The window of opportunity

We had a break in the storms today. And a day without rain.   Yesterday (no post) saw us experience power lines down for three hours, raging storms, and a whopping two and half inches of rain.   I have never measured out that much water in the rain gauge before.   Or maybe I just have a bad memory.   But it was wet.

Luckily, unlike other sodden parts of Europe, our granite mountain just soaks up rain.   There was a bit of standing water here and there, but mostly everything was just damp and moist.

I felt I had to start the day with some energetic raking, after what felt like inactivity for a whole day.   (You don’t count watching Dario build the cat flap on the potting shed door as real exercise.)

The wind has blown almost all the birch leaves off the huge tree now, so it meant I could get a few bags worth of leaves to add to my huge leaf mould pile.

And with the soil so soft, I thought it time to attack the wildflower bed.

This is a thin but long patch of land at the base of the pool bank.   We sowed Pictorial Meadow wildflower mix a few years ago, and it needs replacing.

The achillea Gold Plate has quite taken over the space and is crowding out the poppies and cornflowers and linseeds and carypoteris which fight for space.

But the achillea aren’t going onto the compost heap. I Have Plans.   I would never have thought I would champion such a garishly yellow plant.   But the drama of the achillea lies in its height and upright behaviour.   It is calling out for a more starring role.

So in keeping with my plan to have more flowers in the vegetable gardens next year, I’ve moved half a dozen of the mighty plants into each of the central poles in the lower potager.   They will need coralling, but hopefully they will transplant successfully.   At least they were easy to pull up.

The rest will go up next to the asparagus bed in the top vegetable garden. It will make an attractive screen for the veg and lift the view of relentless green after the cherries are over and the asparagus is up and running.

But first I had to battle my way through to the asparagus bed.

They are a stunning autumn colour right now, but they have to be pruned back.

I could do it later, but when it freezes here, your chances of getting good garden weeding done are limited. So it was now or too late.

Down they came and then I earthed up the row to make sure all the roots were protected for the worst of the weather.

I didn’t make time to actually cut the asparagus plants into easy pieces ready for composting. That is definitely a mid winter task.   And I was running out of daylight for such neat things.

Besides, I just love the colour. So they can lie there on the ground and I can admire them from the comfort of the inside of my potting shed or walking along the top road.

Yellow again.

Artur emerged from his sulk long enough to help me do a spot of weeding. Well, wrapping himself around my legs with just enough affection and enthusiasm to get me tangled up in the garden fork and a stray bramble. But I did appreciate the gesture.

I realised that I’d have to leave the rest of the achillea lifting for another day. I was losing the light, and I need to see perfectly well to make sure I am uprooting the right plant.

But the gloaming was a perfect time to hack back the brambles that I found in among the other plants.   This entire bank used to be covered in a forest of the damn things; so I should be pleased that I encountered so few when I was pulling off the dead and dying wildflowers.

But one thistle in your thumb is one too many.   I had to grab the gauntlets and really throw myself  at the roots.

More work required there I think, but it looks much neater now.   The eragrostis are the only permanent grasses that will stay on this steep bank; and I’m pleased how well they thrive.

I chanced a look down at my work trousers (Australian moleskins) and they were covered in mud. Seriously grubby.   They are actually drying here indoors as I type and I swear they can stand up on their own.

But there’s no point replacing them or washing them. Tomorrow promises to be another mucky day.