Just mopping up the picture gallery: here are a few themes that I forgot to add to the past ten days of gardening. Can’t quite remember when I did this, but I suspect it was after going down to Valence to buy supplies. I seem to recall the roll of wire netting weighed a tonne (I’m being optimistic about the number of fruit trees we are going to plant this year.)

The new deer proof fence around the new apple tree. The last crop of lovely raspberries. Mind you I am hoping that I will get a few more handfuls tomorrow if I get through the tunnel and back to France.
The roses in the courtyard didn’t mind the drenching. Flowering much later this year than last. But of course I have forgotten to note just when the roses were pruned by Nicolas for their winter sulk. I must do them again this month just to get it tidied.
The other vicitm of the floods was the mulberry tree. But having said that, the damage does not look new. But the tree looks to have split in half. And just sagged apart. Not sure how much of it will live. Frankly I’m amazed it’s alive at all considering how split it is. We will definitely need to prune back with a chainsaw next week. And then just monitor it through the winter. It would be a shame to lose it. (Or have I written that before? I really should read what I have written. Otherwise I will be charged with the sin of repetition. Mind you, gardening is rather repititious, as are the concerns.)
Another success with the rain is the lush new mini lawn I sowed under the blackberry bushes.

The instructions admonished anyone casting seeds in months that did not include autumn and spring. But it was August and I was so keen to stop the weeds from shooting up on the nearly cleared soft fruit orchard. I didn’t hold out great hopes it would take. But hit has. Pretty soon it will knit perfectly with the turf layed beside it. And if we get more rain (haven’t had any for a few weeks since the floods) I will sow more. I bought a bumper bag for the future lawns. Can’t wait to cast and hope.

Only half a day and it always seems to slip away when it’s time to return to London. Killing caterpillars on the cabbage; sorting in the potting shed; watering stipa seedlings. Generally putting things away and not starting anything big.

But the one thing I have done today is create a perfect little cloche. A winter home for the salads and land cress that has to survive the frosts. It wasn’t that difficult as I really just covered the netted cloche that Bernard made with a heavy duty plastic left over from Bruno’s building work. Application of staple gun, haul it tight and there you have it. Naturally there was a bit of major weeding inside. And planting up of the mizuna, winter salad varieties (forgotten their names – rouge de Montpellier perhaps) and extra mâche.

Last tasks involved covering the mint and lemon verbena. I really needed to bring the verbena up to the shed for the winter. But I can’t move it on my own. So need to wait for helping hands. It looks ridiculous with its winter fleece on.

And I just plain ran out of time for the mint. Had planned to pot some up and bring them indoors. But instead I have just slung a bit of plastic cloche over the main bed in the hope they won’t die before next week when I may have more time to perform these prep for winter tasks.

Well that only took four and a half hours. The application of Round Up to the Verbascums in all the terraces and paths. And then landscaping (hah, raking the stones and sand, yanking out weeds, hiding the worst of the mess) the bottom part of the track. We now have a link between the future orchard, the track to the pool and the approach. One day soon it will all be lawn. But not yet. Have to wait a few weeks for the glyphosate to take effect.

It’s warm and sunny today; perfect autumn weather. I found myself peeling layers as I went down the paths. Seeking out the telltale floppy ears of Verbascum lurking in the grass.

Now it’s time to water the strawberries, eat lunch (tomatoes straight off the vine) and then go down to the lower path and bring back sticks. I need more wood chips for the verbena bed on the edge of the vegetable bed.

And then the favourite task: watering. But the variation with one eye on the path next to me. That amazingly busy mole works all day. Here he (or she) is digging up the earth just five minutes after I watered the future little lawn path. Industrious indeed. But destructive in that I have no chance of perfect little path if the mole keeps on excavating great ruddy tunnels right underneath. He may be industrious but right now I’m not. I feel the need to stop and just walk around and think.

But instead I shall take the wheelbarrow down to the vineyard and collect sticks. Protestant work ethic is sometimes so over rated.

And here are a few photos of my quince crop: zilch. No fruit this year. Had to buy some from the market to infuse the house with quince scent.

The morning seems to have drifted away: mostly in slowing and meticulously vacuuming the pool. Starting to look normal at last. I feel a cold coming along. Or did I just inhale too many Ambrosia plant spores when I was strimming?

But did I languish in the shade? Lie down to read a book and eat chocolates? No sireee. Kevin came up for three mighty hours of work and I knew that I had to work with him if I was to get value out of this unexpected labour.

We started on the eyesore that has been the mini building site for a year at the entrance to the track up to the pool. It was here that Nicolas parked his first one and then two cement mixers, tarpaulins of sand, empty sacks of concrete, broken tools, and general squalid detritus. Well that’s an exaggeration, but I have dreamed that one day we can mow the path and the orchard area without having to haul the lawnmower over the rubble of dead cement and stones in between the two. We removed the soil from the path and placed it back in its rightful place behind the wall. Shoveled sand until blisters popped up and took it up to the top near the pool. It’s tidily tucked away under a tarpaulin.

Then we hauled stones to fill in the end of the wall. And with just a short break I had to prepare the poor lad for the worst. Moving the decorative river stones up over the lawn to the strawberry bed. And it’s done. Can’t believe how efficient one can be when you work in pairs. I will sleep well tonight. Couldn’t flag and show that I was tired. I am now, and especially as I have realised that I have left the lawn mower down on a lower terrace. I was making loud machine noises in the hour before Kevin arrived so he could find me on the vast acres.

And trying to get the lawnmower back with weakling arm muscles reminded me of that great expression ‘trying to push water uphill with a fork’. I couldn’t do it via the terrace I was working on. Instead had to hack my way through the dying branches of the mulberry tree, excavating stones and dodging new mole hills and gingerly getting this mighty machine back to a terrace that is more or less clear.

Now if I wasn’t so lazy I would hike up to the top vegetable plot and pick raspberries to add to my breakfast bowl. But it’s chill and my arms are aching from yesterday’s exertions and I’m saving myself for the day’s heavy work ahead. Neglecting the potting shed, just letting all the cuttings get on with what they have to do. Neglecting the rest of the garden. All in the quest of clear terraces. If I get a lot done today I may move on to vegetables and fruit trees tomorrow as a break.

Warm work. The top terrace is done. (The first one below the house) The middle ones are coming along nicely. And if I don’t cast my gaze at all the terraces still to do, then I would say it has been a good job.

Well so much for finishing early. Five o’clock and I thought I would stop for the day. Tired. But I needed to collect all the tools that were dotted about the terraces. And I wanted to scope out the tasks for tomorrow. So I walked all the way to the bottom of the property and saw what needed to be done.

Two terraces definitely require a lot of hacking and pruning. And then I headed back up the lovely terrace that slopes up from the vineyard and joins one of the upper terraces. It was gorgeous; grassy and full of wildflowers and truly interesting. And I realised (apart from the fact it needed mowing) that I hadn’t been to this part of the property all year. And probably wouldn’t for another year as well. Which is a shame as it is very fetching. In another century it would have made an adventurous walk for the lady of the manor.

So tomorrow the big question is - do I strim it? Put in hours of work for the place I never visit. Is suspect the answer is yes. Can’t call this work on the terraces complete if I miss out on an acre of garden.

And then to compound the lunacy of pretending to finish early I tried to change the mower blade from normal to mulch. Hah. Didn’t get beyond prising the first screw off the darned machine. So mowing and endless emptying the drum of cut grass it is.

Have come inside for lunch and just plonked down in front of the tv. Mesmerised by the history of the Ryder cup of all things. I suspect it was the sight of all those luscious perfect greens. I could do with a couple of groundsmen right now. This taming of the terraces is exhausting. Especially as the strimmer wont start.

Yee of little faith. After lunch it started first go. Guess it just needed a rest like me. And now five hours later I can happily say that the terraces look a whole lot cleaner. Must try and keep up with the strimming and mowing. Those brambles were threatening to take over some terraces entirely. If we can mow more often they will come less often. What a profound discovery.

Those of you on warfarin look away now. The technique is grim. There’s nothing to do but wade into the bramble patch and hope that you come away with trousers, shirt, skin, and strimmer intact. Well and truly pronged by many a wayward branch en route to a lovely lawn.

We need to find a better term for gardening. I picture gardening as deadheading roses and mooching about flower beds. This sort of work is gardening with mighty muscle. Hauling machines up and down slopes, striving not to plummet over the edge as you get a good run on the grass with the heavy mowing machine. Strimming (such a light, skittish word) which doesn’t quite cover the thwacking and heaving and twisting and hacking. (You can tell I’ve had an evening beer.)

Well that’s the thought. And I was starting to Have Thoughts about composting these mighty brambles. Must create a pile somewhere to put this compost to use.

Putting off the strimming for a bit by doing chores. But really it’s the perfect autumn weather for donning helmet, heavy boots, long trousers, long sleeve shirt and getting stuck in. I can hear the hunting dogs baying at something in the forest to the east. And it reminds me that I really should just pop up into the forest and check that girolle mushroom spot. I fancy some mushrooms with my omelette for lunch.

Pool much cleaner. One week of hard work and the pump has done its job. Relief.

Well, what do you know? One of those apple trees on the third terrace down is not that bad. Tart definitely, but it could be a decent cooking apple. Or maybe I was so desperate to stop the coughing from the pollen that it slaked my thirst. I was wondering why I thought I was coming down with a cold. Sore throat. But now I realise. It’s a reaction from all the Verbascum pollen I’m inhaling when I strim.

This is hot work but I can see some sort of programme. Strim down the worst of the weeds. And those Verbascum towers are just like mini saplings. Then strim the grass and mess (lots of brambles) to reveal any hidden objects like fallen stones and sticks. And finally go over it with the mower set very high. And bingo – a terrace to be proud of. Shame there are about twenty of the darn things. But if we put the work in this year and develop areas that can be got at with the lawn mower (mulching blade) then it won’t get this bad again next year. And you can see where the lurking Verbascum plants are for next year.

A garden free day. If you discount purchases. I have bought wood for new cloches, and a large amount of tall fencing for the fruit trees. No time to do anything – save sow some white foxgloves that I found on the front of a garden magazine. See, amazing what you can find when you tidy your office.

And I decided to be a chicken and pot up the Australian native plants that have been summering outside near the potting shed. For one mad moment I thought of leaving them outside and hoping they would survive the winter in situ; but no. In they come. They aren’t going to be resting in luxury mind you. This is not an unheated greenhouse. It’s a converted potting shed. With gaps. So lets see how they go.

Was eaten to distraction by mosquitoes or some such, so not a good night. Things always seem to strike just before 4am. So I started with a seated job: planting yet more strawberries through the weed proof fabric. I think it’s going to work. And Jan and Jane will be very pleased to see a part of the garden they will never have to weed.

Admiring the handiwork it was then time to attend to the other scruffier parts of the potager. They too needed to be cosseted from weeds. So up came the weeds, down went the last of my fabric and on went the mulch from the lawnmower. It covers up the stark black of the fabric quite nicely.

Amazingly I noticed that the mole has been busy digging up the path that I made earlier. In broad daylight. I really ought to learn more about these creatures. I stupidly thought they only work at night. But then it’s dark underground, so what does it matter? Or am I just being ignorant. It does mean that the mole is making a mockery of my path. The grass seeds aren’t going to sprout on those mounds.

But no more of this effete vegetable garden work, it was time to head down to the terraces and get to work cutting off the heads off the Verbascum stalks and generally hacking into the vinca major (or is it minor? A major problem anyway) and the brambles and nettles. Had to unearth my heavy walking boots and put my mobile phone in my pocket in case I chopped my foot off with the new mighty blade on the strimmer. Nearest ambulance Vernoux.

By the end of the day I can confidently say that we have almost a lovely lawn on the first terrace below the house. Well halfway there. There are some broken branches of cherry trees rotting away on the steep slope. And they have been wrapped and weaved with nettles and the nasty vinca tendrils.

I think it was the first time in months I could recall gentle rain without thunder storms. Lovely.

Things are so cyclical in gardening. That’s half the pleasure. I am ‘doing’ the strawberries again. It was the first job I did when we started here. They were growing rather wildly over a quarter of the old vegetable bed; runners everywhere and not a lot of fruit. So with Nicolas loan of about 200 pots, I dug them up and stored them in the shade for the summer while work was going on to turn the vegetable bed into a tidy plot.

It’s sunny today but I think the weather is going to turn again. So I am going to get out there while I can and enjoy perfect potager weather. Having called Jan in Australia for the recipe I am also drying tomatoes in the oven. Alack, the oven runs a bit hot so There Will Be Burnt Bits.

Warm work. Decided to cover up the uprooted strawberries while I work. And no, they haven’t been fussily potted into individual containers. They have been hoiked out with a strong fork and dumped into a wheelbarrow. See, progress. But as a concession to the heat they have been draped in a wet drop sheet so won’t die of exhaustion under there.

In for lunch and I reek rather of seaweed fertiliser. I thought that as I am about to inter this soil under a blanket of weedproof fabric I had best give it a last bit of good food. My what a smell. And now it’s in for lunch myself.

Is this the best time of year? Plucking ripe cherry tomatoes off the vines and eating them by the handful as I come indoors. Last night went to Nicolas’ Tuesday night vegetable club. And two of his friends bake the most amazing loaves of bread. All organic flour and fired in a mighty wood fired bread oven. Chewy and flavoursome and virtuous. I never really believed in bread until we moved here. Sat on the terrace in blazing sunshine eating fresh bread and tomatoes and basil from the garden and marvelling at the view.

In for another break and a relief it is to be away from those blessed strawberry plants. Too tedious for words. But they are getting there and if I admire what I have done I won’t despair of how many dozens more I have to plant. Sometimes it’s only the knowledge that one only does certain chores once that makes it bearable.

Later. I am sunburnt would you believe, farmer’s tan. Arms burnt where they were exposed while I sat on the black fabric and planted strawberries.

Made aubergine pickles and tomato pickles this evening. Took my mind off a decision I had made while I planted out the fruit. They need a mulch. I had though of using woodchips. There are plenty of sticks to collect and then push through the shredder. But the flood has taught me a lesson. Mulches move when wet. So the heavier the mulch the better the protection and less the chance of having to do remedial work. The answer dawned on me and I tried my darndest to push it away. I am going to have to move the river stones back. Well some of them. No, probably all of them. How dispiriting. Wish I came up with garden ideas in the right sequence.