Gardeners never stop talking about the weather. We are at its mercy: the success or failure of a whole year’s endeavours depend on its vagaries, so I make no excuse in declaring that 2021 season has been one of the most diverse ever. Wet winters, dry spring then hot spring then cold spring with late frosts, then a little warmer then rain again… and it’s still only June.
In my garden, the wet winter gave birth to hundreds of seedlings that popped up where normally just a few would survive. Drifts of cerinthe, alive with the humming of bumblebees in the gravel paths; the best cow parsley ever; clusters of salsify plants near the front gate followed by globes of seeds that will probably guarantee even more next year; the usual hedge of verbena in the brick paths; and a sea of flowers seeded from a bunch of dried flowers that hung from the garage door on an open day: teasels, honesty, achillea and larkspur filling the front garden.
Some flowers were early, some surprising late: they bloomed and set seed in the blink of an eye. Fabulous roses, huge crops of gooseberries, greengages and cherries, all so heavy, their boughs groaned and had to be propped up to allow access round the garden. The meadow has flowered and blown almost flat by summer winds. In a few weeks my garden is almost unrecognizable and needs hard work to be negotiable. And now we have to decide when to open the gardens here next year. Might just as well just stick a pin in a calendar, because who knows what the weather will bring.