Bountiful summer
The drought carries on…..I am watering the veg in the garden every evening with a teacup, from grey water. It doesn’t seem to mind. The runner beans are vigorous, whirling up their poles like Dervishes and coming into bloom; the French beans are starting to take off; the courgettes are producing tiny fingers of yellow fruits instead of fat knobbly ones, but they are tasty nonetheless; the globe artichokes are thriving, though they won’t flower this year – due to youth, not water shortage. The Jerusalem artichokes have grown taller than me, and the wineberries are busy producing what promises to be a bumper crop – both without a drop of extra water. And of course the grapes are coming along nicely.
The tomatoes are covered with tiny green fruit – such a joy to find I can grow tomatoes here, after serial failures on my allotment plot years ago, where they all succumbed to the viruses that are endemic on allotments. There is nothing like the fragrance of tomato plants – I would grow them for their intoxicating scent, even if they did not produce such wonderful fruit.
Three talls spikes of mullein have appeared over this year in the new back garden, and I’m gathering the flowers daily for medicinal oil. Good for the ears. The St. John’s Wort was late blooming this year; the first flowers opened yesterday, and I’ve started the annual batch of red oil, which I use as the basis of all sorts of creams and lotions; it’s also a fab remedy for nerve pains like sciatica, and for cold sores.
The roses in the front garden have gone crazy, sending out long branches heavy with perfumed blossom. They love the heat and don’t seem to mind the dry; this is the first year ever that the Albertines have not been afflicted with black spot, and there’s not a greenfly in sight.
We’re already eating the agretto; salads are graced with nasturtium (both flowers and seeds); and there’s borage and mint for the Pimm’s cups.
I've never understood why -- apart from school holidays -- people leave the UK for summer holidays. Why would anyone want to be anywhere else?
The tomatoes are covered with tiny green fruit – such a joy to find I can grow tomatoes here, after serial failures on my allotment plot years ago, where they all succumbed to the viruses that are endemic on allotments. There is nothing like the fragrance of tomato plants – I would grow them for their intoxicating scent, even if they did not produce such wonderful fruit.
Three talls spikes of mullein have appeared over this year in the new back garden, and I’m gathering the flowers daily for medicinal oil. Good for the ears. The St. John’s Wort was late blooming this year; the first flowers opened yesterday, and I’ve started the annual batch of red oil, which I use as the basis of all sorts of creams and lotions; it’s also a fab remedy for nerve pains like sciatica, and for cold sores.
The roses in the front garden have gone crazy, sending out long branches heavy with perfumed blossom. They love the heat and don’t seem to mind the dry; this is the first year ever that the Albertines have not been afflicted with black spot, and there’s not a greenfly in sight.
We’re already eating the agretto; salads are graced with nasturtium (both flowers and seeds); and there’s borage and mint for the Pimm’s cups.
I've never understood why -- apart from school holidays -- people leave the UK for summer holidays. Why would anyone want to be anywhere else?
posted by Cesca Diebschlag at 3:34 AM
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home