When I retired (early before you ask) in 2015 the intention was to,spend more time in Somerset. To travel. We bought a house in Spain and spent time there. Our time in Somerset diminished. We were going to sell the cottage. Three places was excessive. Expensive and time consuming. One had to go and we decided on Somerset. Things were slow. The cottage didn’t move. So we kept it with a decision to review.

Along came the pandemic which changed plans even further. We arrived home from a trip to Mexico in March 2020 to lockdown. I escaped to Spain in late July for 3 weeks and ended up staying 9. More lockdowns. Quarantines. Plans were changed and we haven’t travelled anywhere in nearly a year. We’ve followed the lockdown rules and quarantined in London. Not venturing to Somerset until allowed.

Which has set us into a new pattern. Interestingly this last year has seen us receive a written note asking if we would sell the cottage. Contact through an acquaintance in the next village asking the same question and estate agents asking if we’d like to put it back on the market as they ‘ could sell it tomorrow’. The thing is. We’ve done a turnaround of sorts. The plan will be to spend more time here and Spain. Here and there. There and here.

The day after we were released from lockdown prison and could travel down. We did. Car packed with stuff as after 5 months absence we didn’t know what we had here. We had been lucky for the whole of the lockdown absences. The cottage was checked weekly. Cleaned. The grass cut, but the garden was untouched.

What was the most exciting thing about arriving here. Tulips.

In 2020 we didn’t get to see the tulips. At all. Planted in Nov 2019 we missed them through quarantine in London.. By the time we could come they had gone over. I’d hastily planted the tulips for 2021 on an in between lockdown visit and had to do it quickly. But to be honest. I wasn’t disappointed. All the planning I’d done on colours and numbers went out of the window and I threw them all together. No artistic thought at all. But it worked. We arrived to a glorious display. Even if I say so myself.

A bit of an eclectic mix. Glorious brown sugar. Dutch dancer. Ballerina. Queen of the night. Barcelona. Hocus Pocus. The white of Maureen. I have to try and beat the show for 2022. Quite how I will manage I don’t really know. I have some thoughts but I’d better get my act together before my choices become limited.

Well the tulips have gone. Some to a good home. It was an awesome season but I’m so over tulips. Till next time that is and I’m busy planning the tulip choices on another wet weekend.

For now replaced with geraniums and coleus. Not earth shattering inspiring but needs must and practicality has to ensue. Worries of more lockdown when we couldn’t get here and the summer weather. Two lovely salvia in pots along the front door. A gorgeous scent as you brush past. I haven’t grown coleus since the 80’s but I’m a fan once more.

The biggest problem with the geraniums has been the lashing rain. Once beautiful flower heads quickly rot and turn to mush. But there are more coming.

So it was onwards and upwards. Well not quite. More like downwards and weeding. The thing about being away for 5 months are the weeds. Here in Somerset we are plagued with ground elder and bindweed. Anything else I can cope with. Not these two. You turn your back and they are halfway up a rose tree. Leave it three days and it’s smothering the sweet peas. In Spain it’s just the heat. In London the snails. Wherever you garden there are challenges.

Project one was to revive one of the beds next to the terrace. It was full of yellow daisy and golden rod with a massive clump of day Lilly. Can I just say I loathe golden rod. I’d only kept it as it was something my parents grew in the garden as I grew up. But someone who helped in the garden used to divide it. Then plant it everywhere. We were overrun with it and not surprisingly I swore every time I passed what seemed to be a new bit.

The patch was tired. Overgrown. Some of the roses needed a good hatchet job on them. Which I did. We were late to the pruning party this year so after a shout out on Instagram for advice I did as I was told. Light prune and some later flowers. All in all it’s been a good rose season so far. Including the new roses I bought for the revived bed. The golden rod disposed of except for a small bit and the taller plants moved. But as usual I’ve over planted. I also overwater. Which bearing in mind the rain we have had that’s difficult.

I’d forgotten how many roses there are in the garden. With things cut back and tidied they have been given a new lease of life. So much so that I bought half a dozen more for the revived bed.

I have planted a lot of new perennials. I suspect all too close and too tight. But you need to hide the weeds. Don’t you? Existing plants have been feed ~ or as I like to say I’ve poo”d my plants. Using alpaca poo from Lou Archer. They’ve had a really good feed and it’s showing in the results. The Astrantia are fabulous this year too.

There are two new dark red Astrantia. Hadspen”s Blood was one of the first I ever bought. We bought it at Hadspen gardens nursery when we first moved here over 25 years ago from Sandra and Norrie Pope Over the years it’s disappeared and I managed to get two this year. They are just coming into flower and I expect there may be a pic or six.

Added to that is another whose name escapes me and I’m too,lazy to go and look it up. But I will for next time when I can also get a good photo.

I’ve discovered a new nursery not far from us. Blooming wild Nusery owned and run by Will and Lauren. They have a great selection of plants and are really helpful and knowledgable. Added to that the quality of their plants is awesome. I have developed a bit of a thing. It’s dangerous and expensive. I’ve got a bit of a thing for Persicaria. Which is a good thing as Will at Blooming Wild likes them too and they have a great selection.

We are getting into the swing of things here this summer. Up and down the A303 to london and back. But we are getting the benefit of the garden. We are also seeing things in the garden that we would normally miss. This year the Cornus is an example. It’s pretty glorious and we missed it totally last year. But I always struggle to get a good photo of it. This was taken from the bathroom window.

It wasn’t all weeding. We took some time to walk up the Lane to Rye Ash. Over the years I’ve got to know the names of the various fields. Rye Ash. Alders. Pump Ground. Big Ridge. My godson and Grandad were hay making and we went to sit on a hay bale and watch. Not the first time and Grandad ( not mine but I’ve called him that for years) reminded me that we sat in Rye ash over 15 years ago on hay bales and had a picnic lunch during a break. He remembers as I took a photo which he still has on his wall.

We were privileged to see a red kite hovering over the field. Such a magnificent bird. What a great place to sit and watch the farming traditions. Especially when you have the hay fever day from hell.

Things are moving. One of the things I like the least about the West Country is that when it’s wet. It’s wet. The the sun shines. Then it’s wet again. In June I grew webbed feet. Try wearing flip flops with webbed feet.

But the salvia have started to flower. Some I thought I’d lost through neglect have come through. Some that shouldn’t have minded the neglect have got the hump, and disappeared .

We also have fruit. And one type of veg~ runner beans. No. I didn’t dig a trench and I know that somewhere my father is appalled. But they are now at the top of the bean sticks and heavily flowering.

There are green & red gooseberries. The red so sweet you can eat straight off the bush. The raspberries don’t even get into the house.

I always check underneath before I pick the gooseberries . As a naive child I though that babies were found under a gooseberry bush. Imagine. What would I do if I found one? It was either a gooseberry bush or the stork. Thankfully we only have herons.

There are currants. Red and black. Some rhubarb. Apples. One plum ~ disaster and the pigeon will eat that I’m sure. A couple of pears.

We’ve had a walk or two. Through the village mainly as my foot continues to be an issue. Plantar fasciitis is a pain. A pain in the heel and the sole literally. That’s my days of wearing heels and flip flops over.

A walk along church path. Something we hadn’t done for a while. Well we couldn’t really. We had either been in lockdown london or if here weeding.

Ian said . ‘Remember when we first walked along this path”. ‘ i was 25’. Thanks. That was decades ago. Someone said ‘ Ah. That’s romantic’. Really. You don’t know us very well. Romantic we are not. It’s scary. We have been in the village for nearly 30, so maybe now we are the village people and accepted.

And so it’s back to old London town for a few days. a few appointments for me. Another trip past Stonehenge. Another time I say to Ian. “Will be nice when it’s finished” and another time he says “when will you stop saying that” . Me. Never.

Back to a very different garden. No ground elder. No bindweed. Just snails. Tree ferns and agapanthus and the two old boys. Not us. The 16 & 17 year old cats.

The tree ferns have gone bonkers. The feeding Friday regime is working as well as a handful of alpaca beans in the crown at the start of the growing season. With a weekly liquid feed. Another line to wind up Ian. I’m off to poo my plants.

The front gardens looking good. All but one of the agapanthus are flowering. The one that’s not just happens to be my favourite. A tall fat white flowering one. Except it’s not. Why? Who knows. Maybe like me it’s a sulker.

From September there will be garden number three to contend with after an absence of 12 months. Well. Maybe. Dependent on the Delta variant. Or as some radio presenters are calling it. The Johnson.

Who knows. At the moment it’s just one day at a time. We are healthy. Double jabbed and at least have the luxury of being able to get out into a garden. Or two. And to deal with the humongous number of airline vouchers we have for cancelled flights. Enough to paper the sitting room.

What will be will be.