Rain Showers

We were walking with friends in Hawarden.  The grounds of this country estate are given over to sheep that graze on the gentle slopes among the mature trees.  I was puzzled to see that the lower branches of the limes had been stripped of leaves to a certain height above the ground.  At first I thought it was a caterpillar infestation and then I realised that this summer's rainfall was so low, and the pastures so dry that the sheep had been stretching up to eat the leaves. 

That was a fortnight ago and we have been welcoming pulses of rain passing over our garden from the west.  The lawn that my husband cut by hand once the wildflowers were over has recovered its green.  He no longer has to pour water over the runner beans at night and has frozen several batches.  I am still using grey water for the apple trees, but as a matter of principle rather than necessity.  In the September light and shade with the clouds passing overhead it feels as if the summer drought never happened.  

But it did.  Water levels have still fallen in our local reservoirs.  I check them midweek.  Pennine Sources are the closest and at the lowest percentage. We have fond memories of twenty years ago above Rivington picking whinberries.  I wonder if they got a chance to swell up this season. 

At this uncertain time I am so grateful that we have been here for ten years.  That gave us space to experiment and to discover what grows best.  It gave our apples time to put roots deep down into the clay.  It showed me how to position and sow containers for salad and my husband how to make the optimum use of his greenhouse.  In every season there are successes and failures - surprisingly the front garden winter squash did not enjoy the heat, the peas took several efforts to germinate.  But the sunflowers are putting on a late show and the zinnias have done well.

Things can be done with patience, persistence and time.  I hope we get more time.  

In Clover

Yesterday afternoon, during a sunny period, I stood in the back garden and for the first time this year caught the scent of clover.

We had let our grass go uncut for 'no mow May' and as a consequence the buttercups and daisies and the long grasses were able to bear the weeks of what until recently was classified as 'drought'.  Since the weather broke the clover under the apple trees has flowered.  Now I am reminded of summers in my childhood - sunshine and showers and rushing out to sunbathe for ten minutes before clouds came over the sun.

The rain has been good for some of our crops - the chard and kale that my husband pricked out into a raised bed, the beet spinach that he sowed from seed which is now up and doing better than my usual efforts.

The runner beans are slow to flower; peas and French beans are extremely slow to germinate inside or out.  Slugs are eating my sunflowers which I planted out too early in the sun.  Time to sow another batch. 

Every year presents a different challenge.  Last year the squashes took their time.  This year they are thriving in their very expensive sheep's wool compost.

We are blessed to have such a variety of vegetables and salads to sow and to be surprised by what succeeds year by year.  

A grain of mustard seed

 Seven days ago I sowed some this year's salads in the 'salad crib' and now, after the refreshing rain, they have all sprouted - red mustard, mizuna and rocket (Wasabi) the latter the smallest seeds of rocket that I ever recollect sowing.

They were tiny - smaller than the heads of the 1950s steel pins in my sewing box - and I took special care to sow them thinly as instructed.  The red mustard and the mizuna by contrast were easy to hold in the creases of my palm.

Yesterday afternoon I got out the seed box and found the flower seeds from last year's opened packets.  I went to the potting shed and sowed Limnanthes, Cosmos, Zinnia, wallflowers (saved), sunflowers (saved and new) and foxgloves.

The foxglove seeds from last year's packet, were like so many fine particles of dust and easily crushed.  I gently took apart their foil packet so that I would not lose a single one.  I wait to see how many are able to germinate.

Last year's foxgloves, as tended by my husband, are now growing strongly in the border ready to flower in pastel pinks, yellow and cream in the coming summer months.