The view from here was much changed, but as ever, the passing of time has softened the blow.
This is a view of our field in the first summer we were here.
Continue reading “The View from Here: the maiden apples and the mighty oak”
bright orange California poppies with the vivid blue-purple of geranium Bill Wallis growing through
I have focused on three small projects over the summer, whilst we wait to see what the garden will reveal to us. They each remain works in progress and have met with varying degrees of success. This is the most successful of the three – the eastern garden. Continue reading “August in the Garden: project no. 1”
On a dull day the blooms shine brightly
A tall, bushy, yellow-green conifer grows to roof height: marking the start of a tangled terrace that runs along the back of the house. The conifer itself is massive, looming large in the western garden. I’m not a fan of conifers but I like this one. It’s well-positioned: breaking up the view to the west and contributing to the sense of a secret garden beyond it. We park our cars between the house and this conifer, so from the secret garden the conifer hides the cars as well as the bulk of the house. Continue reading “August in the Garden: the conifer”
I suspect we’re in for some serious work in this eastern stretch
We don’t have a front and a back garden. The house is positioned roughly midway between the east and western perimeters so we have two side gardens. Because you have to pass through it to get to the house, the westward space might be thought of as the front garden, which makes the eastern stretch by default into the back garden. Certainly it has the appearance and feel of a more conventional family garden. I seem to have written several times about the area to the west; it’s time I redressed the balance. Continue reading “July in the garden: looking eastwards”
Perhaps some water here; and maybe a naturalistic statue
The secret garden lies behind the enormous conifer to the west of the house.
For me this unobtrusive area of lawn has a very female aura. Continue reading “June in the Garden: the secret garden”
Now I could absorb … the faded glory of the earliest blooms – already past their prime and thus already in that wonderful blowsy, bleached state of unkempt, vintage splendour: their last hurrah
We have roses: baby pink, deep yellow, fiery red. And a lilac: I’d not even realised we had a lilac until I saw its lanky, lazy purple-tipped blooms. A clematis; huge, pink rhododendrons … A week of dry, warm weather and the garden is showing us its summer garb. Continue reading “June in the Garden: an evening stroll”
Like the trees in Larkin’s poem, we are beginning afresh.
Quite a few years ago I had a pen-friend in Saskatchewan and she used to refer to ‘green up’. In her corner of the world there was snow for many months and then – suddenly it seemed – green up. I often think of her and that phrase at this time of year. Continue reading “Green Up”
Half the interest of a garden is the constant exercise of the imagination.
And so to my early plans for the garden. Perhaps because they’re the first things one sees, but most probably because it is here that spring-time has given us the most to enjoy thus far, I find it’s the welcoming banks along the drive that have claimed my attention and imagination. Continue reading “May in the Garden: all along the banks”
“An early-morning walk is a blessing for the whole day.” Henry David Thoreau
We are expecting our first visitors shortly. This fact focuses the mind: two guest rooms are required. One didn’t take long at all; the other meant I needed to unpack my books, which meant B needed to secure the bookcases, which couldn’t be done until the broadband connection was moved. Continue reading “White tea and Walking books”
“There are few hours in life more agreeable than the hour dedicated to the ceremony known as afternoon tea.” Although I would have to add: “… with a wondrous book to hand”.
Today has been a no-weather day, only the second such day that I’ve acknowledged since we arrived. No-weather days are at the bottom of the heap: no rain, no sun, no wind. Nothing. Just the world waiting… waiting for something to happen next. Continue reading “The View from Here: tea with Daphne revisited”
A Corner of Cornwall 