Monday 26 July

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The garlic harvest. I love elephant garlic and I roast it in a tray of aubergine, courgette and yellow tomatoes with fennel seed and thyme. It is destined for Gill Meller's a summer lasagne of sorts.  Any dish which is pretty much half bechamel sauce is a winner in my book and if it comes with nuggets of soft, mellow roasted elephant garlic, I'm sold. 

Tuesday 27 July

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I chronically overcommit. Projects, work, seeds, space. Rather being in a neat grid, my chard plants are spaced less than a centimetre apart and germination has been wonderful. I dig almost all of them up, leaving once every twelve inches or so, carefully selecting the colours to preserve the rainbow. This gives me about a hundred spare chard plants. I scatter them around other beds; another diamond in the kitchen garden and amongst the potager beds in the centre of the flower field. Even with this, there are many left over. They go straight into a salad. 

Wednesday 28 July

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Dragonflies over the field. They skim over the trees as we lay out new paths and map out more beds. Showers come and go, drenching and heavy, and we take shelter in the greenhouse. The scent of tomato leaves fills the damp air. 

Thursday 29 July

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More vegetables in the ground. This time I cheat and buy Borlotti plugs from Combe Dingle nursery. I accidentally also come home with twelve parsley plugs, more thyme, and a whitecurrant. 

See above re overcommitting. 

Friday 30 July

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A biodynamic leaf day. I sow Tuscan kale and winter lettuces, as well as kohlrabi and Florence fennel both of which are counted as leaves. A storm is forecast. It misses us by a few miles I think or, at least, the eight foot Hopi sunflowers survive intact. (As do the greenhouse, the dahlias and the sweet pea tunnel). However, there are a few signs that July is going out like a lion. Mill Lane is scattered with early, creamy hazelnuts. Even after the June drop and my thinning, the orchard is covered in windfall apples. The long grass is drenched. My wellingtons still leak. 

Saturday 31 July

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Documenting the dahlias. The first cafe au laits join the dark reds. I remember just how much I adore the Cornels, and how weak the head on a Terracotta is. They look lovely, although it takes a lot for me to admire a semi-cactus. I got my tubers from Erin when I went to visit Floret and she raves about their strong stems, so maybe they simply don't like the West Country climate. I keep it for sentimental reasons but remind myself not to cut it for important occasions. 

Sunday 1 August

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I use the rain as an excuse for a slow day. I bake dark, tangy sourdough rye bread, laced with treacle. I drink tea and watch the eventing. Sunflowers on the table. Bees in the hedge germander. Courgettes in the kitchen. 

Maud is coming into season which means she lolls around looking like a dying duck in a thunderstorm. She wants more cuddles than normal but is also significantly less naughty than her usual relentless self. I cannot tell you how peaceful it is.