The season of golden light
Monday 23 August
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I adore the way that there is a matrix for discussing almost everything in the country. Every year is classed as a good/bad year for something, and that something will always be early or late. Never moderate. Never exactly on time. (Although since I am now in my third year of writing this journal diligently every week, I can assure you that lots of things that seem to be early/late are in fact exactly the same time as previous years.) Once you have made a passing comment on the weather, many conversations can be sustained using this formula.
I’ve never known such a good year for sloes, I say. Although they do seem to be early this year, you say. All the plums. I consider this to be a glut.
Not a single quince this year, and none on the other village quince trees either, you say. A terrible year for quinces, I say. Must have been the late frost.
Dahlias are late to get going this year, although now they are, they really are wonderful. And you know what? It truly is. Spartacus is aggressively glorious; a deep red dinner plate. Ditto an amazing year for sweet peas, French beans, and bees.
Terrible year for kohlrabi (if you are an optimist, you could tell me it has been a great year for cabbage white butterflies), squash, apples and roses.
Tuesday 24 August
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I have been reading about the Japanese 72 micro-seasons, kō. Each lasts five days which seems a little dizzying and so I have landed upon each weekly newsletter being a season in itself. This week has been theseason of gold. Golden light, golden fields, golden dust. Today the air rumbles with the sound of distant combines. The fete field and the back field are mown, then tedded, then baled this week.
Wednesday 25 August
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Due to a diary mix up, I expected someone to cut the hedge today and so we harvest as much from the edible hedge as we can. We fill buckets with sloes and mirabelles, and big enamel bowls with Rosa rugsosa hips (I’m still debating steeped oil vs syrup) and ruffled hazelnuts. The sloes are so thick on the branches that I just cut the branches off. (Sloes: early, good year, please see above.) In the end, the hedgecutters don’t come and I am left with a kitchen full of fruit.
Thursday 26 August
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We walk along to the polo ground through the lanes. Through thegateways, we glimpse clouds of golden dust as the combines move through the cereal crops. The air and the light are thick with late summer sun.
Friday 27 August
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So the kitchen full of fruit would be less of a problem if the kitchen wasn’t on the brink of great things. You may know that my obsession with my garden is matched only by my obsession with my cottage. My social media feeds are split almost equally between flowers and interiors with a side order of typography and graphic design. My husband has described my taste as ‘90% of people would absolutely not get this’. Someone who absolutely does get this is Ridge & Furrow and they are designing us a new kitchen. All wood and texture and roughness and hooks everywhere for hand thrown mugs. They visit today and we rather spontaneously bang a hole in the plasterboard ceiling. The good news? The most beautiful joists, possibly elm. The bad news? Deathwatch beetle.
Saturday 21 August
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I pack hardy annuals for the Gather Autumn drop. Packing, printing, stamping, addressing envelopes. I am endlessly fascinated by the pockets of Gather members. Strangely, I have quite a few members in Edinburgh, a cluster in Barnsley, and a number in Helston, Cornwall. I always wonder if they know each other, if they are friends. The rest of the day is spent addressing bindweed. It has been a very good year for bindweed.
Sunday 22 August
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Another golden evening. The grass is cropped short and the dogs chase the smell of mice and the scent of pheasant poults. Supper is french beans, cooked fast in a pan, sprinkled with salt and lemon zest. A change from courgettes. Plums roasted with bay and cinnamon. A loaf of sourdough in the top oven. I must do the bulk of the cooking in theoven because I’ve been using all the pots for dyeing with tea and avocado stones. (A double duvet cover took 120 teabags, but it was worth it.)
