Newts

 I will leave you in suspense about which seeds I chose, as I plan to draw the flowers and need to hone my non-existent artistic skills for your delectation. Because you deserve it.

The rose stays but a different emphasis will now emerge.

When my pond was a pond, my gardener cut back the water lily pad to give the fish more space and found underneath it 3 newts. I had no idea they were there but was determined to channel my inner Gussie Fink-Nottle and nurture them. When the pond drained itself, I made sure they had a bathing pool in the new bog garden that I was creating in the space.

From my trusty local bargain shop I bought a black storage box which I filled with water and placed near the water lily pad. They needed a way in, which I provided with stepped bricks, and an exit mode. This was ensured by a slate kitchen chopping board, angled inside the tank for stability. Its slightly rough surface would offer claw holds for easy climbing. Thus they have all they need for their life cycle of eggs to hatchlings to juveniles to adults and can spend their time as they choose on land or water as amphibians. The females will lay their eggs under a leaf, glue them on and then use her back legs to fold the leaf around them.

How to help them hibernate was my next endeavour. They must have been managing for years by burrowing into soft soil but I wanted to build a 5* hotel for them. It has to be watertight, south facing and in a prime location near the pond and a garden with large leaves for cover. Mine is on a pedestrian route across a path from the pond with access to a patch of heucheras. I only hope the newts can pronounce that when they agree together to emerge - because I can't. 

A Premier Inn for newts

The main architectural structure of the hibernaculum is a frame made out of one of those lawn-edging, wooden coils held together by cunning wires - guess where from! This I bent into an S shape and tied it round firmly with string. The holes do not have to be large since a newt is happy in a narrow bed. A thin layer of coco coir substrate and moss made a roof (soil would do) and the whole thing was wrapped in a tarpaulin (slightly overlapping the doors and weighted down with stones). A final touch was a comforting mattress of dried hardwood leaves which would not go soggy and mouldy if rain were to permeate. There is nothing worse in life than a soggy, mouldy newt. Gussie Fink-Nottle would confirm that view.

Oh for that leafy bed!

Footnote. G F-N is a splendidly comic character created by P.G. Wodehouse. His inebriated speech at the Prize Giving of Market Snodsbury Grammar School makes me chortle just to think of it. (Right-Ho, Jeeves).

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.