A tale of a grapevine

Five years ago in the Scandinavian backwoods, I planted the stock of a vine in a pergola and enjoyed watching it grow strongly, up and over the framework each summer; duly flowering and offering up a few bunches of green grapes every year.

Just before the Beast from the East passed through, I pruned it back and transplanted it into a biggish pot for its move to Blighty, hoping it could survive its man-handling. And here it is! Three weeks into its life here, it is just starting to come into leaf (almost a month later than ‘normal’), encouraged by a spell of weather better suited to its Mediterranean origins.

As you can see, I have planted a few strawberry plants for company, and it has a commanding view of my neighbour’s manicured English garden. And a little Greek pot provides nostalgic comfort for greyer days.

Later this year, I’ll post another picture – which I hope will show how it has thrived in sunny Sussex.

Author: janus

I'm back......and front - in sunny Sussex-by-the-sea

8 thoughts on “A tale of a grapevine”

  1. Good for you. I drag things hither and thither too.

    The boy stole some lily seeds, monstrous things from the tropical house of the Brum botanic gardens, size of a walnut plus. (I made a donation, as usual!) He actually germinated them on his windowsill and they lived on the Balcony in the summer. When he died I couldn’t bear to chuck them out and knew no one to give them to. Took them out of their pots, washed off all the soil, clingfilmed them and into the suitcase. Today they are so monstrous that they keep busting out of their pots and have been repotted several times. They really are a bit of a blessed nuisance as they need a heated greenhouse in winter.
    We also have a christmas cactus that is three generational and has lived in the USA twice!
    I only ever steal seeds, never plants or cuttings, as did the boy, much more of a challenge.

    My second MinL only stole from the Queen, but she pinched cuttings and had two gardeners of her own, full time. I’m surprised she never took a shovel and dug the buggers up!

    Fortunately nobody gardens round here properly so neighbours have no idea how rare and unusual some of my plants really are, so they are not at risk of nickage. I have a rare agapanthus right on the road in a big pot. I have conned a couple of local kids that it is a space ship plant and the flowers are going to take off at the end of summer to go and grow up. They do! In the compost bin!

  2. No, I have graduated to a second-floor apartment. My downstairs neighbour has people to care for the ornamental gardens around us. My balcony is big enough for several planters for special friends like the vine.

  3. Nothing like a bit of downsizing. We/I were SO glad to get rid of the 5 acre place and the bursitis and tendonitis that went with it!

  4. Even more shocking, I have also become carless! I walk around! And with my bus pass and a rail card I can go futher afield. Today I’m popping down to Brighton. Sea, sands, a stroll on the prom – and hardly a tourist in sight. Oh, yes – and maybe a pint of the local brew.

  5. Spring has definitely sprung down here, since what was, last year, a cold winter by Cornish standards. Last years Bouganvillea cuttings have just started to flower on the window sill, the tree lillies have re-appeared in the garden and are shooting up at their normal rocket like rate. There were a lot of unusually hard frosts this year and virtually all the fuschias died back but some are happily are now starting to show to show signs of life. Spent the sunny bank holiday with the patio doors open, looking at some welcome colour, courtesy of the daffs, tulips and aubretia in the garden again. Makes life feel a lot nicer.

  6. Good morning, jh! This warm spell has lifted the spirits – and the annual surprise that is Spring is off to a splendid start.

  7. Done the same thing Janus, Gave up the car a couple of years ago, wondering if I was doing the right thing. Haven’t missed it at all. I trundle down the road each morning to get a shopping list from my mother, who is in her late nineties and lives about a mile down the road. Having acquired my instructions from mission control I wander up to the local Spar to purchase whatever is needed. Having delivered same to the aged parent, return to the aforementiond to purchase the required amounts of vino for tonight, the cryptic crossword and head back home. What used to take ten minutes now takes the best part of two hours, because ones meets and talks to people when you’re walking. It’s lovely.

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