In the Wild Garden in 2014

The Wild Garden suffered this past winter during heavy gales. Several months ago we lost both a beautiful rambling rose and a walnut tree, which collapsed over an old Viburnum (and hundreds of snowdrops). All of this needs to be cleared away. Meanwhile I'm researching flowering crab apples and cherry trees to replant in the area. 

All this has rather distracted me from the main task of clearing around the pond. Last year we cleared the self-seeded Salix which sat in the middle of the pond, and two large clumps of dead bamboo. This has allowed light into the pond and surrounding banks, and a few beauties have emerged - a little drift of purple Muscari armeniacumbrightening up one mossy bank. 

Clearing the Salix and bamboo has also made it easier to remove some of the other overgrowth around the pond. Brambles, euphorbia, ground elder, nettles, and self-seeded Syacmores are crowding the banks. We've begun to clear these so that we can move around without prickles - and replant with more interesting plants!

In the meantime, though, we have had some new visitors to the garden - wild ducks exploring the pond. Fingers crossed they may return again. 

Almost the first night we moved here, we heard owls screeching. In the autumn, they like to call to one another after darkness has fallen. I soon grew accustomed to falling asleep to their eerie screams.

One night, not so long ago, we had friends with a young child to stay. Just before midnight I was woken by the sound of their son crying. I lay awake in bed, not wanting to interfere... but really, weren't my friends going to get up and look after their little one? He sounded really unhappy.

Eventually, worried that something was wrong, I tip-toed down the corridor and listened at his door. All was silent... perhaps the poor dear had fallen asleep again. Back to bed for me.

A few minutes later I heard his cries resume. Once again, I listened; once again, I could not hear the parents getting up; once again, I tip-toed down the corridor, only to find that he had settled. Odd. Then, all of a sudden, I heard an owl screaming. Fooled by a bird! I couldn't help chuckling. Back to bed I went once more, this time with a pillow over my head. Soon the owl quietened, and I managed to fall back to sleep.

You can imagine my reaction when I woke again later that night to the sound of the owl screeching. I lay in bed, thinking dark thoughts about the local wildlife. This time, though, I was surprised to hear my friends getting up and trying to soothe their little one. Had the owl fooled them too? No. The owl's screeching had awakened their son, and now bird and baby were united in their cries, indistinguishable from one another.

Peace, my feathered friends, oh peace... 

A wild bees nest
During the early summer, I helped a local beekeeper remove a wild bee's nest from someone's house. The bees had been living above a bay window, nice and snug between the ceiling and the roof. They had been there a number of years, and their nest was about three to four times the size of a National brood box. 

Transferring the bees into a hive
Over several hours, Clifford used a large knife to slice up sections of the nest. He handed these sections down to me. I then crammed the comb (which contained brood) into empty frames, binding it with string. We slotted these frames into a brood box, planning to let them settle, and then move them into clean, sterile frames in a few weeks time. 

Wild honeycomb
Clifford gave me the honey, to repay my time, and I arrived home later that day with a 60 litre tub full of honeycomb. I had no honey extractor, but even if I had, it wouldn't have helped, since extractors are designed to extract honey from foundation frames. 

So I did a little research, then applied that old method, trial and error. I will spare you the details, but the summary, for those who face a similarly sticky situation, is this: 

For old comb, which is firmer to the touch, and darker, even black, you can squeeze the honey out of the comb and into a bowl with your bare hands. You will be left with a lump of wax in your hands, and lots of honey in the bowl. 

But this does not work with fresh new comb, which is soft and crumbly to the touch, and a paler colour. The wax is too soft, and will merge into one sticky mess in your hands. Instead, crush the new comb in a large saucepan and heat it gently. The wax will separate and float to the top. Skim it off with a large spoon as best you can. Then strain the remaining honey through a fine wire sieve into a bowl. You should then put the skimmed wax into a further saucepan (or container) and repeat the exercise once more. 

And then voila! Lovely wild honey - simply stacks of it - and lots of happy family members and friends, all enjoying honey on their toast. This cheers me up, despite my problems with my own bees (see previous post on Robber Wasps). 

I found a good description of how to do this from some outdoor folks in Oz (Oz outdoors). Looking again more recently, I also found a lovely description elsewhere (check out this link). But in essence the learning from my experience is that you need one method to extract honey from the soft comb, and another to extract it from the firmer comb. 

Surprise surge in honey consumption at Neats Home 
I was surprised to see even Mr P spreading honey on his toast. He'd never been a honey lover before - he always ate marmalade. Why the sudden change in taste? 

He smiled. "I never ate it before because it was so expensive to buy! But since this is free, I'll eat it as much as I want now!" 

Deep disappointment. My bees are being overtaken by wasps. I inspected them a week ago and was alarmed by their low numbers and their overly placid behaviour. I concluded that during my summer break, they'd replaced the queen, and there had been a drop in numbers for that reason. But I was worried to see that they still hadn't begun working the super, and there were wasps entering the brood box. 

To survive the coming autumn and winter I needed to start feeding them. So a few days later, having made up a batch of sugar syrup (flavoured with lemon verbena!), I returned. Bad news. Dead wasps littered the crown board, but many more live wasps were in the brood box and entering the main entrance. 

I spoke to my beekeeper mentor, and he advised me to block the hive entrance completely, and leave them for 48 hours; after re-opening the entrance to a tiny bee-size gap, the bees would be more aggressive, and resume defending the entrance. 

I blocked up the entrance, but couldn't bear to leave them for more than 36 hours like this, so early this morning I unblocked the entrance, leaving a small gap, and inspected quickly. 

Bad news. The wasps had already managed to create a small entrance, and were entering the hive freely. Inside the brood box, the remaining bees are completely overwhelmed, living in the central brood frames, and are reacting sluggishly. 

I am really worried about them. If anyone has any suggestions, please contact me via my contact page. /contact.html

Last winter we paid our local farmer to dump a load of horse manure, and it's been sitting around, heating up nicely, since then. Today I was busy digging up manure. I had nearly filled my wheelbarrow for the third time when I glimpsed a pile of oval eggs in the manure pile. 

I was pretty sure they were snake eggs, because I've seen grass snakes on a number of occasions in our garden, and a few months earlier, my dog had disturbed a large grass snake sunning herself under a piece of old carpet, not far from the manure pile. 

To be certain, I removed one of the eggs and took it to the potting shed, where I dissected it, and saw that it contained a tiny snake.

A call to the RSPCA proved fruitless (recorded message, abrupt disconnection). My second call, to a friendly lady at the Amphibian and Reptile Conservation Trust (www.arc-trust.org) was more helpful. Following her advice, I carefully removed the eggs to the Wild Garden. I laid them near the pond, on a bed of manure, and covered them with more manure, so that they would stay warm.  The eggs should hatch in late September - early October. I'll update you when I know more!

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When I first started weeding the formal garden, I noticed that there was one plant that seemed to grow through everything. The plant was marjoram. It grew into the box balls, through the blue xxx, and mingled with geraniums, hostas, and day lillies. To my mind, it was a bit of a pest. Where I thought it had overstretched its reach, I ruthlessly "weeded" it out, only to find it re-sprouting from the compost heap. 

A few years on, and my opinion has changed. What happened? Well, firstly, I began to cook with marjoram. It's a popular herb in the US, where I lived for several years (and where it's usually called oregano). But since moving to the UK I'd rarely used it in cooking. I found the dried herb bitter, and tended to use fresh parsley, thyme, and basil instead.

Fresh marjoram, though, is quite different from the dried stuff. It's aromatic rather than bitter. I 
now cook with it frequently, using it to season vegetables and meat, and really like it.

The second reason I came to like marjoram was for its colour. Our garden still lacks colour in July and August, but marjoram, with its waving purple flowers, adds attractive colour just when the garden most lacks it. Yellow marjoram, a shorter, creeping form of the herb, adds a fantastic burst of sherbet to the front of the borders. In August I lifted, split, and potted on lots of yellow marjoram, so that I can extend its presence along several of the borders next spring. 

Finally, I noticed that pollinating insects, especially native honeybees and white butterflies, adore marjoram. I cannot wander past the herb without noticing a dozen bees sipping busily, and half a dozen butterflies fluttering about. For this reason only, I plan to plant more marjoram!

But do remember... it is as tough as old boots, and does rather like to stretch its reach.