Well, all right, I know; it’s a bit late. But the weather has been – um – interesting and I had to keep dashing out to take pictures when I had the chance. A lot of the time it looked like this:
and when it didn’t look like this, it was raining.
Except for the times when it wasn’t, and then the garden looked gorgeous. Very autumnal, and the impression of the top part being a bit on the bleak side without the long grass and wildflowers of the meadow has been tempered by time. I love the way you can see where the paths run – very handy when I think of adding a few more daffs (no, I’ve not gone mad and ordered even more; I dug some up from elsewhere – they look so much better in the meadow than they do in any of the beds).
But the meadow did gain a new plant during one of the outbreaks of ridiculous wind, the lesser Crocius rosea:
It’s not mine. I hate crocs, it’s far too small and the colour just does not work.
When the sun does deign to light up the meadow, the birches are looking wonderful. That is, until the next storm – which I think is starting to hit us as I write. Gold against blue is so much more attractive than subdued yellow against very pale grey (yellow against dark grey is interesting too; had a chance to appreciate that as well). Not as spectacular as last year, but many more leaves have suddenly turned.
And as they mature, their bark is more and more lovely. Sigh.
As I stepped back from taking this I almost trod on what have to be the last clump of autumn crocuses. We were a little later than usual cutting the meadow, and I think several suffered because of that; certainly I haven’t had as many as usual.
However, this is a new clump as far as I can recall – surprisingly, for one who counts her daffodils (over 1200 this year), I don’t chart the positions of every crocus bulb. You can take obsession too far.
And anyway, there’s so much more to do… Like doing something about this unsightly little number, the roof of the ty bach, aka garden shed:
I tend to rely on the Old Man’s Beard straggling over from the wildy bit next door, but it hasn’t straggled in the right direction this year; instead we’ve been pulling it out of the apple trees. If you squint you can see the solution…
Plume poppies. I may regret this.
As I wandered round the front of the house to get the PPs from my improvised plant shelter – the lee of the porch – I noticed that my little contorted hazel is particularly fine right now, with a combination of autumn leaves and catkins.
Beautiful – but maybe it needs to be somewhere more sheltered for the winter (and maybe it needs to come out of its pot, too). And then, of course, I had to stand and gawp for a bit, and then wander around and notice other plants that are doing their autumnal thing, and sort out a few pots and find a place to put the bags of compost somewhere dry so they don’t get hideously squishy during the winter. What I should have been doing was dealing with this:
But I console myself with the thought that I shall need a substantial quantity of these chippings when we create the new bed next week. Mind you, I’ve already spread lots; they seem to be regenerating. I take out a couple of trugs’ worth, spread them thickly, come back for more – and you wouldn’t know I’d taken any at all. Most bizarre. (Sinister muffled drum roll…)