We Were Here ~ ‘Out Of Africa’ Revisited

“I had a farm in Africa at the foot of the Ngong Hills. The Equator runs across these highlands, a hundred miles to the north, and the farm lay at an altitude of over six thousand feet. In the day-time you felt that you had got high up; near to the sun, but the early mornings and evenings were limpid and restful, and the nights were cold.”

Karen Blixen 1932 ‘Out of Africa’

A view of the Ngong Hills from Karen Blixen’s veranda (above). The house (below), now belongs to the National Museums of Kenya. It was built in 1912 by a Swedish settler and engineer, Ake Sjogren, who owned the Swedo-African Coffee Company, and in 1914 sold the house and land to Bror Blixen who hoped to make his fortune from coffee growing. Six hundred of the 6,000 acres bought were planted with coffee bushes, but the enterprise foundered from the start. The site was wrong (too high for coffee). It also took several years for the bushes to bear, during which time, the rains often failed.

“The Mountain of Ngong stretches in a long ridge from north to south and is crowned with four noble peaks like immovable darker blue waves against the sky. It rises eight thousand feet above the sea, and to the east is two thousand feet above the surrounding country, but to the west the drop is deeper and more precipitous – the hills fall vertically down towards the Great Rift Valley.”

Karen Blixen 1932 ‘Out of Africa’

“I had time after time watched the progression across the plain of the giraffe, in their queer, inimitable, vegetative gracefulness as if it were not a herd of animals but a family of rare, long stemmed spackled gigantic flowers slowly advancing. It was, in giant size, the border of a very old, infinitely precious Persian carpet in the dyes of green, yellow and black-brown.”

Karen Blixen 1932 ‘Out of Africa’

“Bror and I came up here for a weekend…It is delightful here – I think Naivasha is a paradise on earth, very like Scotland, with the water and the mountains around the lake, and the air so lovely here”

Karen Blixen July 1917 ‘Letters from Africa’

Naivasha is the only large freshwater lake among Kenya’s several soda lakes. The first commercial flights into Kenya on Imperial Airways, and later BOAC flying boats (1930-1940) landed on Lake Naivasha. Travellers then had a sixty mile road trip to Nairobi.

For a time in 1918 the Blixens lived on the lake shore in a shanty hut made of sheet iron, lined with local papyrus, this while Bror supervised a ploughing contract with his ox teams and steam plough at a settler farm at nearby Longonot.

Longonot is one of the landmark old volcanoes on the Rift Valley floor. In the next photo there’s also a foreground view of Kikuyu shambas, the kind of smallholdings we were surveying for Graham’s smutted Napier Grass research in the late 1990s. More of that story HERE.

On 14th February 1992 I flew to Nairobi, Kenya, intending only on a three month stay. Graham had a short-term consultancy contract, working on controlling the Larger Grain Borer. This was an introduced storage pest, arrived with food aid from the Americas, and was then infesting farm granaries. I was ‘camp following’. (More of this story HERE.)

After that, who knew where we’d be. On my first day in Africa we went to Karen Blixen’s house. It seemed to fit with our own uncertain futures. Eight years later, in January 2000 we finally left Kenya. Much happened in between, and these are a few ageing glimpses from the ‘old Africa album’.

Lens-Artists: Memories This week Tina sets the theme to inspire us. Please see her post.

Six On Saturday: Autumn Fire

This week the back garden is looking pretty dishevelled after some days of stiff winds, but the front garden is holding its own: lots of reds and golds and russets, plus a touch of pale lavender-pink.

The miniature Evereste crab apple is probably the star. Those tiny apples seem to glow.

Behind it, and utterly living up to its name (as well as complementing the crab apple’s colours) is Euphorbia griffithii Fireglow. Quite a blaze, isn’t it.

Calming things down at the back of the border, in front of the privet hedge, is a pale cloud of Symphyotrichum Les Moutiers. This is its first year of flowering and I love its airy looks. Also that the daisies’ yellow centres turn bright russet red when they have been fertilised.

I have another Great Dixter Symphyotrichum in the opposite corner (just glimpsed in the main photo. I’ve lost the label, but I think it’s Laterifolium, also pale lavender and flowering for the first time. For now it’s rather put in the shade behind the Fireglow.

Another fiery feature is the Pheasant’s Tail Grass (Anamenthele lessoniana), now around two years old and continuing to do its own rendition of a Roman Candle.

Several of the summer flowering plants are on the rebound. The evergreen Cotton lavender (Santolina rosmarinifolia) (bottom right) has just produced some new yellow buttons. It’s growing under the crab apple along with a Wisley White Helianthemum (centre) and Kent Beauty origano (far left now very faded):

And finally the Achillea Moonshine is coming out for a third showing (Nandina Obsession with the bright crimson leaves behind)

And that’s it from our Bishop’s Castle garden. Please call in at Garden Ruminations to see what Jim’s been up to.

Six on Saturday 17 October 2026

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.

Tish Farrell

Writer on the Edge