There is a wonderful feeling in the garden of impending abundance - of a firework about to go off, a splendid water fountain just about to spurt with all its might. The foxgloves are like rockets, towering all over the garden, although we have to pick four hundred of them for an order tomorrow morning, so they will be sadly depleted for our open day (in aid of The Historic Churches Trust, 2-5pm 10th June) this coming Sunday. Roses spill out from the beds, bees are extremely busy and terribly cross when we pick their flowers, and we gather the peonies as fast as they become ready, and store them in the cool dark damp of our old boiler house. In the last week we've provided flowers for a delightful, light-filled wedding and a funeral for a much loved husband and father, and Barney has delivered buckets of flowers to florists in Hereford, London and Oxfordshire. Celia is still hard at work planting all the new little annuals, and Jak is queen of the muck and woodchip, improving our soil and smothering the weed seed.