#garden benches scotland

[classicmemorialbenches]

Is oak wood good for outdoor benches?

Oak wood is an excellent choice for crafting enduring and sturdy outdoor furniture. It possesses remarkable strength and durability, which makes it an ideal timber for creating timeless pieces. As oak ages, it develops a stunning silver-grey patina that is highly desirable to many people.

Oak wood can be a good option for outdoor benches, as it is a strong and durable hardwood that can withstand weather and outdoor conditions. Additionally, regular maintenance, such as cleaning and resealing, may be necessary to maintain the appearance and longevity of the bench.

[enbycrip]

Folks, if you are talking about or sharing anything about “native plants”, please mention *your* location and *where* the plants are native to, not only country-wise but environment-wise.

So many people are learning about rewilding, gathering, foraging and gardening for food in harmony with the environment entirely online. Making your information clear for those people takes you little effort and limits confusion and misinformation getting out there.

The internet isn’t only “not just America”; many nations contain different environments with materially different conditions.

I live in Scotland. Most of the gardening and foraging information I get in the UK is calibrated for the south of England, which is a really different environment from mine - spring can come up to a month later and the south is semi-arid, which Scotland is *not*.

These days I actually look at a lot of Danish and Swedish gardening advice because their environment is a lot closer to mine. And that’s within one small nation. The world is wide and full of incredible diversity.

I am seeing UK-based pages sharing information about “native lawns” which contain plants from arid areas of the US because there’s no specificity in the original post. A small amount of information in the post, even a few lines, about locations, environments, context and goals would prevent this sort of confusion and incorrect information from spreading.

A lot of people are really enthusiastic and ready to be engaged in gardening for food, rewilding, gardening in harmony with the environment, soil preservation etc, but confusion and feeling they can’t trust information sources can really kill that. Make it easy for people new to the movement where you can, please.

ID: some photos of my native rewilded lawn from Scotland, UK, containing buttercups with butterfly eggs on them, yellow rattle, a willow tree, wild orchids, and many different grasses, and my small garden pond upcycled from a Belfast Sink surrounded by wild grasses, ladies’ mantle and wild geraniums and with woundwort and pondweed growing in it. There is a short path mowed in the lawn to allow safe passage of mobility devices and a wooden bench sitting in the long grass. A somewhat overgrown gravel drive and a front door with three steps up to it can be seen. The photos were taken in early June 2023.

[endless-summer-soldier]

you see me - epilogue

pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

summary: Bucky has grown used to a life of solitude after a mysterious accident leaves him forgettable. every person he comes in contact has no memory of him the moment he walks away. until he meets a cute girl at a record store who actual remembers him.

warnings: alcohol, sex (minors do not read), slight mentions of depression

taglist: @sebsgirl71479

word count: 1k

series playlist

series masterlist

X

“What brings you to Edinburgh?” the customs agent asked him.

“Holiday,” he responded. This became the standard answer they provided as they traveled throughout Europe. He reviewed the passport before giving it a firm stamp and allowing Bucky through.

Traveling was a challenge given Bucky’s predicament, but the two had fallen into an easy routine. He still had some credentials on him from when he was an Avenger which granted him easy access to different countries. His language skills became very useful as they crossed border lines and Y/N finally started picking up some conversational skills thanks to Bucky (and Duolingo). 

Making money was surprisingly easy. Y/N started writing travel articles for magazines and kept up a popular blog where advertisers paid to be featured on her site. Bucky found a new passion in photography and started documenting all their adventures together and selling his photos to travel magazines. They didn’t have a ton of cash coming in, but it was enough to support the vagabond lifestyle.

Y/N still kept in touch with her family and friends, constantly reminding them of her new beau, but being apart from them didn’t bother her all that much. All she needed was Bucky in her life and she loved exploring all these new places.

Y/N was especially excited to visit Scotland, mostly because Bucky was always talking about how much he loved it. Bucky had planned some excursions for the day and they were fortunate enough to get a beautiful day in the sun. After a quick lunch in a fish and chips shop, they headed to Edinburgh Castle. 

They walked up toward the castle hand in hand and Bucky was surprisingly chatty. Usually Y/N led the conversations, but today he was making comments left and right about seemingly pointless things. She figured he was just excited to be visiting one of his favorite spots again.

They navigated around the groups of tourists with little kids running around and walked through the castle as Bucky whispered bits of knowledge into her ear. Y/N was constantly amazed at how much he knew about history. He had his camera with him and was constantly taking shots of the architecture and views from impeccable angles. He always managed to capture a few candid shots of Y/N when she wasn’t looking, with the light hitting her in the perfect way. Once she started to pick up on his lens, she fell into a habit of photo bombing his shots with a peace sign or her tongue out.

As the tour came to an end, Bucky said, “I have one more spot I want to show you.” They walked down the hill of the castle and weaved through the gardens to an ornate fountain. 

“It’s beautiful,” she breathed. She always loved sitting around fountains with a cup of coffee and a book. Bucky would take photos from all different angles and she would sneak a peek to watch as he worked. Occasionally he would capture candid shots of strangers and would send Y/N to talk to them so he could send over some of the photos.

They fell into their standard routine: Y/N snagged a cup of coffee from a nearby cart and sat on the bench, book in hand, as Bucky circled the area to find the best angles for photos. 

In between snapping shots, he approached a young couple, chatted with them a bit and showed them some of the photos he took. Then he called to Y/N and gave a head nod to come over. 

“What?” she asked him, confused.

“Come on, this is my favorite place with my favorite girl. Let’s get a picture.” Bucky wasn’t usually one to pose in front of the camera but she couldn’t argue with his logic here. He handed his camera off to one of the kind strangers as Y/N walked over towards the fountain. She easily slid under his arm and they smiled together as the young woman snapped a few shots. 

“One more,” she called to them. Y/N adjusted her pose ever so slightly when she felt Bucky’s arm unfurl from her shoulder. She turned to him, thinking maybe he was doing a fun pose, but instead, she found him down on one knee, a small velvet box in his hand.

“Y/N…” he started. Oh boy she thought. “These past few years have been the best in my life. I never imagined I’d meet someone who would bring me so much happiness and teach me what it is to be in love. You’ve changed everything for me and now that I’ve met you, I can’t live a life without you. So now I’m here, at my favorite place in the world with the only woman I have ever truly loved, and I’m asking you to make me the happiest man alive and marry me.”

A teardrop slid down her face. “James, of course I will.” He jumped up from his knee and captured Y/N into a warm embrace, his hand found her jaw and his lips softly enveloped hers in a passionate kiss. They were removed from their bubble by the sound of applause coming from all around them. She pulled away from Bucky to glance around as a blush crept upon her freckled cheeks. The girl holding Bucky’s camera was absolutely beaming. She showed them all the photos she captured of the special moment and it could not have been more perfect. The couple offered to treat them to a round of champagne at the local pub which Y/N and Bucky happily accepted.

As they walked together, hand in hand, she whispered into his ear, “I can’t believe this is my life.”

He kissed her on the cheek, “I’ve had that thought every day since I met you.”

[lorriiraine]

on a bench on an October night

Pair: Sebastian Sallow x female!MC

Summary: MC and Sebastian are visiting the Shrieking Shack in Hogsmeade which will teach MC what it means to be scared. Sebastian gets MC out and take her to a save place.

Warning: angst

Format: One-Shot

Note: still learning to write - be patient and gentle 😩😂🖤

(hc) - MCs haircolor

(ec) - MCs eye color

(House) - MCs Hogwarts house

A soft rustling of the leaves, the gentle whistling of the wind, the calming crackling of the branches in the air current.

It was autumn in Scotland and Hogwarts Castle was surrounded by the most beautiful reds and oranges of the falling leaves. The air was getting colder, the atmosphere warmer. Pumpkins with different faces and filled with candles had been standing everywhere for a few days, illuminating the gardens, the courtyards and the main hall. Halloween was getting closer and closer. What was popular with the students at Halloween - Hogsmeade. Honey Duke's was a hugely popular destination at this time of year. Students would buy loads of sweets, arrange to meet in their common rooms in the evenings and tell scary stories around the fireplace or sneak around the castle at night. Others used this time of year to visit a very special place near Hogsmeade - The shrieking shack.

That was Sebastian Sallow's plan too this year. A young wizard from the seventh year. Strongly built, brown, tousled short hair. Hazel brown eyes. His face and neck kissed by the sun, which left soft freckles on his skin. With long strides he walked to the great hall with one goal - MC.

MC and he had been close friends since fifth grade. That was when she came to Hogwarts. He had liked her from the first moment she had beaten him in a duel in DADA. He had been enthralled by her. This enthusiasm developed into an intimate friendship.

Arriving in the great hall, he looked around and spotted her sitting at her house table. Her (hc) hair fell in gentle draughts over her shoulders. Her (ec) eyes were fixated on a book she was reading. With a smirk, Sebastian walked towards her.

"Hey, MC! Aren't you getting tired of this dull book? How about a real adventure after a long time?", Sebastian asked her while sitting down and taking the book from her. Bored and with a feigned look of disgust, he flipped through the book. MC rolled her eyes. "An adventure...? Can't mean anything good coming from you," MC said with a smirk. "You and I... go to Hogsmeade and visit the shrieking Shack. What do you say? Appropriate for Halloween?" came from Sebastian. MC just sighed in amusement. "Those are all just rumours... that house isn't cursed," came from her and amused, she shook her head. "If it's not cursed, then why not leave in the first place?", Sebastian teased further after closing the book she had been reading earlier. MC hesitated a little. "Fine... if you really want to," she spoke timidly. "Scared?" the Slytherin retorted. Briefly, MC blushed and avoided his gaze. "Pah. Definitely not," she spoke and gave a short snort, which made Sebastian laugh. "Fine... get your things. I'll meet you outside in twenty minutes," with those words Sebastian stood up and left MC alone.

Twenty minutes later on the dot, MC left the castle. She was wearing a jumper in her house colour, along with black leggings and dark boots. Around her neck she had tied a scarf, also in her house colours. She looked around briefly when she saw Sebastian. Wearing a grey cloak and a Slytherin scarf. "Sebastian," she exclaimed. Said person turned and smiled gently. "Shall we?" he inquired again. After an affirmative nod from MC, the two set off.

Arriving at the shrieking shack, the pleasant, harmonious mood of the surroundings suddenly changed. Bare, black trees adorned the path, the bushes sprawled over the road. Ravens sat on the signposts and crowed their cruel sounding songs. Every now and then there was a rustling in the branches, the crooked house didn't seem to be getting any closer.

"Creepy, isn't it?", Sebastian interrupted the silence between them with a cheeky grin. From his expression, he actually felt quite at home here. MC, on the other hand, noticed how she was getting more shaky inside. However, she tried to hide it from her best friend as best she could. She couldn't admit that she was getting nervous. Not after she had made such a big claim that this place wasn't haunted.

Her reaction elicited only a soft laugh from Sebastian. "Don't worry. Nothing will happen to you. I'm with you, after all, protecting you from the evil, evil spirits," he spoke arrogantly. However, for the sole purpose of reassuring MC. To make her laugh. And it actually elicited a response from her. "I'm not scared," she spoke, poking the Slytherin in the side, whereupon he laughed softly again. "It's alright, if the brave one (house) says so..." he quipped. MC rolled her eyes, smiling only slightly.

Arriving at the front door step, her smile disappeared again. Her eyes darted up the front of the house. Ivy vines grew up the wall, the rotten wooden shutters rattled and banged open and shut again and again. The dirty windows shook in the wind. A low howling could be heard and holes in the roof left the house unprotected from all of nature's powers.

"We don't have to go in. If you want to turn back, we will.... I can buy you a butterbeer," came from Sebastian after watching MC closely. The young woman, however, looked briefly at Sebastian. She didn't want to freak out and leave. They were here now. Then they should go in too. Without thinking twice, MC opened the heavy, creaking door.

Inside the house it was dark. Cobwebs hung in every corner. The smell of rotting wood was in the air. Slowly the two went inside. The furniture was dusty, the walls tarnished and scratched, as if a wild animal had run through the halls of the house. "Lumos," spoke Sebastian, who had drawn his wand. A bright light illuminated the entrance hall of the house and the two of them got a better view of the surroundings. Crooked pictures on the wall, some had fallen down and broken. The wooden floorboards were already grey from the dust. The two took their time and looked around.

Then a loud howling sounded. So loud and so shrill that it sounded like a woman's shrill scream. MC flinched and instinctively grabbed Sebastian's arm. Her gaze was fixed on the ceiling. Sounds that sounded like footsteps could be heard. "Hey.... All good... the holes in the roof.... And presumably the broken windows.... Are providing a vacuum that's causing that howling. There's nothing ghostly there," Sebastian's voice was soft and calm. Slowly he released his arm from her grasp and put it around her shoulders instead. He noticed how quickly her shoulders rose and fell. How she trembled.

After a moment, MC calmed down, swallowed once and took a deep breath. "Of course.... I know," she said dryly. Sebastian smirked. "Do you still want to go further?" asked Sebastian gently now. The young woman looked up at her best friend, then nodded. "Of course," came from her. She knew Sebastian. If she wanted to leave now, he would tease her about it again and again. So now she had to go through it too.

Sebastian went ahead, climbed the steep and crooked wooden stairs. The banisters could no longer be trusted - they wobbled with every step and the wooden boards of the stairs creaked suspiciously under his steps. Slowly and carefully, MC followed him. For a brief moment she had the feeling that someone was behind her. An icy breeze brushed the back of her neck, causing her to turn around with a jerk. There was no one behind her and yet she had sworn that someone had been there.

"What's wrong?" asked Sebastian, who had arrived at the head of the stairs. "Nothing... I just thought there was..... hmh.... Never mind," MC muttered. The moment she turned to take the next step, her foot broke through the stairs and she fell. A scream escaped her throat as she broke through the rotten stairs. But before she could fall any lower, two strong hands held her arm.

"I've got you, don't look down!" exclaimed Sebastian, who stopped her from falling with a firm grip. Panic rose in MC. "Sebastian please!!! In Merlin's name, don't let go of me!" she screamed in panic. It was laborious not to let MC fall. Still, the Slytherin mustered all the strength he had in him and pulled MC up to him. As soon as he had pulled her up to him, Sebastian fell backwards onto the dusty wooden floor, dragging the young woman with him, whereupon she landed on his chest. She was now shaking and crying. Immediately Sebastian wrapped his arms around her, holding her safe and close, stroking her hair soothingly. "Shhht.... It's all right, you're safe with me..." he whispered softly.

MCs crying broke his heart. In all the years he had known her now, he had never once seen her cry like this. He felt her fingers digging into his coat and her body only trembled more. "Sebastian.... I-I....," she tried to speak between her sobs and crying, however her tears stifled any following words. Sebastian looked around for a moment. "It's okay.... I'll get you out of here, alright?" he whispered calmly and blew a quick kiss on her hair.

Again there was an ominous howl in the house, to which MC only nodded eagerly. She froze, unable to move nor did a single syllable leave her throat. "Okay watch out.... I'll get you out safely... do you trust me?" whispered Sebastian as he slowly sat up with MC. The young woman just nodded and tried to stop her tears - to no avail. Sebastian smiled softly and gently stroked her cheek with the back of his hand, dispelling the falling tears. "Then close your eyes and don't open them again until I tell you to, will you?" as he said this he pulled out his scarf in soft white and green. MC looked up at him in tears and confusion at the same time. Then she nodded slowly.

With her silent consent, Sebastian covered her eyes and ears with his scarf to make sure she didn't see anything or hear any more of that horrible scream-like howl. After making sure she could still hear him and only him, he stood up and knelt with his back to her. "Okay. Come a little closer to me and hold on tight.... Not that you'll fall off me again," came a little jokingly from the brown-haired one. However, his expression became more serious again when he realised how much MC was trembling. And how wildly her heart was beating in her chest.

MC put her arms around Sebastian's neck and was carried piggyback by him. With one hand under her legs, he carried her on his back. With the other hand he lit his way with Lumos. The staircase was still there, but it no longer looked quite stable due to the two steps that had broken away. It was worth a try, however. "Reparo," Sebastian spoke and the stairs magically reassembled. If the stairs had collapsed under his and then MC's weight, he had to be extra careful now. Slowly he took a step down the first flight of stairs. It held. Cautiously he walked on. Again and again the wind howled through the crevices in the walls and the broken windows. Another step. The stairs creaked loudly and MC's body tensed on his back. "Seb..." she whispered in panic. Sebastian tried to take a breath. "Do you remember herbology last week? Where Leander got bitten by that plant? I heard he's been picking branches and leaves out of his hair ever since. Garreth himself said that a lawnmower will be needed soon," came amused from Sebastian. MC was confused and just pressed more against his back. "Seb...", came from her again. "Hey, MC.... what do you want to do after graduation?", he asked. "What?" she retorted. "Tell me what you want to do after school?" he asked as he took another step towards the stairs. Again, a strong squeak and howl of the wood. "I-I... I want to be in London.... To be posted as an Auror," MC spoke. "Auror then, huh? Maybe we'll be partners...." Sebastian replied with a smile, ignoring the sweat on his forehead.

"Yeah maybe..." the young woman at his back replied with a slight smile. Overcoming the problematic stairs and shortly after regaining solid ground under his feet, Sebastian walked calmly towards the exit. The moon stood bright in the dark, starry sky. The cold October air enveloped the two of them. "Are.... Are we out?", MC inquired uncertainly. "Yes... but I'm still taking you out of here... just relax, MC, and trust me..." came softly from Sebastian. MC was unsure, however, she just nodded. After a short while, and the further they got from the hut, her body relaxed.

Soon Sebastian came to a stop and let MC off his back. "So... we're there," came from him. "There? Where is there?", MC wanted to know. "In a place I've wanted to show you for a while," with these words Sebastian slowly pulled the scarf from her eyes. After a moment, the young woman opened her eyes. When she opened them, she saw a lake covered with the red and orange leaves of the surrounding trees. A lake in which the starry sky was reflected. MC was just speechless for a moment. "Seb this is..." she whispered, "Brilliant? Fantastic? The best thing you've ever seen?", Sebastian anticipated her with a grin. MC smiled a little. "Beautiful..." came from her. Then she looked up at Sebastian. Her eyes reflected the starlight. All fear was gone from her face. "I'm glad you like it, darling..." came from him. A slight hint of blush rose to his face as he realised that he just called her darling. MC noticed it and smiled softly. "you said.... You wanted to show me this place? So you knew the place before?" she inquired softly and sat down on a bench near the lakeshore. Sebastian followed her and sat down next to her. "Well... yes. I discovered the place here while exploring Hogsmeade, just before Ominis and I went back to the castle... The lake was filled with stars and... the sight of it made me think directly of you," he spoke softly, his gaze falling forlornly on the lake. "Of me?" the young student repeated. Sebastian nodded and a slight smile crept onto his lips. "To you.... To your smile... and especially to your eyes. They have... the same sparkle as the stars on the horizon and in the reflection," Sebastian whispered. MC's heart beat faster and her cheeks also turned red now.

There was a short silence.

"I'm sorry I forced you into it... I shouldn't have talked you into it in the first place," his apology sounded sincere and full of remorse. "I was really scared for you.... I swear to you I'll never do anything like that to you again..." he added, looking at her seriously for a moment. MC returned his gaze and smiled gently. "Don't be sorry... I loved being there with you... you saved my life... and showed me this beautiful place here.... I don't regret going there with you Sebastian," slowly and gently MC took Sebastian's hand and held it securely in hers. The brown-haired man looked at the young woman for a moment, uncertain and embarrassed. Then he sighed. "MC.... I" - "I know... me too...." she whispered. Sebastian looked at her for a moment, sighed and slowly pulled her close. "I will protect you at all costs...I promise," he whispered with certain emphasis as he gently lifted her chin and looked deep into her bright eyes. After a brief moment, a brief, uncertain hesitation, Sebastian sealed this promise with a gentle kiss on her soft lips in which he poured all his love.

On a bench on an October night, mutual love warmed the hearts of two souls.

⋯⋯⋯⋯⋯⋯

This one will get also uploaded on my Wattpad in a whole OS collection 🖤

[thecryptidcottage]

↳ ft. lindsay + jace ! ( @infiinitys ) at jace's farmhouse

it did not take very long at all for lindsay to fall in love with the verdant plot of land that the professor who'd stolen his affections called home ; after spending nearly two years in harsh concrete landscape of the city, he'd be a liar to say there weren't times his heart yearned for the greener pastures of his own home, the sprawling hills of his family's mains, and jace's farmhouse ? well, he'd be hard-pressed to say it wasn't the closest he'd felt to home himself since he'd left scotland, and it floods his chest with a warmth that could rival the stifling august heat. the gardener admires the local flora as he strolls the perimeter of the property with jace, hand in hand, gaze dancing across a lush horizon as the sun sinks below the distant treeline that frames it. ahead of them, air bud leaps and bounds after butterflies that flutter not unlike the ones in his chest every time he finds himself in present company. ❝ it must be lovely being out here, away from everything and surrounded by so much nature, ❞ he muses aloud, dreamy and enamored. ❝ waking up every morning to the songs of all the robins and the thrushes, coming out to fresh dew on the grass... ❞ lindsay chuckles, shaking his head and stealing a glance over at jace. he looks beautiful right now, lindsay thinks ; the warm, golden-orange glow of sunset illuminates already rich brown irises, catches on curls that grow more wild the longer the pair spend wandering the balmy summer evening. ❝ i can thank the british railway fer my daily alarm. ❞ and he often has to step over trash in the stairwell on his way out of the building. lindsay doesn't mention as much, though ; for one, jace has been inside of his flat by now and knows well enough, but also, he is fond of the little place he's made for himself he doesn't want to paint it as desolate in any way. ❝ and thanks ta the kind folks of the br, i'm never late fer work. ❞ they round the property toward the back of the farmhouse, the bench swing on the porch catches his eye and lindsay tugs at jace's hand with a wry smile, head tilting toward the house. ❝ come on, swing with me ? please ? ❞

[wcndvrlxst]

for: closed ( @0fmercy )

Since early in her childhood, Amara had been quite drawn to nature. As far back as she could remember she'd always felt more at home among the flora, fauna, and animals than any other place. Despite her training and upbringing- during which her mother seemed to be unwilling to admit defeat when it came to Amara's insistence at ruining her best dresses, shoes, and hairdos while playing outside- which tried endlessly to break her of her 'uncooth' habits, the Lady had retained her love for all things outdoors. Location no exception, one of the things Amara enjoyed the most about being in Scotland was the opportunity to feast on new scenery. Walking the gardens had become an exquisite pastime, one that the Lady ensured she partook in at least momentarily each day. Today being no exception, Amara found herself seated on an empty bench, lost in thought and in the beauty of the gardens. The sound of approaching steps drew her from her stupor, and she jumped visibly, standing quickly and smoothing her hands over her dress before speaking. "My apologies, I must have lost track of the time. Please, sit, do not allow me to disturb you."

[ailishsinclair]

The pink bench is in need of a little post-winter TLC. #garden #spring #scotland (at Aberdeenshire) https://www.instagram.com/p/CqowLPjI0r4/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

[uwandapieceofme]

Pathhead to Everywhere

I’ve been walking in circles for weeks, parched and disillusioned, hoping that pushing ’til I break might break me out of my cycles. I keep walking away from myself, attempting to take refuge in a bright-green past, air buzzing with little black dragonflies, only to find myself frozen, with that song in my ear, watching a man in orange lycra shirt and black bike shorts struggle up a hill.

The pavement’s all cracked and busted open, jolting little dip between parking lot of the petrol station and the road. It’s along these cracks I find a filthy twopence coin. Found two in a dried-out raised garden in Belfast, deformed with strange growths. Discovering loose change on my walks, no matter how disgusting and unusable, is always a happy occurrence, like I’ve stumbled upon some secret.

My leg hurts from all the walking, tendons strained behind my left knee, but I prefer the quiet roadside to the noisy bus, with its engine stuttering along, full of strangers, the driver asking my destination and demanding fare like some medieval gatekeeper I can never seem to please. I’ve replenished my energy with a picnic in the grass, outside a new housing block, and a limerick I’ve written for Sam Fender, mind running wild imagining how sending it on might lead to a tender friendship, a passionate love affair, or both.

Something about the country and the biker and the music I’m listening to inspires me. I pull out my phone and type a poem. It’s a happy moment, etched in my mind alongside the more painful bits. It’s not the only one, either. The picture, as a whole, is marred by anxiety, depression, loneliness, and shame, but when I zoom in, other positive moments come into focus.

On the upper landing of the Lit and Phil, I find respite, huddled in a corner with a pile of poetry books, scribbling away in my journal, observing others’ lives. At the Scottish National Gallery, I journal again, sat on a bench next to an art student reproducing a sketch of The Monarch of the Glen. I’m massively relieved to have found an escape from the social obligations of my hostel dorm and the crush of strange bodies along the Royal Mile. At the Surgeons’ Hall Museum, I examine rows upon rows of organs in glass jars, until my eyes can’t take any more; across the street, at the National Museum of Scotland, I stand in rapture as the Millennium Clock awakens and performs its hourly dance. A bottle of stout suffices for lunch in Portmeirion; I drink it slowly at a cafe table on the patio, near two men sharing a bottle of champagne. In Penrhyndeudraeth, I pull cash from a shady ATM to buy my first ever kebab, walking back to my hotel, triumphantly clutching my spoils.

Bangor provides romantic trails among hillsides blooming with bellflowers, and I spend a whole day exploring Church Island and the surrounding countryside, getting lost along the beaches and sinking into muck, pissing in any shady corner I can find, procuring groceries on the way back from the cleanest, happiest Waitrose I’ve ever shopped in. Aberystwyth offers the best chocolate cake and almond croissants, and I relax somewhat uncomfortably into my seat at a Korean restaurant in Coventry, knocking back soju and spooning up mouthfuls of spicy seafood soup as I listen to a couple on their first date at a table across from me, discussing cybersecurity.

I contrast my pleasant roadside trek from Pathhead to Dalkeith, where I observe the lonely biker, with a five mile trek I undertook from my accommodations in Newcastle to a business park on the outskirts of Gateshead. Green fields were replaced with rows of tidy brick townhouses and a steady stream of cars which carried on past me, subjecting me to their ever-watchful gaze. I looked into every passenger window, imagining he might be there. I dreamt of him stopping and offering me a ride. I’d tell him the story of who I was and how I’d come to be there; he’d commend me for my bravery. That was all I really wanted, for my troubles. Someone to tell me I’d done something cool or worthwhile, to notice the effort I’d put in, how much I’d improved. But no one ever did, and knowing it in myself simply wasn’t enough.

I’m happy to retread my past, in moments like now, where I feel totally fucked. At least in the recounting, I find some worth, and it removes me, for a minute, from my current obsessions over job, money, and future plans. However it felt then, I’m happy to have done it, that I can occasionally escape to those far-flung memories and enjoy the strange, painful pleasures of a foreign land.

[rederiswrites]

Always attracted to unusual or shaded colorations. Of course, if you're buying from a big bulb place--and they have the most variety and sales I think?--do always look up everything and see other site's photos, ideally non-commercial photos. They retouch the hell out of the colors on Breck's, etc. Even so, sometimes the subtler real colors are nicer.

Here's a funny one: Breck's is selling it, under the Alliums section, as "Sicilian Honey Lily". It's a weird allium and an even weirder lily, but apparently it recently underwent a bit of a cladistic upheaval and is now (again?!) officially an allium. Just look at it, though!

The first photo is from Breck's, the second from a gardening website, so...you see what I meant. The first is dramatic and vivid, the second a beauty you have to look a little more closely for, but nonetheless what a beauty!

I used to think that hostas were painfully basic. Now I think they're basic for a damn good reason and also I enjoy growing out of my assorted snobberies. Frees me to enjoy things so much more.

In addition to being incredibly reliable mixed-shade performers and a great "background plant" that holds its own against weeds, hosta comes in an incredibly wide variety. You could have a lovely shade planting of absolutely nothing but hostas. People collect them. I can see the temptation.

Here are "raspberry sundae" and "white feather":

I have a weird little niche along the front of the house, where there are walls on three sides and it's the north side of the house. It's also where the bulk of the pipes and wires pass into/out of the house. We've been persistently thinking of this as "the sculpture garden" since we moved in, even though we have no sculptures, because someday ("when we're rich," as we say), we will have the space planted with hostas and coral bells and ferns around the edges, with white gravel over the rest, and display the work of some of the many talented people we know. I'm dreaming of a kinetic iron sculpture, and maybe @phantomtheraccoon and I will create something concrete with glass and mirror mosaic. Maybe speckle some fused glass flowers like these around. Anyway...

And while I totally definitely want to fill the 'park' area next to the pond (so called because it came with picnic benches below mature trees, mainly Shagbark Hickories) with all the usual cheerful crocus colors in the spring, look at these two unusual lovelies:

(don't plant Siberian Squill for that early spring color, though. It's reportedly very invasive, and there are so many good native ephemerals.)

And I've got to find some Surprise Lily bulbs, too. What an odd fucking plant. The leaves come up earlier in the year, and then die back, so when the flower stalk and big flashy flower comes up, it looks like this:

None of the photos I could find properly communicate how fucking weird it is seeing these things just sprouting naked out of the grass. But the girl likes them, so we get them. She's got us wrapped around her little finger, you see.

Think I gotta go steal some daffodils from @ahedderick, too, and see her farm. Always good to get a dose of mountains and see friends.

When I was a child, I visited Brodie Castle in Inverness Scotland. My grandfather contacted the laird directly, because the guidebook said that the castle would be closed while we were there, but the laird and I might be distant relatives. (yes, this was back when you couldn't just look it up on the internet. Fucken wild really.) In the end, we can't find any family connection, except for the small detail that the laird and my (other) grandfather looked like brothers. Either way, it worked-- the castle wasn't actually closed but the laird invited us to lunch with him, and it was lovely, and he was very sweet, and everything in his red sports car and private part of the castle was absolutely covered in dog hair. This is all relevant because HIS father had been absolutely mad about daffodils, and planted over 400 daffodil varieties around the town and castle, making it the Scottish national daffodil collection, and they were blooming while I was there.

It was incredible, and made a huge impact on my child brain.

So deep down, nine year old me still dreams of great swaths of daffodils.

Now I'm looking at fall-planted bulbs. Crocuses, daffodils, tulips, alliums... now there's a daydream that can get expensive fast! But it's hard, because the only way to get those babies dividing and filling out is to get them in the ground! Makes "you can always get them later" a less persuasive self restraint.

[jillraggett]

Plant of the Day

Wednesday 4 January 2023

Even when the fronds of deciduous ferns have died back the rusty colour and structure still have much to add to the winter garden. Here the form was enhanced by the plain walls which were also home to a dramatic sculpture.

Jill Raggett

[classicmemorialbenches]

How do I find out the manufacturer of furniture?

There are a few ways to find out the manufacturer of furniture in the UK :

Check for labels or markings on the furniture itself: Many manufacturers will label their products with their name or logo or with other identifying information such as a model or serial number.

Check the original packaging or paperwork: If you still have the original packaging or any paperwork that came with the furniture, it may contain information about the manufacturer.

Search online: You can search for the furniture by name or description on search engines or online marketplaces.

Contact the retailer: If you purchased the furniture from a retailer, they may be able to provide you with information on the manufacturer.

Use a furniture registry: There are online furniture registries that allow you to register your furniture and track its history, which may include information on the manufacturer.

If none of these methods work, you can also try contacting a furniture expert or appraiser, who may be able to help you identify the manufacturer based on the design, materials, and other characteristics of the furniture.

[allthingseurope]

Inveraray Castle, Scotland (by Guido Schweins)

[vikasgarden]

Vikas' laughter was not muffled. She let it all out and shook her head. “Fun? No. It wasn't fun at all.” But her sparkling eyes, the wide smile on her face and her overall relaxed body told other stories. “It was incredible. I haven't had a better day in years, and I'm not exaggerating.” She still had the taste of the candy on her lips. Each color has a different taste and one is better than the other. She loved it and licked her lips to relive the taste of the candy she had chosen. “I haven't been to the markets in years. Not for pleasure. Most of the time I run a stall myself and it's great. Selling flowers and other things, talking to the other vendors and getting things that aren't available to the public. But you miss out on so much because you have to run your stall and earn money. Today was a wonderful and successful change of pace. I can't tell you the last time I walked this much. My feet will hate me tomorrow, but that's a problem for the future Vika.” She shook her head once more as she giggled slightly. 

“My sisters and I haven't been to the markets for years. Vanora is married to her work. I visit her from time to time when she's working in the workshop and I'm in Wick. But most of the time she's busy. It must be hard to be one of three people in town who can do car and other engine repairs. The townspeople don't trust anyone who isn't from Wick, although most of them don't seem like it and are cheerful and chatty to strangers. When it comes to their belongings, they only trust their own people. And Viatrix?” She shrugged and her smile faded a little. “She hasn't been in Scotland all summer. I guess she'll be back in the winter. But it's Viatrix. You never know.” 

Vika fell silent for a moment. Sometimes she has these moments. She gets very quiet, seems to lose herself in her thoughts, but as quickly as these moments come, they disappear again. “What about you? When was the last time you were at a market like this?” 

She looked at him for a moment. His high cheekbones, the curve of his eyebrows, the way he was wearing his hair today. Speaking of hair, “I almost forgot something!” She only had the sweets with her, so Vika had to stand up again. “Give me a moment. Admire the view. It won't take long.” She winked at him as she went back to the car to get what she had planned. She bought something for both of them and then forgot to give it to him because she was so excited to get here.

Fortunately, when she returned to Zeev, he was admiring the view. So she was able to sneak up to him, even if it wasn't quite so quiet. The first leaves had found their way to the ground, and the soft crackling as they got under Vika's shoes gave her away despite her best efforts. She was also a little preoccupied with the object in her hand. She looked at it, brushing her fingers over it as she worked her magic into the wreath of flowers she had bought from her grandmother's friend. Vika stopped behind Zeev and carefully placed the wreath of flowers on his head. “It wouldn't be a day with a garden fairy without a wreath of flowers, would it?” She laughed softly and circled the bench to drop back into her seat. She already had her own wreath of flowers in her hair. “I made it last longer. So that we both have not only the memory of this day, but a little souvenir.” 

She looked at him again. It wasn't just because Zeev was a really handsome man that he was fun to look at. This time it was also because of the flowers in his hair. Hopefully she hadn't messed up his hair too much. But she just couldn't help herself. And the flowers looked great on him. “They suit you. You should wear them more often. Especially the chrysanthemums. The king of Sundawn.” She giggled.

continuation of (☀️) ⸻ @vikasgarden

The fae's childlike enthusiasm had a positive effect on his own disposition and he couldn't help but smile at her words. His joy was less about the offer of sweets - Zeev had never had a great passion for them - and more about the sociability and colourful hustle and bustle of the people. Seeing how cheerful and friendly everyone was with each other warmed his heart in a way. Apart from that, he thought it was nice that Vika had the opportunity to gain experiences outside of her seclusion that would soon enough develop into warm memories. 

A wave of nostalgia overcame him as they strolled through the market. He, too, was not free of memories that were both painful and pleasurable. He had often travelled with his siblings and family members into the heart of his home town when they too had offered a farmer’s market. Everything from crafts to harvests had been present. Long before they had to hide completely, they had offered their own work from time to time. From herbs and dried flowers to tea blends and minor spells - which for the common people were nothing more than gimmicks and small hints at the history of the city. For the Coven, these days were of particular significance, as they usually coincided with festivities that they themselves celebrated. The approaching start of autumn on these days was able to evoke equivalent feelings and with Vika, who was not a witch but came very close, these moments were easy to reproduce. 

Vika's cheerfulness was easy to mirror and made him forget any worries he carried with him wherever he went. Maybe that's why he liked her closeness so much, and not just because they had similar interests. 

There has always been something magical about the Scottish Highlands. Proof that the earth was a marvellous place and so much more powerful than a human, a witch or even a fairy. It was no surprise, looking down, that anyone looking out over the uneven lands felt exalted. On one side, the sea beat against the rocks; on the other, the view fell directly onto the small town, which looked like miniature figures from this distance. One could imagine that it was possible to take them with your index finger and thumb and rearrange them. No wonder the English wanted to conquer this country for themselves. Zeev's ambitions in these regards were rather limited. Ruling had never been his goal; the earth and its inhabitants were far too wilful for that. Instead, he leant back on the bench and took in the scenery. Vika's offer was accepted with hesitation. His first impulse had been to refuse, as she was clearly enjoying the sweets more than he was. However, politeness prevailed and he surmised that a sweet would do him no harm. 

At the altitude they were at, it was surprisingly warm, despite the stronger wind. Vika's wavy brown hair waved like grass in the breeze and she savoured the taste of her accomplishments. Zeev couldn't remember the exact last time he had been so blissfully close to another person. A peace that felt fleeting, but complete. From their position, they could watch the sunset perfectly as it set behind green and lush hills. The daily loss of sunlight was always associated with a certain sadness for the Sundawner, the certainty of their return, however, comforting. “That was a beautiful day,” he spoke openly and smiled at her, his nose outstretched towards the last rays of sunlight. “Thank you for tagging along.”

Expressing feelings openly was easy for Zeev. Being at peace with himself and with life opened many doors that few people were even aware of. Despite all the pains of the past and the supposed mistakes he had made, he had never lost the gentleness of his upbringing. “I don't think I need to ask if you had fun?” His laughter was muffled, but sincere. His smile was evident in the sparkle in his eyes. “Do you often go to markets with your sisters?”

[dwknock]

The Stonefield at Milton near Dumbarton

[icurrey]

Someone’s back garden. #edinburgh #scotland #garden #vine #bench #flowers (at Edinburgh, United Kingdom) https://www.instagram.com/p/BnHf5PNAOwP/?utm_source=ig_tumblr_share&igshid=1j64p7sddvt9j

[oumaheroes]

I kinda wish you'd just write something cute or angsty or both about Baby Alfred and England.

I got u anon, I got u. I have a longer fic for these two and this topic in the works set in a more modern time period, but for now have something quick.

Word Count: 1233

Characters: England, America

-------------------------

'Shhh,' Arthur sighs and rearranges Alfred on his hip, the crown of his head pressed into the crook of Arthur's neck, 'I know. I know.'

'It hurts,' weak fists grip Arthur's night shirt, pulling the fabric taut around his neck, 'Please. Please make it stop.'

Arthur moves again, slow steps that gently rock the child in his arms against him as he crosses from one end of the room to the other. He brings up one hand to cup the back of Alfred's head, feeling the burn of fevered skin, 'I'm sorry, love. It needs to run through.'

Alfred lets out a high moan into Arthur's shoulder. His hair is damp, sweaty from a whole day of this, but Arthur is scared to wash him again. Too much information from too many centuries contradicts, should he undress him? Keep him warm and covered? Wash the sickness or keep him away from the water that apparently now bleeds health away?

Arthur is exhausted.

He had readily listened to the doctors at first, all but allowing them to apply the recommended leeches that Arthur had never had a problem with until they had come close to Alfred's skin. But now, as Alfred grew hotter and weaker and Arthur grew more panicked, he has gone back to older, more desperate advice. It is Alisdair's voice - younger, warped by time- he heeds that tells Arthur to keep him cool. To give Alfred water and sing to him. Offer honey to strengthen him, willow bark to reduce the fever. A cool hand on Arthur’s own forehead, his cheek on rough, home spun wool.

It is night. Almost at the end, morning threatening to brighten the horizon below still bright stars and through the window Arthur can see nothing but the faintest outline of the garden and woods cresting against its edges.

‘Come on,’ Arthur gently places Alfred on the bed and firmly wraps him in a heavy blanket, ‘Let’s go outside.’

The house is quiet, the servants all asleep and Arthur carefully manoeuvres them through, hushing Alfred when he stirs. They would only interfere if they woke and this was something that Arthur felt he needed to do personally, despite their pointed advice and concern. He didn’t want to hand Alfred away to be cared for by someone else, even if that person was familiar, and damn the current customs and etiquette that continue to try and remove him.

‘Look,’ Arthur says once they are outside, ‘Look how bright the stars are tonight.’

Alfred opens a watery eye and peers upwards, head lolling back on Arthur’s shoulder, ‘Why are we out here?’

‘Fresh air will help,’ Arthur hefts him higher, tightening his grip to tuck a fold of the blanket closer around Alfred’s neck, ‘It’s too stuffy inside.’

‘It’s cold.’

‘It’s not too cold,’ the air was crisp but not bitter and Arthur himself felt better just being outside of that house, ‘You’re merely too warm.’

Alfred doesn’t respond and Arthur settles them on a bench by the trees, close to the house but near to the forest like a bridge between worlds.

‘I used to hate being unwell when I was very young. I didn’t have a house all year round and always felt terribly cold outside,’ Alfred lays against him heavily and doesn’t react when Arthur rearranges him to be more comfortable, body limp and loose, ‘You had to put up with the rain and the wind and I always wanted the fire. But then when I did have a stable home, I found that I felt worse inside. I feel better with the wind on me, after all.’

Clumsy and familiar, Scotland trying his best. Still the first thing Arthur’s mind goes to when it cannot comfort itself and he is too weak to stop its wandering to older places.

‘Even now?’

‘Even now.’

A flash of light amongst the trees, the mirror of an eye watching from the shadows. Arthur follows the dark shape of movement, daring it to emerge.

Alfred curls a hand out from the folds of the blanket and lightly holds Arthurs’ arm, dancing his fingers slowly into his skin, ‘When will this stop?’

‘When it is done.’

‘But why.’ He has never been seriously ill before, the sensation entirely foreign to him.

‘Because you’re alive. Because to be of your people is to suffer with them, sometimes.’

‘It’s not fair,’ Alfred huffs and his fingers pause. He sniffs and turns his head to bury it back against Arthur’s shoulder, ‘I don’t want to hurt anymore.’

‘I know,’ Arthur strokes back his hair and cards the strands through his fingers, working at the knots until they are gone. He finds himself humming after a time, a tune that swings from ‘Lowlands Away’ to ‘Miri it is while sumer ilast’ and then all the way to something nameless and forgotten. It thrums with a melody of an ancient tongue worn thin and pale in the current day and lost to the hills that bore him. The voice that hums it in Arthur’s head is a woman, someone so long gone he can’t even put a face to her voice but her song still lives within him somewhere, down in the deepest parts of his memory that doesn’t need words.

A slight breeze lifts Alfred’s hair to brush against Arthur’s chin. He is quiet, quiet and still and panic grips at Arthur’s heart suddenly like a vice, ‘Alfred?’

His hand is lifeless against the blankets, head downturned and face hidden.

The colony is stable, others have caught the pox but not them all but despite that Arthur, for just a moment, can understand keenly how fragile all of this is, how mortal they are despite the long years that their kind are granted to watch. What if this was a sign of Arthur’s negligence, his inability to care for something other than his own greedy self. What if he were taking life from Alfred, rather than Alfred from him- draining rather than growing to feed a hungry expansion.

He couldn’t bear it. Even a temporary death is one Arthur wishes Alfred to avoid for as long as he can.

Arthur shifts him again with growing urgency, ‘Alfred. Alfred, darling.’

Alfred’s head lifts, ‘No,’ he draws out the vowel, face puckering as he turns to tuck his chin over Arthur’s shoulder, ‘I want to sleep.’

Arthur lets out a short, sharp breath, ‘You can sleep,’ he says. He stands; they have been out here long enough, ‘Sorry for waking you, close your eyes again.’

‘Hmmm,’ Alfred goes quiet, all too happy to follow instruction and Arthur takes them back inside, closing the door firmly shut behind them.

-------------------

AN:

The songs Arthur hums are, in order of appearance, Lowlands Away: a sailor's song, or a sailor's wife's song, from the 17th century and Miri it is while sumer ilast: one of the oldest English songs ever recorded and dating from the 13th century.

https://mainlynorfolk.info/anne.briggs/songs/lowlands.html

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mirie_it_is_while_sumer_ilast

Thanks for the ask!