Our Sylvan Idyll

 I'm delighted to report that we have our own crop of dame's rocket in our own little sylvan idyll at the back. Years ago hubby and I tried to dig some up from the roadside - where they abound at this time of year in all their pink, white and purple glory - but they flatly refused to take root, turning their noses up at their new quarters.

But in their own time, when they were good and ready, they appeared, like jewels in the dappled shadows. 

The deer haven't eaten them yet.

Meanwhile the garden is gradually, very gradually, getting into shape. At least the grass has been mowed and I'm working on the flowerbeds - as much as I can as I'm still semi-incapacitated. My kind Florida neighbour lent me me both a zimmer frame (walker here) and a  very swanky stick, which they call a cane - though that's something older Brits associate with sadistic schoolteachers.  I'm pleased to say that only the stick came back up north with us - though it's now got a bit muddy.

I'm also delighted that some foxgloves have appeared. They always seem staunch and cheerful, making the best of things.

Plus it's peony time here (yes, much later than back in Britain). We don't have many but they are gorgeous and smell wonderful. This year I managed to remember to prop them up in time before their heads kissed the mud. . Though, like the rockets, they have minds of their own. They will insist on drooping in several different directions so I have to negotiate the flowerbed and prop them up with several different bits of portable fence, which is difficult when you've got a bad leg.

Sadly, though, no sign of the delphiniums. One of the biggest tasks is thinning out the incorrigible black-eyed Susans that are already rampaging everywhere and trying their best to smother their neighbours.  I'm determined this summer is not going to be another ocean of unrelenting yellow.

  There was a garden festival in the village last weekend and as always with such events there were more stalls selling handicrafts and knick-knacks and things to eat than actual plants. We met a friend coming out of the community centre weighed down with jars of jam - "Get there before they sell out!" she gasped. We loaded up on several different kinds of pickle - corn pickle, country garden pickle, jalapeno pepper jelly and the like. "Do you sell at the farmers' market?" I asked the lady. "No, they won't let you sell there until they inspect your kitchen". They also don't let people sell pumpkin pie because it's got cream in it. There are far too many rules and regulations in this world. Why don't they just put up a sign, "WARNING! Kitchens Have Not Been Inspected! Consume at Your Own Risk!" If I know the locals here, they'd flock to it. Anything to thumb their noses at authority.