Sticking point – Fionnuala Ward on the hidden charms of thistles

The thistles have taken over. At one stage, not that long ago, the small back garden was completely cleared. It was just earth. Plans were made. Plans were set aside. Builders came onto the scene. Builders departed the scene. Then the thistles appeared and fairly exploded into life.

They are now as tall as me. Prickly giants pushing right up against the patio between the garden and the back door.

Proud. Stoic. Entirely themselves.

I have to wear long trousers when putting clothes on the line or taking clothes off the line or for any reason attempting to hack my way to the back wall.

‘Worst morning of my life’ – Alison Healy on tricky tourists

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Custer’s Last Tune – Frank McNally on the dubious history of the ballad Garryowen

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Drama and spirituality – Desmond O’Neill on Rossini’s Petite messe solennelle

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Dutch gold – Frank McNally on a weekend in idyllic Amsterdam

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A friend says it’s all about changing perspective. These plants are native after all. And they attract bees.

This is true. Once their purple crown gives rise to that small pink flower, bees duly turn up and take to bouncing from blossom to blossom. The other morning, I spent 10 minutes or so, watching as they went about their business. And yet in the middle of it all, some flowers were approached and summarily rejected, for reasons, I as a non-bee, could in no way comprehend.

The whole process is truly hypnotic. During Covid, the most amazing clover patch emerged centre-stage in the garden and I brought out a chair when taking a break, to witness the comings and goings of the neighbourhood pollinators.

Thistles, of course, get a bad press because unlike, say, roses they do not induce that primeval urge to reach out and touch and smell.

The roses are in bloom in the Botanic Gardens at the moment and they are a wonder to behold. People loiter to take photographs and sit back on the benches to better take in the view.

I had a rose in my garden at one stage. It grew up against the wall and by all accounts was the pride and joy of the former owner. This was a resilient rose. And a smart rose at that. It jumped ship when that wall was being rebuilt, burrowing underground and popping up in my neighbour’s garden instead, having clearly decided that its chances of survival were better there.

I’ve come to terms with the thistles for the time being. They’re fine for the moment. And of course their saving grace, apart from the bees, is that they are not and never have been buddleia.

I have to state from the off that I have no problem with other weedy kind of plants. Dandelions are just fine. They’re vibrant and scrappy – the teenagers of the plant world. I’m happy to have them hanging around the garden, as good as smoking and drinking cans over by the back wall.

I have it in for buddleia, though. I’m honestly not sure why but that plant evokes an almost visceral reaction. It is the most opportunistic of interlopers and would and, as often as not will, grow in a crack in the wall. I’m fully aware there’s more than a touch of botanical snobbery at play here but I’m embracing that snobbery because its flowers are long and loopy and tasteless and well, common. It basically tries too hard and yet puts no effort into the finished product.

A friend discovered that a family member or friend or definitely someone he knew well had put some of these flowers into a small vase in the kitchen and couldn’t stop himself declare in exasperation “Why?”

I’m so with him. And yes, I know all about the butterflies and how they see these blossoms as a kind of landing pad. But there have be other plants out there doing their damnedest, in a much more genteel, understated way, to get those butterflies, here, over here!

You’ll never see a buddleia garden in the Bots, with people stopping and stooping and zooming in with their phones. Not a chance.

And there’s the most wonderful cacti exhibit there at the moment. It’s just inside the gate and the cacti and small and delicate, with some in bloom or coming into bloom, and they’ve been planted in circles and triangles and various other shapes with the overall impression being one of harmony and order.

Do you hear that, buddleia? Harmony and order!

Meanwhile I’m sensing a certain frustration with my thistles. They’ve nowhere left to go and are eyeing the inside of the house with an almost palpable annoyance. Occasionally, I’ve even had a fleeting impression of them scanning for a landing point.

Fleeting.

And just an impression.

But now, apologies, I must finish up here.

I have a door to close.