The season of crane flies
Picture above an out-take from the book by Dean Hearne. We tried as hard as we could to include the girls in as many photos as possible but as you can see, they just didn't quite get it. Unlike Hugo, who poses as soon as you get a tripod out…
Monday 6 September
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A cool misty start followed by a hot, hot day. Crane flies drift up from the back field. The very last of the sweet pea flowers, entwined amongst the squash, climbing the hazel. I have managed to resist cutting them and I have been rewarded by more seed pods than I ever could have dreamed of.
Tuesday 7 September
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As a writer, I lack imagination. I write what I see, what I can touch and feel. Frustratingly, I cannot write about Christmas in July, not conjure up literary pictures of tulips in October. Today, I spend the morning writing Gather Harvest, the seasonal journal for August and September. I describe the plums I can see. I write about the exquisite markings on the back of a dahlia as I observe the bunch on my desk. The jobs list for the season is my jobs list for this weekend. Sowing. Compost. Planning for next year’s landscapes.
Wednesday 8 September
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Thunder and lightning are forecast. We wait for it, but it never comes. Whilst we are waiting, two more big areas of the field are cleared and laid out as hardy annual beds. We supplement lunch in the orchard with plums from the tree and a bar of chocolate.
Thursday 9 September
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I don’t know why I plan anything at all; the areas we cleared for hardy annuals are filled with the digitalis seedlings that have been bursting out of their seed trays in the greenhouse. I’ll have to find somewhere else for the cornflowers.
Friday 10 September
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Dodging rain. The downpours are heavy, but in between, there are chances for collecting the sweetest of blackberries. This is the first year the brambles in the edible hedge have properly fruited. At least they are useful for something.
Saturday 11 September
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A day for sadness and for appreciating life. A handful of raspberries from the field for breakfast. The ruffle of Bryn Terfyl, a softly red dinnerplate dahlia. The scent of the mottled roses. Love. Freedom.
This isn’t a dreadful picture, I just wanted to show you how perfect the backs of dahlias are.
Sunday 12 September
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Today is spent moving and turning compost heaps. I am knackered and so today’s entry is very short.
