Late October Blooms

I love the way the garden provides a last-minute rush of colour. Late October flowers have such magic. A message of hope. Winter is on the way, but spring will return – and so will the flowers.

Today’s flowers are like jewels. They are as welcome as the intermittent bursts of sunshine. There’s little warmth in the sun’s rays, but these flowers light up any room.

Shining brightly in the middle of the posy is rudbeckia. I believe this variety is Goldsturm. A reliable plant that flowers on and off all summer and then puts on a show stopping display in October. Goldsturm is a perennial form with flowers growing to 60cm tall. I love its dark brown central cone which sets off the yellow flowers a treat. It’s great for pollinators too. In my garden, the flowers are covered in bees and hoverflies.

Another daisy flower I’m particularly fond of is the white argyranthemum. Sadly the name has been lost in the mists of time. Perhaps someone will read this and let me know what it’s called. It’s been growing here for 30 years, so I can attest to its longevity! The centre for the flower starts off greeny-yellow and fades to pure swan white. Flowers last for at least a fortnight in a vase. Such a good value, reliable plant.

Adding a shot of blue is this wonderful aster- now renamed tongue-twisting symphyotrichum. I think I’ll be sticking with the original name to be honest.

October roses are so precious. Of course, they are glorious in the heat of mid summer. But they really are a joy just as the weather turns cold and miserable. I appreciate the scent more now than in June. In summer I’m always rushing around, too busy to smell the roses. By October, I’m slowing down. I drink in the scent, knowing I’ve got to hold on to that memory right through the cold days ahead. I’m kind of winter-proofing myself. Looking for a floral armoury to protect me from winter.

This hybrid tea rose is called Special Occasion. It has a fruity scent and is easy to grow and disease resistant. It’s a rose I can highly recommend.

There’s two varieties of anemone in today’s posy. One is pink, possibly September Charm, and one white, Honerine Joubert. You need plenty of space to grow anemones. We divide them every three years to keep them compact. There’s always plenty of spare plants to give to friends.

Fuchsias and salvias provide a splash of pink, and there’s a few Blueboy cornflowers too. There hasn’t been a week when the cornflowers haven’t provided a few flowers. They’ve been fabulously prolific, despite the heat and drought.

I hope you’ve enjoyed my slide show of today’s flowers. As always, I’m joining Cathy for her In a Vase on Monday meme. Why not go over and see what Cathy and all the others are growing and putting in their vases this week.

And let me know what plants you are growing at the moment. Are you, like me, winter-proofing yourself in some way. The colours of my October flowers remind me of a stained glass window. Wouldn’t you agree.

In a Vase on Monday

Today’s posy is for restless hands. Hands that once embroidered, sewed, knitted, baked. Soothed small children. Typed. Wrote. Created. And now they are restless.

Hands clasping and unclasping. Reaching for mine and leading me to the door. Beseeching. “Lets go home. We’ll leave a note. They won’t notice we’ve gone.”

We cannot go home. We are here for tests. She’s in hospital for the first time in her life. And I am mesmerised by the hands. Literally, the ringing of hands.

While I wait in a corridor, I look for “hand-wringing.” Noun. Cambridge Dictionary. “If you wring your hands, you show that you are worried or unhappy.”

Collins English Dictionary: “Expressing or showing feelings. When you are expressing sorrow that a situation is so bad, but are saying you are unable to change it.”

‘Hand-wringing: the repeated clasping and unclasping or squeezing of the hands as a symptom of distress. In the face of a dilemma or crisis.”

An example of use is given:” No amount of hand wringing can change the situation.”

Powerless. Great distress. Confusion. The words go round my head.

I hold those hands. And in my desperation to know what to do I supply all that I can think of to soothe and comfort. A small posy of herbs; rosemary and lavender for memory. Scented pelargonium tomentosum. Leaves as gentle as velvet. Sunflowers for joy. Calendula for healing. A tiny hand posy. A corsage for courage. There’s no need for armfuls of flowers. What’s needed right now is the small, the familiar. Something to hold. As I work the flowers back and forth, binding and sealing in moisture and life, my hands echo hers. Twisting and turning. Clasping. Unclasping. Until we are finally both still. Calm. Patient. Accepting. Still.

Alzheimers.org.uk

In a Vase on Monday – Cathy at ramblinginthegarden