Where Does It Lead?

Paths are mysterious things, tracks through time and space, spanning decades, centuries, millennia; the footworn proof of repeat passing.

This first path runs along the top of Wenlock Edge, a twenty mile limestone ridge that crosses from east into south Shropshire. These days it is a popular resort for recreational walkers, but the route itself is probably thousands of years old, used by prehistoric traders who travelled the county’s less wooded uplands into Wales. The traded goods included finely worked stone axes of the Neolithic era, 5-6,000 years ago. Later, itinerant smiths (and seeming recylcers of damaged metal ware, including fine cast arrow- and spearheads of the Bronze Age) came this way.

This second path is of more recent origins despite the sepia looks. It marks a segment of the Severn Valley Railway, opened through Much Wenlock in the late 1860s and closed in the 1960s. Now the original track bed is much colonised by ash and hazel and ivy, kept in check by the county footpath wardens. It’s hard to conjure the steam trains that once came roaring through here, bound for the Wenlock Edge quarries to take on truckloads of limestone, the flux needed for South Wales’ steel making.

And then there’s that other ghost train, the festive Great Western special that every July brought thousands of people from far and wide to watch (and take part in) the Much Wenlock Olympian Games. Back then, this still popular annual event) comprised many and varied sporting activities, devised by the town’s doctor, William Penny Brookes to foster good health and wellbeing among ordinary folk. His activism did not stop at health either. There were livelihoods to improve too, so he also fought for the line extension that brought the railway to Much Wenlock.

Over the years we lived in Wenlock this was a favourite place to wander, and in every season.

And so paths like these extend in ever more dimensions: of imagination; of history; of recollection and memory; of the telling of tales.

Lens-Artists: Where does it lead? This week Egidio sets the theme with an enticing gallery of photos. Go see!

Six On Saturday ~ Summer into Autumn

Asters, Symphyotrichums, Michaelmas Daisies, whatever you call them, they’re a cheering sight as summer ends. I even overlook my inkling to dislike the pinkish-purple shades that so many versions come in. I much prefer the mauve range. Anyway, here’s another good reason to grow them: bee food. Now’s the time honey bees are stoking up reserves to get them through winter.

And talking of mauve asters, the Monch in the corner of the garden (which I’ve mentioned before) is still going strong. The flowers may have paled, but they’re still coming – three and half months after the first opening.

Growing beside Monch is a single stem of an unknown aster. I’d rescued it from somewhere else in the garden, where it was the only surviving sprout of a failed purchase, its label vanished. For once, I’m rather pleased with its pinkness, and the large size of the flowers. Some further nurturing required.

Other bright sparks include Anemone Dahlia Inca which is now on its third flush. It’s definitely putting its neighbour, the Bishop of Llandaff to shame. That particular Dahlia did not like the summer heat one bit. Its first flowers only started opening this week, sporadic, very small and deeply unimpressive for a bishop.

And then there are the Tagetes – French Marigold Brocade which is in the same big tub as the Bishop and more than making up for his deficiencies…

…and a ground cover, tiny flowered Signet Marigold, called Red Gem (Tagetes tenuifolia). I grew both marigolds from seed but the Red Gem struggled during the heat, being shallow rooted. In recent weeks, though, it’s been blazing away in a rather garish setting with a mauve aster. An unintended pairing at the time of planting.

Our dwarf Red Devil apple tree finally managed to produce three apples that don’t look to have been codling mothed. We ate the biggest one this week. It was perfect – deliciously sweet and crunchy. A shame about the infestation.

In the vegetable department, the runner beans suddenly revived themselves and produced further modest crops, sufficient to make a few pots of chutney. But now it looks as if they will be overtaken by the Borlotti beans. I hadn’t been holding out much hope for them. The plants did not develop well during the drought, this despite regular watering. And then they went and made a huge amount of foliage so I couldn’t really see what was going on underneath. But now, as the leaves dry and blow away, all is being revealed. I love them for their fiery pods alone.

And finally, an image to mark the seasonal change: a sunflower in our dwarf pear tree: summer and autumn together.

Six on Saturday 10 October 26: Please call in on Jim to see what’s happening in his lovely Cornish garden this week. For one thing, he has some stunning Nerines.

Sunday’s Sunset Garden

So autumn begins, and yet summer lingers. We’ve just returned from a last minute trip – a week by the sea in Pembrokeshire. It was surprisingly summery and warm there too, despite strong winds, but it must have been warmer still in Bishop’s Castle. We came home to a garden full of flowers: Asters, Cosmos, Rudbeckia, Japanese Anemones, Roses, Morning Glories, Sedums, Bee Balm, and Sunflowers. And a fine welcome it was too, though I must confess to a pang of gardener’s disgruntlement: see what the garden gets up to when left to its own devices, when I’m not here to interfere tend it.

When It All Comes Together…

Making a connection: people and place. And all without a cell phone…

Lens-Artists: Harmony

A Morning Glory Morning

This morning, when I opened the kitchen door, autumn blew in. So much so, we decided on porridge for breakfast. When I stuck my nose out for the second time, I had to admit that it’s not actually cold outside, although the wind can be sharp. Also, the grey sky and drizzle don’t do much to ease that end-of-summer-back-to-school feeling.

But then I spot the Morning Glories.

Today, all the seedling plantlets in the upstairs garden had decided to flower. I’d planted them out in June – among the runner beans, with the sweet peas, beside the miniature pear and apple trees, but they didn’t grow during the hot, dry months. They’ve not grown much now, and some are flowering on the ground, but never mind. It’s fun spotting them. They seem so vital and vibrant when most of the showy flowers are done or winding down.

There’s also a small constellation on show – a scatter of bright white pollen grains that seem to be luminous. Even the flower’s inner recesses appear to emit light; no sunshine required.

Six On Saturday ~ Late Summer Hurrah

The second week in September and here in South Shropshire there’s much change in the weather. As I’ve been writing this, we’ve had sunshine, racing white clouds across a blue, blue sky, a high, hot wind, sudden overcastness, a downpour, and now cloudy sunshine with less wind. Yes, it feels more like autumn now.

And come what may the Helianthus keeps up the show. This particular clump is growing on a rather dismal block wall between our log store and next door’s garage. I’ve mentioned this space before, because I’m still not sure what is best for it. On the other hand it’s hard to beat this long standing, upstanding display; it’s been happening for weeks now, and everyone walking up the road can enjoy it. Drought, what drought, they say.

Meanwhile, out back in the upstairs garden, the Sedum (Hylotelephium probably spectabile) …

…has abandoned the heat-stricken, hysterical looks it displayed back in July-August and settled into the usual pleasing, and softly scented landing pads for late-season insect feeding. It is a key plant in this regard, the nectar giving bees a good energy boost before hibernation. And then the overwintering dead heads can also provide shelter for insects and seeds for birds. But before all that, the gardener has the pleasure of some late season colour. (Note to self: more Sedums needed).

Another late summer star and important food source for pollinators is Caryopteris (Gold Crest above, Heavenly Blue below). It’s just coming into full flower. The blue spires are glorious, but Heavenly Blue, in particular, is scrubby greyish-leaved shrub for much of the year. Through the summer I have to keep reminding myself how lovely it looks in September. The Gold Crest, which is growing in front of the greenhouse (and has gold-green foliage) seems the more attractive option when it comes to keeping its shape. I have followed early spring pruning instructions for the Heavenly Blue, but it still grows into a riot of twiggy branches, and in most unexpected directions. This year it has decided to do most of its flowering in a westerly direction, where we mostly can’t see it unless we walk behind it. Perhaps I need to take cuttings and start again from scratch.

Now with the cooler, wetter weather, the Cosmos has also decided to flower with intent. I grew a couple of dozen plants from seed, mostly packet ends. All through the heatwave, a few of them flowered, while others simply grew and grew, creating tall clumps of flowerless greenery so dense I had to pull off many side stems because they were crowding out other plants. I almost pulled them up altogether. Now they are a mass of buds and flowering like mad, though I’m glad I thinned them out.

I’m not really a pink person, but I’m quite pleased with the ‘pink corner’ in the top-of-the-back-wall border. This includes the above mentioned Sedum, assorted Cosmos, and the Monarda Citriodera, which I also grew from seed this spring. I featured it back in the heatwave, amazed that seedling plants could stand up to the roasting.

And here they are, still going strong, almost as if they are locked into blooming-mode, like little growing pagodas, one exquisite floral structure giving rise to another.

I gather that this wild form of Monarda/Bergamot/Bee Balm is a short-lived perennial, and mostly grown as a biennial or annual. I’m anyway wondering if, after weeks and weeks of flowering, they will prove to have exhausted themselves. We shall see. Anyway, I still have some seed, maybe try sowing some now.

And talking of long bloomers, I have to give another shout-out to Aster x frikartii Monch. It looks wonderful now, and it’s looked wonderful all summer, growing in dappled sun between the butter beans and the runners. This is a totally undemanding plant. It leans but doesn’t particularly need supporting. I’ve seen no sign of mildewed leaves. And what a host of happy faces as seen this morning.

Whether it’s your spring or autumn, always lots to do. Happy gardening!

Six On Saturday This week Jim has some very beautiful plants on show. Go see!

Six On Saturday ~ Tales Of The Unexpected

Runner Bean Re-run?

Even though I was keeping the row well watered, and had earlier dosed plants with seaweed feed, the runner beans went on strike for most of August. It didn’t help that the sparrows were using them as an afternoon playground, rampaging through the stems. When I consulted the Royal Society of Horticulture website it told me that sparrows like to peck at the flowers, deforming the structures and making it difficult for pollinating insects to gain access. So much for feeding the little dears all winter.

But now, with the rain and cool temperatures, the runners are a jungle on sticks. We even had a handful of good sized beans this week, and there are signs among the returning flowers of tiny beanlets. But will they have time to develop? Who knows?

Not quite Uchiki Kuri

I kept some seeds from last year’s Uchiki Kuri Japanese squash. I only produced two. The fruits were very bright orange and oval as they should be. Not so their offspring, sown in late spring, one each from two separate plants.

A Perfect Red Devil?

We thought all the apples on our miniature Red Devil tree had been zapped by codling moths. After the July drop there are four left, this one the least scathed and best developed. But would it entice Snow White?

Some strange sunflowers

The sunflower flock that arose from last year’s dropped seed is still going strong. It also includes several forms that I don’t recall growing in the first place, and one with multiple flowers growing up the stalk which is distinctly odd. The tallest, we reckon, is about 3 metres. I have it tethered to the obelisk where we had the sweet peas, whence it looms down at us. I’ve already dead-headed it once. That took some doing with a pair of tree loppers.

No, this definitely isn’t a Selinum seedling

I distinctly remember saving some seed from the Selinum in the upstairs garden. All through the winter there was a pot of seeds on the kitchen shelf. Definitely umbelliferous in looks. Must be the Selinum. In the spring I sowed them in modules in the greenhouse and for a long time nothing happened. And then it did, and I couldn’t think what on earth I had grown. Not the feathery leaflets expected, something altogether more fleshy and pointy. What on earth…?

For a time I wondered if they were Rudbeckia, suddenly making an appearance after what I thought to be a failed sowing back in the autumn. This rather made up for them not being Selinum so I let them grow on, and eventually planted out half a dozen in various spots around the garden. They survived the drought, but didn’t expand much.

Cut to a visit to Wildegoose Walled Garden and Nursery, as featured here in last weeks SoS. I came away with a young Patrinia Monandra plant. (Some may be aware that I have a thing about Patrinia, first met with at Wildegoose during one of their rare winter opening weekends. It is tall, graceful, discreetly clumping and flowers into November when the seedheads then reflect any late autumn sunlight.)

I already have two Patrinia Punctifolia, bought last year from Great Dixter nursery (one of which I nearly killed this summer in my careless feeding of a nearby plant). But the survivor is currently flowering beautifully. And still the penny did not drop.

You could say it was a ‘be careful what you wish for’ moment, although in this case I would delighted to have a garden with lots of Patrinia. And so now I do. The seed I’d saved must have come from a handful snaffled from the winter visit to Wildegoose. Suddenly I saw the plants I had grown and the one I’d bought looked – well- identical. Probably the Monandra version then.

Patrinia as seen at Wildegoose in late August, just beginning to flower.

Heaven knows what happened to the Selinum seeds. Try again this year.

An unexpectedly pleasing delivery

There are some lovely plantspeople selling on-line. And so trawling the net in search of yet another plant seen at Wildegoose, but one which they don’t appear to sell, or haven’t in stock, I discovered Solidago Golden Dwarf at Crossgate Nursery in Cornwall. Here it is just after arrival. The plants had been carefully folded to preserve the stems that are just about to flower. I expect they’ll straighten out. But anyway, here it is in the front garden. There are several ‘dwarf’ varieties I now discover, ones that don’t get out of hand and flop, and also have more lemony coloured flowers.

Here’s another repeat photo from the Wildegoose visit where I spotted a spread of lemony, just-out solidago with some Persicaria.

A good week then, all in all. And rain and sun too. Happy gardening, folks.

Six on Saturday It’s a wise gardener who labels their seed envelopes. Please visit Jim for more garden doings and some fabulous coleus.

The Changing Seasons ~ This Was August ‘26

August in Shropshire, and for much of the month the dry and sunny days rolled on. After weeks without rain, the fields around the town looked like this – ochre shades and smoothly crop-shorn.

Meanwhile, in the garden the sunflowers put on the biggest show – volunteers and perennials alike…

…and the borders did their best, especially the areas that been well mulched…

We had some welcome visitors…

One evening we sat out on the lawn and almost saw the partial eclipse. The sunflowers almost saw it too.

And on another evening we walked up Wintles Hill to look for blackberries…

… and found enough to make two jars of bramble jelly. In fact this year the blackberries are being magnificent – sweet and fat and juicy. They haven’t minded the drought. The hedgerows are hanging in fruit. More forays to come, methinks.

We grew adventurous one day and drove all of 18 miles from Bishop’s Castle to Munslow in Corvedale to have lunch in the walled garden at Wildegoose Nursery. It was a good opportunity to see which of their plants had been surviving the hot and rainless summer. It all looked very lovely…

And we also paid our old home town of Much Wenlock a visit. There were mixed feelings revisiting the Linden Walk, and climbing Windmill Hill to look at the once familiar view, and to say hello to the latest generation of Highland cattle in the Cutlins meadow…

And then at last IT RAINED…

The Changing Seasons: Aug 2026 Please call in on hosts Ju-Lyn at Touring My Backyard and Brian at Bushboys World. As ever, Ju-Lyn has been a whizz in the kitchen and at the keyboard too. And Brian has fabulous bird- and wildlife on show.

WildeGoose ~ Still Beauty In The Dry Garden

There’s not much happening in the home garden this week, but wonder of wonders, we have some serious rain. After two months standing empty, the water butts are brimming, and every watering can is full. And so comes the dilemma: lots of rain still coming and nowhere to store the excess; nor any need to use it outside the greenhouse. At least for the next week.

Anyway, this still has me thinking about cultivating a more drought-resilient garden, and so prompted by last week’s return visit to the Wildegoose walled garden (last seen in late June),and see how the nursery’s extensive herbaceous-ornamental grass borders have fared without rain.

I should perhaps explain that Wildegoose (location in Munslow in South Shropshire’s Corve Valley) is both a specialist nursery (for violas in particular) and is also a garden attraction in its own right, complete with a very pleasing cafe that makes use of the kitchen garden’s fruit and vegetables.

This leaves a very large portion of the walled garden which is given over to herbaceous plants and ornamental grasses (especially Calamagrostis and Miscanthus species), with different areas framed by paths, sections of hedging, some statement shrubs and small trees. There is also a fabulously restored Georgian glasshouse.

With such big spaces to cultivate, the schemes have been devised with much emphasis on height and visual structure. Plants are left to go to seed over the winter, with the further objective of tracking particular plant responses to weather extremes.

N.B. These areas are not watered during the growing season.

When we arrived a week ago (21 August) it was clear some plants had truly suffered. All the phlox, for instance, had been cut down. But there were also many picturesque, dried-on-the-stem ornamentals like the teasels in the header photo. Gone-over eryngiums of several varieties also added to the general look of scenic desiccation. Likewise the seed heads of many varieties of allium (especially Drumsticks), dark rusty spires of foxgloves and the tall wafting stems of giant yellow scabious Cephalaria dipsacoides. And then there were the many grasses, short and tall. All added to the gentle soundscape of breeze-in-the- leaves.

As we wandered up and down the paths, the dead-head coronets of Echinacea Leilani (1) caught my eye. Such smouldering looks in decay.

But it was the surviving and thriving that most interested me. In one quarter of the garden several Gaura were looking especially wonderful, outspread graceful stems of airy blossom, with nearby clumps of evening primroses and tall euphorbias that had clearly been putting on a good show, some flowers still remaining. Then there were the Verbenas, especially, bonariensis and hastata, and the Rudbeckias maxima and fulgida still going strong.

Unsurprisingly, many thrivers had Mediterranean origins. One, in particular, the umbelliferous Patrinia (2), particularly stood out and up among the grasses. It has been allowed to self-seed throughout the garden, the stems stately and self-supporting, some flowerheads a sprightly apple green (also see header photo), others going over in a haze of pale gold.

Here it is keeping company with some very crispy sea holly:

Other happy plants included various members of the origanum family. I succumbed to a pot of Oreganum Gentle Breeze (3) on the basis that you can’t have too different varieties, and they work well in a small garden.

Gentle Breeze appears to be a later flowering variety and was still a mass of dark purple buds.

And then there were the Achilleas (4) – Filipendula Cloth of Gold drying nicely beside the vegetable garden…

…and then the very creamy faced, in her prime, Hella Glashoff…

…seen growing alongside some flourishing Asters, probably thomsonii or x. frikartii Monch (5):

But the over-all winner for its vibrant colour and seeming late summer staying power has to be the Persicaria/Bistorta amplexicaulis (6). There were at least two varieties, the most striking probably the Amethyst. I think this is it in the next photo, shown to great advantage with a backdrop of just-opening golden rod (probably Little Lemon). What a glorious late summer combination.

And to finish, another longer view. These particular borders are very well mulched:

Six on Saturday Over at Garden Ruminations Jim is assessing the good and bad of Cornwall’s rainless summer. But the best news is: he has hedgehogs!

On The Horizon

Winter sea off Port Wrinkle, Cornwall

This week at Leanne’s Monochrome Madness, host Dawn from The Day After asks us to post HORIZONS. The photos here were taken in the Dynamic Monochrome setting of my erstwhile point-and-shoot Lumix Panasonic.

December on Llanddwyn Island, Anglesey

Mawddach Estuary, Wales – two horizons in one

Hikers on the Stiperstones, South Shropshire hills

I gave this final photo a sepia look: the black and white contrast seemed too harsh, but that’s all I did to it. Where did the sky go? A case of a lost horizon? All in all, a rather strange photo, but then the Stiperstones ridge top is a very strange place…

Tish Farrell

Writer on the Edge