Jardinage and Lunatics

Today is St Valérie's day and the moon is in its last quarter, details highly significant to the French gardener, who is guided by the Calendar when deciding which job to do.


On April 23rd, large signs appeared in hardware stores and Horticulturalists, (unaccompanied, sadly, by the Union Flag,):-


'St George's, C'est le moment de planter!'


No matter that it had, until last week, rained solidly for 6 weeks after a fine and spring-like February. No matter that the soil is cold and so waterlogged that it mustn't be trodden on. Overnight, out of the shop went the wood-burners, log-baskets, bird-feeders, chestnut-roasters and wood-pile tarpaulins, in have come barbeques, sun-loungers, parasols and racks upon racks of bedding plants, herbs, vegetable plants, tubs full of olive trees, rose bushes and oleanders.
We are saved from the immediate injunction to plant, by the phase of the moon, however. While the moon is waning, one should mow, prune, strim and dig. The weak gravitational pull of the moon means the water table is lower, sap, despite the Spring, slower to rise. (I have to say, it has taken a pretty strong mug of Ethiopian Roast to get my sap rising today.) So we have more than a week to allow the garden to warm up in the newly-appeared sun, until the moon once more draws up the water table to allow plants to be bedded out, seeds to be sown and for cutting any growing thing to become, suddenly, taboo.





So for St Valérie, my French gardening Almanac exhorts me to fertilise the soil, split perennials, cut shoots from the base of the peach and apricot trees. I can't wait to get some of the lovely plants into pots and tubs, though. Surely the moon will let me do that? A little garden centre nearby that spreads its floor with whatever the wholesale market has had on offer is a Persian carpet at the moment. I want to get some verveine and heliochrysum in some hanging baskets, flaming geraniums and nepeta in two big terracotta pots.


My fingers itch to buy other interesting plants, but we are between gardens at present, my plant garden has been dug out to make a shady patio, pots will have to do. We have designs for a spring garden in front of the house, where the lines of a lovely planned garden can still be seen, despite year's of the former owner's neglect, and months of our builder's depredations.


P has been bringing some much-needed attention to the neglected conifers in the 'Parc', removing 30 foot lengths of bramble and cutting off thigh-thick trunks of ivy. We have yet to work out where 'my' garden is to be, and yet again I think how the one thing I miss of our last home is the garden, and dream of majoram and celendine hanging over a pond, oriental poppies reflected in another, a graceful, arching maple...





But this is such progress, no? I am no longer bewailing the state of our drains, charting the builder's travails with MainLaw's bluddy dog. We have got artisans on site; a Roofer and his mate, (she really is his mate, Laurent and Valérie are husband and wife. As they teeter over our tiles, I pray that they don't Fall Out. boom boom.) We realised that the time had come to admit the roof had to be done when the final guest bedroom, newly decorated, sprung a leak in its ceiling, so now a large green Manitou is parked on the drive. But we can contemplate a time not too far away when no heavy machinery will be trundling in and the drive can be 'done', a decent gate fitted, and we can sit in the garden and drink wine. People here do that sometimes, apparantly.
But this St Valérie, Valérie is not here, rain has kept her & Laurent away from our slippery toiture and us out of the garden. So here I am, blogging, updating my i-pod, topping up the phone and the Tom-Tom in anticipation of a quick trip home to pick up an ebay purchase. We look at the grey clouds scudding in from the Bay of Biscay, hoping for our neighbours' sake that the sun will be out again for le premier mai.

May 1st, carrier of 'bonheur', goodluck, when neighbours and friends give each other bunches of Lily of the Valley. I like to wilfully interpret 'the day for the bringing of good luck' as 'let the good times roll'. And if the sun re-appears, they will. Roll, I mean. Our neighbours, the Lespines, up at Montaillac, are opening their chai and winery to the public for the day. The real purpose is the launch of their daughter's business selling rare plants. Oh dear, my fingers will be itching again.
Eating and drinking will naturally be part of this, tables will be set before their stunning view of the bowl of vineyards that curve up to Bernac, 10 of us will be there - IF the weather improves.
If it does, I'll take some piccies and put them here. The moon is due to rise at 4.31 that morning. As it sets at seven minutes past four in the afternoon, we'll be rolling back, full of soup and duck, not TOO much of their tasty wine, carrying pots of rare plants and then we'll be waiting for 10th of May when the waxing moon will allow us to plant them.
(Ste Solange's day, in case you were wondering.)