Seeds, seeds and more seeds. Millions, billions of them being generated all over the world; anywhere that seed bearing plants can grow (which is virtually everywhere).
 First the seed has to be dispersed. Some simply drop or are light enough to borne by the wind, some are dispersed by water. Some are digested by animals and excreted elsewhere. Some are moved in other ways by animals. Some seed pods literally explode and propel their seeds a distance. I suppose we should include humans buying seeds and planting them.
 At the time of dispersal the seed is dormant and breaking dormancy is a timer of sorts for a seed to germinate at the right time e.g. once winter has passed. This dormancy may be physiological (responding to certain chemical factors or light or temperature), morphological (the embryo has to mature further), physical (the seed has a hard coat that needs to break down) or mechanical (certain chemicals need to be washed out of the seed by rain or snow).
 Nature will work its course but sometimes gardeners mimic the process e.g. by soaking seeds or by freezing them (stratification) or by physically damaging the coating with abrasion (scarification). Whether by natural or artificial means the seed can then germinate in response to water, temperature, oxygen and the presence or absence of light (some seeds need to be underground and some on the surface).
 Of course not all seeds will germinate and many seedlings will not survive prevailing conditions much beyond germination. The majority of plants account for this by massively overproducing seeds like the Aster going to seed in the photo above. Many seeds can remain viable for extended periods awaiting the right conditions, years and decades is not uncommon. Researchers have successfully germinated ancient seeds; one of the oldest is a date palm in Israel grown from 2,000 year old seed.

 So farewell the British summertime. The clocks went back an hour when BST came to an end at 2am. There's a debate year after year about whether we need "daylight saving time" at all but in any case time is an illusion. Nevertheless the damp and biting chill that's set in over the past day or two does indeed portend that winter is ahead of us.
 I'll think fondly of the long hot summer of 2018 helped by some photographic reminders- like these Ox-eye Daisies swaying among the grasses back in June when I walked a stretch of the South Downs Way in Sussex.

 Chickens. Over the years I've met numerous people who keep them and extol their virtues. I did some repairs on a chicken pen recently for my local community garden and now I get why people like the critters.
 The garden has adopted 6 hens which live in a very much larger coop most of the time and the smaller version is for use as a 'chicken tractor'. The idea is that chickens eat the grass, peck and scratch around and turn the soil over, manuring it as they go. We wondered if they'd have the instinct because these are rescue hens i.e. battery hens that have spent their existence till now in factory farming. The moment this hen was put in the grass it was off- pecking and scratching and pooing!
 I have known pigs to be used in a similar fashion with fencing that's moved around over an area to be "tractored" and it seems like chickens will do the same thing (albeit gentler) with eggs to boot. There must be more foxes around cities now than in the countryside so these hens will probably have to be in some kind of enclosure most of the time but they're certainly in a better place than they were.
 I read an article recently about someone who keeps chickens in a woodland with no need for pens and coops. Chickens are a woodland animal by nature and left to their own devices can flap up to the lower branches of trees to roost away from predators. One of those instances where nature has a plan and we've deviated from it.
 I must admit I was surprised how soothing it is to watch chickens go about their business; I've come to understand why so many people keep them as productive pets!      

 The fall is here (to use the American term) and autumn leaves evoke a powerful sense of time passing. A long time ago around this time of year I was on a plane that was heading into JFK and we were put in a holding pattern because Air Force One was landing there (I forget which President it contained). Our jumbo circled over New England for about half an hour and the landscape below looked like it was ablaze such were the colours of autumn.
 The autumn colours of Old England are nice too; kicking through soggy leaves in a park or village green is a great joy. Leaves are also an excellent soil improver. I leave them where they are on the beds but rake them off the lawn onto the beds or pile them into a chickenwire bin to make leafmould.
 Leaves are not particularly rich in nutrients but give an excellent boost of humus- that dark, rich, decayed organic matter. If left in the bin for a couple of years a finely textured potting compost is produced but I usually leave it for a year only; though not fully decayed it makes a good mulch to put round the ferns.

  The simplest way I can think of to describe a seed is that it is the embryo of a plant enclosed in a protective coating. Seeds can be small as dust or as large as the seed of Coco-de-mer (Lodoicea maldivica) which can weigh up to 30kg. 
 A pollinated ovule ripens and from this the seed is formed. In angiosperms (flowering plants) the ovule is enclosed within an ovary within the flower. The seed develops in the fruit that forms from the ovary wall. In botanical lexicon fruit is the term for the soft or hard structure around the seed(s); a coconut by this definition is a fruit though not the kind you might sink your teeth into.
 In gymnosperms (conifers, cycads and ginko) the ovule is exposed on the female cone- gymnosperm means "naked seed". Actually the thought occurs to me that plants probably don't have a concept of male and female as such but that's how botany describes it- the transfer of pollen (male) to the ovary (female). Collectively these two groups are spermatophytes i.e. seed bearing plants. Algae, mosses, liverworts, lichens and ferns are different but that's another story.
 The photograph above shows the seeds and papery seed heads of Honesty (Lunaria annua) translucent in the sun and they augur the next stages in the existence of a seed: dispersal and germination.

 Autumn is the season of berries. They're another thing to consider as part of the recent theme of seeds. The term berry is somewhat notional: from the botanical point of view a banana is a berry for example whereas a strawberry is an aggregated fruit.
 I'm happy to call anything smallish, roundish and colourful a berry if it's hanging off a plant but strictly speaking that's a bit simplistic. The first photograph shows the "berries" of Iris foetidissima in the back garden and I note that botanical books refer to them as seeds rather than berries. The second photograph shows the berries on a hedge of Cotoneaster cultivars up the road. They fit the botanical definition of a berry by virtue of being a simple fruit that contains pulp and seeds.
 Horticulture and agriculture tend to use the word berry to refer to edible produce which the above are not. Then again a blackbird was having a good peck at the Cotoneaster; what humans can't eat isn't the only consideration. Whether true berries or not the vivid colours in autumn have the effect of drawing attention to the plant- being eaten is one of the means that seeds get spread.

 There is a rose bush in the back garden which has generally done its thing by now. But we're having a second summer of sorts albeit in October with some gloriously sunny days and temperatures to match. And this rose has decided to start flowering again.

 I'll write some entries about bulbs too since I said on Tuesday that I'll write about seeds. Bulbs are another topic that will need a few posts to get to grips with.
 A seed is a plant in embryonic form but a bulb is a plant that's already up and running. Bulbs are bulbous because they're food storage organs. That's why bulbs are sometimes already growing in the packet when purchased- like this Crocus angustifolius that I'm potting up to grow on a window sill. The bulb already has the food it needs to start growing having assimilated it through the foliage and roots last spring.
 Bulbs then go dormant which is why they can be lifted, stored and distributed for sale. Having said that some bulbs e.g. Crocuses respond well to drying out during this process but others like Snowdrops do not. Most Galanthus species for example need to be sourced freshly lifted or planted "in the green" i.e. when they are in leaf in late winter. A dried up Snowdrop bulb is probably dead rather than dormant.
 A bulb is actually a stem with scales (modified leaves) that form around it. In fact I should be more specific and say that Snowdrops are a bulb whereas Crocuses are a corm- a swollen, underground base of a stem and like true bulbs a food storage organ. Corms are generically referred to as "bulbs" as are some tubers (the swollen ends of a stem) and rhizomes (stems that grow horizontally just above or below the surface). In bulb catalogues you will find Cyclamens which are tubers and Lily of the Valley which are rhizomes. 

 A few humble wildflowers round the neighbourhood are still putting out flowers rather late in the season. The unusually warm and sunny days we've been having lately have probably given them a boost.
 This is Lapsana communis and it has a curious back story. I have noted before that when the common name of a plant ends with the word "wort" this indicates that it was once believed to have a medicinal use. L. commuinis is also known as Nipplewort- said to be efficacious for those with sore nipples. I don't know how and I can't vouch for its curative powers!

 Ivy-leaved Toadflax (Cymbaline muralis) is a dainty little plant with tiny flowers though it can spread considerably. From southern Europe originally, it is reputed to have got its start in this country in Oxford in the seventeenth century. It punches above its weight because now it can be found everywhere trailing along walls and paving.

 Spiders and their webs are a feature of the autumn garden, even on a soggy day in October. The webs really are extraordinary feats of engineering; the one shown above spans from the washing line to a bush a couple of metres away.
  NB As with all photos on this blog clicking on it enlarges the image for a better view. Then again if spiders give you the creeps better not.

 Seeds are remarkable. I was going to write a few paragraphs about seeds but there's so much to say I'll have to return to this topic with a number of posts. Suffice to say the past, present and future of a plant is encapsulated in its seed.
 The photograph above shows the thorny pod of a Devil's Trumpet (Datura stramonium) splitting at the seams so to speak and chock full of seeds. NB I posted an entry a couple of weeks ago concerning this poisonous/hallucinogenic plant- handle with care!

 I didn't know what a gill was until my brother told me about the Old Roar Gill in Hastings. I now know that a gill is a steep sided ravine incised into the landscape by a stream. They harbour communites of plants and wildlife particular to that deep, damp and shady microclimate.
 After doing some research I learn that gills (originally a Norse word) seem to be more commonly associated with the North of England but are also to be found in the southern landscapes of the High Weald. Old Roar Gill is a curiosity because it is found within the town of Hastings where the Weald meets the coast...

 My brother came upon this unexpected survival of ancient landscape while walking through one of the town's larger parks. Laid out by the Victorians it has many of the usual features of such places: some woods, ponds, a bandstand, rose gardens and so forth. What is unusual is that at one end lies the gill; in fact the park must have been fashioned from the wider valley which the gill ran into.
 The Victorians liked a bit of gothic and were mad about ferns so no doubt decided to retain the gill as a feature and it's too steep and deep to do much else with. From an aerial view it simply appears as a sliver of green running through one of the more suburban districts of Hastings.
 It has a distinctly primeval feel with its dank canopy of trees and sides dense with ferns, mosses, lichens and fungi. The stream was just a trickle when I went there on Sunday but I imagine there is indeed a roar during a wet winter.

 

 The stratas of stone are clearly visible where water has carved channels that run down into the gill at intervals (such as the one above). At the far end is the Old Roar itself, which is the biggest of these.
 I hope to return in the near future to hear it roar. I gather there are carpets of Wood Anemones and Blubells in the spring and in general the gill hosts many common and uncommon species of flora and fauna. Gills maintain characteristics of near natural habitat which may no longer be the case in the surrounding area. Especially when one runs through the middle of a town like Old Roar Gill... 

 Every garden has its robin. I made a start on turning over the heap of "green waste" at the back of the garden (which makes the best compost). As heaps go it's not sophisticated- four uprights with a length of reed screen around them, chuck it in, let time do the rest.
 Underneath the accumulated cuttings etc. was a foot or so of rich matter which had composted down over the course of a year or two or so since I began making this particular heap. And the robin quickly appeared to feast on the bugs, worms and creepy crawlies exposed by this activity. 

 Allotment almanac, part 3. A very random selection of moments on the allotment last weekend. Like making smelly Comfrey Tea by putting the leaves in a bucket with a lid then steeping them in water. After a few weeks the resulting brew is very stinky indeed but makes a liquid fertilizer rich in NPK: nitrogen-phosphorous-potassium.

 Froggy was hiding in the Comfrey. Sorry Froggy. 

 The cane wig wams got blown over in high winds a couple of weeks ago but the Runner Beans seem happy to run sideways as well as up, they're still flowering and producing pods. The Nasturtiums at the base are also still flowering.

 Not many bumblebees around by this point in the year but honey bees and wasps were out in force on the flowers of the Ivy which grows thickly along the boundary fences.

 This neglected allotment has been colonised by fiery shades of the annual Calendula officinalis, presumably self-seeded from last year.

 The neighbours' allotment is mainly devoted to growing dye plants. For example there is a substantial patch with this vivid red flower. When they planted it from seedlings in the spring I recall it was referred to as Japanese Indigo. NB They publish a very informative blog on such matters called Nature's Rainbow.

 And finally a rare sighting of the ghost of the allotments. His apparition walks the paths on dark and stormy nights. Or perhaps it's just an old sheet on top of a rubbish heap.

 Allotment almanac, part two. As well as planting wildflowers I cut an adjacent strip of grasses and planted a bag of 50 Narcissus February Gold (seen in flower in the second photo).
 As the name suggests they flower reliably early in the year being a very hardy cultivar crossing two wild species, N. cyclamineus and N. pseudonarcissus. They'll grow pretty much anywhere and stand tall whatever the weather.
 NB the photo below shows a bulb from another batch of bulbs I bought: Narcissus Tete a Tete which is also a cyclamineus hybrid of uncertain antecedents resembling a smaller version of the above. The reflexed petals of both provide the clue to the cyclamineus side of the lineage.
 It provides a good illustration how bulbs multiply by offsets. Most commercial growers separate them to increase their stocks for sale but I bought both varieties from Shipton Bulbs. Good people that they are they send the bulbs out offsets and all so the bag of 10 Tete a Tete I ordered came with 8 or 9 bonus bulbs.

 Allotment almanac, part one. Put in several good sessions on the allotment over the weekend. I wrote an entry last week concerning the bare root wildflowers I ordered: various meadow plants that could do well among the coarse grasses on a spare corner of the allotment. 
 Initially I bedded them in a slit open bag of compost as I wasn't able to plant them there and then and this ensured they didn't expire in the meanwhile. On Sunday I cut a strip of the rough grass right down to the ground, partly to make planting easier and partly to give the plants a chance to establish without getting swamped. The natural habit of these plants is to grow through grass so hopefully as the grass grows back the plants will hold their own.
 It's an experiment. Wildflowers are extremely robust but then again quite particular about the conditions that suit them. What prompted the idea was the beautiful flowers that appeared during the year on some of the neglected grassed over allotments. I noticed that various plants had colonised these spaces even as the grass reclaimed them. What they have in common is that they are species whose native habitat is meadows and pastures...

 In some ways autumn is even more scenic than summer as the shades of green turn to fiery red, orange and yellow ahead of "the fall" as the Americans aptly call it.
 A good example of what I mean is this Virginia Creeper (Parthenocissus quinquefolia) climbing the side of a Victorian house in Hertfordshire. Virginia Sprinter might be a better name. The author of this diary can confirm how fast it grows because every December he cuts it back to ground level at this very house! The photo above shows a year's growth.
 Another fiery customer is Stag's Horn Sumach (Rhus typhina) which blazes away in the back garden here in London...

 Better late than never. Physostegia virginiana is supposed to flower in late summer but these ones by the front gate only came into bloom in the past week or so. A nice splash of colour given the time of year.

 Buying plants is synonymous with buying them in plastic pots. Indeed plastic revolutionised the horticulture trade by allowing plants to be grown in the pots themselves and distributed in bulk.
 In days gone by plants were grown in the soil and sold "bare root" i.e. dug up and the soil teased from the roots to make a smaller, lighter package. The plant can survive for a few days with some moisture provided for the roots e.g. wrapped in wet newspaper. The practice has largely disappeared but some nurseries still use this method.
 I bought the above from Shipton Bulbs who grow bulbs and wildflowers on a smallholding in Wales. Their plants are probably as close as you can get to actual wild plants without digging them up in the countryside which is quite rightly illegal.
 The photo shows bundles of 5 each of Field Scabious, Ox-eye Daisy, Greater Knapweed, Musk Mallow, Meadow Cranesbill and Betony. I'm going to plant them among the rough grasses in a corner of the allotment with the idea of creating a mini-meadow; all these species should do well in that setting.