Monday 12 July

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The dyeing garden has started to flourish. I edit, rather than weed, and remove the calendula that seed so freely in and around. The woad is lush and the rosettes are expanding day by day. Woad for dyeing is harvested in its first year, despite being a biennial and mine looks very ready for harvest indeed. Making a woad vat seems to be quite involved and I will admit I am putting off the moment somewhat. Luckily, everything else is thriving too. The dyer's chamomile is looking robust and strong. The Hopi sunflowers are as tall and strong as I ever could have hoped. Black scabious everywhere.

Note: If you have flowers for dyeing that come little and often, most will dry quite happily. I pull the heads off the black scabious when they are fully out but before they set seed, and leave them in the sun to dry. Once they are fully dry, I add them to the jar of ones I have already collected. 

Tuesday 13 July

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I have been a little lax on the rose deadheading recently and I was expecting to suffer for it. However, the David Austins have been putting on a wonderful show. Now the rain has stopped, each flower is more perfect, more flawless, than the last. Also the first flowers on the clotted cream jasmine by the back door. It really is very special.

Wednesday 14 July

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The Old Mill at the bottom of the lane has a wonderful vegetable garden. (It also has a wonderful orchard, but I will tell you about that when I scrump their quinces later in the year.) I bump into R, who tells me to help myself to the leeks. I ask hopefully whether this permission includes the globe artichokes. I have artichokes of my own, but I know for a fact theirs are a better variety. In the artichoke world, as with roses, growing skills count for very little. You just need to start with the right plants. 

Thursday 15 July

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I am not good at relaxing. I'm not sure it is really in my repertoire of things. As I embark upon my forties, I am endeavouring to address that. And so, starting my resolution of including more decadence and pleasure in my life a few days early (it is my birthday on Saturday), I go and spend a blissful hour at the Pig at Combe. Their planting scheme of Rosa glauca, cardoons, lady's mantle and lavenders is so simple and yet so strikingly effective. I attempt to surreptitiously video it with the full intention of replicating it at home.

I go home via G's house and show her the truck. We compare notes on Defenders generally and I wonder, not for the first time, why I bought one without power steering. The evening in Lyme. Busy. Hot. The girls were angelic. Hugo was not. He is grounded for the foreseeable.  

Friday 16 July

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A day of glorious, glorious sunshine. I hear the tractor pulling the mower across the fete meadow, behind flower field. The long golden swaying sward, toppling row by row. We walk late to avoid the heat. The shadows are long and the sky is huge, a soft, innocent pink. It feels as if the year has shifted a gear; this is late summer heat. The girls have slept all day and so they bounce through the long grass like puppies. I spy the first milky hazelnuts in the hedgerow.

Saturday 17 July

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True siesta weather. As in, in the highest heat of the day, there is nothing to be done but to sit in the hammock. The supporting trees have grown since last summer and they meet in the middle now. Not tangling, but touching. I am grateful for the shade. 

Sunday 18 July

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This season has been chaotic and overwhelming. The weather has been contrary and unseasonal, and the field is teetering on the brink of wild. I refuse to admit defeat. 

The heat has slowed the rate of growth and I take advantage of the baking sun to hoe the paths. Hoeing in wet weather is utterly pointless, everything just roots again somehow. On days like today, the seedlings crisp up in half an hour and that is, quite decidedly, that.

The difference it makes is immediate; the sharper edges and the wider sightlines suddenly make everything more manageable. It is a tricky task though, because I have to do it without looking at what I am hoeing otherwise I make no progress at all. I spy favourites everywhere I look. A nigella seedling that may come up my favourite shade of white. Chicory. A crazy allium that I do not remember ever putting in the field but which seems to be gently spreading under the apple trees. Around the meadow is a mat of yarrow, ox eye daisy and plantain. I hoe through that quite happily, although a Sanguisorba'Cangshan Cranberry' seedling is carefully left to grow on undisturbed. I know, I know. I lack the ruthless edge to become a truly successful gardener. 

To celebrate this glorious abundance, the photo below is a throw back to a few summers ago, when Rog and Holly came and styled the orchard. It was such a beautiful day. 

I usually sign off by hoping you stay safe and dry. This week, I'm hoping you stay cool…