A fine day to resume my role as tree surgeon. Today’s job taking on the hazel and cherry trees blocking our view. Argh, nobody told me I’m going bald. Ignore that. Look: I’ve got myself a new gizmo. It’s at this stage that I wonder what I’ve done. How on earth am I going to …
A sign of how unfit I am. Just a single day’s gardening on Saturday has overwhelmed my body, gifting me heavy sleep and aches all over. Now I’m thinking what I actually did to warrant this response. I cut a couple of hedges, cleaned the patio, and cleared the rubbish away. Nothing overly taxing. So …
Produce of the casual English garden.
In amongst the tangle, hanging bunches of ripening micrograpes!
The first of September carries me into the garden to begin taming the rambling jungle that has sprung up in our absence. It always gets worse before it gets better. Therapy for the soul.
Not only karayemiş, but also grape vines for making sarma.
Why do we have a feeling of some kind of destiny? Because we moved into a little house in the Chilterns two decades ago and discovered that in its garden karayemiş grew. In my wife’s mother tongue, this bitter black fruit is known as zevar (spelling uncertain). Others call it Laz üzümü, or Laz grape. …
Just picked from the garden.
Fruits of the English garden. Purple clematis weaving through the karayemiş. A tree full of ripening plums left untouched. Plentiful grapes winding through the hazel tree. Home from home.
If at first you don’t succeed, try again. No new garden gadgets needed after all. Just persistence.
I think I may gift myself a mini cordless chainsaw. I no longer have it in me to go into battle with just a bowsaw. These shrubs and trees defeat me.
Another evening of light gardening, though really it is too warm to work.
