Nicolas is out there reducing our thigh high weeds to zilch.
It’s way too hot for such work. But this date has been in the diary for ages and it’s his only free day for cutting the grass.
And bless him; he will cut the entire bank down to below ankle height; but he always leaves his favourite wildflowers – Achillea, St John’s wort, hollyhocks, and some fetching annual grasses. I have no idea how he can spot anything when there is such a jungle.
I managed valiantly for almost three hours before my back started pinging with sciatica from the constant raking twisting movement. And I was expiring from the heat.
But before 7am I realized I could photograph more of the roses around the farm in the perfect morning light.
You can see the rambling rose better now that it has been freed from its strangling weeds. I must go up some time and see if the rose has any scent.
I was leaning into the bed to photograph the poppies that self seed like mad all over my potager, and realized there were whoppers lurking under the foliage. Whopper poppies and forgotten broad beans. Time to pick.
Except there is no time to pick. It’s hot. And the window of opportunity is early or late and nothing in between And my early was faffing about with the camera and the cat and gleefully waiting for help with the weeds.
Maybe tonight. After 9pm.