cut flowers – Garden Gate Flowers

And the award goes to…

Mrs B and I spent half term in Scotland, which was warm and wonderful, and we basked in the unseasonal combination of sunshine with (almost) no midges.

But it was a lot hotter in the Midlife Garden (now rebranded the Garden Gate Flower Plot) and on our return from the Far North, I was amazed at the transformation in the raised beds and cutting patches. Every seedling seemed to have trebled in size and was blooming. The dahlias that I had transplanted the day before we left, now had buds on them. The Cerinthe had grown long and elegant stems and the Ammi Majus, were over eight feet tall and covered in white umbels.

The survival of these flowers is entirely down to our colleague Kate who spent long hours watering to keep everything alive. No surprise her efforts have been rewarded with a nomination for Employee of the Month. The award is, as yet, an unofficial one, as we are a fledgling organisation (or should I say seedling perhaps) with three of us involved on a regular basis: Myself, Mrs B and Kate, although other members Kate’s entourage are occasionally involved, such as mum Sue, and husband Sam. Not to mention her youngsters one of whom was saleswoman of the month after coercing punters into buying all our bouquets at the Frome flea market last year.

Kate heads up the PR and Marketing division, running the Social Media content, promoting the business, and finding exploring new outlets for our product. And in between ferrying kids to school, she even manages to chuck a few seeds into her own flower patch to produce more stems, so it cannot be a surprise that she has had a disproportionate number of Employee of the Month nominations.

Mrs B has assumed the role of Presentation and Quality Assurance. As The Face of GGF, nothing leaves the premises without her approval. In the early days, she trained the workforce in bouquet design, and she is also head wrapper, folding brown paper with Origamian precision to present the flowers at their finest.

And what of the Midlife Gardener himself? Well, I guess the clue is in the title. I am the ageing horticulturist bumbling round his garden, growing the stems, talking to them, and cutting and conditioning them every week. Sowing and growing takes time and might seem mundane, beside the glamour of Presentation and PR. But for every John and Paul there has to be a Ringo on drums; and Best and Charlton could not have done anything with a football if Nobby Stiles had not been there to do the donkey work. We are all part of a team in which there is no “I”.

But with a bit of creativity, you can find “me” – which is what Kate replied when asked who Employee of the Month should be. Well done, Kate, the GGF EOFTM, goes to you.

Again. (sigh)

Beautiful bouquets. Passed by Quality Control

Tulip Maniac

Contrary to TS Eliot’s assertions, this year April has been the kindest month. Dry and sunny, without being too hot. I read that bluebells have been flowering a fortnight earlier as a result of the weather patterns over the autumn and winter adn we saw plenty of them at Easter in Devon. Particularly pleasing as they were more often English bluebells, rather than unscented Spanish bullies that we tend to see around here, and which are resident in the Midlife Garden.

While it has been a good year for the Bluebells, our tulips were not as numerous as last year and it seemed they finished earlier too. I was correct in sayign numbers were down, but I was mistaken in thinking they gave up sooner. Checking my Google Photos, April was the only month we were cutting tulips in 2025.By May, they were blown, despite purchasing bulbs that the supplier assured us range in flowering time from March to May.

One month is worth it, though. And while there might have been fewer blooms, we really made those tulips work. Throughout April we were supplying bunches to our lovely local farm shop outlets at Kimbers’ and Buffalicious, where they have been enthusiastically received. It was hardly the Tulip Mania of the 1600s, but they sold well.

As we cut the last tulips, Mrs B expressed concern that we were running out of flowers all together. But she need not fear, as nature (and a reasonably well-organised gardener) finds a way, with Hesperis and Honesty stepping up to the floral plate and (whisper it low) the mighty Ranunculus are finally showing some buds.

Branch Lines

It feels that spring is upon us. Warm weather around Easter, has seen a positive reaction from seedlings and early perennials in the longer days and strengthening sun.

I fund myself looking to the trees around me for the tell tale signs of spring. The Ash and the Oak on our lane are full of incoming migrants, such as chiffchaffs and blackcaps, filling the air with their distinctive songs. I suspect the Ash is coming into leaf first, which is unusual, and suggests the prospect of a wet summer, if the old rhyme is to be believed:

‘Oak before Ash: in for a splash. Ash before Oak: in for a soak.’

We had scaffolding on the house last week to enable some work on the roof. Standing next to the chimney piece, I realised just how tall the oak is. A wet summer, or slightly leaky roof, would be the least of our problems if any sizeable part of this tree fell our way.

But it is a feature of our lives just as other trees are. The Amelanchier, which we transplanted to the Spursy border a few years ago, has been in delicate blossom these past couple of weeks. It reminds me of the Old Place, as my mother particularly valued it. In contrast, I have never been a big fan of a Magnolia: the blossom is too blousy for my taste and, when fallen, it litters the place like discarded fish and chip wrappers. The Amelanchier is far more delicate and refined.

The Whitebeam that we placed in the back garden also reminds me of the Old Place. My father bought a White beam soon after my mother died. At this time of year, the soft silvery green buds anticipate the bright green leaves about to burst forth and delicate white flowers. It almost shimmers in the spring sunshine.

Elsewhere in the Spursy border, the three silver Birches are a major feature. They are currently covered in catkins, which contrast pleasingly with the shiny bark. They remind me of childhood trips to my grandmother on Ashdown Forest in Sussex.

I think we are drawn to trees by their longevity. Most of them will be here long after we have passed. I often take pictures of them and none is more photographed and studied by us (and others) than the Tulip Tree (Liriodendron Tulipifera) down the road on Crawford Lane. Commonly known as Josh’s Tree, it was planted in his memory by members of our village book group. It is positioned on one of the main thoroughfares for dog walkers and has plenty of space to grow to its ultimate height of more than twenty metres.

A group of us dug it in during lockdown in a comical example of failed social distancing, which ended with the passing of an iPhone from unwashed hand to unwashed hand before one of us worked out how to take a selfie. I am pleased to report that we all survived the experience – particularly the tree.

Hardly a month or even a week goes by without me taking a photograph of it and thinking of my boy. The tree will not actually flower for at least another ten or fifteen years, but just the shape and colour of the emergent leaves in the spring are a joy to behold, like small candles on the tree’s elegant arms.

Like the Oak and the Ash, it bears witness to our lives and, in a small way, the Tulip Tree will retain memories of our boy.

Buttercups Runneth Over

In January I reported on my continuing efforts to grow Ranunculus. Commonly known as Persian Buttercups, these flowers were initially a breeze for me to grow, but more recently they seem to just die for no reason. I have no idea why.

But this year, I seem to have cracked it, thanks to some info sourced on the internet. The method involves starting the corms packed tightly together in a shallow seed tray, barely covered by compost. Given a light watering, within a few weeks there were small shoots coming through. I transferred them to 9cm pots and now every single corm is flourishing. All 101 of them. It seems too easy. I do not have the early blooms that I have tried for in previous years (and often failed) but maybe it is worth the delay.

Last week, we were in a ‘collab’ producing flowers for Ellie’s wedding (daughter of our good friends Steve and Lesley). It was joyful affair and we felt honoured to be able to contribute to the day in such a positive way. Being so early in the year, it was touch and go as to what stems we would be able to provide, but in the absence of any early ranunculus, the Garden Gate tulips came good, doing much of the floral heavy lifting. But ranunculus was there too, albeit stems that had been sourced from a Devon flower farm by our collaborator, Nat, Ellie’s sister-in-law. Nat was the primary organiser of the arrangements and utilised the ranunculus to create some wonderful bridal bouquets and buttonholes. She had also made some awesome dried flower rings for the smallest bridesmaids. It was a pleasure working with Nat.

I have said it many times, how gardening and horticulture teaches us about patience and humility. Our flowers bloomed because of some careful planning, nurturing and, above all, time. We did not have to shout, swear or use excessive force to get the results we wanted.

Although we might not have had ranunculus in time for the April wedding, we are quietly confident of a good crop of them in due course. As the Middle East is in danger of being bombed ‘back to the Stone Ages’ by our one-time allies, it seems ironic that I am about to produce my best crop of Persian Buttercups.

Not Going Cheap in the Sales

January means planning the spring planting but these days, fewer seed catalogues are landing on my doormat. Either the postal service is getting worse, or the seed companies are going electronic. Either way, instead of browsing catalogues, nowadays I am surfing the Web for my gardening fantasies.

I have plenty of seeds left over from summer, so have only needed to supplement them with a few from Ben at Higgledy Garden. But the internet is a dangerous place and leads me into horticultural temptation. After the losses of ‘dahliagate’ I was minded to order fresh ones to swell the depleted ranks and while I was browsing those tubers, I could not resist ordering a bulk batch of ranunculus.

My relationship with the Persian Buttercup over the years has been tempestuous, to put it mildly. The first time our paths crossed, at the Old Place, we managed to produce a fine crop of the multi-layered rose-like blooms. It seemed so simple: stick them in a pot in the autumn greenhouse, and by early summer – Boom!

In subsequent years I have tried the same formula, but it just hasn’t worked out. They have thrown up a few, sometimes weedy, green leaves, but each time they have wilted and died in the pot before spring could arrive. And this autumn I put them in 9cm pots and they never even bothered to germinate or shoot. Just rotted. I desperately want ranunculus in my life, but each time I try, they just swipe left.

I am clearly doing something wrong. Reading their biog, I see that they like the paradoxical “damp, well-drained soil.” So, they do not like being dry, but at the first sign of too much water, the corms will melt away like the Wicked Witch of the West.

Mrs B laughed when she knew I had succumbed to the Temptation of Ranunculus once again. The words of Soft Cell, she regards my attraction to ranunculus as a so so love; the standing joke of the year. For my part, I tried to make it work and although they didn’t even germinate last time, I wanna make sure it doesn’t happen again.

Despite my best intentions and ferent hopes, deep down I know that, even if they do manage to produce a few green shoots, I it is likely to be another case of Say Hello then Wave Goodbye.

Training Day

The summer has been a steady learning curve as we have developed our cut flower production systems of growing, cutting, arranging and marketing. So, always looking for knowledge to help us on our way, Mrs B and took the opportunity to attend the horticultural equivalent of a Ted Talk. Otherwise known as the monthly meeting of the local gardening association at the village hall, October’s guest speaker was a cut flower farmer from a neighbouring county who promised to share the secrets of her success.

As non-members we paid our £2 per head for entry, a cost that would be covered by the Garden Gate Flowers training budget. There were over forty keen gardeners in attendance. The presence of Mr B and me reduced the average age by about ten years while my own attendance doubled the number of men

We were encouraged to buy raffle tickets, hoping for one of several exciting prizes. On the Table of Wonders I could see a hand-painted greetings card and a large bar of Toblerone, but for me the top prize was the large ball of Nutscene natural jute twine. You know when you have a reached a tipping point in your life, when a ball of string beats a bar of Swiss chocolate.

On another table, the members had brought in one ‘stem’ from their garden for the monthly competition, voted on by all present. Someone told me there was a time when the category of ‘something from the garden’ had a wider brief, resulting in countless jars of produce. Apparently the (now sadly deceased) previous Chair became so fed-up with repetitious entries of pickles, jams and jellies, she momentarily lost her patience and muttered an expletive under her breath. Overheard by another member, she is now privately known as “Mrs Fuck-Chutney”.

I think Mrs F-C would have been more accommodating of the entries this month which consisted of a range of roses, dahlias and a fine deep purple aster. But before we could vote, the lecture began. The speaker was a seasoned performer, winning over the audience with some well-placed flattery. Like Bono from U2 telling every gig audience they’re the ‘best ever’, our speaker knew how to work her particular crowd, complimenting them on the large turnout; noting their ‘stunning’ fashion sense; and then, rather bizarrely, telling everyone what wonderful toilets their hall has. She bracketed them alongside Gloucester Services in her top ten of public toilets. High praise indeed.

With the crowd eating out of her hand, she was able to flip through the rest of her Powerpoint, giving us pictures of her various pets, skipping the slide on accounts (“boring” she said) and getting to the nitty gritty of what to grow, how to grow it and what lessons she has learnt over the years.

It turns out, she has been doing this for six years but, after flogging herself every weekend going to farmers’ markets and stalls, she has decided to rein it back in and just do occasional bouquets for local delivery (as well as Ted Talks to gardening clubs). It was reassuring to know that GGF is doing the same things that she does. It appears there is no great mystery to it, although she did take great delight in sharing the “secret” way to wrap flowers. It turns out that this is how we wrap ours too, so maybe not that big a secret.

The talk ended with a discussion of seed suppliers (General consensus: Higgledy Garden, Good. Sarah Raven, Bad).

The talk was running twenty minutes over the hour, and we all felt we needed to get back home for hot chocolate and digestives, so it was left for the current chair to thank the speaker and make the draw. We did not win the ball of string, but we did depart with some stems of hollyhock which another member had brought it. No one seemed that interested in the hollyhocks until they heard the colour of the flowers was ‘blood red’ at which there was a noticeable stirring in the audience. Gardeners love a freebie – especially if it is a good claret.

We left having learnt a little but reassured that what we are doing a lot right. And we might have even have some hot red hollyhocks next summer.

Midlife Latin

This week’s Cultural Wednesday took Mrs B and me to Barrington Court. Our first visit to Barrington was with Josh, so it felt apt to be here on what would have been his 33^rd birthday. I remember enjoying wandering around the gardens and on another, subsequent visit, I we watched a small child staring into the ornamental pond, yelling “Oh my God! Oh my God!” at the top of his voice, entranced by an enormous Koi Carp that lurked between the lily pads.

This week there were no child-eating Carp in the pond, but there was an impressive range of shrubs and flowers in the well-ordered borders. It being a school day, small children were notable by their absence, and so we could amble around the well-laid paths enjoying the warm sunshine in the company of folk against whom we ranked at the lower end of the age range.

But we are beginning to feel our age (‘midlifegardener’ is an increasingly tenuous nom de plume) and further evidence that we are becoming our parents, is provided by our increasing habit of attempting to name every plant we see. I am surprised by our degree of success. There was a time when I had to Google them or just describe a plant as “that pink flower with the green bits; well behaved plant or whatever”. Now, “physostegia” just trips off the tongue. I know my Eryngium from my Echinops and Veronicastrum from Verbena Bonariensis.

This fluency in horticultural Latin feels to have happened suddenly, but it’s no coincidence that it manifested itself as we embarked on our cut flower journey. I guess we need to know exactly what we are growing in our garden, and now we can identify them in the National Trust’s gardens too. With knowledge comes power and confidence and the MLG side hustle is starting to turn into a pivot, evidenced by the creation of Garden Gate Flowers (BA22), with our lovely neighbor, Kate. We have a regular Friday stall at Galhampton Village Hall, and we take orders and offer a delivery service to the village. There are tentative enquiries about weddings, including a “DIY, Rustic Festival” style wedding, which matches our vibe perfectly.

You can even find us on Facebook and Insta so we really do exist.

Who knows where this will lead us? Up the Garden Path, through the Garden Gate…

Veni, Vidi, Vendidi.

I came, I saw, I sold.

Like a Hot Knife

There’s a scene in the movie Crocodile Dundee when Paul Hogan is confronted by a mugger on a New York street. As his assailant threatens him with a knife, Hogan just laughs.

“That’s not a knife.”, he says, “THAT’S a knife”, and reveals his own impressive blade.

The line has been repeating in my head ever since I acquired my new favourite gardening tool – my Hori Hori. Described by its manufacturer, Niwaki, as a ‘weeding trowel’ it is, to all intents and purposes, a knife. It even has its own ‘Canvas Sheath’. But, whatever it is, it does a brilliant job weeding and even digging, particularly when the ground is as hard as it is.

It was on one of our “Cultural” Wednesdays that Mrs B and I visited the Niwaki HQ Showroom near Shaftesbury. A friend had forewarned me that on entering the hallowed citadel of Japanese handcrafted tempered steel, I might “lose my shit”. The advice was timely. More of an exhibition space than a showroom, the small unit was packed full of precision Japanese gardening ironmongery, as well as clothing, footwear and even shaving razors, laid out in cabinets and perfectly aligned shelves. It lacked only a sign telling visitors “Please do not touch the exhibits”.

Merely driving there, we were in such a state of arousal that we turned in at the first sign that said Niwaki, to discover that we had followed the sign for the warehouse, rather than the retail outlet. Once in the showroom / exhibition centre, it was only the limit on my credit card that prevented me buying the whole shop. Instead, I had to restrict myself to a Hori Hori, a pair of snippers, and some gloves. I had to leave the golden shovel and the insanely expensive shaving razor for another month.

Back home, I now refuse to use anything other than my snippers to cut my flowers. They are immensely pleasing to use, as are the gloves. But, I had travelled specifically to buy the Hori Hori, and it has not disappointed. The literal translation, according to the lovely lady in the showroom, is ‘dig dig’, so perhaps it is not welcome for the “No Dig” gardens. But I’m not so fussy. Who knew that a knife would prove to be the best trowel around? With this precision weeder, I have removed copious amounts of bindweed, with less collateral seedling casualties than ever before.

And, as for harvesting garlic and onions, the Hori Hori is the trowel you need.

Is This a Pivot I see Before Me?

The business buzz word amongst some of my self-employed friends at the moment is “pivot”, to describe a changing of direction in one’s business or lifestyle and some have suggested that we might be mid-‘pivot’ in the Midlife Garden. It is true that ever since the ‘Invitation To Leave’ from my previous employer (I see it as an ‘inflection point’ in my life), I have been searching for an income stream that could be rewarding financially as well as emotionally. Clearly, this blog is never going to cover both those bases, so I knew I would have to be a ‘change agent’, taking a look at what I enjoy (apart from scribbling random words) and find something truly ‘transformative’ to ‘add value’ to my life (and bank balance).

Regular readers (both of you) will know how I find enormous emotional rewards in gardening. But after the success of the cut flowers on show at the 2024 WOTY*, I’ve joined forces with a neighbour to explore ways to monetise our blooming commodities.

First we decided to ‘segment’ this down, to ensure we had flowers for the whole summer. We took a deep dive, drilled down and, thinking outside the MLG box, we invested in dahlias. Previously regarded as blousy, ostentatious dandies that evoked memories of dreary seventies mixed borders, these could yet prove to be a game changer, producing blooms throughout autumn.

To move the needle for early blooms, we took a punt on tulips. We were ‘down on all fours’ with this, looking at it from the client’s-eye view and decided on Luxury Tulips: stems to mark us out from the ten-for-a-fiver supermarket types in dull hues of red and purple. So, posh tulips became the ‘moat’. We ‘swept the sheds’ to make it happen, to ‘action this solve’ and November saw us raking compost on then off, then onto the front bed to get the 500 bulbs to the perfect depth. We waited for April with crossed fingers.

We chose a price point, to give the customers ‘snackable content’ hoping they will be back for more when spring turns to summer. Unfortunately, the first stems were snackable to the point of stunted, but, they eventually reached their full potential, proving popular, if unprofitable. But not all stems will have the same base costs as posh tulips, so our ‘runway’ is longer than it might appear. The tulips were a loss leader, but a striking one at that.

We will take a ‘kaizen’ approach to improve all that we do as we try to get this thing off the ground (after mulching and watering it first).

By the end of the summer, we might have an answer to the question: is this just a side hustle or could I be pivoting from Ed Biz to Flower Biz? Only time, ‘brand positioning’, ‘demand generation’, ‘revenue performance management’ and the power of ‘the flywheel’ will tell.

*Wedding Of The Year

Light Bulb Moments

It’s been a busy autumn and winter in the midlife garden. We started by distributing two tons of revive compost around beds and borders after which started to make some strategic changes with plants. The Christmas tree was dug from the garden and taken inside for the festive period, and replaced by a mariessii, which was otherwise likely to partially block the front path in the summer.

When we realised the Christmas tree might have survived the indoor festivities we decided to place it in the back garden: an exercise which included the removal and replanting of bamboo from the garden and a pot. All of which brings instantaneous results.

Less instantaneous, but hopefully equally pleasing results, are hoped to be gained from the bulbs that we planted in the autumn.

In the veg patch that meant garlic and onions. The garlic is our go-to plant for mid-winter positivity, the green shoots reminding us that there is life in the midlife garden yet and I noticed this week even the onions are starting to show.

Beyond the veg patch, there is a plan for early spring flowers. We sowed various coloured ranunculus in pots in the greenhouse, but they have suffered repeated assaults, with some failing to germinate, some succumbing to damping off, while others fell victim to mice. A few doughty plants remain, like survivors at Rorke’s Drift. The dachshund has busied himself trying to dig up the mice.

Out in the borders, we have sown a bunch of allium bulbs (Ping Pong and Azureum) in the Spursy bed to provide a little early blue and white colour. But, the brightest spring moments are planned for the fruit tree bed, where, in between storms and prior to frosts, we managed to insert 600 tulips for cutting in the spring.

So, lots to look forward to, with crossed fingers.

Compost ready to go on the tulips — Prepping for tulips

Tag Archives: cut flowers

And the award goes to…

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Tulip Maniac

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Branch Lines

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Buttercups Runneth Over

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Not Going Cheap in the Sales

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Training Day

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Midlife Latin

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Like a Hot Knife

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Is This a Pivot I see Before Me?

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Light Bulb Moments

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