Grr, gah, waaa

Well there's no denying it's lush.

But it's getting hard to stay motivated.

 The tomato seedlings have stalled

and the sweet peas are lying weakly on the soil

next to their robust wigwam.

It's too sad to show you.

Slates are sliding off the roof

in a manner horribly reminiscent of guillotine blades

so that's the next big job - one that we have dodged -

since we first moved here twenty odd years ago, 
apart from some remedial work.

I predict that the sun will come out just as soon

as we are wrapped around with light excluding scaffolding.

Perhaps we will be glad of the shade.

Meanwhile I am knitting faux Fair Isle,

 binge watching Parks and Recreation

and there's a batch of cheese scones in the oven.

Lovely to look back on

because I really don't want to look out of the window today.

Luckily it will soon be dark so that will sort that problem out.

Mackerel sky, mackerel sky,
Never long wet, never long dry.
or
Mackerel sky
Not twenty four hours dry.

New every morning*

A huge success, but only after many unsuccessful sowings

of Morning Glory.

These were only just rescued from a pot in the nick of time

and planted near a pillar by the front door.

Some hasty strings were tied to the pillar

and they obliged by twisting their way up with all speed.

They are the first thing to greet me as I open the door in the morning.

They have run out of string but continue to climb and scramble

over the porch roof.

I remember a Biology teacher, Miss Smith,

who used to grow Ipomea Heavenly Blue

in a small lean-to greenhouse at school.

She longed for us to show an interest in these beautiful flowers.

I fear our response was lukewarm.

My apology for this Philistinism is far too late.

Lamentations 3: 23

The plight of the bumblebee

Late last autumn I had two banks of meadow turf laid.

They thrived during the wet winter and have started to flower.

Here's what is in it:

Sheep's Fescue, Red Fescue, Quaking Grass, Meadow Barley, Agrimony, 

Bird's Foot Trefoil, Red Clover, Common Sorrell, White Deadnettle, Fox and Cubs, 

Meadow Cranesbill, Greater Celandine, Autumn Hawkbit, Common Knapweed, 

Common Mallow, Wild Marjoram, Meadow Buttercup, Meadowsweet, Great Mullein,

 Musk Mallow, Opium Poppy, Ragged Robin, Red Campion, Tansy, Teasel, 

Common Toadflax,Viper's Bugloss, White Campion, Wild Basil, Wild Carrot, Clary, 

Wild Thyme, Yarrow, Black Medick,Common Daisy, Welsh Poppy, 

Small Scabious, Maiden Pink, Chicory.

All are rich in pollen and nectar and winter food for birds.

Just typing that list of lovely names makes me feel better,

but the thing is - it seems awfully quiet there.

I've seen 1 Red Admiral,1 Cabbage White,1 Orange Tip, 1 Solitary bee

1 Damsel fly, a few hoverflies

and not a single honey bee.

Let's hope word gets round soon.

Quietly at Great Dixter

 We arrived early

 and although we could distantly hear 

Fergus Garrett the head gardener

mowing the meadow grass

and glimpsed one young man loping away

with garden twine

hanging from both back pockets,

it was a rare chance 

for the flowers

to make the loudest statements

in Christopher Lloyd's exuberant September garden.

Where the usual throng was that day

we never found out.

50 things

The National Trust has compiled a list of

50 outdoor activities children should try

before they reach 11¾ years.

I asked my son to check the list honestly

and he found 42.

He probably didn't achieved this score 

in the allotted timespan but I was happy with that.

Then I wondered how much of the list I could tick off

and found 38.

Swimming under the Pont du Gard at night

into a cloud of white moths rising from the surface,

is one of my more surprising memories.

Swimming in a Welsh tarn 
was certainly the iciest.

This is the month

This is the month of quiet days, crimson creepers,

and blackberries; of mellow afternoons in the ripening garden;

of tea under the acacias instead of the too shady beeches;

of wood-fires in the library in the chilly evenings.

The babies go out in the afternoon 

and blackberry in the hedges; the three kittens,

grown big and fat, sit cleaning themselves

on the sunny verandah steps;

the Man of Wrath shoots partridges across the distant stubble;

and the summer seems as though it would dream on forever.

It is hard to believe that in three months

we shall probably be snowed up

and certainly be cold.

There is a feeling about this month that reminds me

of March and the early days of April,

when spring is still hesitating on the threshold

and the garden holds its breath in expectation.

There is the same mildness in the air,

and the sky and grass have the same look as then;

but the leaves tell a different tale,

and the reddening creeper on the house is rapidly approaching 

its last and loveliest glory.

From Elizabeth and her German Garden by Elizabeth von Arnim

Wood roses

There is a very old deodar cedar crammed into our front driveway.

Really it should be stretching its branches luxuriously

over a smooth green lawn,

instead it shields us from the vacant gaze 

of the occupants

of the top deck of passing buses

and tangles with the telephone wires.

Its upper limbs are home to wood pigeons,

squirrels, magpies

and the UK's smallest bird, the goldcrest.

We can watch them cavorting from our bedroom window.

It drops a rich variety of parts onto our car;
the copious by-products of pigeon,

long air vent invading needles,

 yellow powder bombs, (the male cones),

and now, in vast numbers,

the female cones are clattering down

to shatter on the crazy paving.

I save the whole ones for the window sill.

Wood roses.

Sorted

I tackled my slug-ravaged seed packets,

in much the same way as I had the kitchen cupboards

although with slightly more reluctance

to observe the use-by dates,

because if this Methusela seed

was capable of germination after 2000 years,

I felt that a three-year-old seed had a fighting chance.

These old-fashioned wage packets were 

just the right size for re-packaging them.

Next up, the washing of the flower pots.