Visiting others and coming home
Monday 25 April
-
The cow parsley is bubbling up in the edges of the lanes. The first vintage pink aquilegia is out, although bent slightly because a sparrow keeps using it as a perch. The village sits under a cloud of lilac scent. It grows in the hedgerows here, and I grow the white one which has all the benefits of the usual one, but is such a beautiful colour. Cut before it is fully out and strip all the leaves if you want it to last in water, although if you are superstitious, leave it on the plant; it is meant to be bad luck to bring it into the house.
Tuesday 26 April
-
An exclusive tour of the Bayntun Flowers growing spaces for Gather. It truly is the most wonderful place. Every corner, every stone, every hazel dome, is a pleasure. However, I do fear that I may have been ruined for the big, blowsy tulips that I have always loved. In special raised beds, in a secret part of the garden, were the historic tulips. Suddenly, everything else looked too brash and too bold. When Polly cut some and gave me them to take home, my heart actually fluttered. Also, for those that have been following my search for true red tulips (all mine came up deep purple), Jan Reus is the one.
Wednesday 27 April
-
Another day, another garden. An absolutely magical morning at the Yeo Valley organic garden on the other side of Somerset with Alice of The Wild Wood Moth. So much to see in one garden. Sharp hedges around rooms. Edible growing areas. Cutting beds stuffed with tulips. The famous gravel garden. The stillest of pools, reflecting the rolling, green landscape. Oh, we had cake too.
Remember Tom Massey's rather fabulous hanging seat from Chelsea last year? It's here. We weren't brave enough to try and get in it.
Friday 28 April
-
Despite the hot spring, the blossom seems to be going on and on. Is it always this late? The first roses are budding up and I can’t ever remember them overlapping before. Not that I am complaining. The later cherry blossom is some of the most extravagant.
Saturday 29 April
-
Two weeks ago, I felt like I was on top of the field. Everything that was meant to be sown was sown. Everything that was meant to be planted was planted. More importantly, the weeding was manageable. And then suddenly, goodness me, everything stepped up a gear. Today is spent getting the bindweed out of the asparagus (truly, my least favourite job of all), grass out of the budding up irises (much more satisfying) and thinning out the bronze fennel that is threatening to swamp my campanula collection. Suppertime rolled around before I had even looked at the dahlia beds, and we lit the wood oven and roasted potatoes in the ashes.
Sunday 1 May
-
A day of rain. Much needed by all. As I walk the dogs in the field, the dandelion seeds coat my wet wellingtons. I carry them back home. Sometimes it is good to be reminded that we are of nature and not apart from it. To a dandelion wishing to scatter around the paths and fields, I am nothing but a convenient transport.
