June notes

We missed the Strawberry Moon.

I tried to find it in the evening, and pulled the curtains back just before getting into bed that night, but I couldn’t see anything. Maybe I was looking in the wrong direction, towards the east, or maybe it was hiding behind the clouds.

Still: it’s June, summer, and we have plenty more seasonal delights to savour.

The weather’s doing that thing of swinging between hot, still days and cool, breezy ones when I take windy walks with my camera. The four heifers in the field out the back (who were prone to escaping) have been replaced by two ruminative dairy cows and a herd of rare breed sheep. Swallows are swooping and diving, stopping to rest momentarily on the telegraph wires.

There are foxgloves everywhere: growing out of walls, lining the farm tracks and footpaths. And roses. I have a weakness for apricot-hued roses, deeply scented ones. Valerian’s fringing the roads - shades of violet and carmine singing out against grey stone and flaxen grasses.

Creamy elderflowers smother the trees, clusters of tiny blooms. Poppies are already letting go of their tissue-paper petals, revealing fat glaucous globes filled with seeds. And the shallow edges of the reservoir on the moor are teeming with tadpoles.

Our little midsummer gathering in the garden is happening in just over a week. We’ll buy food in; I don’t see the point of panicking over baking cakes and breads, and preparing complicated sophisticated salads. We’ll be busy enough sorting out lighting and places to sit, and making sure Axl the kitten can’t get outside…

The shed’s currently being insulated and clad with old pallet wood inside. And we’re picking ‘handful harvests’ from our tiny plot: radishes and fresh herbs, with strawberries ripening fast and chard growing steadily in the sunshine and showers. I’ve been feeding the pumpkins and gourds and am hoping for a decent show in the autumn.

Speaking of shows, it’s the village fete tomorrow. We’ll probably have a wander over there to have a look at the tents and sample some cakes, and support the local effort.

On Sunday we’re thinking of heading to a family friend’s plant nursery in Cheshire. We always leave with a car full of plants - the garden is in need of some colour now the alliums and geums are finished - so pots of annuals will brighten things up.

There are plans for another trip. A short city break somewhere in Europe (we’ve yet to decide exactly where). We’re timing it to coincide with the end of the summer holidays and Joe’s thirteenth birthday. We’ll research it and book flights before next week.

And - I’m thinking September or October - maybe an overnight stay in York. A bit of a cultural visit, possibly on my own. Bookshops and autumn markets, walks through the parks and gardens. Coffee. Cake.

We had no electricity yesterday. It was scheduled; the power company were replacing something that had been damaged by the weather. But if you’re going to be (literally) unplugged for a day, June’s a good time. It’s warm, and light until 10pm, and you can go outside to poke about in the flower beds.

So I had a slow day taking care of a few things in the garden, finding some new recipes from my cookbooks, meal planning, going and doing the food shopping, changing beds. And I read for a little while - but more on that in another post (Reading Notes is on its way)…

It’s been a nice month so far. Meeting up with friends for lunch (and sitting out in the garden, and getting deep and philosophical around the kitchen table eating pastéis de nata). Enjoying good food (Jersey Royals slick with butter, vanilla slices with a thick layer of trembling custard inside). Enjoying TV shows, like Department Q and Nine Perfect Strangers, and Death Valley.

And now we’re at the weekend. I intend to find time to ‘stop and stare’ after reading some Instagram or Pinterest quote. It was a jokey one: that, as adults, we repeat ad infinitum ‘Things’ll hopefully slow down a bit next week.’

And I wonder how much of that is unavoidable and how much is down to being too flexible with my boundaries, letting things fill in gaps that should be protected as breathing spaces.

Which is why, this week, I’m not going to be baking a cheesecake or preparing time-consuming ‘party food’. We’ll have simple barbecue fare next weekend, with lots of ‘fixings’ courtesy of the supermarket. I can still prettify it all, and we can get the fire pit going, and string up festoon lights. The house will be clean. People will be welcomed, well fed and watered (well, there’ll be a good selection of drinks). I might stretch to making jugs of Pimms or mojitos.

I noticed Halloween-themed items making an appearance in TK Maxx the other day. Which is crazy.

As an Autumn lover, even I can’t get on board with that. Summer’s only just here and I intend to make the most of it. How can people get excited about things when they’re perpetually available? This merging-together of the seasons, of special events in the calendar, it just makes them all seem mundane. The anticipation is part of their magic, surely?

So, the days are still getting longer. Just for a little while. I can’t wish that away; one of my favourite things about summer is going to bed and reading with the curtains open, letting the soft evening light in, watching for the first stars to appear.

We still have high summer to come, and harvest time. Whinberries and wild raspberries, sunflowers and dahlias. As a non-summer person, I’m (whisper it) embracing June wholeheartedly.

Thank you for reading.

Sarah.