From up here I could see the allotment like scratching’s of my back garden, clear areas from potatoes dug and onions lifted, fresh rows of strawberries replanted and the healthy glaucous green of swedes. The fresh fronds of carrot tops spill out from within the box I’d made to combat root fly. It has worked this year and I have the most wonderful clean sweet tasting carrots.
August sees the start of harvest beyond that of the daily picking to eat. The all-important storage for winter months starts with getting in the peat and the stacking there of. This year, after a damp summer I was pleasantly surprise to see just how well they had dried. The old blackhouse shed is full with sacks of caorains (smaller pieces), and the new stack sits tall and proud before the crumbling remains of last years. Although further south they may have had a record breaking heat wave and drought we’ve had it damp, which meant ideal conditions for potato blight. This has resulted in a good deal of small potatoes as well as a smaller harvest as they had to be lifted early. The onions have been placed outside in boxes each dry day and the fun part of string up has begun.
As always gardening has its ups and downs, but it has overall been a good year for growing, and this has been particularly apparent when it comes to trees I’ve planted. For the past three years they’ve been barely visible within the rushes and long grass, but now they are up and away putting on growth that you must surely be able to see if you stood and looked for long enough. I remarked to Donald during our evening walk that I couldn’t imagine a life that didn’t include the growing and planting of trees. The pleasure it gives me to know that something will continue long after I’m gone, that will grow taller, stronger, and more beautiful than me. So, as I sit up on the pulpit ridge of my roof, paint brush in hand looking east across the Minch, I glory in a day that I can say has been summer.
