a) I left them for Lavinia and Lionel to enjoy when they returned from their latest exploits, hiking across The Empty Quarter,
b) I picked them and made them into a very small pot of jam,
c) My little brother ate them,
d) The blackbirds ate them,
e) I ate them.
We have been horticultural archaeologists at The Farm today. There is a forgotten area just below the (soon to be) vegetable garden. An area whispered of in the dark corners of hostelries and scribbled in ancient tomes. The void on the map. The Badlands. Dry stone walls with half buried door and window, the wooden lintels still holding firm, back and side this green enigma. In amongst the mass of self-seeded hebe and goat willow emerge flower spikes of zantedeschia and typhus, suggesting watery feet. Beneath the raft of vegetation lay a series of ponds and pipes, interlinked and redundant. We had heard tales of water gardens and fireworks, others spoke of pathetic puddles and duckweed. The truth is somewhere in between.
It began, as these things often do, with another of Mrs G’s understatements. “Did you have anything in mind for today? Thought you and Slasher might clear the pond area.” Before long SS was on duty attacking the big stuff (trees/shrubs), tool of choice pick axe. I was on small stuff (ferns/couch grass/ivy/being bossy), using my natty little hand hoe and border fork. Things were helped somewhat by a few rousing choruses of I Need a Hero. Obviously that was just me. The concrete lined ponds were little more than silt and sludge, chocked with desperate aquatics and divided by slate bridges. Our investigations of the periphery found more rock than soil, boulders that the sneaky intruders had wound around, in between and underneath. Small specimens were tricky to extricate, the larger ones challenging. Slasher was so annoyed at one point he may have said “flip”. I believe his darkest moment was when clearing the steps up past the jaunty potting shed. We may need some more heavy duty equipment to remove the tree seedling lodged beneath the top step. Let us just say that this project is work in progress.
After late sowing, bunny munchings, slug gussling, diversions and distractions, this marigold is finally flowering. Full marks for perseverance. It was worth the effort, it was worth the wait.
If I had to pick a song to represent today it would be Indian Summertime and the Living is Easy. True, it doesn’t scan as well as the original, but it sits just perfectly with me.
After my recent debauched weekend, today I was back at the coal face. How I suffered in the cosseting rays of the benign autumn sun. With unremitting bravery I bore the hardships of garden gossip, planning the year ahead, collecting seed of aubergine hollyhocks, planting out hesperantha and gaura, shuffling out-of-place cistus and lobelia. Then, to add insult to injury, I was expected to partake in freshly baked tea loaf smothered in creamy butter. To be honest, if there was a medal for bravery in the face of great horticultural adversity, I deserve one.
What can I say? It was a wonderful weekend away from The Shire. I am still recovering. For this reason words are in short supply. A precis of my adventures using photographs to illustrate each event will follow.
With Hero I shopped. This delphinium was admired but passed by in favour of the ever-shifting sales area.
At Cannington Kate’s I collected seed from a lost label helenium, the colour of cinder toffee.
At the show we admired orderly exhibits,
curious creatures,
and glorious gladdies.
The morning after, in the not-so-early sunshine, myself and Hero wandered Mrs S’s dew-dipped garden in our PJ’s.
And with the Malvern Maid, well ……..
…… well with the Malvern Maid, I sipped champagne and we raised our glasses to friendship and flowers. We were later joined by Mrs S and Hero who were similarly led astray, they didn’t need much persuasion!
Today I am excited. Tomorrow (today/last week/ages ago according to when you get around to reading this post) I am going with my good friends Hero and Mrs Swotty to Malvern Autumn Show. When we are there we are going to meet up with the equally lovely Malvern Maid. I am confident there will be fun and laughter. I am even more confident there will be purchasing. There may be Pimms even though the equinox has been crossed. I am very excited. I have to pack now.
This Grevillea victoriae flower was looking glorious at RHS Rosemoor last week.
All downhill from here.
Three strikes and I am out.
First strike: The night was a wild one, for all the wrong reasons. The rain hammered against the windows, the wind shook the house by the shoulders and sleep was patchy. The morning broke, a little stunned but dry. Although heavy thundery showers were forecast, I decided to risk it for a biscuit. As I loaded the car I chose to ignore some pioneer drops.
Second strike: My vertigo had reared its ugly head again overnight and wobbly-itis was corrupting my sight and balance. It was not too severe though, I was confident that it would improve as the day progressed and if not I could always come home again. A nice steady drive out to Lord and Lady Mantle’s estate.
Third strike: About a quarter of my way to work, with the downpour getting into its stride, there was a sign blocking my way “Road Closed, No Access to Combe Martin”. As I wasn’t going to Combe Martin how could this refer to me? So myself and a few others took a chance, it is always easier to break the rules in a pack! As it turned out this was an unwise gamble and soon we were about-turned and told to take the diversion via The Back of Beyond.
I went home.
So what do I do when I am feeling under the weather? I make soup. Today it was roasted garlic and butternut squash. I thought I would share it with you.
First cut up your squash and remove the seeds, don’t bother peeling. Size is directly proportional to cooking time. The smaller the quicker, the larger the longer. I’m sure you had worked that one out already, but there is always someone who gets a little confused (yes, that’s right, you in the corner!). Arrange carefully in an anarchic manner in a roasting tray. Don’t worry if some seeds make their way in to the pan, they make a nice and crunchy treat for the cook later.
Chuck in some unpeeled garlic cloves, as many as you dare and then one more. I think I used 7 or 8. Vampires beware!
Douse with olive oil, sprinkle salt and pepper and bung in the oven. I cook everything at gas mark 5 or 6, no matter, it will cook in the end. It will probably take about 45 minutes, or until you smell something heady and honeyed wafting from the oven and shout “oh my God, the squash!”.
Meanwhile fry an onion. It is the law to have an onion in every soup. Of course if it is onion soup you will need more than one.
When cooked, skin the squash (again no stress if a bit left on) and chop up whilst nibbling on the roasted seed. Add to King Onion, squeeze in garlic (now) paste. Cover and a bit more with vegetable stock. Simmer for a while to let the ingredients get to know each other.
Blend. In my house we have a difference of opinion. On many things. Blending is one of them. I am with the smoooooooooth and luscious party. OH is with the chunky and cheerful sector. Up to you, I would never come between a soup and its maker.
Check for seasoning. This step was only added because recipes always say that. I am sure it will be just perfect as it is.
Enjoy!
You don’t always have to shout to be heard. This beautiful Gladiolus papilio proves just that.
Off The Edge Gardening