Jane Brocket's Blog, page 60

consider the lily flowered tulips of the field

  

[Ballerina]

Today is lily flowered tulip day. These are so-called because of their recurvus petals, but otherwise they are a tulipy as any other tulip and could never be mistaken for a lily. They are often tall, always slender and graceful, and beautifully proportioned. 'Ballerina' is a fabulous tangerine colour and is also one of the very few fragrant tulips that can fill a room with a delicate, sweet scent very similar to that of freesias. 

 

[top to bottom: Burgundy, West Point, Lilyrosa, Purple Dream]

Lily flowered tulips come in lovely pinks, purples, yellows - all very bright and breezy springtime colours which make a really uplifting bunch or arrangement. This one below has gone on the kitchen windowsill where I can enjoy watching the flowers bend and stretch and open out.

 

I also found a strip of 'Abu Hassan' tulips, a Triumph Tulip variety that the Peter Nyssen catalogue describes as 'mahogany' but which isn't quite that yet. Instead, it's a wonderful dried-blood colour with deep mustard-yellow edges. It's a rich, exotic combination and the jug full of them is now in our a very yellow lounge.

 

[Abu Hassan]

Regarding how we plant our bulbs, I have written about this before and the posts can be found in the Nov/Dec and April archives of different years (eg Nov 25 10, April 24 10, Dec 7 09). We plant them in deep straight trenches in a triangular patch of ground, and I used to plant in pots as well but find these don't do as well because by this time of year they need more water and sustenance than a pot of compost can provide. We re-plant each year because tulips bulbs are pretty much spent after one season; we pull them up at the end of the season or just leave them in the ground which then gets dug over when we plant fresh bulbs. There are a few exceptions: 'Ivory Floradale' comes up year after year, and species tulips repeat for several years if lest undisturbed. This year we also planted clumps of tulips in beds/borders and these look fantastic coming up amidst forget-me-nots and wallflowers and re-emerging perennials. Unlike many gardeners who leave border flowers for show, I am picking many of these, too (but leaving a few here & there for the view from the house windows). I buy all my bulbs from Peter Nyssen.

The garden isn't a show garden by any stretch of the imagination; I describe it as 'shaggy' and in some places there are as many rugby, tennis, cricket, golf and football balls as plants. I don't take many photos of it as a whole, but here's one with a little more background than a mop bucket.

 

 

diminuendo

 

It's overcast and so much cooler this morning, that I feel I can breathe again, and not rush to pick the tulips. It's the first time I've been able to leave nearly-open tulips in the ground without worrying (such worry!) that they will go berserk in the sun outside rather than in a vase inside. So I chose just three varieties which all have short stems but interesting flowers. 'Violet Beauty' (top) has a glow-in-the-dark quality, as though it has some ultra-violet in its petals. The other two I am trying to identify from my bulb list, and I think the the pink is 'Palestrina. and the deep, fiery orange is 'Avignon'.

 

While new tulips come in, others go out to make space; I'm so short of vases now I am using pickle jars - good job Alice has a big pickle habit. 'Helmar' and 'Gavota' look so beautiful when they have finished, with their markings all blurred on the still richly coloured, now papery petals.

Once again, I have only one child at home this week. Tom broke off from revision to make these 'biscuit burgers' which are classic boy snack. Inspired by something similar from Ben & Jerry's, he made the spicy biscuits flavoured with ginger and sandwiched them together with vanilla ice-cream.

 
 

What you cannot see in the photo is that each biscuit burger has a bite taken out of it; Tom's form of quality control.

 

crescendo

 

I have just picked around seventeen different types of tulips and feel they are most definitely building up to a great crescendo of colour beginning with this big clash of colour cymbals (a mix of Aladdin, Abu Hassan, Helmar, Jan Reus, Ballerina, Gavota, Apricot Parrot, Orange Sun).

 

The tulip-season routine of going out as early as possible with my scissors, bucket, and camera is never a chore, always a delight when I am met by close-ups like this, 

 

and am able to fill vases like this,

 

and make pick of the day line-ups like this for future reference (although I missed out a couple) so I know how to orchestrate my tulips for the loudest possible colour effect next year.

variation on a theme

 

Tulip parrots were one of the very first tulips I ever grew in our first garden, quite a few years ago now. That was in the days when we used to go to the Chelsea Flower Show where my favourite part was the huge, old tent where all the growers displayed their various speciality plants. We don't go any more because of the terrible crowds, but it used to be the most remarkable and useful place to see beautiful tulips (and all sorts of bulbs, iris, peonies, roses and spectacular fruit and veg) and to plan our dream garden.

 

Well, we are still dreaming, but ever since those glorious displays convinced me to make lists of tulips seen and admired, and then to grow them, we have had parrot tulips in the garden every spring. I love all parrots, but this year chose 'Blue Parrot' (the least curly and bizarre of the lot, not actually blue but a lovely lilac, late, and very strong) and these, 'Apricot Parrot' which have quite magical colouring, changing from the palest peachy apricot with limey streaks to a rich mix of salmon, coral, rose, primrose, and emerald as they open up and turn into enormous twirling, swirling beauties.

 

I don't have many things with tulips on them (eg fabrics, pictures, textiles) but I have just bought a couple of Susie Cooper 'Parrot Tulip' plates for next to nothing on eBay, liking the pattern and design. Phoebe baked banana bread from Rachel Allen's Bake but instead of making a single loaf, she made little heart-shaped cakes in a silicon mould (first time we'd used one - very impressed). 

 

Like the parrot tulips, they were good while they lasted, which wasn't very long at all.

[The new book we have is British Baking which looks fabulous - beautiful photography - but the first thing Phoebe tried at the weekend, honeycomb (aka cinder toffee), was a sticky disaster. We are hoping for better results next time.]

 

before and after

 
 
 

Before anyone is up (apart from Simon who had cycled many miles by this time). Before the sun hits the tulips and makes them open. Before the dew has dried and the air has warmed. Before picking. (In December we found we still had a few bags of narcissi that hadn't been planted with the rest so we bunged them into the last few tulips trenches. The combinations are completely fortuitious, but these sulphur-yellow narcissi and deep Pinot Noir-red 'Jan Reus' tulips are a match made in heaven.)

 

After picking and before sorting. As I was doing so, it occurred to me that Constance Spry probably never used a mop-bucket for her arrangements, but then I thought that actually, if that was all she had she hand, she probably would have done. She was happy to improvise, and in fact her ability to use what was available was really what made her a flower-arranging genius.

 

After sorting, and before going in a vase. Then I took the deep orange and pink lily flowered tulips out to leave what is for me quite a controlled, co-ordinated selection.

 

After sorting and putting in the very useful Munstead No. 3 'flower glass' which Gertude Jekyll used to hold tulips.  This morning's pickings were very painterly, with the red and yellow 'Helmar' and deep maroon and gold 'Gavota', plus the the narcissi and 'Jan Reus', all looking like something out of an old Dutch painting.

 

After several days in the kitchen the tulips are enormous and wide; at the moment the room is filled with tulips at various stages of openness and blowsiness. Just after I photographed these, the vases were emptied and the flowers taken outside.

 
One last look of admiration before the petals fall, and before chucking on the compost heap. (Phoebe as a huge bunch of over-the-top tulips.)

 

After they have peaked but still stunnning, although tired and fragile and about to flop.

I did take a photo of the tulips on the compost heap but it is too sad to show. And so we go full circle.

 

saturday morning glory

 

A good start to a weekend of family all in one place, books, baking from a new book, sewing, sun, rugby, and tulip-faffing.

 

 

hold on

 

I found myself saying 'hold on, hold on, I'm coming' to the tulips this morning. I just wasn't ready for this sudden emergence of so many tulips all ready to pick at the same time. Normally, the tulips start slowly and build up to a crescendo of colour and exuberance, but this year it's all happening at once, and I feel under pressure to enjoy it all too quickly.

I thought I'd start today's pickings with a posy full of bright colour with 'Helmar', 'Jan Reus', and 'Gavota' plus a couple of lily flowered tulips ('Aladdin' and 'Burgundy') which come in classic nail varnish colours (or at least the ones I plant do).

 

Plus there's a big crop of tall, stately single early tulips (above and below) in beautiful, soft shades that have subtle shading and contrasts on each petal. (These are 'Apricot Impression', 'Ollioules', 'Design Impression', and lily flowered 'Purple Dream'.)

 

These tulips are long and sturdy and last for ages in vases, with their flowers growing enormous before the petals finally overstretch themselves and fall off.

 

In the rush to pick - I saw that some Apricot Parrot tulips still in the ground had changed colour from the time I started picking to the time I finished all my early morning tulip-faffing - I'm doing my best to appreciate single varieties and individual beauty. The above is T.'Gavota' which isn't one of the biggest tulips, but is quite strikingly beautiful.

 

I was so stuck for containers when sorting out the latest picks that I used Tom's clodhoppers to hold 'Helmar' and 'Gavota'.

Heresy, I know, but I am almost wishing for cooler weather so that the tulips can  hold on a little longer.

[All tulips from Peter Nyssen]

whatever day of the week it is

 

[8.15. Bucket full of tulips]

I've just realised that the title of yesterday's post was completely wrong. It should have been 'Wednesday morning' because that is when I picked, photographed and wrote about the tulips. My goodness, I'm even worse at days and dates than I thought I was. It's common knowledge that I am the world's worst card sender but I think most people attribute that to not caring or simply forgetting when in fact most of the time I truly do not know what day of the week it is. (However, if I am going to be honest, I think there is too much card-sending and far too many 'Hallmark' occasions to make anyone who isn't dedicated to checking dates and diaries feel guilty/thoughtless most of the time.)

 

[By the back door. Tulip picking kit: Tom's shoes and mop bucket]

Anyway, I have just checked my calendar and apparently it's Thursday today. The 7th, although I could have sworn from the milk carton that it was the 4th. Yet I thought May was coming next week or the week after, and was looking forward to lunch with someone sooner than turns out possible. And goodness knows when Easter is because that's so capricious, I can't keep up and as Easter cards are anathema to me, I don't really need to know in advance (even more so as Creme Eggs  are in the shops from Christmas onwards).

But here are today's flowers, the ones that were picked the day after yesterday's which weren't picked on Tuesday at all. I decided I couldn't hold and pick at the same time now that the tulips are getitng into their stride, so got the mop-bucket out and filled it with water and carried that around with me. I find the mop-bucket enhances the suburban bag-lady look considerably.

 

[T. 'Zurel' in eBay bargain jug (Lovatt's Langley Mill?)]

The tulips, which are about two weeks earlier this year than the previous couple of years (which probably acounts for my confusion. Maybe. Probably not.) are beautiful. All pinks and peaches and pale blush colours that deepen as they mature. For one moment when I am picking them, listening to the birds and looking at the dew sparkle on the grass, time stands still and is quite perfect. Which is all very well and good, but doesn't help when I need to know what day of the week it is.

tuesday morning

 

8.15

 

Seven or eight types of narcissi.

 

Four types of tulips.

Two vases full of flowers.

One beautiful spring morning.

One child in Paris.

One child in bed.

One child driving to school.

One husband in New York.

One happy flower-grower.

 

don't know much about photography

 

But I do know that rhubarb photographs beautifully in Borough Market. I think it must be something to do with the fact that the light comes from above and is filtered through the glass roof so that the fruit and veg are downlit (is that a photographic term?).

 

The quality of the light gives the produce a beautiful glow and makes them look even juicier and appetising. Maybe this is an ancient greengrocers' trick? (NB careful placement of the apostrophe so as to avoid a classic greengrocers' apostrophe - scroll down to see section on the subject).

 

Or maybe the greengrocers at Borough Market are all artists and set out their stalls with maximum aesthetic and photographic potential? I'm not joking; some of the displays are works of art that change every time a melon or punnet or truly bloody blood orange is sold. (I was very pleased to see there was no squeamishness or soppy renaming as 'blush oranges') 

 

Maybe by being an A student I could get to grips properly with photography. But as I am not trying to be an A student  (or 'ace student' as I hear it in the song), I could just keep walking around with my camera looking for/at food. 

 
 

[with apologies to Wonderful World by Sam Cooke]