This is Persicaria amplexicaulis, which we have growing in the "Ratthew zone" of our garden below the blackberries. Every time I pick blackberries I wade into this plant and reach through the leaves. Bailey, in her obsessive quest to conquer Ratthew in all his iterations, has been practically rolling around in it. (In fact she's done quite a bit of damage to it, but it's tough!)
Blogger Jennifer asked in a comment whether my itchy arms might not be due to irritation from a plant. I hadn't really thought about it before, so I did some Googling about this Persicaria, and lo and behold, what did I find? "Contact with all parts may irritate the skin," warns the Royal Horticultural Society. Who knew?!
I suppose this may in fact be the culprit when it comes to my itchy arms (and legs, to a lesser degree), not to mention Bailey's itchiness. I don't break the leaves or stems or come into contact with any visible sap, so I'm not 100 percent certain, but it seems likely. Maybe I just need to wear sleeves while picking berries. (I suppose if bugs were to blame that would help too.) I don't think I can realistically keep Bailey out of it, but hopefully her fur gives her some measure of protection.
Here's a less toxic denizen of our garden -- some zinnias, now in full flower and pretty much identical, which is purely by chance because the seeds were mixed.
This was one of my projects yesterday -- to refresh the plants on our front porch. I bought that beautiful Echinacea at Waitrose on Thursday, and the little blue balloon flower I bought yesterday at a florist. The annuals we had out there from the spring were looking sad, so this gives the front door a bit of a lift.
We had a lobelia in that gray pot for nine years (!) but it had been gradually dwindling, and it expired this summer. I think Warren missed it when he watered during our absence and it just got baked. I never liked it much anyway.
And of course I spent more bonding time with Bailey. This is her "pleeeeeeease keep rubbing my belly" face. We went for a walk to Kilburn Grange Park and up through Kilburn toward Cricklewood. She seems like a more dutiful walker than Olga, to such a degree that I worry she's not having much fun -- especially because I can't let her off lead to play with a ball or anything. Her new long lead did arrive yesterday so maybe today we'll experiment with that a bit.
Otherwise, I spent part of the day reading a biography of Thom Gunn, the poet, which I bought a couple of years ago. The subtitle is "A Cool Queer Life," and while Gunn was gay and quite edgy, the book is pretty sophisticated in its discussion of his poetry -- so much so that I'm afraid it's going over my head. I really don't know Gunn's poems, so I struggle when the author gets specific about certain works or wades into the philosophy behind his writing (Gunn was a big fan of Stendhal and Camus, neither of whom I've read or know much about). I'm more interested in his relationships and his life as a gay man in the '50s, and how he made that work in such a conservative era. Fortunately the book goes there too.
I also spent part of the day on the phone with my brother trying to sort out certain aspects of my stepmother's estate. I have to go back to the notary on Tuesday to sign more documents. Ugh!
Last night I made a martini and watched a movie called "M/M," a surreal gay German film that I've had on my list for ages, and ultimately found pretty tedious. I don't know whether the martini hurt or helped!
I note that though Thomas Gunn was born in Gravesend, Kent, he died in the Haight Ashbury district of San Francisco:-
ReplyDeleteStill Life
I shall not soon forget
The greyish-yellow skin
To which the face had set:
Lids tights: nothing of his,
No tremor from within,
Played on the surfaces.
He still found breath, and yet
It was an obscure knack.
I shall not soon forget
The angle of his head,
Arrested and reared back
On the crisp field of bed,
Back from what he could neither
Accept, as one opposed,
Nor, as a life-long breather,
Consentingly let go,
The tube his mouth enclosed
In an astonished O.
I’m reading Anthony Burgess Earthly Powers, bizarre and not quite real, but a great presentation of that time.
ReplyDeleteHow do you catch the olives? We went through a cocktail stage, with umbrellas and salt on the rim but luckily it died out.
ReplyDeleteI can imagine that wearing long sleeves when you're picking berries helps.
ReplyDeleteThe pottet plants by your front door are beautiful!
As I am neither into poetry nor into Martinis, your last photo would only appeal to me if the book were a captivating work of non-fiction (or cosy mystery for some escapism) and the cocktail something like a vodka cooler (ginger beer and vodka on ice).
I am a fan of Gunn's work. I have a couple of his books.
ReplyDeleteNow I want a martini.
Don’t forget that, like with poison ivy, if Bailey has a fun roll in the Persicaria and you pet her, you can get the itchies from her fur.
ReplyDeleteSeveral plants can irritate, I have to wash quickly after picking courgettes and the climbing beans. Goosegrass is a well known irritant too.
ReplyDeleteWhile we're at it, dusty Miller, I don't know if you have any, is an irritant, to the point where it's better not to grow it where there are pets or little kids.
ReplyDeleteI know both Stendhal and Camus, but not this writer you're talking about. Bullytext kept insisting I was talking about stencils.
I love the doormat. The martini included a full serving of olives. I asked for a dry gin martini in a restaurant in Conwy in Wales, and the bartender didn't have a clue how to make one.
ReplyDelete