flowers – John Vincent

My country knowledge is a mixed bag. Certain facts have embedded themselves in my brain from the days of my youth. That much I take for granted but there’s a lot of holes in my rural knowledge. Sue, my wife often ribs me for not knowing the name of some common bird or roadside flower. It’s the moment when I grab the phone and search for a quick answer.

I’d not been the least bit concerned about the tall, thick staked bright yellow flowers that spung up around here. Growing in clumps on scruffy ground they are certainly colourful. Small daisy like flowers in their thousands. That’s not an exaggeration as the cover of flowers is like a blanket.

For some obscure reason I didn’t know these invasive plants by name. Once I’d heard the proper name for them some recognition clicked in place. Maybe they were not prolific in the West Country of the 1970s. Strangely my mind drifted to “The Return of the Giant Hogweed[1]”. Probably one of the more ridiculous Genesis musical creations.

A fact that I didn’t know about these tall wildflowers is that they are named in a 1959 Act of Parliament[2]. One reason is that they can do damage to horses and farm animals. So, colourful they maybe, what’s a less attractive feature is they are poisonous under certain conditions.

Common Ragwort is the plant in question. It seems that Ragwort is almost impossible to eradicate. The best that can be done is to control it. Each yellow-flowered plant can produce up to 150,000 seeds. These seeds can stay dormant in the soil for up to 20 years. Ragwort is a biennial, it takes 2 years for the plant to flower. On the up-side they are the home of a wide variety of insects.

Today, the weather predictions are for an almost perfect English summer day. Blue skies and plenty of sun. A day to be making the most of the garden.

Once these plants have flowered it’s time to take drastic action. I may find myself pulling up these monsters by the roots. Fortunately, I only have a few to contend with on the edges of my garden. They are not for my compost bin. For the big green bin, the local council empties on a Monday morning.

Ragwort by Anne Stevenson

They won’t let railways alone, those yellow flowers.
They’re that remorseless joy of dereliction
darkest banks exhale like vivid breath
as bricks divide to let them root between.
How every falling place concocts their smile,
taking what’s left and making a song of it.

Poem Attribution © Anne Stevenson, Ragwort

Source Attribution https://poemsontheunderground.org/ragwort

[1] https://youtu.be/BSkgwCpuZwk

[2] https://www.gov.uk/guidance/stop-ragwort-and-other-harmful-weeds-from-spreading

It’s Thursday. Heavy rain is expected during the day. More rain. Soaking ground that is already soaked. Greening this green country. Forecasts are saying that the temperature high will be 12 degrees C. Now, that sort of temperature in mid-February is on the high side.

I’m doing that typical British small talk routine of talking about the inclement weather. Brezzy, wet and overcast. Not the sort of winter weather to raise the spirits. Spring like but it’s not spring. Although my daffodils are happy to smile in a spring like way.

It’s a time of the year when ice and snow should, at least be possible. That’s down South too. Surly we should have a couple of days of irrational panic as public transport systems slow to a halt and long-lost woolly jackets are pulled from dusty cupboards. Instead, there’s an almost permanent warm dampness.

With over 10-hours of daylight the garden is slowly beginning to wake up. One cheerful annual sight is the Camellias[1]. This year, they have an abundance of buds and flowers. Even with the wind shaking-off some of the flowers, the bushes are an array of colour. What’s more is they have survived the sandy soil and its inclination to be chalky as we sit at the base of the North Downs. In my sheltered south facing garden I’ve got two long lived bushes that flower in sequence. Both pink but one slightly redder than the other.

In my days in Cologne one of the delights of this time of year was a visit to Die Flora, der Botanische Garten[2]. It’s free. The Camellia house there was full of an amazing collection of varieties. The garden greenhouse is open every year between January and April. There’s a pathway through the house that shows off the plants at their best. Just as mine, they flower at different times and so there’s always something to see.

The sky is a blanket of grey. The trees are shimmering in the wind. Everything hangs with a wetness that rests heavy on the branches. It’s a major umbrella day.

Dangers to avoid. Those huge puddles that accumulate on corners where the drains are blocked by fallen leaves. The cars and trucks that take no heed of pedestrians crammed onto narrow pavements. The fountain of water that shoots into the air and covers all around.

[1] https://www.rhs.org.uk/plants/camellia/spring-flowering

[2] https://www.cologne-tourism.com/arts-culture/sights/detail/flora-and-botanical-garden-cologne