Scenes from the June wildlife garden

It has been a busy old time in the garden, as we fly out the exit doors of Spring and through the entrance gate to summer.  June is a wonderful month, easily my favourite of the season, for it is filled not only with abundant colour, light, warmth and blooms, but also with plenty of promise for the weeks ahead, which stretch unbroken into Autumn.  It's a delight to be in the garden at the moment, to savour that feeling of excitement and preparation, to be absorbed in the almost tangible rate of growth pulsing through every inch of the plot.  But first, what's this on the horizon?  The rose chafer, making its first ever appearance in the garden, a metallic green beetle with a loud buzz as it flits around the place.  Like other chafers, the larvae spend some years in the ground, emerging only when the time is right - and as such, I can only conclude that this year must be a good one for roses, its primary food source.  Ours have certainly come out in force - well, at least for now.

Wildlife, as always, takes the number one spot in our garden, and as we work to establish an ever-richer environment, so the rewards keep on coming.  Slow worms are a common sight in the compost bin these days, and there's nearly always at least one frog in the container pond (although sadly I noticed one with an injured leg the other day, which I soon found had died, the result of a tussle with a nuisance cat, I expect.)  We've plenty of space set aside for all manner of creatures, and although butterflies are sadly lacking this year, I am cheered by the sheer volume of bees we've had all over the place - on the cotoneaster; the meadow cranesbill; the scabious and the geums.  Foxgloves - and we have many - are another popular choice, and a firm staple of the woodland garden, sitting as they do in perfect balance with their surroundings, as if they have been growing here for eternity.  Does one plant more sum up early summer?

Wildflowers are of immense importance to me, and consequentially I have an abundance of them in every available space.  Red campion, a hedgerow staple (certainly near us) grows well here, its pink petals adding an overarching natural feel to the back of the garden, which I really just love.  At the front of the garden, meanwhile, the wildflower "meadow" is coming on leaps-and-bounds, and in addition to ox-eye daisies, dandelions and (more) foxgloves, there's birdsfoot trefoil, field scabious, and knapweed, the latter of which has just come into flower, a striking thistle-like appearance, and one said to be highly attractive for bees.

 Up in the centre of the plot, the herbaceous border is coming along a treat - echinacea buds are forming, coreopsis flowers are almost out, whilst one of my favourites, erigeron Sea Breeze, already has a month's flowering under its belt, with no real signs of stopping.  The red geraniums are also putting on a mighty display, dotted in amongst the perennials to provide flashes of colour in amongst the melee.  For the first time in this garden, I think I've got it just about right, and am expecting a continuous supply of colour - of one type or another - from now until the first frosts, which is great for the garden, brilliant for bees, and marvellous for my own enjoyment.  Just one final word here, as I've just introduced a couple of eryngium plants - or sea holly - which I've often admired when seeing it out and about.  Another one for bees, it certainly adds its own architectural form to the border, and I look forward to seeing its steely blue intensify as the summer grows old.

Things are moving fast and ever forward in the garden, and there's that sense of transience with every passing day and each spent bloom, that nothing lasts forever.  The foxgloves are already bending over, losing their petals and forming their seeds, yet in their wake we will inevitably see other shades of newness, new shapes of flowers, different scents and smells, and another type of summer opening up before our eyes.  It's bitter-sweet, for with every fond farewell there is a happy hello, all wrapped up in the rhythm of nature that connects us with the earth and our place in the world.