Mother says we are shaped by our history and here the scent of the past lingers in the air about us. We live in a rhythm of peace, tucked away on the Devon/Somerset border surrounded by old-fashioned values and traditions.
This week has been quite busy with holiday-makers visiting the garden between the showers and wind. August is a difficult time to keep interest in the garden, when all plants look overblown.
Sometimes in life one throws a double six, and then by chance one gains the upper hand. A glorious fluke, like a seed blown in on the wind or dropped by a passing birds, which grows into something special, dazzling perfect nature’s grand slam. The giant silver Cotton thistle suddenly appeared, reaching over six feet and appearing in the centre of the path so one has to squeeze past its prickly leaves to reach the terrace door. So perhaps August is not so daunting.
Ma was accosted by a visitor who asked if she worked in the garden. ’Yes’ she replied, “Do you like working here and do they pay you well?” they asked. Ma said “It’s ok as long as it doesn’t snow!”
Flowering in Emily’s garden, the lovely yellow Kirengeshoma palmata, a native of Japan; growing through it, the unusual yellow-climbing Dicentra scandens, from the Himalayas, where it also scrambles up the yew hedge, its flowers falling like golden tears. Beside it, another yellow plant Centaurea macrolcephala, from the Caucasus.
Despite these blowsy August days, the garden is still full of sweet treasures; if only humans were as beautiful as the lovely flowers.