This year has been a weird one, garden-wise. It was (again) a very dry summer, which meant that a lot of the things that usually bloom were not doing so. That included our wild thyme growing in the area we lovingly call "lawn", though the amount of grass growing there is, let's say, not too high.

Consequently, when the autumn and late autumn were unseasonally warm and a bit more wet than the summer, quite a few of them had a late bloom, literally. That included our wild thyme, which is not entirely surprising.

It also included two calendula plants, but since they are sometimes flowering until November in any way, that was also not entirely surprising.

What really shocked me a bit, though, was this:

Yes, those are strawberry plants. Yes, that is even a small strawberry fruit doing its best to grow.

It's weird, and it is a little bit scary, if you ask me. Looking at how things have gone weird and wonky, time-wise, really makes me wonder that anyone can still be doubting climate change. Folks. Strawberries flowering outside in start of December. There should be no more doubt...

I've been saving seeds for next year, like I always do, and I was thinking about putting something about the fermentation of tomato seeds here just in case someone is interested, and while looking for some instructions I stumbled across the Garden Myths blog.

Which says, here, that a test of different tomato seed prep methods did not result in any difference in germination rate. 

Well... I do remember reading something, a good while ago, about different methods of preparing tomato seeds. That was some scientific research thingie, geared more towards industrial production, and there were differences in seed viability... so I think I'll stick with my method.

Which is: Take a ripe tomato that tastes well (obviously!), take out some of the seeds (maybe all, if it's a small tomato or has few seeds) and put them into a small glass. Add a pinch of sugar and some water, swirl around. Let stand for long enough, usually between 2 and 3 days, depending on temperature and general conditions. The way I decide whether it's time to get them out or not is swirling the contents around in the glass; when the seeds sink quickly to the bottom of the glass, they are ready. I then put them into a small sieve, wash the gunk off (gently rubbing with the fingers), put them onto a paper towel, and let them dry. 

Worked very well for me these past years, the seeds don't stick together, and they have stayed viable for at least several years. (Might take them longer to sprout if they are older, though.)

Do you save your own seeds? Do you treat the seeds in any way?

I woke up this morning to the sweet, sweet sound of raindrops falling. 

It's been very dry here for a good while - summers are hot these days without the relatively frequent thunderstorms that used to come every few days when it was hot and sunny. This morning there was just a little gentle rain, which did not last for long and did not yield much moisture (it was about one litre per square metre), but now we finally have some more, with a good dose of thunder thrown in, and that is very, very good. I hope the thyme in our lawn will get blooming afterwards, and it's also going to make the plants that are still not crispy very happy.

Another happy thing? The Grünes Heupferd in our wintergarden has grown up and is now an adult. At least she has wings now, in the proper size, not just the little stumps.

So. Rain, a grown-up green lady, summer break coming up, and the first tomatoes are also starting to turn red. Plus it looks like my lemon grass did actually survive the Great Grub Attack - something laid eggs in that specific flower pot, and the grubs that hatched from them were too many for the roots of the plant. I found the grubs by chance when looking into the pot and pondering re-potting. Which I then did, of course, and two of the stalks still had some hint of green. One of them is growing again now, jury's still out for the second one, but at least the one is saved and can eventually grow into a proper large plant again.

(The grubs were transferred to the compost heap, where they can eat to their hearts' delight. Without killing my plants!)

It's Monday, and in spite of having had a normal amount of sleep, I'm tired. Go figure. This is slightly annoying, as - of course and as always - there's plenty of work to do. The cat snoozing in the room does not help either, spreading her snooziness molecules.

Probably the heat here is also to blame, at least partly: It's been very hot the past days, and today is no exception. There was something trying to look like a little hint of rain this morning, but it was not even enough to really register, either in our rain meter or on the ground. Which means the important plants still get their daily watering through the can today. 

We have two rainwater collectors, one of them a very large one, so there's water for the thirsty ones. Which are, mostly, tomato plants placed in pots, and a few more placed in the soil in beds. The latter, however, are not as easy or quickly to water. I also have the tendency to think that since they have roots, and practically unlimited freedom, they should be able to stretch their roots until they get to moist soil and take their water from there. In contrast, the plants in the pots don't have that possibility, so they have to get their portion of liquid daily.

So since it's been hot and dry with enough watering activities for most of the plants this year (at least up until now), there are quite a few promising-looking green tomatoes being made already. Now I hope that they will ripen soon-ish and be delicious. It would be really nice to have enough for making some sauce, or diced tomatoes, and can that for use in the winter, but I'm not sure if that will work out...

Just like last year, there's a great green bush cricket living in our wintergarden. 

It's a little larger now than it was on this photo taken some days ago - and on the photo, you can see the cast-off skin from its previous larval stage. Not fully grown yet, the green thing.

This species mostly eats other insects, but the specimen here is definitely not opposed to snacking on some green stuff as well - the leaf it is sitting on belongs to an avocado plant, and several of these leaves have a hole, or a piece eaten out of the edge. (And yes, I'm sure that this green lady is to blame for the holes, I've seen her take a few astonishingly big bites out of one leaf edge yesterday morning.)

Last year's guest had an even more exquisite taste - it bit off the tender young stem of a passionfruit seedling, and killed some other seedlings as well. Munching some avocado leaf is, in comparison, very much holding back on the havoc possible. Much appreciated!

Today's a public holiday here, so instead of a proper post, you're getting this picture of ripening woad seeds: 

I really love the colours of these seeds at that stage - they stay beautiful, but the deep purple changes to something more of a brown or blackish colour as they ripen.  

Today was birds-in-the-wintergarden day... it started off with a pair of black tits in the morning. When it's sunny outside, I open up at least one of the glass doors to the wintergarden, so that a) the plants get some unfiltered sunlight and b) the place does not overheat too badly. Sometimes, that means that a bird gets in and has a bit of a hard time to get out again, because it tries to fly through one of the closed doors, or one of the non-opening glass panels. 

That is not a huge problem unless Madame the Cat is on the premises - then it sometimes ends with a dead bird. Today, though, all the birds got lucky. 

The first of the black tits found its way out again straight away, while the second, smartly, sat down on a high rafter for a while. That was out of sight enough for Madame to lose some of her interest, and I could coax her inside (to visit her food bowl instead of looking for a feathery snack she won't eat anyways). After a while, the bird, now much calmer, went to explore the place in search of a way out, and was successful.

A few hours later, there was fluttering in the wintergarden again, and when I went in to take a look, two robins were trying to bore their way through one of the non-opening panes. Madame was outside on some important cat business at that time; I went and found the two birds to be surprisingly chilled. One was, in fact, so chilled that I could just grab it and carry it outside, where it refused to leave my hand and arm for a few minutes. I tried to transfer it to a nice place to sit on, but it hopped back onto my hand several times, and fluttered off only after it had shat on my arm. I've never had a robin on my finger before, and I can tell you that the grasp of these small, delicate bird feet is surprisingly strong, and that the leg length is astonishing.

I'd have loved to take a photo, but all the photo-taking implements were inside, and I didn't want to take the bird in there... 

Some minutes later, our cat returned from her important business elsewhere. Good timing, I'd say.