Autumn light makes everything look good, except Lockdown Locks (17-23rd August)

The weather this week

Misty but warm. On Monday evening after a day of drizzle, the sun came out and lit up the moor – veils of mist, diamonds in the long grasses. It was a Scottish picture-postcard, and smelled of the autumn. We stood on Watchknowe with non-alcoholic beers and watched the landscape disappear, reappear, and change its clothes for the season.

There is also a rather impressive delicata squash in the tunnel.

In the garden

The rowans are fully ripe and bright red and orange bunches of berries catch my eye in woods by the road. I want to gather and preserve them (the last time there was such a good crop I made rowan jelly which was brilliant with game and pork), but somehow time evades me. It could be the impending wedding which tells me I have no time, or perhaps my small, messy kitchen is making the prospect of jars, pots and jelly bags, steam and stickiness, less attractive.

One of the apple trees shed 90% of its apples overnight, still unripe. I’m not sure what variety it is but the flesh is stained pink inside. I cut them up and roasted them with walnuts, somewhat unsuccessfully. At the moment we have four apple trees out in the veg garden, but two have produced almost nothing (perhaps due to my over-zealous pruning in the spring). I’m hoping to be able to transplant the smaller ones over to the north end of the paddock, where the beehive is and where we’ve been scything, clearing, and recently, mowing.

We did some really hefty mowing and tidying in the garden on Wednesday, and on Thursday morning it looked glorious. At the moment, the sun seems to favour shining in the early morning and towards the evening; dusky, slow and warm and seeming to have lost the intensity it had in June. At this latitude, the change in light is one of the most evocative and subtle shifts towards autumn. At 6.30am I wandered around our newly mown and relatively orderly jungle, and appreciated the moment. (I also recorded it, because it was a rare moment of order!!) I imagine the garden of next year, visualising new boundaries and taking down current ones. It is such a human home making process, this stage of assessing what exists, and gradually transforming surroundings to suit your dreams. At first I felt guilty, even slightly apprehensive, about changing things that my predecessors had perhaps loved or spent hours on, and this feeling was so much stronger regarding the garden than concerning the décor inside the house. Understanding someone else’s garden is a code breaking task; trying to decipher whether logic, wisdom, desires or whim has shaped what you see before you. Why did they plant this here? Will it reveal itself to be an essential wind-block or shade for another plant? Why is there so much of one plant? Did they just like it particularly, or is it providing key support/nutrients for something else? Was this area purposefully left wild because it is positioned on top of an old rubbish heap, or is it just an overgrown old bed?

The efficacy of waiting a year before doing any major garden works becomes clear as you get to know a space. As daffodils and snowdrops, peonies and primula, alstroemeria and hops have appeared in our garden, seemingly out of nowhere, I haven’t regretted this wait.

Out and About

And before this week, you might have thought that I was applying the same principle to my own hair. But thankfully, this week saw the end of this unfortunate experiment as Jim and I finally made it to Edinburgh to have our manes tamed. It was truly odd to be able to drive into the city during August, and then walk through it without being accosted by flier-pushers or dragged into a pyrotechnic street performance. Despite being critical of what the Edinburgh Festival has become, it was sad for both of us to see and reflect upon the effects of its absence this year. As the world’s biggest arts festival which typically sees the city’s population treble for a month, its cancellation will cause an awful lot of businesses to suffer or even close, and a great gap will be felt in the seasonal rhythm of the city. Of course, as a musician Jim has been deeply concerned about the impact Covid has had on the arts. It is hard to see how an industry that relies on large gatherings will be able to return to ‘normal’. Collectively sharing the experience of art, in all its forms, is such an ancient human activity that it has become integral to how we communicate and create community. For that reason alone, I am convinced we will have to find a way to enjoy theatre, music, comedy, and other performances, together again.