Storm season is upon us, and it’s fierce this year. We’ve had storms Ciara and Dennis which have caused widespread wind and flood damage across the country. Born in the north Atlantic, they intensified as they rode on the back of the high westerly winds known as the jet stream, and then slammed into our land mass with great force.

With the winds barrelling in at 75-80 mph, there is coastal flooding, storm debris and damage everywhere. But the oystercatchers are out and about!

They say you can have four seasons in a day on our part of the coast but at the moment, we’ve got the lot hour by hour. Wind, hail, rain and sunshine! On the plus side, it’s been very mild – no frosts yet.

As a result, the garden has already sprung into action and we still have four weeks to go before the clocks change to Summer Time.

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Camelias, heathers and hellebores are on show at the moment, and pale lemon primroses are starting to show their heads in Campanula Corner. And the daffodils have arrived in force just in time for St. David’s Day.

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On some days, between storms, shafts of bright sunshine flood the secret garden so we can sit out and enjoy a few rays of the sun’s warmth with our afternoon tea.

On others, the rolling fogs obliterate the horizon and cast a damp gloomy blanket over everything. Like nature, life has its familiar cycle. We’ve had our Valentine’s chocolates and celebration meals, and our Shrove Tuesday pancakes. Now it’s Lent and all is spare. But the spring is coming…..

If you need a zen moment and want to see a little more, click on the picture below and catch up on February in the seaside garden.

It’s still raining. Sunny days are few now as the winter progresses. We’ve had storm after storm rolling in from the Atlantic on fierce south westerly winds. On some days, the rain comes in as near horizontal sheets accompanied by hailstones that prick your face.

Sometimes, the combination of gale force winds and the hail-laden rains make it difficult to even stand up.

And you know the temperature is dropping, especially at night, when the local news announces which roads at the top of the cliff will be gritted. Down here by the sea, it’s 1-2° warmer so, despite the inclement weather, we already have many green shoots. First up are the daffodils; they are coming thick and fast ‒ about six weeks ahead of the cliff top gardens.

Their bright yellow heads offer welcome pops of colour and cheer you up in the stygeon gloom of winter.

Gardeners have to go out in all weathers to get the spring planting done. This year, we are planting chardonnay grape vines. They look like twigs now but I’ve been promised that my south facing terraces will be covered in vines later this year. Maybe they will be good enough to make some Chablis wine!

And there is further promise of good things to come. The wisteria and clematises look so desolate, but if you look carefully, you can see there are shoots everywhere.

And campanula corner, the fountains of trailing rosemary and the front terraces by the stone river are a show, even in the depth of winter.

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Last month, we honoured my Scottish ancestors by eating Tunnocks cakes and biscuits to welcome the New Year. This month, in honour of my Chinese ancestors, we are having the traditional celebration supper of fish, special dumplings, and lots of citrus fruits.

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And, to while away the long dark nights, we will play majong and sip tea. Happy New Year ‒ Nián nián yǒu yú.

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If you need a Zen moment and want to see a little more, click on the picture below to catch up on January in the Seaside Garden.

We’re moving into deep winter now with what seems like constant rain. The bright ‘harvest’ and ‘beaver’ moons of the autumn are a distant memory as the heavy clouds fly by and the high winds whip the sea into an angry frenzy.

Everything is reduced to hues of grey, and the horizon is often obscured by rolling sea mists. The barometer is showing persistently low pressures these days.

But the winter equinox passed on the 22nd, so the days are starting to get longer, and there are already signs of life in the garden: daffodils. They’re very early but, despite the storms, it’s very mild thanks to the Gulf Stream. Rising in the Gulf of Mexico, it travels north bringing its welcome warm waters to us on the other side of the ocean. If that ever changes as a result of our own short-sightedness, we are in deep trouble.

Despite the greyness, the secret garden is still a place for quiet contemplation, listening to the sea, and watching for a shaft of sunlight now and then as the clouds part momentarily.

Life by the seaside is busy in December with carol singing and concerts to celebrate Christmas, and also to honour the fishermen and wish them safe sailing through the year. This year, our community sang its heart out down by the harbour fighting against the noise of the roaring sea. After half an hour, we were spent. But revived with mulled sweet red wine and mince pies, we mustered for the charitable collection and a final rendition of “Come All Ye Faithful” and “Noel.”

The stone river and terraces of the seaside garden, the agapanthuses and cannas, are pared back and now resting. There is little to do except finish the chocolates in the Advent calendar and play snakes and ladders. What a treat!

Finally, the year, and decade, will end shortly. In honour of my paternal Scottish ancestors, we will be celebrating in the usual way – lots of Tunnocks tea cakes and caramel bars, clementines and sweet white wine.

A toast: to the Gulf Stream, and long may it continue.

If you need a zen moment and want to see a little more, click on the picture below to catch up on December by the Seaside.

It’s raining again. We’ve had endless days of it. It’s very soggy underfoot. The remnants of tropical storm ‘Sebastien’, born in the Caribbean a couple of weeks ago and energised by its journey east across the Atlantic, have been and gone. So has Halloween, when Finny, our local ghost of an 18^th century smuggler, is said to haunt the lane from our seaside village to the cliff top in search of the treacherous accomplices who betrayed him to the local Excise Officers.

The nights are long and inky black at this time of year. There are no streetlights so it’s very spooky when Finny is out on patrol.

Snowy the Fat Cat has gone AWOL, even though the sun’s thin rays poke through the clouds now and then. The goldfinches have gone too, but the resident robin is still about protecting his territory and searching for food.

In the garden, there is much work to be done, and dreams of next year to be had. The clearing work is almost over, and it’s time for a stock take now that clarity and structure have returned.

The secret garden, the stone river, and the terraces are all green and brown as the die-back progresses and the garden goes to rest.

Bulbs! Loads of ‘em. They are being planted everywhere for the massive show of spring colour.

A Chablis grapevine is being planted to take advantage of the south facing terraces. The juiciness and sweet taste of the grapes will be a gardener’s treat next year.

And ratatouille: the veggie boxes at the west end of the garden have been cleared ready to plant aubergines, onions, courgettes, tomatoes and peppers. It’s going to be a feast.

As for now, when the rains break, it’s time to walk the cliff tops to see, if we can, the pair of nesting peregrine falcons. We have kestrels too, and very fat seagulls – Loads of ‘em.

When the storms abate, a walk along the beach to the old harbour stretch the legs. But mostly, it’s time to hunker down and luckily, the local pub on the cliff top named after poor Finny has opened again after a terrible fire and two years of rebuilding.

If you need a zen moment and want to see a little more, click on the picture below to catch up on November by the seaside.

The storm season and the rains have arrived. Lots of rain. It’s very wet. “Lorenzo” has been and gone, and now “Rebekah” is on its way. The clocks have gone back so it’s dark by 5 o’clock. And it’s chilly.

On a few lucky days, the sky is clear and the sun, although weaker, shines into the secret garden where the sheltered plants are still hanging on.

But the end of season cutback has begun. There is much work to do in between the rainy days. And a new resident has arrived – Snowy the Fat Cat. He loves snoozing in the sun. He reminds me of Cheshire Cat in Alice in Wonderland.

With the annual pruning, clarity returns as the terraces’ and western garden’s structure can be seen again. There’s the flourishing olive tree and campanula bank to the fore now they’re not acting as wallpaper to other more showy plants. But we still have a few pops of colour before winter arrives.

As the storms come and go, the local surfers ride the waves when they can. As for me, I’m indoors out of the winds waiting for the sun to come again.

Want to see more? Click on the Movie clip and enjoy a Zen moment.

Come back next time to see how we’re preparing for the coming winter…..

The autumnal equinox was September 22nd and, right on cue, the first of the new season’s storms has arrived. The days are getting shorter now, and the light is thinner. And you really feel the early morning chill in the garden.

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When a storm is rising out in the Atlantic, you can feel the wind start to pick up in the garden, and the sky darkens. Then the sea in our bay becomes an alternating mix of milky turquoise and silvery shimmers as the sun tries to break through the thickening clouds.

Our storms rise off the west coast of Africa and they travel westwards to the Caribbean and from there, northward, skirting the coast of America and Canada before travelling eastwards, still laden with water and energy, to stir up our bay. The rain is very welcome, despite the salt-blasting, as the summer has been unusually dry, and it has been very hard work to keep everything alive and well.

The secret garden is still going strong as it’s rather sheltered. The statuesque agapanthuses have gone to seed but they are still a show, as are the stalwart begonias. They love this spot.

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The veggie garden has just about finished and the last crop of red and green tomatoes have been picked, pureed and pickled, ready for the winter’s store cupboard.

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The south-facing terraces, bathed in the summer’s light for six months, now face the full force of nature but there is a final show of pinks and reds. The sedums and roses give a welcome pop of colour as they try to hang on for a bit longer.

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The remains of storm Humberto have arrived. It’s very windy and wet so the planned repairs to the garden benches and chairs, and the pond and riverbank restoration work, will have to wait. But when we get a break in the weather, the fresh topsoil will be spread, and the bulbs will be planted before storm Lorenzo arrives.

Come back next time to see how the autumn is progressing. 

The dog days of summer are here. The intense heat induces a calmness, a laziness and a kind of torpor that rests and recharges the mind and body ready for the crazy start of the teaching year in September and October. Although I’m now retired, my whole being is still geared to that relentless twelve week timetable that leaves you crawling to the Christmas break. But now? I’m trying to learn new ways. Walking the beach, taking in the ion-rich air that makes you sleepy, and working in the garden.

The statuesque agapanthuses are still going but newly arrived are the flaming reds and oranges. The garden is on fire with cannas, nasturtiums and “sparkle horses” – crocosmias that grow wild here.

The yellows are out in force too with the begonia and canna pots shouting for attention amongst the agapanthuses.

Change is coming though. The days are shorter and the evenings a bit cooler. We had a summer downpour the other day which gave the loveliest rainbow falling into the sea.

It was a moment’s pleasure. Within a few minutes it was gone. Back to work harvesting and preparing summer veggie suppers.

A lost right whale has been spotted up the coast, and our local dolphins have been feasting on the abundance of food lately. They’re too fast for me to catch on camera but here’s our local lobsterman out early checking the pots. Maybe something in there for the table later on.

Meanwhile, all is peaceful here.

The summer has arrived with a heatwave. It’s been in the 30s but the onshore breezes make it feel more bearable.

All that heat, and the occasional summer downpour, created a great burst of growth in our seaside garden. The agapanthuses and sunflowers have burst into life, and the border plants compete for your attention.

The veggies too have completed their growth cycle from seed to treats for the table. It’s been very busy keeping up with their production – there is plenty of work in harvesting, preparing and cooking everything ready for the larder. Friends and neighbours share in the bounty.

Down by the seashore and old harbour, it’s calm today with nothing stirring except the water moving on its continuous six hour tidal cycle.

The “wreckers’ rocks”, covered once again, resume their menace for naïve sailors. On a cloudless night, the moon creates a shaft of silver light that bathes the bay in an eerie glow. Sometimes it’s enough to walk along the beach just to take it all in and watch the night sky’s show of the milky way, the bright-as-diamond planets, and now and then, the shooting stars.

The seasons change a little later here by the sea but once the summer solstice has passed (22nd June), we shift rapidly into those long sunny days of childhood memories. The winter’s drenching rain and fierce salt blasting from the storms is now in the past. Spring is a short intermission between the gloom of winter and the intense brightness of summer, and it is the tulips which signal that change is on the way.

The poppies, foxgloves and the old roses, all salt-hardy, come next while the wisteria and clematises start their growth spurts. The garden changes from its dull pared back emptiness to its luxurious abundance in a matter of weeks.

There is much in bud that will flower soon – the agapanthuses and fuchsias, and the sweet peas.

Even the veggies sown only a few weeks ago are popping up for the summer sun.

The sea is still cold but the pod of dolphins who swim along the coast have already visited our bay. The birdlife has been active with the goldfinches and chaffinches building their nests in the hedges that border the brook that runs to the side of the garden. And the lobster boat is out and about, and you can see the lobster man throw his baskets over in the evenings.

This is my place of peace and quiet where I’m writing “The Trial” book. Chapter 1 is almost in its final state.

Come back next time to see what’s happened in the July garden.