Category: Diary
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A blossoming welcome to The Pond Garden
After a hard winter it is good to see signs of new life. As climate change blows hot and cold, spring feels both fragile and determined. Winter storms destroyed our oldest wild plum tree. But she has left us a promising legacy.
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Here’s to a new season of unruly gardening
Which season are we in, exactly? Looking through old blogposts it’s almost quaint to note how I marked the comforting rhythm of the four seasons. Four seasons? More like two now I often think: winterish and summerish.
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Standing against the storm
Don’t despair, ‘doomism’ prevents action. Get into the garden. Plan and plant for today and tomorrow. That’s where hope grows. But I can’t keep politics out of mine. In an election year we can put pressure on politicians to get their cross-party act together, finally treating climate crisis with proper urgency.
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We’re here for the trees
A sudden fall. Opening the door, I find the ground is littered with leaves: birch, oak, lime, maple, hazel, blackthorn, dogwood… all making a lovely mess on the newly laid paths, helped by foraging black birds, blue tits, and red squirrels. I’m posting an extract from the Scotland Grows article kindly commissioned and published as…
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Mother Country, get it right: Benjamin Zephaniah
It’s very touching to see so many new views of this old post. It’s a tribute to the great humanity of Benjamin Zephaniah who died on Thursday 7 December 2023. His loss is mourned but his poetry lives on. As first published on Sceptical Scot in 2016. [In 2016, on 50th anniversary of Race Relations…
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The warm heart of the Hidden Gardens
“Where would you like to start?” The question, presented with a smile, is a good one. Looking at the map I’ve just been handed there’s plenty temptation. The Hidden Gardens of Kingsbarns offer no fewer than ten gardens open to visitors ready to explore nooks and crannies of this handsome village. But the tantalising trail…
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The Pond Garden in June
Blue skies again. Sunshine sparkling on the pond. A friendly breeze ruffles new leaves and turns the wind turbine merrily. What kind of killjoy would complain about the promise of yet another glorious summer day? It does seem perverse. How often have I moaned about waking to endless cold, wet midsummer days? Now, we open…
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P is for panic in the A-Z of moving house
One day Ray and I will write a book on how not to sell and move house. Timing is all and we seem to have a knack for bad timing.
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Sunset song for the winter solstice
The winter sun just hangs over the ridge of the Coolags. Its setting will seal the shortest day of the year, the winter solstice. At this season the sun is a pale wick between two gulfs of darkness. So wrote George Mackay Brown, the observant eye of the great Orkney poet seeking out the touch…
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Ghosts of census past and present
Just for the hell of it, I hang Granny’s nighties and pretty petticoat by a range which has been here for 160 years, our smart new utility room still boasts the original Belfast sinks from the scullery where Elizabeth Leather would have laboured over dishes, pots and pans. How much of all this will be…
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Keep people safe: keep gardens open
If we want our grandchildren to enjoy the thrill of a thriving woodland – a living landscape – we have a lot of work ahead.
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Origins, borders and vexed questions of identity
Political turmoil throws up uncomfortable questions of identity and belonging