In a garden like this I get to see things changing – get to watch while they change. Never missing the intervals… the transition. The fennel for example, feathering upwards, turning yellow in high summer, then the Quaker-blue seeds replacing the blossom, set off by the purple tentacles of a nearby flowering artichoke.
I walk through the maze-like paths which we originally set out in such a way that our children would have fun walking through – now visitor’s children take over that role and run back and forth with some seeds they find or balance on the larch-wood edging of the herb beds.
I notice this morning, collecting Moroccan mint for breakfast, that the two Camellias I brought back with me from Italy and planted, a red and a white one on either side of the insect hotel, have already placed their buds for next summers’ flowers…
It never ceases to amaze me how nature prepares in advance. The fig tree, a gift from Italy, also seems to have acclimatized well and is pushing young green.
Then there are those subtle luxuries like going out with a basket to get dinner, a mixture of treasure hunting and gathering. The evening scents of a September garden… and how your fingers smell like the colour green when you’ve been nipping Kefe lightly off the stems of a meandering plant and gathering African basil for a sumptuous evening meal. We have to try the beans, curious as we are, even though we set these ones late in the season and of course they’re not ready yet… but everything else is.
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