It has been blisteringly hot over the last few weeks. For a very hairy dog, Lyra doesn’t actually seem to mind the sun, and will contentedly fry herself on the patio. However mum and I are both developing gardeners sunburn. Our weeding techniques must differ substantially as she is sporting a red nose and ruddy cheeks and I have a mahogany tint to the back of my neck and pink calves. So as not to exacerbate the situation, our walks with Lyra have sought the light shade of the Hirsel woods or wended along the river at Norham, where a kindly soul has planted an avenue of trees at the bridge end of the river walk.
Down in the woods behind the lake the gooseberries are marble sized now and the stalks of lamb’s tail flowers of the mystery currants (red I think) are starting to swell encouragingly. The tones are still dreamy blue with forget-me-nots and the last of the bluebells, so my eye snagged on a flash of red the other day. On closer inspection I discovered that one of the oaks was absolutely covered in oak apples. I have seen oak apples before in autumn, looking like rough little green russets, but these were a pinky red and very spring appley. (After a consultation with Dr G. Oogle I discovered that these are a biological reaction to wasp larvae and in the spirit of scientific enquiry I split one to look but didn’t find any grubs – which was rather a relief).
The lane leading down to the river at Norham is salty almond scented thanks to the hedge trees covered in creamy may blossom. Winding through the hawthorn there’s an adventurous pink clematis on manoeuvres from one of the gardens on Pedwell Way. Seeded everywhere against the low walls are cabbagey clumps of valerian (centranthus ruber), heads densely budded and about to burst into rusty red. I rather covet these as in my garden I only have the white and purple ones. Maybe I will beg a seedling or offer a trade for iris (of which I have a superabundance) from the newly moved in couple who are often to be found beavering away on their front garden (and making an excellent job).
The grass is now high and swishy either side of the river path and threaded with the tiny white stars of greater stitchwort. Purple, blue and pink spears of flowerhead have pushed up from hairy rosettes of comfrey leaves. Most are still tightly budded, just a hint of the colour to come showing, but where the sun strikes the flowers are welcoming the bees. Every year brings a slightly different palette but the early show tends toward a fairly even split between royal purple and baby blue.
The river has been glass still most days we’ve been along, mirroring the trees sweeping down the bank in intense ripples of green and giving the grey heron fishing patiently behind the bridge a perfect underwater twin. An egret living on the far bank is a startlingly bright white against the river and in a low flight passes for a huge butterfly or giant orchid. A dandelion clock reminds me that these are moments to savour.
