Seasonal change, soggy squash and an intriguing bit of local history (27th July to 2nd August)

The Weather this week

Warm, humid, with showers and deep slate-blue moody skies. We had a couple of where the air was heavy and sweet with the dew rising from the long grass, noisy with insects, and spiced by the scent of daisies beginning to go to seed – an evocation of childhood summers.

At home

The week started with deep gloom, torrential rain and a visit from an architect. We have a small barn on our property which we’d like to make into a simple studio space for us both to work. We’re currently at the stage of gathering ideas and opinions and in the process we are learning a lot about what it takes (legally and practically) to transform a space. Having an architect look it over and sketch up his ideas felt like a big and slightly scary step forwards, although realistically we are probably still at least a year and a half away from seeing the space finished.

But we clearly had the home-improvement itch this week, finally tackling several other long overdue tasks around the house, such as fixing stoves and hanging curtains. It seems a very strange thing to be preparing the house for winter in the middle of summer, but we need to crack on before our wedding is upon us.

The Big Day (which will actually be a very tiny gathering in the garden) is just a month away and even though we’ve opted to have a simple celebration with about 10 people, there is a surprising amount of stuff to do in preparation. Asides from submitting forms and getting permissions, one of the most pressing tasks is tending to our respective appearances. Perhaps like most folk at the end of Lockdown, we are not looking entirely presentable. I have mainly been living in my gardening clothes, we’ve both gained weight, and we are sporting particularly expressive barnets. So this week, we booked haircuts (Jim, surprisingly, declined my scything services), and monsieur bought himself a gorgeous Irish-made suit from the delightfully old-fashioned gents clothing shop in Jedburgh. This shop has been around since I can remember but has been hard hit this year with the cancellation of so many weddings and the Common Riding. The old gentleman who owns the shop took considerable care to measure Jim and have the suit altered. It was particularly lovely after this time of social isolation to feel so looked after.

In the garden

My experiments with growing Delicata squash in the polytunnel are not going well. I’m sure I have seen other people grow squash vertically, but although mine have grown up their support with enthusiasm, they are now beginning to drop the fruits they’ve produced. I chopped one particularly shrivelled squash off the other day and wondered if it was the weight that had scuppered the plant, or whether the tunnel is perhaps too humid. Despite leaving the doors open most days, I have found a couple of pockets of mould and some rotten tomatoes, which would suggest there isn’t enough ventilation – or enough dry heat – to keep things healthy.

We’re enjoying at least 3 portions of our own veg every day, but the garden doesn’t exactly feel abundant. Instead I almost feel as though I’m foraging for vegetables, as so many are subsumed by weeds, or harassed by rabbits and Humphrey. The blackbirds are quite eager to eat our vast gooseberry crop, but they, like ourselves, are finding them impenetrable and so the bush remains laden with giant, sour berries. They taunt me every time I go outside. I keep meaning to make chutney or jam, but can’t seem to muster the enthusiasm for either, particularly because we so rarely eat preserves.

Out and about

But we are still eating plenty of fruit. The wild raspberries have come into season and it appears to be a particularly prolific year. Despite the large amounts of rain we’ve had the berries are in unusually good condition. Wild raspberries are frequently shrivelled, rotting and full of maggots or other creepy crawlies, but mum actually managed to pick enough perfect berries for a decent dessert the other night. Their flavour is extraordinary – far more intense than cultivated raspberries, more perfumed but somehow less sweet. I made a breakfast of them the other day on my early morning walk, but had to pick, eat and run, as I was being pursued by clouds of the worst pest: clegs, or ‘Horseflies’. It is not a brilliant time of year to walk off the beaten path, what with clegs, flies, ticks, long grasses and waist high bracken making everything slow and pretty uncomfortable.

Walking up Ruberslaw: Harebells have been prolific this year!

But I did manage to go on a couple of fantastic walks this weekend; the first from Denholm to the top of Ruberslaw – a route I haven’t done since I was about 9 years old on a day trip with Denholm Primary School. There was a lot of traffic on the path in part thanks to Ruberslaw Wild Woods Campsite who are doing a great job of responsibly bringing more people into this part of the countryside. I haven’t seen so many people at the top of Ruberslaw since New Years Day – the traditional time for locals to climb the hill to share a tot of whisky to welcome in the new year. This crowd was decidedly more sober, but I was pleased to see a good number of picnics being enjoyed with the view.

The views from Ruberslaw are always wonderful, and at this time of year the gold and ochre hues of autumn are emerging in the landscape adding a bitter-sweet nostalgic tone. Tiny blaeberries growing alongside the path are also marking the season, but are still quite mouth-puckering. The next day on a walk up to the Monteath Mausoleum, a friend and I skirted around some of the barley fields whose colour so clearly signals the changing seasons. With the deep blue backdrop of rain showers over Ruberslaw, it really spoke of the end of summer.

Watching over him: huge stone angels with sandstone wings that must have been lowered into the crypt

The mausoleum is something anyone driving south to Jedburgh on the A68 will have noticed. It’s an intriguing detail on that high bit of the land, and until now I had never been near it, nor knew what it was. It was commissioned by General Sir Thomas Monteath Douglas to be his own final resting place and he requested that it be ‘locked for all time’. With huge statues of lions outside the tomb, and two angels looming over the coffin inside, you certainly get the impression that he wanted to feel protected from the outside world, or at least to dissuade any intruders. What he managed to do instead, was whip up quite a bit of fascination, fear and suspicion amongst locals. The sheer amount of thick stone surrounding this single body, and the expense and craftsmanship that must have gone into its construction, seems to communicate a distrust of the outside world, or suggest there was something worth protecting inside. But rather than being imposing or unwelcoming, it is a beautiful building with a domed ceiling full of star shaped skylights and fine detail around the doorways. Quite the contradiction, and quite a statement to have built something so ostentatious in such a remote area – particularly when you read that he actually had very little connection to the Borders having lived in India for most of his life. His exotic connections and apparent wealth clearly inspired a great deal of suspicion amongst locals, and the crypt was broken into several times, vandalised, then left to degrade. It has most recently been restored by the Friends of the Monteath Mausoleum who have done a stellar job. The views alone make a visit to the Mausoleum worthwhile, but sensing the enigmatic story of this man’s life and final wishes is equally compelling. The most astonishing thing perhaps, is that his body is not even there, and perhaps never was.