Sunday, 26 April 2015

Perch Hill in all it's glory

I have lost count of the number of times I have dragged you around Perch Hill with me. 
Sorry about that but, in my defence, it is never the same! 
The garden evolves and develops each year and I for one am always delighted by either some tiny new detail or the larger landscaping projects. 
I love the subtle changes to The Oast Garden, the tulip combinations in the Long Toms are, this year my favourite ever.
The new rose garden, situated in the old courtyard where the cold frames and a wonderful old wisteria lived is fantastic, and to see it mature over the coming seasons will be a joy.
Shall we have a wander?

I could write reams and reams but somehow feel you wouldn't be any better informed than you are for looking. I will add one thing...I am happy to report the old wisteria I mentioned, has been dug out and replanted, I have it on very good authority!
The next open day is Saturday 30th May, more details here .


Tuesday, 14 April 2015

Drinking in the morning sun...

...Blinking in the morning sun...
The light, pure, slaking around the angles of the house and bursting through the window panes...theatrically lighting the kitchen.
I stand, transfixed looking at the detail and the shadows.
As the minutes tick past, so the spotlight shifts elsewhere...

Tea and sunshine...perfect morning matter what is broken, you have a sense it can be mended.


Wednesday, 1 April 2015

Egging me on!

 These newly lighter, longer evenings are wreaking havoc with the dinner arrangements here Down the Lane. I can't come inside...just need to finish wrestling with this ridiculously rambling rose. Three evenings in a row I have stubbornly stood, back to the Westerly Biter, dead heading ancient hydrangea bushes whilst slowly losing the feeling in my fingers. Three evenings in a row we have eaten a boiled egg for dinner!

 It feels so extraordinarily good to see flowers again! So much is waking up every day now, blink and you miss something going from tight bud to blossom or leaf. The house is clad in all sorts of inherited wonders, I am finally able to anticipate, knowing the rhythm of the seasons here on our hill better each passing year. 

The house is swathed by a beech hedge scarf. I love the stubborn faded leaves, dry and rustling in the wind. Often still refusing the new buds long after the cow parsley lace has opened. The bank under hedge, roadside, is studded with yellow primrose stars and purple vinca that has made a break for wildom under the hedge and down the lane.
I don't know why, but I like daffodils at Easter. If Easter is late or Spring is early and the two do not coincide I feel strangely cheated.This year all is well, the daffs huddling around the trunks of trees and decorating the fence line are chiming on kew!

 I am writing this and thinking about all the patterns implied by the shadows and the limited palette...
 ..speaking of shadows, being blown about by an April gust!