A winter hotel for insects

Since this is my bug and bog blog, it seems fitting to describe how I plan to help insect life in my back garden. The flowers I chose for the ex-pond (still awaiting the Great Reveal when I have learned to draw) are all attractive to insects and so I wanted to ensure that those I already had would survive to enjoy them.

Scary from the front!

At first I bought one of those ready made box devices from a different bargain shop (never accuse me of being set in my ways) but Doc Barbara (my alter-ego) insisted that I make 2 of my own. Off we went to the local park (scene of so many of her extravaganzas) and collected twigs and thin sticks which I soaked for several days to wash out any toxins and then dried in the hot sun. I covered them in a layer of moss for insulation and wrapped tarpaulin around the bundles, tying them tightly with twine at each stage. They must be positioned facing south (you cannot expect modern insects to fly round to find the entrance).

I bet they prefer the prefab!

I think that have now done all I can for insect life and hope to see a return of the humming bird moth which hovered, flapping its wings nearly 5000 beats per minute, over my hot lips salvia. Phew to that last word.

Sorry that it is blurred but the moth declined to keep still for the photo.

Creating my bog garden: reality strikes

 In my last post I explained how a leaking pond became the trigger for a whole new garden ethos. I did not want to alter the entire look but just givfabulousexplois. it a new emphasis on wildlife and a more natural feel. Once the idea of turning the pond area into a bog garden grounded itself (pun intended) in my mind I became over-excited and that triggered the release of my alter-ego, Doc Barbara. This formidable lady unites with me sometimes - for better or for worse - but she is an admirable soul who upholds the ultimate values in life: honesty, integrity, compassion, the correct use of the semi-colon and thick tights. 

She it was who dispatched me to my local stationer's to buy an artist's pad and some felt tips to translate the colourful visions in my head into a plan for the enterprise. Here it is above with possible planting. The green patch top left is a water lily pad under which live my newts. More, much more, about them will follow, as I channel my inner Gussie Fink-Nottle. 

Despite being 87, with limited mobility and sweltering in the first heat wave of 2026, I decided (or Doc Barbara propelled me) to undertake the whole project unaided. It seemed like a good idea at the time.

Reality then reasserted itself and I knew that, if I had to paddle through nutritious mud (food for the plants I mean - even Doc Barbara is not that eccentric), I would need special clothing. Imagine my joy when I unearthed (not literally - even I am not that eccentric) my old wellies and saw that they were perfectly colour co-ordinated with the marsh flowers I had in mind. Having rehoused the spiders that were creating their webs inside, I washed them out (the wellies not the spiders) and put them to dry - ready for the next thrilling episode. 

P.S. I am not sure what the little elephant is doing there. He is not part of the scheme but at least he's not pink).

The bug and I: a new emphasis

The whole concept of what a garden is for had been slowly changing for me over the years but made a sudden switch because of one happening.

To go back: when I bought my present house I inherited a beautfully landscaped back garden, slightly sloping because it is situated on the foothills of a mountain. The various levels had been differentiated with patios, a small lawn and a pond. It was absolutely as I would have designed it myself  - had I the expertise. So, why change anything?

The pond is made out of stones and is natural looking and attractive. It was home to goldfish and overshadowed by a large jasmine shrub, seen here covered in snow.

In one of those named storms that winter, the shrub fell into the pond and had to be extracted by my fearless lady gardener. I should explain that I am partially disabled and can do very little myself. More on that anon. Because the covering plant had gone, a predator ate all the fish plus a couple more replacemnents. I was very sad because I had lovingly named the originals, partly after the cows in Cold Comfort Farm: Feckless, Hopeless, Pointless, Aimless, Mindless and Reckless. Once they had names, they became individuals and I enjoyed talking to them. They were good listeners and never answered back.

The next frustration was that the pond developed a leak and, during the hot, dry summer of 2026, I was filling it up almost every other day. This was simply not viable for long for both ecological and economic reasons.  Having realised the horrendous cost of finding and stopping the leak in order to provide breakfast for the local heron, I had a total epiphany.

Why not accept the situation and take an Existentialist leap into having a bug and bog garden in the space instead? The marsh flowers would attract insects and my whole garden would spring to life.

So - that's what I did - and this my bug and bog blog.