Garden Fever

It cannot be helped, simply a psychological by-product of the time of year; anxiety and anticipation leading to garden fever. Many people have been affected by this type of seasonal disorder. Its symptoms are nervous tension, a high state of anxiety and apprehension. The tension, the anxiety and apprehension? Simply put, attributable to quiet queries addressed to the inner self: will that new perennial come up this year? got to get out and plant, just must, but damn, have to wait until danger of frost has cleared; and finally will there be anything worthwhile left by the time I get out to those garden centres and nurseries given the potted nuttiness of all those other gardeners?

Garden fever has a powerful antidote. That virtue of patience must be practised to permit the final arrival of frost-free nights, and then it's off to the races - or the garden centres - to politely but firmly vie with all those other fevered home-owners addicted to their gardens for the acquisition of those favoured plant species that brighten our days with their texture, colour, fragrance and insouciance. And that's when love's labour is not lost, but entirely spent through the dedicated deliberations of cause and effect. Because if I place this particular plant right there, will the effect be what I'm aiming for?

And the gardens thrive in the throes of their own efforts to entice winter-sheltered plants to once again announce their seasonal arrives, and in welcoming winter-tender annuals to fill in the spaces left for them. All too soon the trilliums and daffodils and hyacinths and crocuses and miniature irises and bergenia have begun to fade. But not to worry, since the flowering crabs, the magnolia, the apple and plum trees are proudly boasting their own colourful events, along with the pendulous bridal wreath spirea.

And the lilies of the valley are perfuming our space beyond belief. Violets have popped up everywhere in tiny knots of purple and white. The delphiniums are raising their majestic flower heads. Climbing roses, the tea roses, the miniatures, are all setting hundreds of buds. The tree peonies and herbaceous peonies have set their rounded buds and already there are huge luscious pink flowers on the tree peonies. Irises are set to open their large floral heads, creeping phlox is afloat with mauve and pink.

The weeping caragenas are flecked with their tiny yellow florets soon to be beanpods. Canterbury bells have proliferated in the gardens and the flower heads are ready to burst into white and blue bells. The heucheras have sent up their floral antennae in colours of bright red, white and pink. The allium are ready for their complex flower heads to unfurl bright purple balls. Leopard's bane is in full yellow flower, holding its own. Clematis vines have been scrambling to catch up and buds are appearing, promising a spectacular display.

And then of course, there are the garden pests. So soon? Who called them? Those bright orange lily beetles whose wont it is to lay their disgusting eggs and cover them with offal to distract the attention of would-be predators, in the process hungrily stripping new leaves and flower buds. Those tiny green larvae creeping over the roses, curling themselves into the tender buds, destroying beauty to enhance their life-opportunities. The tiny herds of aphids already assembling busily on the roses - and here we have been busy trying to eradicate ant-hills...

The garden planters stuffed with tender and exotic floral specimens situated here and there in the gardens at the front, at the back, on the brick cobbles of the patio and porch. They will eventually spread their presence and become lush with colour, fragrance and presence.

Sumptuous, glorious!