France in August
A weed is a plant that has mastered every survival skill except for learning how to grow in rows.
Doug Larson

It's time for a fresh onslaught on the French garden. Although the weather in the first part of the summer was exceptionally warm and sunny, mid-August brought very unsettled days with a mixture of cooler temperatures and showers. Beautiful conditions for gardening on this very friable soil. The task of gardening just now is circumscribed by two main factors. The roofers will be arriving soon, and the bindweed has been beavering away over the last few weeks and covered most of the soil.

There isn't much point in leaving anything in the path of the artisans, because they will simply do their work, without regard for delicate plants. This means that anything that I value must be moved to a new position. There are areas that need filling out, so lambs' ears, peonies, lily of the valley, Vinca minor, Echinops, hollyhocks and primroses can be moved, even though August is hardly the right month to be disturbing them. After a good watering by the heavens and the hosepipe, they look relatively happy. I have brought Cyclamen hederifolia corms from England, and they get dug in under the Norwegian maple, where I hope they will surprise us with their little nodding heads of pale pink later in the year.

Bindweed is a most beautiful plant, with its delicate, bright leaves and gentle pink flowers, but with roots that can travel 40 feet underground, it has to be got rid of. This may take a lifetime, but with the help of Becky, our visitor, I pull and tease out the long white threads. I have another helper. Piers has bought a new ladder and is using it to tie in the extending shoots of the climbing roses. Every day they put out new growth, and we hope to have plenty of healthy flower-bearing spurs next year.

Our French friend came to visit one evening and jumped up to the branches of the hazel bush to bring down still green clusters of nuts. He dry-roasted them, added honey to the pan and we ate them straight from the stove. I would rather we had the feast than the dormice did.