Howard has succumbed to the idea of the Ukrainian morning glory, mainly because I ‘accidentally’ scattered seed among the near-failing tear peas. The peas have, happily, since dramatically recovered. Delicate white flowers are promising pods.
The plan is the morning glory will cover any still-struggling ‘wigwams’ with cascades of deep purple bloom. Elsewhere, our French beans are steadily climbing. Flowers here, too, are promising fruit. I soak all roots regularly in liquid feed. I whisper constant encouragement.
The dill and coriander are also in flower. I am very content to leave them so. Some of the dill will be taken home to be used in Henri’s gravadlax. Echoes of her childhood. Taste with a sense of place.
The tiny Greek fennel from a friend’s seed has been transplanted. We have hopes they will gather strength through the summer and join the other residents. Architectural spikes of summer. Howard and I are cropping through the rows of chard. As usual, I have wildly oversowed. I am currently scouting new recipes, intrigued by the promise of an old-school chard gratin.
We have pulled some of the towering orache to let more light in on the smothered amaranth. It had immediate beneficial results. I will soon stop sowing occasional sunflowers. At least, I mumble well-meaning promises to this effect.
The calendula has also come into flower, rich orange petals among the green. It is perhaps my favourite summer colour, saturated in memories of India and my brother Christopher.
These are the glory days of rampant leaf and garden promise. I’m struggling to keep up with over-abundance while avoiding Howard’s raised eyebrows.
There will be Ukrainian courgettes and Halloween pumpkins though we are uncertain as yet how rampantly they will spread. Maybe up and down the garden path. I head up to water before work most mornings. I make hosepipe rainbows. I soak it all in.
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