Chez Spud

I’ve been a-pondering…and this is my ‘ponder’….that this is the first year in my whole life that I’ve been acutely aware of the passing of the seasons which, I suppose, is due to living in the country. Previously the seasons have been measured and defined by Spring/Summer and Autumn/Winter collections and, when I lived with my parents, the dates when the central heating was ceremoniously turned on and off (1 October and 1 April…regardless of the weather). But this year nature has unfolded its seasons for me RIGHT THERE in my garden, in the fields, in the hedgerows…a veritable gala performance, just for me. Fancy that!

The phrase “One swallow does not make a spring” meant nothing to me until this year, when the first swallows arrived and we watched them swoop and dive, then nest in stables and outbuildings and have babies. Then the swifts rocked up and, having ensconced themselves in our roof, the fun really began. Last year we had barn owls nesting in our neighbour’s barn…alas, no such luck this year although we’ve spotted a couple out hunting at dusk. Since when did I dig birds?! Look at me…I’m a twitcher (faints dead away).

Enough of the birds, let’s talk road safety…who knew that the passing of the seasons could have such a dramatic effect on road safety and, more specifically, the drive from our home to the boys’ nursery. It’s not a long journey, but it’s challenging and is thus not-so-affectionately known as the ‘Drive of Doom’ Chez Spud. In the winter, we slipped and slid up the lanes on black ice and mud on the roads…now the summer is here we zip round corners completely blind, unable to see approaching traffic because of the luscious hedgerows. It took me a week to realise why I could not longer ‘get the view’ for a particularly heart stopping ‘corner plus blind summit’ combo…ah, bless my little city girl cotton socks.

But the main stage for the seasonal drama is, of course, right outside my window. We are very fortunate to have inherited a mature garden, well stocked with all kinds of plants, shrubs, trees and, especially, flowers. There has been a delicious sense of expectation, of ‘ooh what next?!’ all through the year. I tell you, it’s better than telly..from the first snowdrops of the year,

…to carpets of violets, first sweet smelling purple ones then white …

..and hyacinths; pink, white and blue plus banks of these lovely grape hyacinths…

..and, of course, daffodils…dominating the garden for a few weeks, so many different types I lost count…

…and blossom, blossom everywhere…

…plus, my favourite, helibores…

..then up popped the foxgloves…

…soon replaced by vast hollyhocks in pink, purple and white…

…and all of a sudden it was summer, and there were daisies and buttercups in the meadows and poppies..poppies..poppies everywhere…

…roses all over the place of course, and this huge bank of lovely blue flowers (what are they?) which were out for a couple of weeks and then disappeared, literally overnight  (bye! see you next year) …

…and red hot pokers, ornamental daisies and irises (again, they didn’t last long – it’s surprising how fleeting some visitors are)…

…and then a whole field of huge thistles in front of our office, beloved by butterflies, bees and goldfinches…

I could go on, but you get the picture.  Sadly, it already it feels like we’re all done with summer; the nights are drawing in and the garden is gearing up for Autumn . The blossom on the blackberries is nearly gone and the fruit is starting to form – perhaps this year we’ll manage not to eat the ones we pick as we walk back to the house? Perhaps I will finally get to make a blackberry crumble? The tomatoes are yet to ripen, and yet I’m already planning chutney with the leftovers. The blossom on the apple trees has done its stuff…

… and perhaps this year we will get to eat them before the deer do. Oooh blackberry and apple crumble? And, squeeks excitedly, a vast pumpkin patch is lurking at the bottom of the garden, all ready for Halloween…

To everything there is a season…here is Bertie in the field in January…

…same spot, in March…

…and, finally, Diggy in the same spot in June…

I must remember to get a snap in the same place in the Autumn…ideally troughing our way through a vast blackberry and apple crumble. To everything there is a season…

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