In and out days

Autumn is working its way up to a full suite of weather. Thus far we have had brilliant sun, torrential rain, fog, gusty winds and a light frost.

On fine days Lyra and I have strolled along the river bank admiring the birds (me) and enjoying the occasional paddle (Lyra). Lyra can find the paddling spots by herself these days, but she’s reluctant to clamber down the steep bank unless I go first to run interference. Curiously, she has no hesitation in running past me on the way back up, leaving me to puff and blow….On soggier days we’ve tended to stick to the coo circular and round by the lake. The baby heifers have grown tiny horns and are absolutely adorable. On the lake there’s a very late cygnet in the flock, the only grey fluffster in a bevvy of startling white. I have named him Matthew after one of my son’s friends, a lovely lad who is very much his mum’s ewe lamb. Since naming young Matthew I have become deeply invested in his wellbeing. Lyra and I stood in the rain for ten minutes the other day checking he was in the group at the back of the lake and not lost. We were delighted to see him in the main crowd yesterday and I called across a cheery “hi Matthew” much to the confusion of the bloke having a coffee at the nearby picnic table (clearly not a Matthew).

Even in the drizzle the colour in the trees and hedgerows is startling. I dropped mum off in Selkirk today, after a weekend visit, and round the loch is a blaze of orange, yellow and an almost translucent primrose. Out foraging with mum on Monday I came across a glorious guelder rose, festooned with glowing red berries. We I clumped back with bags of purple black elder and orangey red rowan berries. I found myself adding yellow crabapple to the mix for this year’s hedgerow hootch just to make the jar even prettier. Hopefully the flavours will go as well as the colours. The leftover crabapples and rowan berries have been boiled and steeped and will be hitting the jelly bag tomorrow – an indisputable advantage of a rainy day is scope to lurk indoors guilt free. There has been much kitchen experimentation of late. Fig rolls proved a highly successful way to use up the odd egg yolk left over after a batch of granola. I also invented the extremely tasty haggis, pork and beef olive. This was scrumptious but not very photogenic so it hasn’t made it to the recipe blog. I may yet relent, but remain stung by an old friend’s observation that my recipes were rather brown…. Another indoor day led to the tardy commencement of this year’s soap making. Not 100% success I’m afraid. The new fragrance I was trying split the mix and whilst it was salvageable, it is proving very slow to set hard. I shan’t be using clove oil again! The leftovers will just have to go in something christmassy.

The intermittent downpours have not been without their gardening benefits too. Finally, our heavy clay, baked over the summer, has softened up enough to get a spade in without an accompanying pick axe – and only just in time – the first instalment of the epic bulb order arrived today. The bulbs have been packed in plastic bags (!) so there will have to be no hanging about dithering or they will go mouldy. This batch are largely destined for pots (and in a happy coincidence a vast array of new pots arrived yesterday thanks to my birthday stash and some well times sales). I shall have a grand old time tomorrow wheelbarrowing the new pots all over the garden to see where they will look best and choosing this year’s colour combos. I have no recollection of what was ordered – but seem to recall it was rather vivid!

Mum and I went to cut back the bed at the back of the bottom pond yesterday to see how much of a job it will be to dig out the rampant yellow lysimachia to make space for more camassia (they feature strongly in bulb order no.2.) It’s going to be horrendous. I’m afraid it has been clear for a couple of years that some areas of the garden have become badly congested and need ridding of some overly rumbustious plants (lysimachia of various types in particular). I have been chipping away at the job myself but making scant headway. This this year I called in the big guns (namely Chris and his delightful Labrador Issy). Chris has made a valiant start on eradicating the purple lysimachia (which I do feel bad about as it is glorious in spring just as it comes through. But it simply won’t stay put. It finagles itself into the middle of shrubs and infiltrates designated bulb plots and in late summer flops over where it ought not to be flopping.) Hopefully, he won’t run screaming for the gate when I casually add the yellow thug into the mix of forthcoming fun garden activities.

On the sunnier days I’ve been trying to clear the borders for the many, many other impending bulbs but progress has been, quite literally, painfully slow. The Achilles tendons in one leg are screaming and my hip on the other side is screeching and the resultant duet of discomfort gets thoroughly in the way. I have admitted defeat and booked a GPs appointment. Doubtless weeks of prodding and scans will follow. I have, however, completed one long intended task. I have hoofed up all the Iris from the greenhouse border. (They just weren’t loving it there.) Chris kindly dug out all the pink geraniums from the path by the orchard and I have rehomed some of them there. Fingers crossed it will be sunny enough for them early on to compensate for the shade of the cherry in the back end. I’ve potted up a few for mum ‘s new garden and stuck a selection in the “pending reallocation” bed. Even so, I still have a huge trug full of Iris in the greenhouse. They must have been breeding like rabbits… If anyone in striking distance would like some purple bearded Iris do let me know.

On the topic of rabbits, the foolish floppsies have dug a burrow in our brassica patch. Pingu and Dobby are in seventh heaven and are to be found lurking between the dead stumps of cavolo nero on fine days. We have been gifted three headless bunnies so far. How they haul them through the cat flap remains a mystery. It’s not only rabbits. Twice in the last week we’ve found small yellow frogs in the house, one swimming contentedly in Lyra’s bowl in the kitchen. Frogs, at least, do no harm. The moth invasion in the bathroom laundry basket and my sewing room were less benign. I gnashed my teeth, sprayed viciously and decided to console myself for the loss of a rather nice grey cashmere polo neck and various half finished sewing projects (less of a loss tbh) with cake. However, not having got around to a dried fruit order for some time, there were scant pickings in the pantry. I decided on a mash up of everything I could find and it was an absolute corker so the moth-attack-consolation-cake has been added to the permanent repertoire (recipe in link).