Salvias and tomato cuttings


It's muggy out. 
Today the greenhouse, which for so long has been a place of refuge and shelter, has at last begun to become unbearable to work in in anything more than flip-flops and a vest-top. 

There are a million tiny spiders everywhere. Strung like tiny tawny pearls, usually in the most inconvient places. Mouth height across the doorway.  Judging by the numbers of plump little bodies scrambling around every time my shadow looms, they clearly don't object to the humidity. Just as my sundew plant remains pretty pleased to see them every time they fancy a stroll.

'One advantage,...' I told my self as I unstuck another plastic plant label from behind my knee, 'is it's possibly that much better for the cuttings.' 

The latest fistful of twiggy hopefulls are gleaned from my tomatos, an odd assortment of  zesty greens, yellow pears and blushing tiger stripes. Growing them as cordons means that any springs which do not fall into the categories of either flowers or furthest up the stem (as the leader is) gets nipped out. The lucky ones who managed to evade me the longest get either dunked in a jam jar or potted up into moist buffered coconut coir (soil would be just as fine). In either case, roots will start to grow within three weeks and the plants will be romping away, ready to be traded for their redder brethren (may have forgotten to grow some 'normal' toms) or to brave it outside.

As well as potting up tomato cuttings, this morning was well spent planting up one of the last remaining borders of a project that I'm helping out (a little) for landscape architect extraordinaire, Pip Morrison. 

This is salvia 'Amistad' a gorgeous plant with stunning rich greens and purples that works brilliantly with the yellow roses we left behind after the great alstromeria extraction of last summer.
Let's hope the cuttings take. ;) 

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