The solstice has passed and we are in high summer splendour - blazing blue skies, thunderstorms, soft mornings and light nights. Lockdown continues to ease, and Neil arrived safely and unhindered by UAE regulations a week ago. The boys continue to boost their isolation bank balances with hefty workloads, one keeping gym-fit clearing huge swathes of the wood by hand, and one in charge of bonfires, mowing the new lawns and setting up the new compost bays. It is in any case no time to be indoors at this time of year: obviously we have a huge amount to do right now with the new garden, but it is so beautiful you want to be outside, and you are always aware that it is fleeting too, once June 21st has passed, and that all too soon there will be that change in the scent of the air, as growth slows and green gives way to gold. This time of year is so evocative of my childhood, when getting up early was (in pre teen years) still somehow magical and adventurous, and going to sleep seemed inconceivable when there was still so much light in the sky, and so we are to be found wandering round watering early in the mornings and reading at the terrace table until late while the swifts scream and swerve in their battalions overhead.
I have been planting in and watering now for nearly two weeks, and last week’s rain has bestowed an air of contentment on a lot of the new plants. My perfectionism is still needled by the large gaps in the flower beds but I knew the enforced shift in completion dates combined with seasonal availability would lead to this, and many bulbs will be ordered soon for spring/early summer gap plugging. Right now, the dahlias begin their display, jewel colours gleaming in the sun and their stiff upright form making everything else appear a little spindly and insubstantial.
Each flower head is an elaborate construction, a Spirograph extravaganza of cardioid curves and Rotring pen precision. Remarkably easy going for such luxuriant blooms, they like lots of sun and lots of water, a good feed once a week, and require deadheading if you want blooms through until the autumn. I have not yet been able to bring myself to follow my husband’s advice for achieving show standard flowers, which entails lopping off all side buds to allow one über-bloom to shine. I am happy to see them branching out and carrying multiple flowers, and even if these are smaller, they still outshine currently their neighbours the dark heucheras and young roses.
Lower down the terrace slope, the briza media (quaking oats) is working very well with the dark purple salvia Amistad and the orange geum Tangerine Dream. These two were the fashionable darlings of RHS Chelsea a few years ago before everyone dashed back to native white and green, but I love the combination, and it is one which thus far is working well on the sandy sun baked incline.
Late season golds and purples continue on the other side of the steps - rudbeckias and verbena bonariensis and verbena hastata, with the coreopsis just beginning to open, and higher up, a score of Jerusalem sage (phlomis russeliana) bearing the brunt of the heat. The stipa and fleabane, needed for their veiling height towards the back are slow to establish, so I have bulked out with transplanted mulleins. It is an exercise in patience creating beds like these, a point reinforced by every book you read and every expert you consult, but it is still hard to resist the urge to buy more plants, plant more plants closer together, anything just to cover that bare soil. I know very well that stipa gigantea lives up to its name (giant oats), reaching heights of over 2 metres and a spread not far off that, but as I look at their young green spikes currently measuring about 40 cms, it is tempting to exhort them to grow faster.
Next to the woodshed, the bed contains more of our original clay, and is shaded from mid afternoon as the sun dips to the west. Still awaiting the white currants which are a intended for this spot, I enjoyed a righteous glow of self sufficiency settling in the hostas I had divided last year to underplant the existing hydrangea petiolaris, and to surround the new viburnum plicatum.
Another hydrangea and some roses, plus annuals like cosmos and nigella will eventually make up this space and create the transition to the raised beds and espaliered fruit trees. At the far end of the new paths, the walnut trees are laden with nuts. I would like to think they happier in their newly liberated surrounds, and thus fruiting more heavily; Mr Crossley got very excited about all the delicious store cupboard options ahead of us until I reminded him that last year the squirrels got every last nut long before us. Back to the raised beds for our sustenance I think.
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