Mud, mud, glorious mud

 Having subdued Doc Barbara (not an easy task) I gave the sensible part of my mind over to mud. One way of setting up the bog garden would be to lay aquatic soil all over the base of the ex-pond and put the plants directly into it. I found this a somewhat scary idea: what if some got out of hand and took over; what if some died and couldn't be pulled out? Finally I decided to leave a layer of mud at the bottom but use plastic pots with holes in the base for the plants which would suck moisture up. Here is an aesthetically pleasing portrait of a pot. 

The one that got away

I had ordered 60 litres of aquatic soil which appeared on my doorstep in 3 heavy bags. These I loaded onto an old shopping trolley and lugged them into the back garden before going to my amazing bargain shop for the pots which I brought home on my trusty rollator.
My inner hippopotamus was then released as I spent two happy days sloshing the wetted soil into containers and then into the pots. Wonderful wallowing before going into the hollow.

Before the ordeal.

 Then a thin layer of washed gravel.

I will spare you an epic account of my paddling in mud to get them in place but it involved wellies, heart-rending groans, filthy trousers, extreme childish delight and much smug satisfaction. Let's leave it there on the cliff-hanger: what else is in the pots? Is there anything that will actually grow? 

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.