Having written recently a blog on the extraordinary lifestyle of our mistletoe, I will not repeat it. But since I established mistletoe on an apple tree in a pot some years ago, it has been the focus of our attention with its absurdly unconventional lifestyle. Its life and habits continue to astound us.
To reinvigorate the soil where our runner beans had been planted in 2020, I bought a packet of Charlotte potatoes in the spring from a supermarket, chitted them on a windowsill in the kitchen, and planted them beside flagstones in the only exposed soil we have in the form of a strip beneath a garden wall. They have provided us with melted butter, salt and chopped mint.
Our mainly Triomphe d'Alsace vines in the arbour gave us cooling shade in the hotter spells during the summer and a dozen bottles worth of very dry red wine when bottled from demijohns in the spring of 2022.
Our ancient (40 years possibly) bay tree in a pot has been pruned to become an umbrella bay tree and seems to love its new configuration of showing off its decorative branch construction.
The other bay tree in a pot, which was given to us by a lady of religious persuasion who died, has turned into a ball shape from its previous pointer to heaven form.
Flowers, especially Impatiens and New Guineas, have given us red colours throughout the summer, augmented by pots of black and white pelargoniums.
Self-sown Morning Glories flourish, but our many pantings of it by plant and seed in a local square failed, due possibly by being trampled on by children and dogs.
Our Flowering Quince (Chaenomeles) lost its leaves and played dead, but has now grown them back again. Hopefully, it will still come into autumn flower.
In the bird world, great tits brought up two broods successfully in their usual home on the house.
Structurally, I have repaired our hardwood garden bench and varnished it. And the marble-topped garden table has been given new rubber ferrules as feet.
A huge change has been the demise and then destruction on my over-life-size elm wood lovers. After many attempts to make the sculpture weatherproof, it sank slowly as its base rotted - due to fungus, mice and insects. I managed to actually pull it apart by hand and hammer before calling the Council to cart away the bits. It had given much pleasure and an object of conversation over the years. It has now returned to nature.
And nature begins to close down our garden for the year.
