Ah the delicious tingle of the bramble scratched arms in the shower. I hadn’t planned on getting skewered by wayward strands of prickles; but they were in the way of the wildflowers in the garden just above the pool. Having taken Andrew advice, all the spent flowers came up this afternoon. And hopefully the seeds will resow in the rich soil underneath. I came across some welsh poppies that are still growing, a few cornflowers, and one last poppy. I left those, but the rest went onto the compost heap. And I managed to snag myself (flesh first) on some brambles that were lurking underneath.

No pictures. It looks a tip still. I need to rake. But I ran out of time. Have a photo of my main garden work instead. In with the daffs.

The entire east garden should be full of promise next spring. I have planted 100 (well closer to 300 as I found so many small bulbs connected the mother bulb) small cupped narcissus Poeticus Recurvus in the bank below and along from the fig tree.

It took hours. As even though the soil was soft, I kept getting distracted by small bramble patches. Had to dig those out as I went along. But the sun was shining and it was glorious to be back in this beautiful part of the world.

Other plants into the ground today included some Helenium Moorheim Beauty from Knoll Gardens. I know they look rather naff right now. But I need to put some pebbles around them to stop them getting accidently strimmed. I planted them just behind the Pannicum Squaw and hope they get enough sun there. We shall see.

The other treasure I brought out on the train (and believe me, it was a graceless dash across Paris as the Eurostar was delayed in the tunnel) was a Phormium Alison Blackman. I just couldn’t resist the colouring of green and pale gold. Not the Australian colours, more a khaki green. And it does look rather sweet next to the anemanthele lessonia crop nearby. Well that’s the effect I’m trying for. With luck it will bulk out, and not get felled by the first frost.

And what of the boxes all over the courtyard? They are destined for the tulips. I was positively laden this trip: out came some green paint that should look just like Farrow and Ball Saxon Green, but is masquerading as Leyland paint mix Viking Green. Similar? I think so. A bit paler. But I don’t think the style police will slap my wrist. IT was half the price.

Tomorrow I will do another coat. And touch up the planters in the courtyard that house the roses; they have had a rough summer of mass watering and are looking worn.

And then to finish the day I went back to the east garden to mulch all the plants in the lilac bed: the asters deserve it as they have flowered their stems off for months and months. And the sedums are just turning an interesting shade of rose.

Dinner tonight – fresh beans and rocket salad with couscous. And dessert – why figs of course. I am glutted with the juicy beasts.

Right, have I earned by cup of tea yet? I am working my way through the files on my desk top. And there are only a few to go. Well, I am yet to open the Pics for Website folder as that is just a can o’ worms. So here are the last few.

The east garden has been beautifully strimmed. You can even see the stone wall up underneath the black cherry tree. Fancy.

And here is a striking picture of the wasteland above the troughs in the courtyard.  The grass to the left was a gift from Andrew. We had thought it was a Molinea, but it has been identified as a Panicum Squaw. Panic grass – what a great name. Well, most people call it Switch grass. So Panicum virgatum it will be.  And thank you to the Encyclopedia of Grasses by Rick Darke for the spelling. I have been writing it with two ns in my emails.

And here is a picture of the potager and summer lawn. Crisp still, but it promises to green up by next year. Don’t you just love the miracle of nature?

Here are some visual images of the future calabert garden. Sounds more poetic than Barn Garden. And calabert is very Archeche. It is supposed to be the best place for the farmer to hide when it rains. And it is usually a tip of tools, wood, rusty farm parts. You name it. Ours is sprightly and neat for now (one has to be vigilant) and hopefully we will have a garden to show it off next year.

Before it was weeds and fallen stones. After it is strimmed weeds and stones. Picture in the post below. In a month or so I may be able to show a dry stone wall. Watch this space.

And speaking of building of walls, that is not my task. I eschew the work. But Nicolas will hopefully be cajoled into lifting those mighty blocks and getting it into shape. He has already dug out the brambles along the top of this terrace slope. That is going to make things easier next year when everything bursts into life.

On the path to the left are the pennisetum grasses. They have taken a beating in the warm weather. But with a day and a half of rain they almost look alive. I peer and pray and hope I haven’t wasted my funds.

And just to wrap up this busy Thursday, here are the other tasks achieved. I re-sowed Alice’s path with grass seeds. Weeded in the sunshine of a mid September day. Too perfectly blue and lovely.

And then took heaps of verbena cuttings from the plants in the herb garden. I had to go into my beloved potting shed. Which Alice has helpfully renamed the Chigger Shed. Poultry Red Mites seem to have been lurking in the planks of the old wood and attack me with vigour. I dread going in there but I need to keep up with my cuttings.

Now all these things happened last Thursday. Which Thursday? 17th September I think. Just one day before my annual Girlie Climbing Weekend.

First task was to leap into the potager and remove all the worst of the spent crops. Tomatoes were the first to go. They could have survived a tad longer if they were well watered; but they didn’t and weren’t so here they are making a jolly good job at compost.

And speaking of compost. I fell to my hands and knees and prayed to the… no, I climbed down to my hands and knees and saved my back by scooping out the rich compost mulch from the bins and carried it by bucket around the orchard.

Soft fruits were the first to get the treatment, followed by the apple tree closest to the vegetable garden. And I ate a delicious Melrose apple while I worked. That makes a total of six fruits from the orchard this year, but it’s a start.

I have dug the preparatory holes for the new olive trees. But have taken wise advice from Andrew and will only plant two later in the season. I have to ’source’ them first. Which just means driving down to Jaquet pepinieres in St Peray and forking out.

Next up was a spot of strimming. Risky with a sore back, but I needed to get the calabert area cleared in readiness for Nicolas to build the wall. He is away in Champagne at the moment doing his annual grape harvest. But when he returns the wall should get started.

I can’t wait as it is an eyesore right now. Mind you, you can get used to anything after a few years. I was looking over a few of the pictures of the house when we moved in two years ago; and have to remind ourselves how far we have come along.

Being a Thursday I did zip up to Vernoux market first thing. And everything is back to ‘normal’ now. Very quiet and the usual suspects and not a provencal pot in sight. I bought my usual bread, pickled garlic, extra tomatoes. And then couldn’t resist buying a dozen lettuce seedlings to plant up in the cloche of bolted lettuce plants.  And then looked about for figs. None in the usual places, but thank goodness for Madame Orisette. She had heaps. I couldn’t buy more than three kilos as there was a queue of like minded shoppers. And I didn’t want anyone to be deprived.

Bless Madame Orisette, she does like to talk. Recipes, ideas for cooking, news about her family. All the while you are standing about with your coins and she doesn’t hand over the bag of figs until prompted by Monsieur.  But hand over she did. And in the evening I whipped up a batch of Sarah’s favourite. Fig Jam.

The stocks have been ravaged already by Girlie Climbers. But I have enough for Holland next week.

I know, I know. I am behind with the news. To my shame I just cannot seem to update the garden work, entertain house guests, paint ceilings, make jam and travel back and forth to London and update this blog.

So I do apologise for having all the news dangling for so long.

I shall just launch in. Yesterday Andrew came up for the afternoon bearing such lovely gifts. New eurphorbias to try. The achillea terracotta I have been yearning for. And my order of bulbs. Humungous quantities of tulips and daffs and a few crocus snowbuntings to add to the collection.

My gifts of honesty, cabbage seedlings, cornflower plants and jams didn’t seem a fair swap.

Luckily I don’t need to get the tulips in before November. And most of those are going into the new planters that I have to paint. And in case you have wondered if I ever put the planters together. Here is the proof.

But the daffodils need to meet the soil very soon.

So last night. And it really was the night by the time I finished the first batch, I buried the Thalia daffodils in the soil in front of the house. This morning I need to do the next hundred. And in quick time. Travel day today.

And doesn’t it look like a herd of wild boar have been through the grass?

The other daffs need to go into the bank below the fig trees. Well, one fig tree and two very small and spindly sticks. But I need to strim the catmint first. And wait and see if the water diviner can find the old source that is lurking under the tree.

I am just back from an afternoon amble to the letter box. And ran into my neighbour Jean-Daniel who was doing the same thing. We have all been cooped up for a day now in the most pleasurable way. It has been raining gently but consistently for a full day and night and day. 25 glorious millimetres. Or an inch if you wish. Soaking everything and reviving the soil and the plants.

I could gush, but it’s only rain. Welcome stuff after a month of dry. And I don’t begrudge being forced indoors to paint ceilings. And tulip planters. Yes, that odd heap on the floor are the makings of six square wooden boxes for the forthcoming spring treats.

They were half the price at the builders merchants if you build them yourself. So once I get my hands on the power drill, I shall use my long lost lego skills and turn this heap of wood into boxes of promise.

You are right, not even worth the capital letters. But this is the extent of London gardening. At least the pots are pretty. I bought them from an antique store in deepest darkest Hampshire earlier this summer when Andrew, Pepe and I went on our jaunt to Christopher Lloyd’s garden. Must remember to dig up some thyme plants next trip out and bring them back to add to this small collection.

Little of gardening to report. I am hiding from garden centres in London this week (can’t lift heavy things, and I am not to be beguiled by plants to carry out to France on Monday). But here is a picture of the two plants that have been a great success in this long hot summer in France.

Asters and sedums. Hurrah.

I am trying to assemble notes for the three day November course I have rashly signed up for. Each day out in the garden I am trying to photograph all angles and give it a warts and all account of what needs to do and what has been done. To this end I have updated the garden plan including the lower terraces and even trying to draw in all the trees leading up to the forest.

Pleased. But no time to gloat. There’s an awful lot more to do.

Ah, the 9th of the 9th of the nine. Such a pretty date. And the question is, will you remember what you did on this day? I can’t remember what I was doing on the 8th of the 8th 08 or 88, but I do recall the 7th of the 7th 1977. I was in Miss Hind’s mathematics class getting yelled at for not understanding long division. In fact writing that date was probably the only numbers fun I had in all my short years of trying to understand maths. I was quietly ‘let go’ from studying maths at the age of 15 as I was bringing down the average of the entire class. Now that was maths I could understand. Very competitive school. And geography and ancient history were just my thing instead.

But what has this to do with addiction? Nothing, unless you call it addition. And addition is very much on my mind. I have added to the stock of ornamental grasses in a big way this past week. Curse the lure of a half price plant sale. Gamm Vert is a huge chain of plant nurseries in France. Quite good, but tens to be expensive as you are lured by so many goodies when you cruise the aisles.  So when I saw a big sign saying ornamental grasses 2 euros 20 as I was driving past the St Peray branch, why, I simply had to go to the next roundabout, double back on myself and go in.

Heaven. Pennisetums in abundance, and some stipas too. Most stipas I grow from seed, but how could I resist? Plus they were light to carry and I didn’t have to strain my back putting them into the car and then out into the garden.

But what are those little pots to the right? It’s like being a shoe addict and trying to hide the boxes. This blog can be very confessional. Gaura plants is all. Dwarf varieties that I want to weave in between the pennisetum grasses along the chestnut fence. Plus a few larger gauras (only 2 euros, honest) for the top side of the path. When Nicolas finishes the wall.

I soaked the pots in the wheelbarrow (never to be lifted again if my back muscles are to be obeyed) and then planted them out along the rest of the chestnut fence.

Here’s hoping they won’t whither (is that how it’s spelled?) and die while I’m away.

And all the rest of the seedlings and plants are in that same limbo. The weather is promising to be warm and sunny for yet another week. So most of the plants are in the shade of a cherry tree up near the potting shed.

And the stipas? I planted them in front of the ornamental grasses that are quietly making inroads into the gravel in the courtyard. Long may they thrive.

There I was, all set for a catch up of this blog at the Eurorstar lounge in Paris. But no. I gorged myself of lots and lots of newspapers and magazines instead. I have been away from the creatures for almost two months. So now it’s the last leg of the train journey and I must, must, must catch up on the news.

Sometimes you need to step back from the garden in order to assess what you need. And lots of ideas came to me on the first leg from Valence to Paris. (Yes, another two hour window where I could have written the notes).  I had thoughts on the walnut path leading from the courtyard to the top road. A hedge of molinea caerulea  transparent grasses perhaps. The one that Andrew gave me is just starting to flower. And the panicles are the most airy purple. Hence the name purple moor grass I suppose. I will ponder and plan. I ended up with almost two pages of must do notes before we arrived in London. Almost as good as actually doing them.

News on the last few days of the garden included very little physical activity. Did my back again – lifting a deceptively heavy sack of cement (I know, I know, what was I thinking? But it was disguised in a shopping bag and didn’t look more than a few kilos).  So I was reduced to the first day hobbling about in the kitchen making plum jam.

Dario, our friendly builder, came by with a box of plums. He calls them quetsch, but I am no closer to the variety. They are wonderfully oblong in shape, and perfect for jam as they are slightly underripe. He said he pulled almost 70kg off just one tree. What a bumper year for fruit this continues to be.

So on with the jam. Wonderful colours and hopefully a very tasty end product. I made 11 pots. Or was it nine? Can’t quite remember. It actually looks like twelve in the picture. Right now I can’t lift the box of finished products to check, so they will have to wait the final audit. And they are still not labelled, so they can’t go into the larder to be admired. But they look deep and dark and jewel-like; shame I can’t give any away. Everyone is in jam glut by now.

And I couldn’t even contemplate eating more grapes. Showing off I know, but it has nothing to do with me. All I did in spring was to prune these courtyard grapes. No watering, no nurturing, no pruning later in the season. These beasts are grown to provide lunchtime shade and the edible fruit is a bonus. For a mad moment I thought of making grape juice.

But once I had put a few kilos through the mouli (thank you Jean for that good advice), I ended up with the sweetest, sickliest product I’ve ever sampled. Worse than just grapes as there you at least have the distraction of skins and a few pips. Drink a glug of this for breakfast and you would be tripping in no time.

So I did what everyone else does right now. I give kilos away to neighbours when invited round to dinner. That way they can’t refuse. Actually Jean-Daniel’s grapes are apparently that hallucinogenic variety that is banned in France. So his are definitely only grown for shade. And to turn the wasp and hornet population doollally.

Pause there. This post is very purple in tone. Time to get to the other end of the grape scale. The vineyard. As a spot of physical therapy I decided to hobble down to the bottom of the property and see if there are any more grapes there. Glutton for punishment or what?

And there are actually some clusters of grapes. Took me a while to find them. And recover from the very steep steps down onto the vineyard terrace. Thank goodness for self-sown chestnut seedlings that act as a geriatric and physiotherapy hand rail. Not enough for any sort of harvest. And I am still pondering what we shall do with this plot of land. Keep it as a vineyard? Plant trees. We are going to need water if that’s the plan. I am learning that to my cost in this dry summer for the apple trees I planted last autumn. They need a hose to reach them once every ten days or so to survive.

But something makes me wonder if there isn’t an underground supply of water here. Aren’t these catmint weeds coming out of the ground up the top of the vines? Well, you can probably only see yet more blasted fern fronds. But down low there are mint plants. And that usually is a sign of good moisture somewhere.

We have been discussing the water issue at the top of the property. All week our big concrete tank that holds the spring water is getting a long overdue clean. Only thirty years of accumulated attack on the concrete. But it is surprisingly clean which is a relief.  Acidic water will do wonders for many things. But it does corrode old iron pipes. We found these right at the bottom of the tank when it was cleaned. Ours now has shiny plastic ones. And here’s hoping it will taste better soon.

Well, as soon as it rains again. Very dry again. We were talking about the need to get a water diviner in. Everyone vaguely recalls someone who can wield the two water divining rods. But can’t quite give me a name. I even rang the mayor and asked him. A sourcier or a sorcier, he asked? I can offer you plenty of wizards and witches around here came his snappy reply. But don’t know any diviners.

Maybe we will have to do it ourselves. Time to chop up a metal coat hanger and have a go.

In the meantime while I witter away, marvel at the weed-free field below the vineyard. I do, it’s bliss.

And while I was gazing I spotted a lovely rake that Nicolas must have left behind. It looked too shiny to have been M. Reinhardt’s the previous owner. And by now I think I have unearthed all the tools he left behind in the brambles and leaning rakishly (sorry) against trees. Some were quite overgrown with ivy and brambles and quietly returning to the earth.

But this one was perfect for leaning on to get back up the steps. And then in a mad moment of autumn-ness. I raked a few of the leaves that had fallen from the chestnuts onto the path. What was I thinking? One can’t rake a forest. But with so many leaves dropping early from parched trees, this felt like the right thing.

And for an encore I raked the grass next to the swimming pool. The monster birch tree is shedding like mad as well.