Life is a partnership with nature; who takes the upper hand is in the lap of the gods. Sometimes, it feels as if you have tossed a dice and by chance you win the hand. The rhythm of the old house is echoed in the garden, they are as one.
Dearest and I took the stone for Pa’s grave into Wellington for the Stone Mason to hand-carve the lettering. Whilst we were in his workshop, Ma spotted a medieval cross two feet tall, which had come from a local church. We intended to have one carved to sit on the apex of the roof above the Oratory, which is a tiny chamber 10 feet square which sits above the front entrance to Cothay. After some negotiations, we managed to acquire the cross!
On Mother’s wish list, is a ruined temple; When we went to a birthday celebration on Saturday, we saw one. It will be dedicated to the owner’s beloved dog Winney, who has recently joined all dogs above the bright blue sky.
The sleepy stillness of brooding summer is all pervading, the heat oppressive, even the birds have ceased to sing. All is silent, waiting for the summer storm.
The glorious Scrambler from South America is in flower. Bomarea edulis, often grown as a crop as the tubers can be eaten. Twining and twisting through the terrace border, its pink and yellow flowers trumpet-shaped, where it grows in dappled shade. Although easy to grow, it is seldom seen. A real gosh plant. A friend gave us the plant some years ago, since which we have never succeeded in getting the seed to germinate until this spring; much to our surprise, we managed to raise over a hundred plants.
The brooding stillness of July embraces the garden in the still dry air, encircling our beloved home like an invisible silken thread.