This morning at 8 a.m. the front garden had drowsing looks, the borders brimming with sun and bee-hum. For the first time I noticed that the pheasant’s tail grass, (Anemanthele lessoniana) had put out long and lovely flower stems. Such delicate structures. They caught the light, like the glint of spider’s webs.

I also noticed that the Artemisia Powys Castle was looking rather fine after a very slow start. The Echinops, too, in front of the living room window, had sprung up tall. Last year it was blighted by aphids, but now the flowers are at nose-height and full of bees.

But there’s a sense that something has changed. The sun is hot, rebounding off our red-brick house, and yet there’s the strangest chill too, as if a tranche of Arctic air has just floated in. For a brief time a huge black cloud loomed over the town. It made me think of rain, but actually it looked more like snow. Curiouser and curiouser. Anyway, it was soon gone, leaving us with sunshine and a brisk, cool wind.

Earlier in the week I was feeling fed up with the garden – not only with the heat and drought effects, but also with my general gardening M.O. Too much randomness and ad hocism, so much short termism. Where was the overall plan? I was also especially cross to find that many of our young apples were already spoiled. I pointed out the damage to the man in our house, he who builds sheds and car ports that aren’t car ports and is presently engaged in constructing a work table from his extensive collection of waste-wood. Summoned from shed and power saw, he duly dusted off his plant pathologist’s hat, and informed me that the Christmas Pearmains and Red Devils have been zapped by codling moths. Nothing can be done about it, says he. Hmph and double hmph.

But then there’s always something to be pleased with in the garden, once you start looking. It was then I noticed how well the Agastache AKA Korean Mint was doing. It is another of my happenstance plantings. I grew the original plants from seed two years ago. They were vigorous specimens while they lasted, and although they did not survive the cold, wet winter, they did leave the makings of many, if discreetly settled, offspring. There’s one monster growing beside the greenhouse. I think it stole all the rhubarb’s muck, leaving the rhubarb to wither away.

Other seeded plants are growing well in what, to me, seem most inhospitable spots, including between the cement front path and border wall. Here one example is keeping company with a similarly seeded lavender. Bees and butterflies love this plant, and I can see why. I’ve been cropping and chopping some of the tender flowering side shoots and adding them to salads. Agastache also comes in many pleasing colours…so there’s a thought…

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Given the heat and drought, I’ve been surprised to have had some success with plants that I actually meant to grow from seed this spring. Just now making its presence felt is Dyer’s Chamomile (Anthemis Tinctoria). It is one of the most cheerful high-summer plants, and especially now as much of the garden colour is on the fade. I have it in various places, including a pot with some snapdragons and small hover flies on the back garden steps.

The bushiest clump is sharing the corner raised bed with a few butter beans, a courgette and self-grown sunflower. The above photo also includes the male blackbird. It stalks me in a slightly creepy manner, and when I’m not in the garden, spends its time tossing mulch out of the borders. We have had words.

But my star plant of the week is Lemon Bee Balm (Monarda Citriodora). The ones I’ve grown are still pretty small. I’d not been paying them much attention, beyond keeping them alive, and only yesterday did I consult the growing info that told me I should have pinched out the tops several times, and not just once, i.e. if I wanted them to bush out.

And now that I see their flowers, I long for them to be bigger and better AT ONCE. What fascinating floral structures they have, even by monarda standards. (As ever, note to self: read all the instructions).

When I did finally get to them, the growing instructions also told me that this plant is known to attract humming birds. Now how wonderfully fantastical would that be. And do you know – I think they just might…

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Copyright 2026 Tish Farrell

Six on Saturday This week a scarlet zinnia and deep blue agapanthus are among the stars in Jim’s garden domain.