The Mindful Gardener Newsletter No 19
What I love about gardening are the surprises that you are graced to have revealed to you. Last Christmas we bought five or six Christmas cherry plants which we had in window boxes with some ivy. They were lovely with their orange berries and the contrasting green stems. They lasted a long while and I was sad to see the berries begin to lose their bright shiny orange and fade.
Christmas Comes Early
Christmas Cherry beginning to bloom in June
I loved these so much that I kept the berries and deseeded them. I planted a lot of these in the seventy two tray modules in some John Innes No 1. That module is presently sitting on one of the benches in front of the cottage. There is no sign of them coming up. This happens.
However, to my delight the four plants that I saved have now begun to put on new leaves and with one of these plants the berries have remained bright orange. I am happy about this. So, if you buy Christmas cherry plants around the Christmas period don’t throw them out. When the berries have fallen plant them up in a pot of John Innes No 2 and you may well be surprised how they come back.
Foxglove Haven
Self-seeded Foxgloves at far West side of Garden by stream
One of my favorite flowers is the foxglove. A lot of these foxgloves are the common “Digitalis purpuea.” I get to sit on the bench in the St. Bridgit’s garden watching the bees and various kinds of wasps slip inside the flower which is called a fairy cap. I guess this is what you might wear if you were a fairy in the garden.
The origin of the common name "Digitalis purpurea" is a topic of debate among folklorists. In certain parts of the British Isles, the plant is called "fox fingers," after the foxes' habit of using the blossoms as gloves to protect their paws from dew. The Anglo-Saxon term "gleow" meaning a ring of bells is another possible origin of the name, according to another idea. This has ties to Norse folklore about foxes that sling the bell-shaped foxglove flowers around their necks as a protective charm against hounds and hunters.
My plan going forward with the development of this garden in Cordressagagh is to have a wider variety of foxgloves with their different colors of white and peach. These might not self-seed as prolifically as the common purple foxglove but that’s OK.
The Mindful Gardener and the Secret Garden
Poet at Work with Ginger Muse in St. Bridget’s Garden
One of the things I love to do in the garden (on a sunny day) is to draft stories about places I love cantered around myth and magic and the language of metaphor and poetry. This for me is a real practice of mindfulness in that it evokes feelings of connection and creativity. Here is a story that I have written about the garden here in Cordressagagh. I hope your garden is as inviting as this.
Story
In the townland of Cordressagagh, where the mists of dawn weave through the fuchsia and the whispers of the wind tell tales of forgotten times, lies the sanctum of the Mindful Gardener. Here, beneath the watchful gaze of timeworn hills of Dowra and the tender embrace of nature's symphony, a magical garden blooms—a sanctuary where souls weary from the noise and haste of the world might find solace and rebirth.
The Mindful Gardener, with eyes reflecting the wisdom of that deep moon language, tends to this sacred space with a touch that transforms and heals. His garden is no ordinary plot of land; it is a tapestry woven from the threads of dreams and the essence of possibility. Those who seek refuge here are invited to co-create, to plant seeds of infinite potential within themselves and the fertile soil of Cordressagagh.
People come to this enchanted garden for myriad reasons, each carrying the burdens of their hearts and the whispers of their overthinking minds. They come to discover community, to weave themselves into the tapestry of collective human experience, finding meaning in the shared stories that rise and fall like waves upon the shore of time. They come to sit and contemplate, to let the stillness of the garden seep into their bones and quiet the never-ending voice in their head.
In the presence of the Mindful Gardener, they companion their greatness, recognizing the seeds of divinity within. They listen to the bees, industrious and tireless, teaching the lesson of transforming old failures into the sweet, golden honey of wisdom. The birds, with their joyous songs, remind them to let the universal melody flow through their hearts, keeping the window of their soul open so the singing bird of inspiration might enter.
Within the walled garden, a sensory paradise awaits. Honeysuckle, jasmine, and sweet pea perfume the air, each breath a reminder of beauty's power to uplift and transform. In the writer's garden, poets gather like alchemists, pouring light into metaphorical cups to nourish the parched and holy mouths of those who seek truth and meaning. Words, like nectar, flow from their pens, each syllable a drop of liquid light illuminating the darkness each aching for words on a theme that is timeless.
At the heart of this magical garden lies the sacred Stewart’s Grove, a place where a circle of trees stand sentinel around a fire that burns no wood offering warmth and a certain kind of light. Here, beneath the canopy of stars, souls gather to sing heart songs, melodies that rise and mingle with the twilight as the birds fly home and the sun goes down below the horizon. In this twilight hour and beyond, silence becomes tangible, a velvet cloak wrapping around each pilgrim, offering a touch of the infinite.
I wonder if you can spot the beautiful poetic lines from such magic people such as Rumi, Hafiz of Shiraz, Antonio Machado and from the hippie poem Desiderata. Maybe you can spot a line from a song by Neil Diamond and Deva Premal and Miten. These are my companions of greatness along the way of the heart. Leave a comment if you think you know the five or more poetic and song lyric inclusions.
The Walled Paradise
Rambling rose on bamboo cane wall about to flower (June 2024)
The way the garden is designed here in Cordressagagh is by way of garden rooms that are surrounded by living walls of plants. The word “Paradise” translates as “Walled Garden.” The rambling rose that I planted last year to cover the entrance arch in the St. Bridgit’s garden is beginning to bloom and I can see hundreds of blooms waiting to open.
Today (Saturday) Bee and I finished planting up the sweet pea plants that will cover the bamboo cane fence in the months of July and August and provide bouquets for friends and for filling vases in the house that give the the vibe of sensational. This means that for a couple of months St. Bridgit’s Garden is enclosed and filled with the scent of sweet pea, jasmine, honeysuckle and rambling rose. I just love sitting taking in this perfume.
If you can’t smell the fragrance don’t come into the garden of Love. If you’re unwilling to undress don’t enter into the stream of Truth. Stay where you are. Don’t come our way. ― Rumi: Whispers of the Beloved
Conclusion
I know that there hasn't been much sharing regarding the activity in the garden, but this is because the cold and the rain have returned, and I am for the most part a fair weather gardener. I would appreciate some feedback if you enjoyed the storytelling given that I love to write it.
I am beginning another Substack Newsletter shortly called Companioning Greatness which will be focused on my love of creating stories, sharing reflections on mystical poetry and other inspirational invitations. The plan is that I write and record these and have people join me in a practice of reflection.
Hopefully the weather improves, and I get to do some more gardening or even begin to harvest the early potatoes. Until next week when I hope the sun will have its hat on (at least for a while) have a great week Companioning Your Greatness and being Mindful of your Magnificence. Happy Gardening.