JUNE: "This World is not Conclusion"

Sunshine and shade

This World is not Conclusion.

A Species stands beyond - 

Invisible, as Music -

But positive, as Sound -

It beckons, and it baffles - 

Philosophy, dont know - 

And through a Riddle, at the last - 

Sagacity, must go -

To guess it, puzzles scholars -

To gain it, Men have borne

Contempt of Generations

And Crucifixion, shown -

Faith slips - and laughs, and rallies - 

Blushes, if any see - 

Plucks at a twig of Evidence - 

And asks a Vane, the way - 

Much Gesture, from the Pulpit -

Strong Hallelujahs roll - 

Narcotics cannot still the Tooth

That nibbles at the soul.

Emily Dickinson

Which way water?

In days gone by, June was the time for hoeing the crops. Women in sunbonnets would join their menfolk to ensure the fields were clear of weeds. They'd help with the singling too - taking out the weakest plants. In Lincolnshire there were fields of oats, barley, wheat, potatoes, carrots and mangolds to hoe. Thistles needed pulling out. Nasty things, thistles - Clemency fell while we were walking at Saint John's Point, she instinctively put out her hands and had horrible little needles in them for days afterwards. 

In 1895, in the fields around Gainsborough, Lincolnshire, there was a very sharp frost on the night of the 15th June. It nipped the potato tops and everyone took in a breath as they waited to see what came next. Two years earlier, in June 1893, our old friend, George North, had "the first rainy morning since March" in his village by the River Trent. The weather still takes us by surprise nearly 130 years later. Of course it does. It's outwith our control. Yet careless industrial techniques are adding to the threat of climate change. We can change that - but will we?

Last week, in Caithness, we had temperatures of 18°C and 19°C. The week before, we had 26°C. One time that week, the temperature was raised to 28°C - albeit briefly.

No hiding place for a bejewelled flutterby

The garden appears to be enjoying the warmth and this, combined with the showers we've had over the last few days, bodes well for the summer display. Isn't it the case that every mental snapshot of the garden plot is how it was always meant to be? You imagined the daffodils, joined later by the tulips.They went too quickly. You imagined the lupins, the large red poppies and the tall white Jacob's Ladder as you dead-headed the daffodils and tended the plot in early springtime. As green leaves pierced the earth after the long winter sleep, you imagined them flowering with iris and aquilegia. They flowered for you. Now, as you pull out the weeds, you regret their diminishing and accept that the roses, hydrangeas, marguerites and astilbe will match that image. And they do. And so it goes on through the summer with nasturtiums tumbling over everything and patches of this and that filling up corners. Old favourites and a little something adventurous maybe. Over the last decade, in the Wick garden and here at Stempster, my adventure has been with wild flowers. Years ago, I came to the realisation that they are as beautiful as cultivated ones and so I was merciful! Some couldn't stay because they choked other things and couldn't be managed well. Each year I would be given a packet of a wildflower mixture and things like corn marigolds, poppies and daisies would appear. Some would seed themselves year on year. More recently I came across "Meadow In My Garden" which is a company based in Bath and selling all manner of flower mixtures which support our British countryside and wildlife. I love their mixtures and experiment to find my favourite. It's a terrible shame I have to put myself through these experiments!!!! I even give their products at Christmas now. Giving seeds in the darkest month of the year is a way of lightening the darkness. People seem to love them and, whereas many gifts are received thankfully on the occasion, these have the added bonus of further conversation - and sometimes photos -  into the following year and sometimes beyond. 

Tall and short daisies heading up the wildflowers

Ladies in red

Walking round Dot's garden in the middle of the month, made me wonder if the Garden of Eden was like this. We think of a garden as a structured outdoor area with plants which we meant to live there giving their all for us. Dot's garden is a wonderful mixture of wildflowers, of plants which were put there years ago and have spread, and of recently added peas and potatoes. It's full of life - plant life, insect life, bird life, pond life. An unruly but uplifting paradise of a plot! 

We keep stretches of native wildflowers here and I sow my mixtures. One person's weed is the next person's favourite flower. Shirley loves buttercups, so does Ginny. My mum loves red poppies. I love their delicate pink and white so much that the only flowers I want at my funeral are the petals from the delicate wild rose. If they are out of season I'll accept pink and white tissue paper! Thanking you in advance!

Wild roses

The first rose bud presented itself on the first day of the month. It was my new rose, bought with a David Austin Christmas voucher, "The Poet's Wife". But it hasn't opened yet! Other rosebuds have appeared meantime and Clem's "Harlow Carr" is in full bloom by the conservatory, while my "Gertrude Jekyll" is opening as I type - about to fragrance the corner of the cottage garden where the apple tree has set and is all about making cookers for us. Last year's crop kept us going for much of winter. 

Harlow Carr (rose)

A new day and the roses are opening further. "Tottering by Gently" is out and looks just like a dollop of buttercream on top of its long stem. I looked out onto the little back garden a few minutes ago and saw a brown leaf tumble from the mountain ash in the corner by the compost heap. Too early for brown leaves! The brown leaf bounced from its landing place in the long planter down onto a small terracotta plant pot - and flicked its tail. It was a wren. Should have known!

Compost corner

The birds are such a major part of our lives here. We've always been interested in birds but here we feel it's their kingdom. We share it. One of the first things I bought for myself was a pair of binoculars - if you don't count the weekly 3d worth of pineapple chunks I bought with my pocket money when I was nine. There was a little sweet shop - sold other things too but I wasn't so interested in those - where four streets came together in my village, Epworth. High Street joined up with Tottermire Lane, Battlegreen and Station Road. Just at the point where High Street met Tottermire, Mrs.Coggan had her tiny store. Sweets in glass jars and toffee in little slabs displayed neatly and temptingly along the counter.

Herb planter

The binoculars, however, were purchased from a specialist shop in Doncaster. I had taken out a membership with the RSPB and I meant to take my birdwatching seriously. I really did too. It never stopped. I studied the herons as they fished the ancient dykes of the Isle of Axholme. I would watch the goldfinches feed from the groundsel plants, in the overgrown farmyard next door, with my baby son. This was in Crowle, North Lincolnshire. Eight years later, I watched the oyster catchers and great black backed gulls with the four children we had taken to live in Orkney. Ten years later, we were back in Lincolnshire and watching blue tits nesting above the brick archway into the garden. There were two more children by then - and they got the bird bug too!

Now, back in Northern Scotland, I revel in the variety - some coming for summer - like the swallows, some coming for winter - such as the redwings.

I listen. I heard the cuckoo so clearly it must have been flying over our garden at the beginning of this month. 

The dawn chorus here is a joy! You get the sense of a build up of different songs, while the dominant voice changes. One day last week it seemed that all of the skylarks in the field had taken on the garden birds in a sing-off. This was quite early, before breakfast, and it lasted for a while until all of the songs faded as if each little feathered thing had given of its best and had no more to give. The day then settled into the normal chattering of new families from amongst the trees and undergrowth. 

Lupins

The curlews call as we walk our dogs and the lapwings pipe their pee-witting into the distance.

Evensong is beautiful too and it's always comforting to hear the tawny owls call to each other. Time to sleep!

Ginny saw a baby curlew following its parent by the road near Halkirk. They are so - you think I'm going to write "cute" - well in fact they are so very weird with their gangly legs and  furball bodies. But delightful!

In all the years of bird watching - alone and with my family - I have never really had that urge to have a tick list. If I saw an unusual bird or one that I hadn't seen before, I was excited by it - but I never wanted to line up, alongside tens of others,  with my binoculars and camera to catch a fleeting glimpse of a rare visitor. I need my birds in my life, day time, night time, a component part of who I am - they're not add on and tick where applicable, they're all around me, making my world. Sometimes obstructing it a little too - eating outside this summer is going to be a challenge with the feathered Crow Family - all now so tame they tap on the glass doors for breakfast!!

Midsummer's Eve was a good night for seeing bats. They were filling the skies around us, it had rained a little earlier and that increased the insect activity so the bats were capitalising on the situation, narrowly missing anyone on the lookout for the wild hunt!

Honeysuckle

When we moved here two years ago we had a purple orchid growing in the lawn. We were in the process of cutting the grass - and weeds - so my son-in-law carefully removed the orchid and planted it at the back of the house in the area now called the cottage garden. No success. But this year, orchids have popped up in the rear paddock - which we are repurposing as an orchard. We had a little orchid celebration!

The thing about gardens is that you should never give up hope. It's almost tangible - waiting to be harnessed. If you can't seem to improve your soil - as Clemency and Judith found on the allotment before we moved here - there are ways of creating beauty and of growing produce. Large bottomless plant pots placed directly onto the poor soil but filled with good compost will allow plants to grow and create a stunning display. Potatoes can be grown successfully in bags of compost. And remember that every type of soil plays host to something. Hostas and asters like clay soil. Lavender and rosemary - easy to mix up when they're small - both like sandy soil. Peonies and wallflowers will tolerate chalky soils.

On 13th of this month, Keith presented me with three packets of nasturtium seeds. I'd already sown mine and was watching them sprout and grow every day. Keith had found his packets in the greenhouse - they weren't ours. We've been here two years and the house had been empty for a long time before we came here - so these were old seeds. "What shall I do with these?"  "Well don't throw them away - I'll sow them in the little cottage garden." I did - on the same day. Yesterday I saw their frilly little heads peeping through the soil with "Tottering by Gently" (rose) and goldenrod.

There's always hope in a garden.

Next instalment of the story of the berries

The work which Euan did in the wood is already producing results. It's warm walking down there now. It used to feel cold even on the hottest days. Trees are sprouting from their freed branches, grasses and flowers are showing through and we are able to see the wildlife so much better now. A couple of weeks ago I went in there to fill my wheelbarrow with some of the old compost which we have inherited and a flash of brown, with sufficient white to the tail to make a positive identification, shot across my vision. It was "Henny", our local female hen harrier. Maybe she thought the wood was a place to hide as it had been before. It must have slipped her mind that the sun can now get in amongst it all. And light her up for me!

At the beginning of the month, Judith and Ginny removed much of the twiggy wood which was left behind when the trees were being tended. Just that simple (hard work though!) action has made such a difference to the floor of the little woodland. The thing with the natural world is that it needs consideration. It will continue to be of benefit to us - but we need to do our bit as well. The more people who have this conversation, the better for the future of our planet.

It's a beautiful world but we can't go on trashing it for profit. Respect and appreciation - with a smidging of gratitude maybe?

Our beautiful River Forss in June

This is taken from a longer poem, written in 2020, "Weather Or Not".

Sun, not just shining,

fairly beating

upon my well-wrapped person.

The coat comes off,

I carry it

around my waist,

but can't take off my boots.

My feet are hot.

I laugh out loud

and slow my pace -

I know I just can't beat it.

It's with good grace

I long since vowed

to take what comes

and smuggly, safely,

grin with the sun,

knowing I'll never cheat it.