There's pleasure in both

Yesterday, I arrived home after a fortnight away to the first crocus tips emerging from the ground, a garden full of birdsong & sunshine, and the comfort of my own bed. My dear friend had turned on the heating in our cottage a day before I arrived. She had also very kindly put groceries in the fridge and daffodils on the windowsill.

Yesterday, was a day of hot buttered toast, sunlight streaming through the house, and a desperately needed afternoon nap (that dangerously turned into a whole evening and into the night nap thanks to jet-lag).

Today, the wind is gusty and the rain is driven. I've done numerous loads of post-holiday washing and hauled up to the attic the general flotsam and jetsam that accompanies the return from long-haul travel. 

Today, I have run out of almond milk. But there is beauty and simple pleasure in both kinds of days. Sunshine or not. The tapping of rain or the trill of birds. Black tea or milky tea.

It's just so nice to be home.

Kate  x

The roses are here

I have been watching hopefully,

 and counting buds eagerly,

 and excitedly anticipating

 the roses blooming in my garden this year.

And now they are here!

These are the first snippings for this season. It is a DA rose named The Ancient Mariner. 

And it smells as exquisite as it looks.

Kate  x

The month of May

In the British countryside, the month of May is best summed up as abundant.

The verges and laneways are cloaked with dandelions that reach for the sky and lacy cow parsley that grows at a rate of knots. The hedgerows are filled with blossom, bluebells and a dozen more things I still can't name. Woodland undergrowth is a sea of wild garlic flowers and wild anemones. Agricultural crops are inching up, higher and higher each day. The perimeters of the fields are dotted with clouds of hawthorn in mid-blossom. 

After months of dormancy, everything unfurls, climbs and blooms all at once. 

After a long, bleak winter, you easily forget that England could be this green and fertile! 

The sun has drenched the West Country all month long, sending crops and weeds alike hurtling ever skyward. The daylight and the birds softly begin around 4am, our thin linen drapes no match for their early morning enthusiasm. I really don't mind though. I relish the languid nature of this time of the year as British summertime stretches the days to their pinnacle; 17+ hours long. Going for post-supper walks in the warmth of the sinking sun is such a treat. 

I regularly pull on my wellies and squelch up my favourite local bridleway before wandering along a long forgotten cobbled Roman road running alongside lush, sheep dotted farmland. The Fosseway is close by and Roman history is well documented in this rural pocket at the junction of Wiltshire, South Gloucestershire and North Somerset. My route takes me across a Roman footbridge, though I usually eschew it for the opportunity to wade through the crystal clear water of the brook, giving my wellington boots a much-needed wash in the process. I walk home through the village, peering over garden gates to see what will be in flower next.

As May draws to a close, I see roses blooming around cottage windows, foxgloves outstripping dandelions and hot-pink valerian sprouting from the crevices in stone walls. 

Which means only one thing, 

summer is nigh.

Kate  x

Spring?

Currently, the village looks like this. 

We're expecting a top day-time temperature of -2 today. And snow. Lots of snow. It seems strange that as the daffodils emerge with their bright yellow trumpet faces, snow will sweep in, bringing a Siberian wind chill with it. 

Much of the UK is being battered by blizzards and freezing temperatures. Poor Scotland has been placed on a 'red weather alert'. Here in the Cotswolds the snow flurries have been coming and going for much of the week, never lasting long, but sending fat flakes swirling through the village just to remind us that it is in fact still winter for a couple of weeks yet.

To counter the frigid temperatures outside, indoors vases are filled with any and all spring flowers I can get my hands on. Now that the snowdrops in the garden have finished flowering and flopped over there is a lull before the next spring bulbs will bloom. Cheap and cheerful supermarket flowers fill the temporary void quite nicely.

How severe this cold snap will be, and how long it will last is anyones guess. I hope it's not too long though, I'm starting to need to ration the firewood.

Stay warm,

Kate  x

A secret garden

A garden unfurls its secrets month by month, 

as the seasons blossom, then ebb away.


“And the secret garden bloomed and bloomed 
and every morning revealed new miracles.” 
 Frances Hodgson Burnett

February is the last unknown month in our little patch of earth- a courtyard garden enclosed by a Cotswold stone wall, nestled deep within the By Brook Valley, and overlooked by soaring beech trees. From March, we'll start to cycle through the seasons again, this time with a year of knowledge behind us.

So, what has appeared this month?

Hundreds and hundreds of snowdrops. 

Defying the freezing nights and harsh frosts, they began to emerge before the new year had even begun. Now, with a touch of weak winter sun on their pure white faces, they sit gently nodding in unison in the frigid breeze. All around them signs of spring are following suit- the tips of bluebells, daffodils, narcissus and tulips are likewise pushing up through frozen ground and decaying leaf litter to greet the sunshine. A few aconites have popped their canary-yellow heads up amongst the bare branches of a fuchsia bush. Buds are appearing on the rose bushes and the snowball viburnum. Leaves are tentatively unfurling, slowly, but they're definitely there.

Next month I know the garden and the countryside will become a riot of bright yellows. Daffodils, forsythia, primrose and gorse will take centre stage, and the agricultural land around us will be awash with sunshine-yellow rapeseed. For now though, the snowdrops sit in their thousands, bobbing in the breeze.


Kate  x

  

Bare rose bushes

Summer roses are a very distant memory now. My three rose bushes are in a deep slumber. They were only planted in the spring, so hopefully an autumn and a winter to settle their roots will result in a more prolific flowering period next year.

Kate  x 

A very dapper house

Can a house be dapper?

If it is indeed possible, Montacute House in southern Somerset, would surely take the cake. Or bow tie & bowler hat, probably.

We visited last month, and it was well worth the drive down there from north Wiltshire. Look at that driveway! In fact, the whole village is picture perfect.

The 'grandness' of Montacute is especially impressive as it was originally built by a family of yeomen farmers who rose in status to become one of the preeminent families in the district. Montacute has a long history and consequently a roll call of notable tenants. Once home to Sir Edward Phelips, a key prosecutor against the gunpowder plotters, and for a short while, Lord Curzon.

The yew hedges in the formal gardens are almost as handsome as the house, at the very least they are tall, well groomed and in places quite quirky, very befitting of a house such as Montacute.

These days, Montacute boasts a small collection of works owned or entrusted to the National Portrait Gallery. They hang in what is the longest 'long gallery' in England. At 53 metres in length, it runs the entire width of the house, and was once used as a sort of exercise room. When the weather was too bad to be outdoors, the family would walk up and down the gallery to get their daily steps in. Pre pedometer times call for such measures I suppose.

The lawn was being put to good use the afternoon we visited. A group of silver-haired locals had gathered to play croquet. If it weren't for their 21st Century attire, I am sure the scene would have looked not unlike that of a summer afternoon a century or two ago. 

The everlasting sweet peas were living up to their name, still in flower and reaching high, even at the very end of summer.

This is what passed for graffiti in the 18th Century. And in the library no less!

See those quirky yew hedges, trimmed to imitate the irregular shapes of clouds perhaps? I love how they're allowed to grow into that undulating, almost pulsing, formation along the pathway.

An Elizabethan mansion is always going to be predictably impressive, but Montacute House is beautifully kept and somehow 'elevated' above other homes of the same era that I've visited. It might be the orderly garden with just the right amount of quirk. It might be the collection of exquisite and historically important portraits. Or it might just be that sweeping driveway, emphasising the perfect symmetry of the house.

What ever the magic of Montacute, I stand by the 'dapper' description.

Kate  x

As summer winds down

Having just about finished my first summer in England I think I am well placed to say the season was a blink-and-you'll-miss-it affair here. As the leaves turn to gold at an alarming rate, I can't help but think of all the quintessential summer activities we didn't manage this year. No trip to paddle the frigid water at the seaside, no late night dinners al fresco under fairy-light lit trees, no croquet on spongey green lawn, no village cricket spectating. I think I only had one glass of Pimms. Here I am, perusing the spring bulb catalogue, all the while thinking where on earth did summer go?

As proof, and a reminder that it did happen, if only for what felt like a few weeks, here are some summer photographs that perhaps didn't make it to the blog or INSTAGRAM at the time.

A stop by Kelmscott Manor on a weekend away for a friend's wedding was the perfect way to embrace the approaching summer.

Though still technically spring, the signs of summer were abundant. The air was heavy and damp the morning we stopped by, we could practically taste summer on the grassy scented breeze.

We visited Bibury too, ice creams in hand, we walked along the River Coln soaking in the early summer.

Lacock village was dripping in roses in June. 

I was particularly envious of the delphiniums on show in the walled garden at Lacock Abbey. I had only a single larkspur shoot up in the garden, with only four or five flower heads. Still, better than nothing.

The Abbey looks great in any season, but the climbing roses really put on a show in early summer. Right now the creepers are turning crimson as the autumn chill sets in, but in June it was all about the roses.

The long garden beds at Dyrham Park were filled to the brim with summer perennials in mid-June. The bumble bees were working hard to make the most of the short pollen season.

It takes quite a warm day before i'll consider plunging into water, but when we walked around Badminton House for their summer open garden day I experienced pool envy like I never have before. Yes, it looks like a well maintained water feature, but it is in fact the family pool, overlooked by the orangery. I'm not remotely envious of big houses and vast estates, but if a pool as charming as this one was part of the deal, then I guess I wouldn't say no.

The conservatory at the rear of the house was quite pretty too. I have never really liked geraniums, but these soft pink ones climbing up the lattice made for a very pretty and feminine display.

As did the rose gardens, in full flush, under a bright summer sun.

And that bright summer sun was positively ablaze on the evening of the summer solstice. The temperature topped 30 or 31 degrees, so I slipped into a linen dress to wander the village taking photos to mark midsummer. I was glad I went out when I saw these spectacular roses basking in the golden light from the evening sun. Such a perfect capture of summer abundance. I'd love an outbuilding that looked like that each summer.

Yet more roses, this time at Snowshill Manor in early July.

We visited Snowshill when the lavender was in bloom, walking amongst the rows and rows of purple at the Cotswold Lavender farm. 

Bold summer colours were the theme of July. Gem coloured hydrangeas were everywhere. These are a small section from the V&A Museum courtyard. They truly were this vivid and psychedelic, and en masse they were super impressive.

I snipped lots of white buddleia from our garden, bringing that strong honey scent indoors to enjoy as often as I could. It doesn't hold up for long in a vase, but the smell it puts out is just so amazing it's worth cutting as much as you can.

Over the summer I met up with an instagram-turned-real-life friend for the first time. Since then we've met up a few times. I am so fortunate to have met her- a fellow Aussie who lives on a stunning 18th Century farm with her husband and two gorgeous tractor-mad boys in a neighbouring village to ours. I took some photos for her to use on her business website, and she sent me home with these beautiful cornflowers from her garden and a whole load of homegrown vegetables. It was the perfect exchange in my eyes!

August was a wash out. I snapped a photo of these distinctly summery blooms in Bath at the very end of July. In retrospect, from this point on, we had more than our fair share of soggy days and less than summer like temperatures. I thought for a day or two we would get a resurgence of summer, but autumn is really starting to bite now. I tried to hold off on putting the heating back on as long as possible. I just wasn't ready to return to that enveloping heat and stuffiness just yet, it was such a relief when we turned the heat off for good sometime in May (or maybe even early June). But as the autumn sets in and the chill of the early morning becomes undeniable, the heating comes on for 90 minutes first thing in the morning to make getting out of bed bearable. I still open windows as much as possible on a warm and dry day, and when i'm sitting at home studying i'll grab a hot water bottle to keep the cold away, loathe to give the heating a boost. Part of me is tempted to admit defeat, order firewood, and pull all my winter knitwear out. But the other part of me feels deeply unsatisfied by the inadequate summer warmth.

Still, that firewood will need ordering sooner rather than later, and those spring bulbs need to get in the ground this month. We're hurtling towards Samhain, Guy Fawkes night, mulled drinks, frost encrusted everything and twinkly lights. 

Hello autumn, I know you won't disappoint! And right on cue, it has just started teeming rain. Again.

Kate  x

June garden

Summer is almost here. There's no mistaking that wet grass scent or the slightly heavier humid air that so distinctly belongs to early summer mornings. The village gets busier as the summer crops inch closer to harvest. Just today I've watched a ride on mower, two oversized John Deere tractors, 2 or 3 smaller tractors, and some sort of intricate looking ploughing(?) contraption thunder past the cottage. For a teeny, tiny village hamlet, the roads are getting quite backed up with farm vehicles and the like.

Everywhere I look signs of summer are making themselves known. Sweet peas, barley, elderflowers, delphinium, and roses. There is so much colour and life.

In my garden I am clipping roses and larkspur. As well as eyeing-off the elderflower blossoms for cordial making. But back to the roses...

This powdery pink beauty is David Austin's The Ancient Mariner. Named after Samuel Taylor Coleridge's poem The Rime of The Ancient Mariner, it is a large and impressive rose in all senses of the word. A prolific repeat flowering rose, it can grow up to 5ft tall by 3ft wide. It has a lovely scent- like most DA roses- and its beauty is evident from bright pink bud through to faded fully reflexed blooms. This is a relatively new Austin rose, released in the last couple of years here in the UK, and only now becoming available in the US and Canada. She should flower abundantly until the first frost in November.

The slightly more apricot pink rose is another DA, The Queen of Sweden. She begins as a very peachy-apricot, almost orange bud, opening to that iconic cup shape associated with Austin roses with a faded apricot-blush hue. The mature blooms fade even further, just before they finish and shatter, to an almost pale tea-stained hue. I favour her scent and shape, and I think she has much better 'staying power' when clipped for a vase.

The larkspur has been so welcome for the bees. I've left these tall flowering spires well alone except for the two stems I cut for a little garden posy gift to take to a new friend. It paired so beautifully with the pink of the roses.

 Also left well alone as much as possible has been the robin nest in our garden wall. I have been watching our resident robin pair building and fussing over their nest for a few weeks now, and noticed in the last week Mrs Robin has been diligently sitting on eggs. Today she was flitting around the garden and beyond for an extended amount of time (feeding perhaps?), so I took the opportunity to peer into the nest to count the eggs. I think there are three, it is difficult to see all the way into her delicate and cosy nest because it is in quite a tight nook in the dry-stone wall. My phone camera could just about capture one little speckled egg. The sweetest thing I've seen this week I think.

Hopefully she can manage to hatch her entire clutch! The weather is certainly very nice for her. Seven new tiny ducklings have also appeared on the brook. I spotted them from a window last night, so I rushed outside to the brook, barefoot, to count them. 

Kate  x