Long Mizzle Garden

Just a quick one today m' crystal gazers, Following my recent illegal island grab*  (see here ), and another couple of camping trips, I temporarily landed back at my beloved Longmizzle just in time for autumn.  The garden feels neglected and confused. The Rhododendron is in flower and my poor pumpkins have split due to a September heatwave. *I was forceably removed by the authorities that be. In other weird phenomena news... During the heatwave we saw hundreds of Crystal Jellyfish washed up at Coverack Cove. A rare site to see in the UK, they glow in the dark and aimlessly float with the warm tides.  Crystal Jellyfish - Coverack Cove, Cornwall (9th September 2023) There was a strange static energy hovering in the air. That night an almighty electrical storm struck, with forked lightening and the loudest thunder I have ever encountered. The earth beneath the tent shook. By morning, rather than feeling tired through lack of sleep, I felt super charged by jump leads.  ...

 Hello m' sandy cracks,    Gunwalloe Church Cove Beach, Cornwall The summer has flown by in a haze of heat and mischief.  As I type, the finest patio petrichor fills the garden. Its perfume filters through the window. Parched grass greedily sucks up today's rainfall. Together we eagerly await the autumn mists, steady mizzle and kite flying breeze. I've been busy catching up with old friends and have spent my 'holiday' with local days out and a little camping trip with the kids. Surely stargazing, sea swimming and cream teas must be the remedy for all modern day evils. A dry stone Cornish wall by Dollar Cove - thus named as silver dollars were washed ashore following the wrecking of a Portuguese ship in the 17th Century. Not a topless Poldark in sight - which is a good thing. Let's face it, he's a bit of a tw*t isn't he?!   A short walk away, tucked between a wild expanse of sand dunes and rocky outcrop: St Winwaloe's Church. 1332 is the earliest ment...

 Hello m' perky porpoises, What did the sea know of the land?  Through every crevice, every vein of man it had ran.  Stored in his bone marrow, out through his bowels,  down to the sewers and treatment plants. Who was listening, when the core was changing? Were the whales singing? L.B   It is around this time of year that I start to get excited about piles of seaweed. It has been a long Cornish tradition to barrel it up from the beach, following a favouring gale. Who knows what other useful items can be found for the garden: driftwood, unusual pebbles, shells, a random welly, netting, interesting rusty pots, fisherman floats if one is especially lucky. The seaweed I collect from above the shore line and spread it flat across my garden beds. I used to rinse it in rainwater first, but now I just leave it to the winter weather. By spring, it has shriveled up to almost nothing, and can be satisfyingly crunched up in the hand. I am a believer in feeding the soil...