Rain, Ripening Tomatoes and a Solitary Allium

It’s my first time having some hydrangeas in the garden, and I’m tempted to self-administer forty lashes for not growing these before now.

It’s been a great week. Rain has fallen. That’s what rain does. Enough of it, at last. Not biblical quantities, admittedly, but enough to put a bit of life back into the place. The ground has softened. The leaves have perked up.

The weather, as usual, refuses to settle. One minute there’s rain tapping against the glasshouse, the next there’s a brightness in the sky. Temperatures are neither here nor there – not quite autumnal, not quite summer. It’s that curious bit of the year when the garden seems to be asking: Are we finished yet?

The rainfall has certainly helped. The jaded look has given way to a cautious resurgence. Buds are forming and flowers are gathering themselves for one last show, but there’s a sense that the garden is holding something in reserve. September is only around the corner. Perhaps there might yet be an Indian summer?

For today, though, let’s simply be grateful that enough rain has fallen. There is something satisfying about hearing it on the windows after weeks of watching the ground dry out. Tomorrow will bring its own weather, its own situations and probably its own little surprise.

Enough of the waffle. Let’s take a wander through the garden and see what’s happening. I’m joining in with many other gardeners across the globe for Six on Saturday hosted by Jim at Garden Ruminations.

New And Old

Hydrangea With Silky Web

It’s my first time having some hydrangeas in the garden, and I’m tempted to self-administer forty lashes for not growing these before.

This one is a bigleaf hydrangea, Hydrangea macrophylla. As August comes to an end, many of the giant blooms are fading, but some new ones appear.

As I snapped a few early morning shots, I noticed that the plant is decicately laced with silky webs. Check top left. An ambush awaits.

Pretty Pansy Purple

Pansy

Pretty pansy purple,
smiling in the sun,
Petals like velvet,
Dancing for fun.

Extract from “The Pansy Song” by Plooshi, a children’s song from the flower-themed album Flower Songs for Kids, Toddlers, Preschoolers, released in March 2025.

I was happy to revert temporarily to toddlerism, as I ambled down the garden today. 

I sang it for my granddaughter on phone face time. She isn’t very impressed with my singing. Others have mentioned that I’ve got Van Gogh’s ear for music.

Begonia: Front And Back

Trailing Begonia

I love trailing  begonias. This is one of my favourites. It’s in a small pot sitting on an upturned square pot, with a saucer beneath it to hold water.

I rotate the plant, perhaps twice a week, so that front and back will face the light.

Back of Begonia

This is unfortunate. I neglected to take my own advice. My guess is this side was facing backward for 7-10 days. Again, I am willing to submit to self-flagellation. Ten of the best should do the trick.

Sorbus acuparia Romina

Hard to see the Ash from the trees.

Back in May 2020, just as Covid lockdown began a phased easing, I purchased a beautiful Mountain Ash, Sorbus acuparia. I wrote about it back then. Here’s the link if you are really keen.

Shortly after that, a young Iranian girl was beheaded by her father to protect family honour. Sharia law is a bitch. I named this tree in her memory. Sorbus acuparia Romina Ashrafi.

Since then, the tree almost died, but it is now doing very well. I think the original article, linked above, is worth reading. I read it back during the week, and it saddened me.

Tomatoes / Trátaí

Tomatoes / Trátaí

Is maith liom trátaí. There’s a nip in the air these days, and more particularly overnight. So I moved seven tomato plants back into the glasshouse. There was a glut of tomatoes from mid-June, but the last of them need the extra heat to ripen.

Allium

Allium ‘solitarius’

I can’t remember planting it. It’s a solitary Allium, with nobody from the immediate family for company. As in life, it looks a little lonely, but gets on with living its best life. The flower is spent now, and seed is abundant.


That’s my Six on Saturday for this week. Six-on-Saturday is a meme originally started by The Propagator. For more Sixes on Saturday, from all around the world, head over to the blog of Six on Saturday host, Jim.

In Other News

  • When Trump hears I’m recovered from surgery and ready to protest at his Doonbeg Golf Club next month, I think he’ll chicken out. TACO.
  • Dolly Parton RIP. I spotted this on X during the week: You want to honor her today? Put a book in a kid’s hands. Stay married. Do the works.
  • Romina Ashrafi A sad Sharia Law tragedy in Iran (2020)
  • The Great Irish Eclipse — Almost Missed Over a Beer. This update is a summary of the August 12th eclipse and what I was doing instead of gazing at it.

Until next time,

Slán, Pádraig.

From Flower Pot to Paint Pot

Recently, on one of my Six-on-Saturday updates, I featured a lovely lobelia (variety ‘something-or-other’), purchased from Simon at the Farmers’ Market in Lismore. It has since found a home in yet another patio pot—proof, if any were needed, that gardeners can always find room for just one more plant.

Today brings a rather different update. Not a speck of compost was disturbed and my impeccably clean gardening hands remained gloriously soil-free. Instead, I fed a photograph of the lobelia into the Colorela app, which transformed it into a paint-by-numbers challenge.

The app analysed my flower with machine-like confidence and calmly announced: Estimated time to complete is 7 minutes, 14 seconds.

Knowing my pace, that’s more likely to require four cups of coffee, and several moments of muttering, “Now… where on earth is number 7?” By the time I’d colour the final petal, the real lobelia would probably have finished flowering and scattered its seed. As things turned out, I completed the digital version of Simon’s Lobelia ‘something-or-other’ in just under fourteen minutes.

It certainly wasn’t a wet winter evening when I tackled the digital masterpiece. It was just before midnight, shortly after the recent solar eclipse — a perfectly ordinary time, obviously, to begin colouring flowers on a phone instead of sleeping.

I’ve never claimed to possess a conventional artistic bone in my body. Give me a trowel or a hammer and I’m reasonably competent; hand me a paintbrush and innocent objects become nervous. Yet somehow Colorela lets me dabble without fear of ruining expensive paper or terrifying the neighbours with my artistic ambitions.

Perhaps everyone has an artist quietly hiding inside them. Mine just needed numbered sections, a colour key, and the reassuring knowledge that if all else failed, there was an undo button.


And, if you’ve got another three minutes…

Revisit my eclipse update for 12th August, 2026…

The Great Irish Eclipse — Almost Missed Over a Beer. This update is a summary of the August 12th eclipse and what I was doing instead of gazing at it.

I hope you have a Wonderful Wednesday.

Slán until next time,

Pádraig.

The Dandelion That Wouldn’t Let Go

A wonderfully chaotic garden moment: a ripe tomato hiding beneath a tangle of fine dandelion parachutes. Looks very much like she has forgotten where she was supposed to land.

The tomato looks distinctly unimpressed.

The dandelion’s defence?
“I swear I only blew in for a minute…”


Discaimer: AI text assisted. Monday morning brain-think not yet activated.

Pretty Pansy Purple

Pretty pansy purple

Smiling in the sun,

Petals like velvet,

Dancing for fun.

Extract from “The Pansy Song” by Plooshi, a children’s song from the flower-themed album Flower Songs for Kids, Toddlers, Preschoolers, released March 29, 2025. I was happy to revert temporarily to toddlerism, as I ambled down the garden today.

Happy Sunday. Live in the moment. Dance and sing.

From Hot Lips to Secret Trips

Note to US Border Patrol… If you find this Six-on-Saturday on my Social Media, do not ignore. Send me back to Ireland immediately.

It has been the best summer since 1976, and I’ve enjoyed my time in the garden. As a consequence, because I’ve spent so much time working in the garden and relaxing to enjoy it, I have neglected my blog. There has been an almost complete absence of writing it up. My Six-on-Saturday has been abysmal. I think I’ve posted twice, and today makes three!

For anyone unfamiliar with the Six-on-Saturday meme, here’s the nuts and bolts of it. Many hundreds of gardeners from around the world and from Kilbrien post six items from their garden on Saturdays. The rules are more like guidelines, and for example four of my six are taken in my garden this week, one is in our housing estate, and one is in Northern Ireland. Likely, my efforts will be tolerated and there are no red cards for such mild offences.

Recovery

The garden is recovering just a bit, following a week of showers, mostly light. However, a few very heavy thunderstorms dropped more water than we’ve had since late June. Hurrah for that!

I too am recovering after my gallbladder surgery on July 25th. The lovely surgeon Niamh and her team outlined a six-week recovery timeline for me. This is week four. No bike, no running and no swimming. They did mention that I’ll know what to do when the time is right, provided I listen to my body.

This week I’m doing light dumbbell exercises for arms only. Given the continued good weather, it makes sense to do this outside. Listening to my body, added to my usual good feeling whenever I’m in the garden.

Lobelia

I bought this at the Farmers Market in Lismore last Sunday. It’s Lobelia something-or-other, and not often that my phone camera captures red properly. On this occasion, I’m happy with the shot. It has been potted up and is now living it’s best life on my sunny patio.

Salvia ‘Hot Lips’

This shrub is about fifty metres up the road from me, on our estate greenspace. I did have it in the garden several years ago, given to me by a gardening enthusiast (thank you Ann🙏), but I didn’t mind it as I should have.

Simon usually sells Salvias at the local Farmers Market. Perhaps last year or the year before we discussed it. He told me it’s Salvia ‘Hot Lips’, and suggested I’d be in the good books if I were to buy it for my missus. A few days later, Marion met him and he suggested she buy it for me! Good salesman!

Verbena

I rarely get to look at the front garden, apart from coming to and going from the house. That said, the Verbena is worth looking at. The masses of small purple flowers act as a magnet for butterflies. It seeds itself freely in gravel. I even see it growing across the road, germinated along  cracks in the footpath.

Onions

Harvested two weeks ago, and drying in the glasshouse, I made an error in not removing some flowers when the time was right. Still, bees were attracted to it. I have since cut it back and moved all onions out of intense direct sunlight.

Blackberries

Recently, Marion and I made a road trip to Belfast. Long day 9am until 9pm, there and back same day. Don’t ask, it’s all under wraps! I’m subject to the Official Secrets Act 1963 and Protected Disclosures Act 2014.

Anyway, that’s enough rambling on. The point is that on one of several stretch-my-legs-breaks somewhere just north of the border, I came upon a feast of blackberries. Very tasty too, these northern blackberries.


These are my items for Six on Saturday, a meme originally started by The Propagator, currently hosted by Jim. For more Six-on-Saturday updates, from all around the world, head over to Jim’s blog.In addition, many others post on X using the hashtag (you guessed it!) #sixonsaturday. I sometimes post there too @psdeburca58


In Other News

  • Boat trip on the Blackwater. Mr. Meta bought a castle nearby but when we called, he wasn’t home.
  • Cinema: The Odyssey
  • Five teenagers in balaclavas were killed driving wrong way on M9 motorway. Four innocent road users remain critically injured. National outrage. What on earth is happening to our country?
  • Body Trauma Gallbladder surgery
  • From Rust To Yellow My AI fun.

Until next time,

Slán, Pádraig.

Beauty, Drought, and Lavender: The Best Garden Yet in a Summer of Contrasts

Summer 2026 has been one of the most remarkable seasons in memory. Two heatwaves, an almost rainless July, an extended hosepipe ban, and daily images of wildfires sweeping across Europe. Closer to home, both Slievenamon and the Comeragh Mountains burned, a sobering reminder that climate change is no longer a distant headline. It has arrived on our own doorstep.

And yet, despite the extremes, this has been the finest gardening summer I’ve ever had.

Gallbladder surgery at the end of July brought cycling, running and swimming to an abrupt halt. Six weeks of recovery sounded like a prison sentence at first. Instead, it turned into an unexpected gift. With no long rides to disappear on and no Parkrun to chase, I found myself with something gardeners rarely complain about—time.

Time on my hands

In previous years, the gardening season seemed to end on the last day of June. After that, it was mostly watering, deadheading and sitting in a chair admiring the results. This summer has been different. I’ve kept tinkering, planting, moving pots, feeding containers and generally interfering in the lives of perfectly happy plants. Thankfully, they seem to have forgiven me.

One lesson has stood out. In the past, there were simply too many summer annuals competing for attention. It was a colourful jumble rather than a composition. This year I simplified everything, focusing mainly on begonias and geraniums. The result has been a garden with more harmony, stronger colour and a display that has carried right through the season. Sometimes, the best gardening decision is deciding what not to grow.

2026: The Year of Begobias

The vegetable patch has been modest but generous. Onions, tomatoes and rhubarb all produced well. The tomatoes have already become a batch of rich homemade relish, while a gift of fresh cucumbers is patiently waiting to become pickle next week. There is something deeply satisfying about walking a few steps from the garden to the kitchen and then filling the pantry with jars that began as tiny seeds only a few months ago.

Perfect weather = abundant supply.

The list of completed jobs has been surprisingly long. The shed has finally been tamed, daffodils have been lifted and repotted, and the patio has never looked better. Begonias, geraniums, gaura and sedum have turned it into a riot of colour. Even the weeds seem to have looked around and decided they couldn’t compete.

Finding the positive amid trauma of surgery.

Next on the agenda are two large timber planter boxes. The first will be built this week, the second in September. They’ll eventually become home to twelve lavender plants beside Marion’s favourite sitting step. She loves brushing her hands through lavender and carrying the fragrance with her afterwards. It’s a small project, but one I’ve been thinking about since last year.

The only slight complication is that fresh timber and I don’t get along terribly well. I’m allergic to it, so the building process will involve gloves, long sleeves and enough protective gear to make it look as though I’m handling hazardous chemicals rather than a few innocent planks of wood.

It has been a summer of striking contrasts: beauty and abundance alongside drought and fire; flourishing borders beside parched fields; recovery after surgery mixed with the frustration of staying off the bike and out of running shoes. Looking back, though, perhaps the enforced slowdown was exactly what both the garden and the gardener needed.

Strength training in garden is a win win.

A season of fewer miles, more flowers, more relish, and a garden that has never looked better. Sometimes life has a funny way of swapping one kind of growth for another.


Over on my other blog, I’ve outlined some fun amid the trauma of gallbladder removal surgery. Here’s the way to get there! Truly, there’s no such thing as minor surgery.

Pádraig

Six Photos. Many More Plants

15 August 2026

I used ChatGTP to analyse this collage of six photographs. It was able to complete this task slightly faster than my 68-year-old processor. Here’s the bottom line…

  • Hylotelephium (Sedum) ‘Herbstfreude’ / Autumn Joy — the large rounded cream-pink flower heads throughout the foreground. These are especially prominent in the main photograph.
  • Hydrangea macrophylla — the large pink/mauve hydrangeas in pots at bottom left.
  • Pelargoniums (zonal geraniums) — the masses of red, pink, salmon and orange flowers in pots and window boxes.
  • Lavandula (English lavender) — the grey-green foliage and purple flower spikes against the wall.
  • Gaura lindheimeri — the delicate pink-and-white flowers on long, airy stems in the foreground.
  • Allium — the spherical white flower heads in the separate photograph; they appear to be flowering/going to seed. My assistant, realising that I’m addempting to dry the onions, offers solid advice: “Best to deadhead the lovely flowers, because they will interfere with the process.”
  • Blackberry (Rubus fruticosus agg.) — the ripening blackberries in the top-right photograph. Note: not my garden. These are Northern bla kberries, photographed on a recent journey to Belfast.
  • Pansies/violas — visible in the window boxes and among the pots.
  • Lobelia — the small blue-purple flowers trailing from the hanging pot/chair area.
  • Heuchera — some of the foliage plants around the containers look like heucheras, although the photograph isn’t quite detailed enough to identify cultivars.
  • Euonymus — the variegated cream-and-green shrub in the foreground looks very much like a variegated Euonymus.
  • Thuja/conifer — the upright evergreen in the left-hand container arrangement appears to be a small arborvitae-type conifer.
  • One particularly interesting plant
    The large white/pink flower heads that appear repeatedly in the foreground are almost certainly a stonecrop/Hylotelephium, rather than the old-fashioned annual sedums often called Sedum. The fleshy leaves and flat-topped flower clusters are characteristic.
  • The plant with the very airy pink flowers beside it is almost certainly Gaura (now often classified as Oenothera lindheimeri). It makes a lovely combination with the sedum because the two have such different flower structures.

They were my Six on Saturday, a meme originally started by The Propagator. For more Sixes on Saturday, from all around the world, head over to the blog of Six on Saturday host, Jim.

The Great Irish Eclipse — Almost Missed Over a Beer

For Ireland, this was a genuinely unusual event. The next eclipse of comparable significance visible from Ireland is not expected until 2090. I’ll be 132.

The 12 August 2026 solar eclipse was a particularly spectacular event for Ireland, although it was not total.

🇮🇪 What happened in Ireland?

Ireland experienced a very deep partial solar eclipse, with the Moon covering roughly 94–97% of the Sun, depending on location.

Captured by my brother.

At maximum, only a thin crescent of the Sun remained, producing noticeably dimmer, almost twilight-like conditions.

🌑 Where was it total?

The path of totality crossed parts of:
Greenland → Iceland → northern Spain → Mediterranean

Those within the narrow path saw the Moon completely cover the Sun, revealing the solar corona and producing a brief period of darkness.

Ireland was just outside that path — close enough, though, to experience an exceptionally deep partial eclipse.


👀 And importantly…

Even when only a tiny fraction of the Sun remained visible, ordinary sunglasses were not safe. Proper eclipse glasses or an appropriate solar filter were required for direct viewing.

For Ireland, this was a genuinely unusual event. The next eclipse of comparable significance visible from Ireland is not expected until 2090. I’ll be 132.


Marion and I hosted her cousin, Fr Leo Shea from Tuesday 11th until Thursdsy. At the time of the eclipse we were enjoying a meal Al fresco with some local beers. Really, we only noticed the dimmed light to a certain extent. The beers were too nice and the conversations were better!

Begonia Delight; Oh What a Sight!

Begonia delight; oh what a sight!
A blaze of blooms in softest light.
As morning spills her silver dew,
The dreaming garden wakes in you.

From folds of crimson, rose, and gold,
A quiet tale is gently told.
Each petal, touched by breeze and sun,
Speaks of the day that’s just begun.

The blackbird pauses in his song,
The bees hum low as they belong.
A butterfly on painted wing
Makes silence seem a living thing.

No boastful call, no need for fame,
Yet gardens whisper just your name.
Where sun and shadow softly meet,
The earth grows gentler at your feet.

When twilight wraps the fading sky
And swallows homeward wheel and fly,
Your colours hold the evening’s glow,
Like embers burning far below.

So bloom until the autumn rain
Has sung its soft and sweet refrain.
Begonia delight; oh what a sight!
A little flame against the night.


Disclaimer: poem with AI-assist. Every garden should have it!

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