Kilcot

We drove to Kilcot on a garden visit this evening by the scenic route - Tirley, Hartpury, Kent's Green, Clifford's Mesne. It all looked very beautiful in the very warm late afternoon sunshine: you wouldn't want to rush. (Even on our way home much later, it was 22 degrees outside.)

We ate our picnic above Aston Ingham, just North of May Hill: our host at the nearby garden to which GOGG were invited had today received a load of wood from the trees being felled on its top. "What they should replace them with," he reflected, "is 100 wind turbines: it would become the most famous windfarm in the world."

Ken ran a successful garden centre business for many years: on selling it, like many in the same position, his emphasis switched from commerce to the environment. Besides making their own garden into a model of resilience, he and Ann, his wife, are powers behind Transition Newent. They are in the process of building an outside bread/pizza oven, intended to become a focus for weekly local community gatherings.

The pond is a bit small for a boat, but Ann recently made a coracle: it's covered with cowhide (and the cow's tail is preserved intact - like a bendy rudder).

Though he confessed to a sinful greenhouse full of non-organically grown tomatoes, Ken more than balances  things out with his composting, coppicing and comfrey: there's water harvesting, a willow temple and a meditation garden (with suitably restrained colour pallet). The wildflower meadow contains 57 species to the square metre. Onions and potatoes are on a four-year rotation - "no dig" in the larger section of the vegetable garden.

The last, Ken shares with the lovely Clare, a biodiversity expert with Natural England: her house lies adjacent.

An inspiring evening.

The view from our hill

The clouds over May Hill weren't quite so dramatic today as in this old photograph; but it was still a delight to walk alone on Leckhampton Hill (five minutes from home by car) in the cool of the evening, after quite an oppressively warm day in our back garden with three boistrous grandchildren around. There are still plenty of wild flowers, though no orchids, and the trees have all grown up somewhat since the last time I was up there, which shows how long ago that was. As well as May Hill and the Black Mountains beyond, there was a clear view to the North-West, as far as Clee Hill I reckon, some 50 miles.

On the fence along the sheer edge of Salterley Quarry someone has placed a sign saying "Grandma" in large letters. Was this where she jumped, or was it just where she wanted her ashes scattered?