Between the seasons

We are caught somewhat between the seasons.  The saucy, steamy, intense tones of August invoke a tale of perpetual summer, but slowly the mind wanders, from one page of the calendar to the next, and there's a realisation that, counter to the evidence on the ground, the year is slowly, yet irreparably, slipping away.  First, though, to the endless summer, and my favourite plant of the last few weeks, this stunning coreopsis rosea.  The label said it was a good one for the mid-border, as the mass of dainty flowers could be seen from some distance, and it certainly didn't lie.  Even better, it's buzzing with bees, hoverflies, and the occasional butterfly.  What I love most is that the plant's attraction isn't bound by its flowers - the foliage is beautiful in its own right.  It's not fully hardy, so there's a question mark over whether it'll make a return next year; if not, it's certainly going out with a bang.

Coreopsis Rosea

It's fair to say that my herbaceous border is the one spot of colour in a garden that is slowly nestling into the forthcoming autumn.  It looks like it has more fight left too, with an intensity that is refusing to give way.  Rudbeckia summerina yellow is the undeniable king here, its long-lasting fiery flowers lording it over all they survey.  Other delights include fragrant oregano and lavender, whilst round the corner, the little skirts of heleniums blaze a trail into one of next year's projects, thus unknown, but possibly a spring border.  I'm delighted with my late summer border, not least because less than two years ago, this was mostly concrete:

Before - September 2014

After - August 2016

Up the side of the garden, where the land slopes and the soil is dry, thin, poor and shady, I've set about the process in a more naturalised manner.  Foxgloves, periwinkle and a honeysuckle have now joined the dormant-lying polemonium (Jacob's ladder) and primula vialli, and with the introduction next year of red campion and snake's head fritillaries, we'll very much be looking at a patch of native flora - surely a perfect stop-off for moths and butterflies, and a perfect hunting ground for slow worms - rather like the one I disturbed recently in just this location.

Young slow worm... and lunch?

Autumn is coming, but this year I'm determined to have a garden with interest extending through all twelve months of the year.  This weekend, I popped in some new cyclamen, whilst also admiring the first green foliage of last year's returnees.  Along with hellebores, cyclamens are my heroes of winter, flowering for months and not ceasing until they can pass their baton onto a successor - usually the primrose, crocus or early daffodil.  So whilst the sun is still relatively high in the sky, and the heat of summer is still in full swing, it's fair to say that a part of my mind is somewhere in the midwinter, crunching through the frosts to enjoy these little wonders which, although they inhabit the same garden, know a very different world.

Cyclamen

The birds have long since stopped singing, late summer flowering shrubs such as buddleja are finally on the wane, and there's even a small collection of freshly-laid leaves gathering in the corners.  This is the time of year when I begin to most strongly sense the rhythm of nature, through the reassuring chirp of the grasshoppers and the reliability of the blackberry crop.  The enjoyment of a season is always heightened by the firm understanding that everything is finite, yet will infinitely be followed by another - different - opportunity.  For me, the summer-autumn divide is the most soulful and reminiscent of the seasonal changes - it is all-encompassing, and is perhaps the one time when I see the garden, the year, the wildlife, and all the planting, as one whole.

Rudbeckia summerina yellow

Late summer colour

Great Big Rhinos!

Three years ago, I blogged about a fabulous series of gorillas that had made its way to South Devon, as part of the Paignton Zoo and Wild in Art initiative to raise awareness around conservation.  It was - and it remains - one of the greatest art trails I've ever seen, taking us from the streets of Exeter to the coast of Torbay, with all manner of places dotted in between.  Following the trail, the gorillas were auctioned in aid of Paignton Zoo's conservation projects around the world - if you're lucky and look hard enough, you can still see one-or-two of them on display in public places.

The memory of the fantastic gorilla trail may have faded, but now we've been invaded again - this time by rhinos - as Paignton embarks on another awareness campaign that has kids and adults alike rushing, camera in hand, to get a glimpse of one of these life-size masterpieces.  Forty-two of them, to be precise.  Our own trail, which is still far-from-complete, began in Exeter, with an immediate favourite, Cath, which makes a thought-provoking statement on conservation.  Beautifully designed, the rhino carries with it the heart of Exeter's stunning Cathedral.  The foundations of Exeter Cathedral were laid nearly 1000 years ago - will we ensure the Javan and Sumatran rhinos have the same time ahead of them?

Another personal favourite is Dino Rhino, a take on the extinction of other once-prevalent species.  The evocative portrayal of prehistoric scenes, mingled with close-ups of long-lost sabre-tooth cats and woolly mammoths, really bring impact to the artist's question, do we really want the rhino to be just another distant memory?

Aquamarhino stands proud in Exeter's Princesshay shopping centre, perhaps a comment on our own consumption of the earth's natural resources.  A net of fish flounder - one brilliantly incorporated into this rhino's eye - suggesting that if our current trends continue, even more biodiversity will be wiped out of existence.

Down in Torbay, the rhino madness continues with Sun's Out, Horns Out, Lizzie's favourite on the trail, and certainly a fun design that is best suited to Torquay's sea front.  You certainly have to admire the attention to detail - from the splattered ice cream and bright armbands, down to the dainty sandals.

Up on Babbacombe Downs, meanwhile, the rhino Tranquillity surveys what must be the best view on the trail.  This one speaks of a world at peace, of perfect nature cooling down under the watercolour of an African sunset.  Perhaps the artist is giving us a glimpse of what we should enjoy, value and connect with in this world, as well as a reminder that the best things in life really are free.

There are, of course, many more rhinos that we haven't got to yet - Be sure to check out my Flickr page, which I'll be updating as we go around ticking these off the map.  You can - and probably should - also see the Great Big Rhinos webpage, for more about the art trail and conservation of these beautiful, iconic creatures.