These are our Queen of the Night tulips. They have only been in the raised-bed in the yard since October last year but they’ve made such an amazing show that I’m going to make sure we get some more in the Autumn for many different bits of the garden. They stand in a lovely stoneware pot I bought in Sherborne at a charity shop.

Being away, though only for a week, it seems as if the whole garden has been busy in our absence. Which of course it has, growing taller, leafier, budding and blossoming more than ever. This year the garden has changed – or been changed – yet again. It seems that each year our flower-garden is different to the last, we grow different annuals and swap perennials around. I like it, never knowing what the garden will end-up being until it’s there, showing its finery for all to see.

Despite being very reserved in how many plants I bought whilst on holiday (Mr. VP didn’t have to hitch-hike home due to lack of car-space, but it was close), I did allow a little plant-based spending and came away with some lovely, summery plants. From the Chalice Well I bought two plants, a woad and an Echinacea ‘Bravado‘ (both useful herbal plants), from Lytes Cary I came away with the loveliest rose – whose name was missing, so it’s pot-luck, though we think it’ll be either yellow or white – and Bridport market yielded a lovely geranium, some saxifrages and a plant whose name escapes me – but it’s going to be pink…

[A geranium - aren't they lovely?]

It hadn’t occured to me, until we were home, that perhaps it’d be nice to have a new border bed, nearest the fence/house, in which to grow some of the plants needing slightly shadier spots. We’ve been having problems with plants feeling a little too hot for their own liking in the other garden beds, yet failing to be happy competing against the privet hedge in the feral bed. So instead we’ve now capped our lawn (or rather Mr. VP did, last Monday) with a lovely flower-bed, full of new and old plants, all who like it a little bit shadier. It looks a little bare but I’m populating it daily with lots of spreading-things, like periwinkle, saxifrage and alchemilla.

I actually love the new bed and have spent plenty of time moving things from the feral bed onto this new patch, things like the Heuchera, Alchemilla, Geraniums and our new holiday plants.

[Our coldframe - pennyroyal, coriander, clary sage, russian tarragon, hyssop and a whole lotta chilli plants are all being given some TLC]

In the vegetable department, things are coming along nicely too. Tomatoes, when not planted in troughs, have been put into beds, squashes of all sorts are planted and growing. Potatoes are well above the soil and cabbages, parsnips and broad beans (above photo) are all coming along.

As are the (winter) flowering pansies. I don’t think they like flowering in Winter up here – ours certainly didn’t! But they have made up for it in grand fasion with a gorgeous show of colour.

It’s not easy to describe our holiday. Of course there were the Burton Bradstock days, long smoulderingly sunny days when it was very much the time to be wandering barefoot on the sun-warmed pebbles. There were the Glastonbury days when we padded the streets like locals, chatting with shop-keepers we hadn’t seen for years, and spending time at the Chalice Well. It wasn’t so much a holiday as a very much-needed break, and a pilgrimage of sorts. We haven’t been to Somerset and Dorset for almost 2 years and 2 years, is 2 years too long.

I’m still desparately trying to hang on to “holiday mode” where nothing really matters and I can spend time as I like. But as much as I try, there are so many things hanging in the air, waiting to be attended to. The holiday is, most definitely, over.

We had the best time we’ve ever had, though. Even though it was just one week, we travelled constantly, remembering roads we’d travelled as newlyweds, finding new places and loving every moment of the places we found. I cannot profess my love of the place enough. I can’t.

We stayed on a farm, with cows, sheep, lambs, guineafowl and even a Little Owl (Athene noctua), living right next to our cottage. It was wonderful because we got to partake in a bit of farm life (though not the hardships – just the nice bits), something we both want to end up doing. Nestled in amongst the most wonderous countryside – that is completely different to anywhere else in the country – we longed to find a derelict barn and make it habitable.

The countryside is so much different in Somerset and Dorset to anywhere else. Travelling down through all of the counties, the land was changing in front of our eyes. The journey from Northumberland to Somerset is a long one but during the drive I get half-way down and have a strange tugging feeling, like I’m going home.

There were few days that we didn’t go to the Chalice Well when we were in Glastonbury. If you’ve never been to Glastonbury I can easily describe it as esoteric – it’s full of hippies, spiritualists, healers of all kinds, witches, wizards and goths and people just wanting to find their spiritual side. The wonderful thing is, that folks from all walks of life seem to co-habit a town so peacefully and naturally. There isn’t anywhere else that I know of where the smell you come across one minute is burning incense from almost every shop, then the smell of (vegetarian) Schnitzel burgers coming out of the Blue Note Café. I haven’t ever smiled as much.

Since we left our little house, in the very capable hands of Mother Dearest, the garden has blossomed, flowers are opening everywhere and the garden is a proper Summery joy to inhabit. This is surely the very nicest part of the year.

600-odd photos later, I’m still trying to wade through the snapshots of happy places and memories.

Though longing for Somerset and lush greenery as far as the eyes can see, I try very hard to remember Epicurus’ quote:

“Do not spoil what you have by desiring what you have not; remember that what you now have was once among the things you only hoped for.”

It’s so true. So true.

Today Mr. VP turns 29. Almost approaching retirement age (I jest!). Because I love him wildly, I baked him a cake (I always do, whether he’s in my good books or not). His preference was for Nigella’s Custard Sponge birthday cake – so I happily obliged (it’s almost tradition). It turned out rather wonderfully, as did his birthday lunch and the trip around Newcastle that followed.

Happy birthday darling!

[Creeping comfrey 'Symphytum grandiflorum']

What glorious weather we’ve had of late. It’s been such a change from the wet, cold April we had to endure. The garden has absolutely come on in leaps and buonds. I don’t even recognise it from the bare patch of earth that was there a couple of months ago. We’ve harvested our first spinach today and had it for dinner, the potatoes are all showing their leaves above-ground and the broad beans are coming on a treat. It’s this time of year that makes life worth living. I breathe in every scent of warm air, hot sun on fence posts, blue skies and bright, happy flowers everywhere.

[Keria]

This is our perpetual onion. It is a perennial which puts out little onions from its flowering heads, which then root and continue the cycle. However you’re supposed to pick the onions which then make perfect pickled onions. It’s a marvel to watch, anyway.

[Perpetual onion with flowerheads about to open]

This plant which we call “snow in summer” is an escapee from next-door. We have lots of things pop over from next door and this is one of the most pleasing escapees. That and the lupins which I keep finding everywhere. Who can resist a baby lupin?

I love Sweet Cicely, I always have. If we have twin girls a possible name combination would be Cicely and Flora (but don’t tell Mr. VP, they’re not officially on the list yet). It can be added to food to reduce the need for sugar as it contains a natural sweetener.  It tastes mildly of aniseed and smells heavenly. Very nice in apple pies! I keep finding these popping up everywhere too, our garden must be a very fertile place. I like everything being slightly wild. Nothing is truly in our control – especially not in the wild!

The tulips in the main garden are all but over now, however the Queen of the Night tulips in the yard are doing wonderfully, being that bit more cooler there, everything is at least 2 weeks behind the things in the garden-proper.

This will in all likelihood be the last post from me until we get back from our holiday which begins on Friday. It’s Mr. VP’s birthday tomorrow which means all sorts of busy activity to make sure he has a great day and that we’re all packed and ready to depart on Friday.

So much has changed of late, that Spring seems a great metaphor for everything that is changing and will ever change. I’m not sure where it’s going to lead (a teepee in a field seems nice right now) but it feels like nothing is standing still. And I suppose nor should it.

And as a last little goodbye before we flee for Somerset and Dorset (just uttering those names, ahhhhh), I’ll leave you with a picture of Miss NakedNeck herself, Nutmeg, showing off her new PURPLE naked-neck! She is now this colour because Gooseberry was pulling her newly-emerging feathers out, causing soreness and even more nakedness.  So I had to spray her with Septi-Clense which not only cleans and stops infection but tastes bad to the others – thus stopping them pecking. This has nothing to do with Vivien Westwood couture. Then again… ;)

Adios, Adieu, Farewell for now!

[Our song thrush singing in a tree, in early evening, last week]

The joy of Spring is, amongst other things, the bird song. What a world it would be without the humblest song of a sparrow, competing for air-time with the most accomplished of operatic singers, the song thrush. May is indeed their time for showing off their huge vocal ranges – from every branch, fence-post and rooftop birds from every order, large and small, sing as if their lives depend on it. And indeed they do, as their vocals reach ever more impressive climbs, their chances of finding a mate and carrying on the line of singers increases. It has long been wondered why birds sing their songs, whether it was just to attract a mate and protect their territory. David Rothenberg- novelist, writer and musician – puts forward the idea that birds don’t just sing for those reasons but also for pleasure. You may have seen the documentary on BBC4 last year. It was the most wonderful program showing how birds sing for so many different reasons, and concluded that there was strong evidence that birds do indeed sing for pleasure.

If you were to step out of my back door in the morning (around 6 am is best), you’ll be greeted by a wall of sound. Cross the little back road and walk into the garden and on one of the trees (listen to find out where) you’ll hear, and then see, our song thrush. His calls are repetitive, going through trills and warbles, phrases that sound amazingly like human speech (”Whatyoudoin, whatyoudoin, whatyoudoin”) and sweeping, grandiose statements that sound better than anything the London Phil. could come up with. There is usually more than one and you can often pick out their ripostes going backwards and forwards.

[A blackbird singing on a tree this afternoon with something attached to his beak. It didn't stop him warbling.]

The blackbird’s song is much more syrupy and complex. It is the song of Summer, of hot afternoons and balmy evenings. Blackbirds are quite happy to sit and warble for hours, making being in the garden such a pleasant experience with their gentle cacophony surrounding you. They may not be the flashiest of birds, and due to their almost Kamikaze flight in front of cars, a good many end up flattened, but they are the stalwart of British gardens. Mention birdsong to me and they are the first bird I think of.

[One of our Dunnocks, or Hedgesparrows]

It pleases me so much that it isn’t always the big birds who have the best songs. Indeed sometimes quite the opposite is true. Think of the harsh chip-caw of the Jackdaw as opposed to the sweetest, most wonderful song of the little Dunnock or Hedgesparrow, fair and true, as she sits and sings to anyone who’ll listen.

[A robin at Cragside, Northumberland]

The robin’s song is lighter in tone but more persistent than the blackbird’s, higher in pitch it sounds almost chastising to those who come near his territory (and one can quite understand George Banks in Mary Poppins complaining of his racket – his song is very loud indeed!). Our robin is often seen but seldom seen singing – they can hide themselves very well when they want to, yet we often hear the trill repetition of notes.

The chiffchaff is unmistakable because its name reflects its call – “chiff-chaff” often in verses that’ll go something like “chiff chaff chiff chiff, chiff chaff chaff”. This year is the first year we’ve been aware of them in the garden, but their sometimes-plaintive “chiff chaff, chiff chaff” calls are so pleasing to listen-to.

[A chaffinch male, Northumberland]

Chaffinches often look like little weather-vanes on a tree-branch. They hang onto the very tip of the branch and swing side-to-side, just like a weather-vane. I’m not entirely sure why they do this, but it is very mesmerising to watch. Their song is one of the most common songs heard in our garden, it’s busy and frequent.

Skylarks hover over the fields behind our garden and can be heard over a large distance. They are one of the most remarkable birds because their song is used as a lure, to protect their chicks in the nests which are made on the ground, from predators. The parent bird hovers in the sky and sings in short, sharp bursts, a song that is very chirrupy and distinct with long zipp-zapps.

Magpies are Sunday Morning birds from my childhood, always making that same clicking-raar noise, tidings (the collective noun for magpies) of them making themselves noisily known at the bottom of our garden.

[Collared dove, pretty but mean!]

Collared doves are little garden bullies. They are the catty girls of the playground and bully everything else that is smaller than themselves, and even wood-pigeons which are a little larger. Though pretty to hear, their coo-cooing isn’t half as nice as the wood-pigeon’s throatier ooorh-OOOrh-oooh. Wood pigeons stand out as not only friendly looking birds, but as fantastic parents. They have a unique method of feeding their young. Rather than just regurgitate food for them, they actually produce a sort of milk in their gullet, which is more nutritious than either cow’s or human’s milk.

Our sparrows, both hedge and house, are the funniest characters. They twitter constantly, and walking down the road if you pass a privet hedge suddenly a raucous cackle of twittering erupts as birds spring seemingly from nowhere, and fly off. House sparrows sound like non-stop budgerigars, except they don’t swear in front of Aunt Mabel.

[Coal tit]

[Blue tit doing its impression of a weather-vane]

Coal tits (busy cheeping) , blue tits , great tits (cheep-cheep-tweet-cheep, sometimes discordant) and long-tailed tits (cheep-peet-cheep) all live in the garden. Their songs are always gentler, high-pitched twitterings, not quite as twittery as a house sparrow but not syrupy either. They like our garden because we keep it as wild as possible – we provide food and water for them and also keep our hedges as hedges – not replacing them with fences. Birds like these need hedges!

Composers have long been fascinated with birdsong too, often using flutes, clarinets and many wind-section instruments to try and reproduce the sound of a warbling bird. None have taken such interest in that field than Olivier Messiaen, who wrote scores based on the sounds of birds, reproducing them very well. They appeared throughout his music, no doubt giving him inspiration in his works.

[The very first Hawthorn blossom of 2008, heralding the start of Summer]

The other great bit about May, apart from the wall-to-wall birdsong is the May or Hawthorn coming into bloom. Yesterday was the first day of blooms, and the rest of our large tree is just waiting to pour white foam in profusion.

[Scillas]

Oh, and the scillas. Despite digging these things up year after year, trying to protect the endangered English bluebell, they still come up with a vengeance. More pernicious than ground elder, but I’m starting to love them anyway.