We started a tree hospital in our garden. Wilting self-sown spindle trees from the front garden and seemingly dead twigs were replanted with care in prime positions. I watered them every day and fed them a seaweed feed. After five weeks – a rush of bright chlorophyl-green shot up the stem of the smallest twig and signalled the start of the healing process. A week later, tiny leaves appeared.
Our little daughter started to spend all of her time in the garden. Together we created a little reading nook, shaded from the full sun under the giant fuchsia. She took Mouse and Rabbit into her hideaway and taught them their alphabet.
We celebrated when the first solitary bees moved into the tiny hive I had been gifted for my springtime birthday. The spaces are almost all filled now … happily, we may need to add a second one next year.
Helpful friends identified this exotic looking self-seeded bloom as a Himalayan Honeysuckle. At first I was perturbed that it was entwining its way up the rose arch with surprising speed. Having been reassured that it will reach a comfortable 4-5 foot and then calm down, I can now enjoy its presence in our shady miniature woodland area.
In the last week of August, the storms came; too rough for the delicate summer blossoms. My daughter and I together collected the fallen flowers – mostly stemless so not destined for a vase arrangement. I was suddenly inspired to paint with them instead. I let the raindrops fall away into the artist’s paper and then added a matching pigment.
Back in the Springtime, we had watched the delicate apple blossoms, hoping that they would brave the breeze…
…we then watched the very same branch as it bobbed and swayed in the gales. It held on until morning – just!
Many nights were too fierce for a real candle. Standing out in the dusk gales was exhilarating nonetheless and I loved being in the night garden, buffeted by the swirls of fresh breeze.
Eventually, the storms drifted away, leaving us with a second Summer. Lavender, Salvia, Buddleia, all had their third flowerings. To add a little smidgen of anticipation, the Sedum began to bud, just as September approached.
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