so much fun, I didn’t want to take out my hair pins and go to bed…