And somehow, yet again, everything came into bloom. Everything at once, so here I am celebrating the cultivated and the pristine. Sometimes the owners of land, property and gardens allow access, but Colclough Garden in Tintern Abbey County Wexford, is owned by us. This walled garden was . . .
It is summer. Maybe it rains a bit too much, maybe it's been too cold to swim recently. But the flowering in the wild garden goes on regardless. "Weeds" as they are sometimes called, wrap themselves around bushes and bulbs. The whole exuberant over the top lushness of it will be short . . .
He is not a popular visitor for most soft fruit growers. As always the debt of gratitude I owe to my only photographic models outweighs the loss of any blackcurrants or strawberries that may have taken place during this shoot. I adore working with him, and surely he knows . . .
We inhaled the scent of herbs on the soft balmy air. Occasional yelps of joy bounced across the lake as youngsters leapt into the water from the dodgy bough that leans out over the deeper water. The Irish feel such deep relaxation in our bodies when the temperatures soar. So we . . .
We had far too many and the plan was to make a liqueur. Blackcurrants make a wonderful boozy drink called Cassis, perfect for Christmas, when it should be ready for drinking. KIR Royale, a mixture of Cassis and Champagne will never EVER be forgotten, once tasted. It's the perfect . . .
"You only have to let the soft animal of your body love what it loves" from the Wild Geese by Mary Oliver With thanks to Grace . . .
So the rain continued to bucket down all through July and alongside the accompanying sea mist, a kind of fog settled on . . .
Had a look out in the undergrowth after recent stormy and wet weather and was so happy to find a summery pair, and it seemed as if each of them looked me straight in the eye! Were they aware of my presence? I like to think so....... . . .
I know the neighbours despair of my nettle border and my overwhelming gorse mountain but I can't resist including them all in my mixed up wild, cultivated garden. There are so many parts of the country where the verges and the hedgerows are devoid of life. . . .