FLOWER POWER

 

 

I’ve heard certain people refer to gardening as outdoor house work, only worse. That always saddens me as they know not what they are missing, and I wonder just what turned them against such a pleasure. Perhaps it is the boring maintenance of a useless monoculture lawn or the constant clipping of a vigorous hedge that has led them to this point of view. My advice would be to relax, let it all hang out, and revel in the tapestry of textural kayos and abundance of minimal maintenance. 

 This summer on the Isle of Lewis we have been blessed with a particularly fine summer, not simply for being able to swim in the Minch, but for the exceptional growth that trees have made and for the equally fabulous flowering of shrubs, herbaceous plants and wild flowers. It started with the brilliant yellow of gorse at a time when I truly needed hope, and the delicate snow white pompoms of the perennial aconite leaved buttercup joining the golden yellow of king cups in the old drainage ditch.

 I left last year’s kale and cabbage to bolt, and along with the foxgloves my garden became delightful and noisy place, as the buzzing of local bumble bees filled the air from dawn to dusk. I like to think that the tufts of grass surmounting the old stone walls have become home for many of these delightful creatures. At the end of May the white broom filled the ruin of the old black house, while the attention seeking pink of the azaleas stopped me in my tracks. Even the Maritime pine tree put on a show before romping on with fresh growth. 

Now in early autumn the profusion of purple heather has brought a warm glow to the hills, and the roadsides are trimmed with delightful blue of small scabious. Down on the croft yellow flags drove me back to paint, while in the garden the red fuchsia seem at times to have more flowers than leaves. The agapanthus, grown from seed taken from a friend’s garden in Western Australia have produced a record number of flowers. They may not look that special, but I can assure you that here in New Tolsta they can be counted as an achievement.

 I know some can’t abide pink in their garden, but to see the hollyhocks on the gable end of the barn towering above me fills me with joy, as also did if the buzzing of bumble bees was anything to go by. Japanese anemones are slowly spreading and a clump of late gladiolas tucked away behind the studio lift my spirits every time they catch my eye. Beyond the limits of my garden I have planted over the past four years a mix of pine, spruce, larch, beech and alders, which are now romping away. My neighbours spruce trees have almost entirely hidden a street lamp up on the road, and I hope my planting will perhaps do likewise for another at the road junction. The islands of the Outer Hebrides are known for their general lack of trees, but it was not always thus and some are enjoying the challenge of tree planting, as well as the joys of flower power.