Bishop’s Castle

Today In The November Garden

Here we are, in the second week in November, a time when most herbaceous plants are going to ground. But not so this Cape Lily, aka Hesperantha coccinea ‘Wilfred H Bryant’, caught here in a fleeting burst of morning sunshine. In fact not only is it not retreating, it actually seems to be growing. There are now several lily stems forming graceful arabesques in the wall border; more to come too.

Such an ethereal looking flower with its flush of iced pink. Which this morning then made me wonder about the cultivar name. With no stretch of the imagination does it look like a Wilfred. This thought next led to some internet rummaging. It was a rummage too. All I could discover was that Wilfred was a Somerset grower of cut flowers. The particular cultivar had been identified as novel by his wife, Jennifer Bryant, a flower arranger. When Wilfred died, she chose to give his name to her discovery. A gentle remembrance.

But then it’s not quite so clear cut. In the horticultural trade, Wilfred H. Bryant is also synonymous (deemed to be identical) with Pink Princess. Either way, I’m pleased to see him/her, brightening up overcast days.

Six On Saturday: All Hallows Eve And Garden Upheaval

Today’s my birthday, but more than that, I’m hoping it marks the end of the vile cold-cough we picked up nearly a month ago in Pembrokeshire. So much for going on holiday. But now, with a burst of restored good spirits, havoc is being unleashed in the upstairs (back) garden.

Last week’s big winds anyway blew the climbing beans (Runners, Cosse Violette and Borlotti) inside out, mashing everything on their sticks. Yesterday I started the big dismantling, untangling canes and chopping up stems – my least favourite garden chore. The upside was that there was quite a good harvest of Borlotti beans. As they were still growing until the winds, most of the pods were undried, so I put the beans straight in the freezer. They’re quicker to cook than dried ones.

The Runners, on the other hand, were over by early October. They’d been looking a sight ever since, but having a virus seemed a good excuse for not dealing with them.

Now they are down and chopped the compost bin is full, which in many ways is annoying because I’m planning to move it this winter. I would have done it sooner but its new position requires some pruning of the old apple tree. In the meantime, in hopes of speeding up the rotting down, I made myself cut the stems into very short lengths, and further gave myself notice that regular turning would be needed.

But then when the bin is gone, the easterly edge of the garden will be free for a new planting scheme. I’ve finally accepted that treating our modestly sized garden like my erstwhile allotment is not viable. Not only that, the number of pests that visit us, make for disappointing results. I now have a weekly delivery of a small organic veg and fruit box instead. And next year I will stick to beans, herbs, salad stuff and some soft fruit.

I also want to continue developing the garden so there’s something of interest all the year round, plus an extended flowering window to entice and support beneficial insects.

So with the beans gone and the compost bin scheduled to move, the re-planting began yesterday with my new garden favourite: crab apple Malus toringo Scarlett a tree that also comes in a compact bush format. It arrived on Thursday afternoon in a very big box from Ornamental Trees in North Yorkshire. Oh, the excitement as it emerged so redly and amazingly unscathed by its long journey.

The deep red-purple autumn colour is a particular feature, and in spring it has attractive pink scented blossom, followed by small dark red crab apples. There’s a photo of Malus toringo Scarlett in bloom at this link. I’ve planted it in a re-sited, raised (formerly Borlotti bean) bed to give it some height and also so we can see it from the kitchen.

Now the Borlotti beans are gone, our kitchen view also includes (to the left of Scarlett on the back fence) Aster Ageratoides Ashvi. It is just coming into full flower, this after some weeks of sporadic blooming. What a star she is. Unscathed by the gales, and supposedly keeping the show going into November. Then in the winter there are a mass of white tufty seed heads. Ashvi is fine with dry shade, though there were times during the summer drought when she looked a little stressed, albeit still keeping her upright bushy stance.

And there are more garden stars this week. I have failed with Astrantia in the past, but back in June I bought a couple of bare stems (white flowers) from a local plant sale and popped them in the semi-shaded bed under the kitchen window. As the summer receded they started to bulk up and flower. So then I moved in a struggling ‘Sparkling Stars’ pink version that looked rather weak from all the heat. Now they are ‘shining’ beautifully together.

And finally this week there are the Cosmos. The plants themselves look awful. The big winds tried to blow them out by the roots. Yet still they are flowering and so I am picking them and filling vases around the house. What a lovely autumn gift, even for someone who claims not to think much of pink.

Happy Halloween!

Six on Saturday Please call on Jim. He still has some lovely plants on show in his garden.

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

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.

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.

Eclipsed [Six on Saturday]

On Thursday evening we sat in the garden and watched, through a big dark cloud, a very partial partial eclipse of the sun. The cloud, though, created quite a light show. While this was going on, I took a photo of one of our sunflowers, basking in the unearthly glow.

In fact this crop of self-grown, mostly unattended sunflowers has positively thrived during the long heatwave. I have been removing the dead flowers and putting the heads along the edge of the borders, just in case any wildlife wishes to eat the seeds. I must have done this last year with the ones I grew intentionally. Which explains how this year’s lot came to be. So: who knows what will happen next year – a sunflower forest?

Thriver and SoS no. 2 is the Rudbeckia Herbstsonne. It is growing in the top of a boundary wall beside next door’s garage. The wall is basically a raised bed, and there is probably quite a depth of soil inside it. I never did get to the bottom of it. When we moved into The Gables three years ago it was choked with Hypericum Hidcote that had turned itself into the plant world’s version of chain-link fencing, intermeshed with brambles, and several well grown ash tree saplings. It took a marathon of digging to extract everything.

It is a rather odd spot for gardening. The wall runs from the road to our back garden, aligned east-west. I planted the Rudbeckia at the westerly end, thinking to screen the visibility gap between us and next door. And it works! I’ve not watered it all summer and here it is, complete with Red Admiral butterfly.

Thriver no, 3 is a neat little grass in the front border – Festuca glauca Intense Blue. This bed has had some water, but not much. I like its fountain looks and the way the grass reflects the light (which makes it hard to photograph.)

Number 4 is offered as proof of existence – or maybe circumstantial evidence at best. Here we have raindrops on sorrel leaves. At some point between Thursday night and Friday morning we had a spatter of rain. It fell on various surfaces but none apparently on the soil, which then and now remains dry as dust. The promised rainstorm for Friday afternoon did not happen.

No. 5 is the kind of infestation that comes with stressed plants and stressful conditions. The ants have set up aphid factories all over the garden, but especially in unsightly encrustations along the stems of otherwise lovely claret cosmos. The Dyer’s Chamomile is also a desirable location, as is the Montbretia. I’ve tried spraying with slightly soapy water, and gently wiping off by hand, but one ends up causing more damage to the flowers as well creating blackfly soup. And anyway, the ants only come and set up business again as soon as my back is turned.

But back to the good garden moments this week – a new blue butterfly spotted on the Korean Mint (Agastache). It’s a male Common Blue, wingspan about 3 cm. Exquisite.

Six on Saturday: The hot dry weeks may be taking their toll, but there are still some wonderful plants in Jim’s Cornish garden

Over The Top In Bishop’s Castle

To see out of our town, you need to climb. Then climb and climb again. The place was built on a steep incline below an even sharper eminence, upon which there once towered an impressive castle. Down below are flood plains girdled by hills, among them, on our easterly flank, the seven-mile ridge of the Long Mynd. Then looking north to west, scanning the England-Wales borderland are the Stiperstones, Heath Mynd, Corndon, Lan Fawr, Roundton and Todleth to name a few.

If you toil up the High Street to the Town Hall (and it is a trudge), you can stop just here to catch your breath, then look back to glimpse, over aging rooftops, the southerly hills. They have names like Colebatch and Sunny and Clunton.

Beyond the Town Hall there’s respite, and a flat stretch along Welsh Street, but here you are enclosed once more by houses. If you want a good view at the top of the town you must take the hollow way up Wintles hill.

This green lane rises steeply too. If you take it too fast it can have you conjuring the ghosts of Welsh drovers, those tough men who for centuries brought their sheep and cattle herds out of Wales, taking byways such as these on the long, slow march to the markets of England’s West Midlands. The well known routes were way marked with Scots pines, their presence signalling safe overnight shelter for men and beasts; the presence of a good inn and good water for the herds. There are still remnant pine spinneys at points around the town and across old drovers’ territory.

At the top of the green lane there’s a field gate and stile. When we came up here a fortnight ago, we had to sit down before facing the next climb. It was a hot afternoon, which was one excuse, but mostly it was down to our Wintles legs being out of training. We’d not been up here since April.

In places, the hill is so steep, I find myself resorting to all fours. But it’s a good excuse to stop and take photos, first of the Long Mynd…

…then of the town, scanning it for landmarks…spotting the parish church with the sun on its tower…

But this isn’t the reason I come up here.

This is:

…the hilltop field that overlooks the Welsh borderland.

And never mind the climb, this sight always takes my breath away – the beauty of these uplands.

And yet this year the land lies parched, the wheat cut two months early, and with talk in different parts of England of disastrous barley and oats yields. Which, of course, means reduced income for many over-stretched farmers, plus less locally produced food. On the other hand, some farmers (e.g. in the Cotswolds) have, despite the drought, produced excellent wheat crops with full bodied grains. Much depends on varieties grown. Other farmers say the hot weather has meant no need to treat crops for yellow rust, the bane of wheat growers, and that this has been a welcome saving.

But then we look at the state of the grass and think there’s livestock to feed. What about that? Many smaller farms, especially in Shropshire are medium size and mixed: i.e. arable and dairy and/or livestock rearing. The marginal land of the upland farms is anyway only suitable for rearing sheep. And while the sheep on Wintles hill look content enough, some UK farmers say their cattle are already eating their stores of winter forage. Worrying times, then, for some.

The baked grasslands have me thinking of another life, and another land we lived in for seven years. In Kenya rain comes in two seasons: the short rains October to December, and the long rains March to May, which adds up to six month stretches without rain in some locations. I wonder how we would cope with this weather regime.

In areas like lowland Ukambani on the semi-arid plains south of Nairobi (Makueni County) even these rains are often poor or absent. And yet the farming cycle continues. Between 75-80% of the nation’s food is produced by women smallholders, and in a country where only 15% of the land is suitable for agriculture. This makes me think too. I remember reading of a young Akamba farmer whose fruit trees were flourishing in rainless times back in the early nineties. Not only had he planted in them in deep holes (a common local method for efficient hand-watering) but he had mulched the roots with layers of the volcanic clinker that lay about his fields. The morning dew, he said, percolated through the dry rubble.

Dry season pasture in semi-arid Makueni County (and an over-the-Rift view of Kilimanjaro on the Tanzanian border

There are ways and means to deal with harsh weather events. There are certainly practises that have been forgotten when it comes to land and stock management. In the Welsh borderlands, for instance, it was usual to overwinter stock, and especially horses vital for transport and farm work, on gorse. This sprawling shrubby plant grows rampantly across the UK. If we think of it at all now, we probably consider it a weed, albeit with striking yellow blossom loved by bees. In the past it was also sown as part of crop rotation systems to fix nitrogen. The plant itself has high protein content, and an acre of crushed vegetation was said to keep six horses fed for four months. Also, gorse flowers all year, sweet-smelling blossom that horses like to browse.

Gorse meadows below the Stiperstones

Evergreen holly was another winter foodstuff, and in the past, farmers maintained sturdy holly hedges along their field boundaries. Good as windbreaks too.

It seems we need to relearn the land: understand the effects of how we’ve treated it since the last world wars; think about the water table and aquifers and water course management. We may need to look back further still. There were times, from at least the Middle Ages, when water courses were managed in order to flood fields at winter’s end, keep off the frost and so produce early spring grass crops. There were a range of methods, from simple damming, to the management of engineered irrigation channels, also used for watering grass in dry periods, their operation overseen by local experts known as drowners. The deposits of river silt also fed the land.

For anyone who wants to know about Water Meadows, go HERE. It’s a fascinating technology.

And now this post has truly gone over the top. Here in Bishop’s Castle we’re in for another 30+ degree C day. For anyone who is presently overheating, perhaps some cooling views from Wintles top would be welcome:

Roundton Hill from the dewpond, another piece of age-old water management.

A popular footpath over the top of Wintles Hill

Lens-Artists: Over the top – this week with Egidio setting the theme.

Tish Farrell

Writer on the Edge