Would like this text box to change weekly; so will keep this limited to text without pix or gravatars (assuming for now that gravatars are roughly the same as thumbnails in old printers’ language) so it’ll be a list with a hint in a sentence about what’s been added this week.
4-hole-dibbleboard Build A Dibble Board
If your one of those that want and insist that every plant be perfectly spaced, ‘yea’ I’m talking mostly to all the square foot garden fanatics. Nothing against square foot gardens or even those that believe you ‘must’ have raised beds to grow a few vegetables. This little gadget may be just what you have been looking for.
Build A Dibble Board Check out ‘gardeninggrrl’ blog for a lot of pictures and building instructions.
Keep in mind you may need two or even three of every dibble board. Most garden seeds need to be planted 1/4 inch, 1/2 inch or 1 inch deep. Seed planted 1 inch deep that ‘should have been planted 1/4 to 1/2 inch deep may never break through the soil to see the light of day. In this event you have wasted your time, water and seed.
Grinning, My dibble board…
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Food heaven is where you have a choice of wonderful cafés, chippers, cookery schools, and fab family hotels that’ll give the kids the familiar chicken nuggets and cereals you’ve to shovel into them when they’re worn out from three or four action-packed days at the seaside.
You’ll find all of that in a weekend break in Dungarvan, a seaside town on the south coast of Ireland that kicks off its tourist season with a celebration of food in all its guises every year in April with the West Waterford Festival of Food.
There are food trails for cake lovers, seaweed fans, flash barbecue beasties (like seafood or veg-based instead of just prime meat skewers); there are craft beer and burger joints; chippers for the bag in your hand (s’worth two in the bush, I’m told) and as home to Flahavans porridge oats, even the cereals round here are ‘slow-food, eco-friendly, locally-sourced’ ingredients for your delectation. For instance, I stayed at the family-run Lawlor’s Hotel that’s a couple minutes’ walk from the harbor with its ethnic-themed restaurants (Indian, Chinese), public park, tennis club, a marina for pleasure boats and SuperValu grocery store for daytime self-caterers, and its kitchen caters for everything from grand banquets to bar food. Dungarvan has bric à brac stores for bargain hunters of vintage homewares, an Irish institution in its Shaws (almost nationwide) department store, and novelty shops with cute, lightweight and cheap mementoes for the people back home who expect more than a postcard. It’s also got an arts centre, a lovely cookery school and charity tea dances from now till the autumn every Saturday afternoon. But an experience you shouldn’t miss is anything from snacks to dinner at Nude Food.
Its proprietor is a dynamo called Louise Clarke whose wit and warmth is part of every element of her café, deli and bakery just off the town square. I gush. It’s an expected part of my persona now when I come across something delightful. But her coffee and carrot cake were reason enough to leave Dublin. Then there’s the outdoor dining room where she grows her herbs. Then there’s a proper kitchen garden for salad leaves and other greens, her polytunnel for stage one of her other summer ‘fork to fork’ ingredients. Then there’s the treats (coffee and walnut and carrot cakes, in-house ice-cream) she dreams up like magic and a selection of teas she carries to help you do the ‘healthy, mindful, refreshing, and low-calorie’ thing we all do when we’ve travelled two and a half hours just to get to her luscious cakes.
There are farmers markets on Thursday mornings in the square, and a country market on Friday morning in the tennis club, but there’s also a feast for the eyes in the physical shape of the town from its mediaeval castles and fortifications, to its streets and lane ways to the sea, and it’s also on the map because of its gaelteacht connections – next year’s Celtic Media Festival will be held here because of Dungarvan’s position in a Gaelic-speaking community.
Tá orm rud éigin a rá anois as gaeilge mar duirt mé sa ‘tags’ go mbeidh cupla focail agam ar an tábhair a thabhairt díobh mar baoite nó bréige go dtí an baile cois farraige i gCo Phóirt Láirge. An oíche a chuaigh mé ag ithe sa dteach Louise bhí barbecue mór ar cúl an ostán agus deirtear go bhfuil siad beile a dheanamh uair eile bfheidir, mar tá ceoil agus craic ar fáil ann. Teastaigh mé freisin go raibh an ostán Lawlors ach nóiméad ag súil ón buníochtaí eile mar bialannaí ag glacadh sa fleadh.
J’espère que ces mots vous donnerez un goût 🙂 de la ville Dungarvan, la fête Celtique serait ici l’année prochaine pendant la mois d’avril aussi, donc vous pouvez trouver deux chances de la voir pendant le printemps: la fête de la nourriture tombe pendant le weekend deuxième normalement, et le rendez-vous pour les travailleurs du monde film et music Celtique un peu plus tard.
Yucca plants. Only a mother could love them. Hah?
I once had a month in Mexico. I saw Jacaranda trees for the first time. I saw lustrous plasterwork in the museum attached to the cathedral in Oaxaca, and spent days in the botanical gardens there. In Mexico City I saw Barragán’s house, got a lecture on it in Spanish and understood it (I’d learned enough about him beforehand to expect the Spanish words). And I was lonesome enough for a song called ‘Que lejos estoy’ to register along with the heavenly turquoises of the sea; the vivid darts of fish while snorkeling; the exhilaration of quad-biking along arroyos; the serenity of lush planting in enclosed courtyards; the hand-made, richly fringed, embroidered religious banners for Easter week (that reminded me of the trade union banners I’d seen in England); and the macabre papier maché effigies that were to be found sitting in unexpected corners of shops, or waving from upstairs windows. I was delirious to find shops called ‘joyeria’ – I thought, like, pizzerias sell pizzas right?, so a joyeria sells joy, right? Turns out I was nearly right, it’s jewelry.
I’m only so-so with plants that evolved here. I’m even worse with exotica, so here’s a link to an Irish forum of gardeners who do the needful of sorting people’s specific issues with plants on a weekly basis.
Xeronema callestemon is an exotic specimen that would be a spectacular addition to any gardener’s collection. Both the wonderful photograph and a brief history of this plant can be seen here, which is the contact point for a specialist in botanical photography, based in the UK: horticulturist Ian Watt.
The archway into the garden provides a structural focal point, but our actual wisteria plant is overgrown and needs a lot of hard pruning. July or August is the next recommended time according to the RHS and should give us more flowers next year.
Violas and verbena have been tried here. Verbena’s like a tall, gnarly-stemed, lemon-scented herb with underwhelming purple flowers, and pansies are violas by another name. Get snippy you pedants while my eyes are on the prize of X, Y and Z and I will shout very loudly for five whole months. Actually, I have another sin, on top of impatience, to confess. This one didn’t actually get carried out, but the intention was there.
When the verbena here failed (got gobbled up by the box hedge bushes, red robin bushes, the cherry blossom, wisteria, jasmine, Oh! and the Boston Ivy and the Glasnevin Climbing Potato Plant that was bought in Limerick – can’t quite think of its name now, it was developed in Dublin’s Botanic Gardens so it’s called Glasnevin? – but, yes, we’re still saying the verbena failed not me). Anyway, I happened to notice that the county council had planted swathes of it in flowerbeds just outside the town, probably as part of the Tidy Towns effort. Knowing I could no more grow it from seed than I could have from my own plant, I planned a midnight heist, where I don balaclavas and dark clothing and with a dirty old shovel ‘acquire’ a few replacements. I’ve shelved those plans for now.
Another of the plants tried in that flower bed was Hollyhock. I’d forgotten that till I read the Fred Whitsey piece in the British Daily Telegraph about verbascum. Both he and one of his muses Vita Sackville West found these tall spires of color charming enough to promote their use outside of cottage gardens. It’s been a very long time now (at least five years) since I had to dig out the Hollyhock, so maybe it’s time to consider a verbascum instead.
Has anyone else noticed that I’m still using terminology that suggests I’m going to have time to be gardening at all during this summer? I’m now committed to studying in Dublin Business School and doing Jobbridge exercises till September at least – so where the time to sort out the garden is going to materialize from God only knows….