Midsummer is the period of time surrounding the Summer Solstice, the longest day of the year. This is also the official start of Summer and a time to celebrate the peak of the earth’s abundance and greenness. Who then better to interview for Midsummer than Andrew, who witnesses nature’s growth and fruition more closely than most.

What does Midsummer mean to you as a gardener?

Midsummer seems bittersweet to me. Wonderful long evenings stretching ahead into summer aren’t quite capable of making me forget that the days are now getting shorter, and signs all round that the garden has shaken off the fresh, youthful growth of spring and entered into a kind of middle-age – soil dries and hardens, stems toughen. There is seed to be made and ripening to be done. All around you can feel purpose in the plants.

What would your typical summer day look like?

I’m fortunate to spend much of my days outside, in my own garden or, more likely, those of my clients. And though I’m not built to function particularly well in the hotter months, years working out in all weathers have made me surprisingly adaptable. I’ll still be casting about for shady beds to weed and water, deadhead and clip, but that’s not always possible. I’ll miss the evening catch-up in front of Wimbledon this year, though – there’s something particularly soothing about the sound, and all that green.

Which seasonal plants in your garden are currently in bloom?

There’s still some elderflower, and although most of the nigella is going to seed, the odd spot of sky blue glints out at me. It’s been a fabulous year for roses, and they’re still going strong, the scent from the mock-orange (Philadelphus coronarius) is so uplifting, and as the flowers on that fade it looks as though the star jasmine (Trachelospermum jasminoides) will be taking over perfumery duties. Wonderful self-seeders that flower so generously, lime green Lady’s mantle (Alchemilla mollis), white and pink daisies on the Mexican fleabane (Erigeron karvinskianus), yellow Corydalis lutea – all of these bridge the transition from spring to summer along with opium poppies and foxgloves. Of course, the pelargoniums are into their stride now, with cosmos and zinnias starting to get into the game. 

What are you cooking in your kitchen during the summer months?

We become a largely plant-based household a few years ago, which has involved almost having to learn how to cook and prepare food from scratch, as many of the flavours I relied on in the past suddenly weren’t available. It’s an exciting journey – fermented foods like miso become essential for depth and umami, nori gets flaked around liberally too. And in summer, you get to play with so many salad ideas – the key is always to include tiny bursts of flavour – micro greens are fabulous for this of course, but also anything pickled – we’re in danger of becoming vinegar connoisseurs – and tangy fruit where you perhaps wouldn’t quite expect it. We discovered a fantastic fennel, orange and beetroot salad recipe a couple of weeks ago in an Aine Carlin book.

How has gardening helped you through lockdown this year?

I’ve always been grateful for my garden, but until lockdown I hadn’t quite come to appreciate what a great privilege my gorgeous, semi-wild tangle of flowers and foliage afforded me. Seeing and reading about others negotiating that period of confinement without access to that outdoor space has brought new levels of gratitude – and an understanding that one of the responsibilities such stewardship brings with it is the requirement to enjoy it to the full. I probably still spend more time standing, gazing about and listening than actually pulling weeds but that, I would argue, is an essential element of gardening.

What is your favourite season in the garden and why?

It’s tough to decide between spring and autumn, but I think the latter has always just won out for me. It surprised me when I discovered that some people think of it as a season of death – to me, it’s a time of fruitfulness, and of slowing into well-earned rest after a summer in which so much energy has been expended. I love the morning mists, the freshness in the air, the low, straw-coloured sun, the crunch of fallen leaves. It ushers in a time of contemplation and preparation, and my head feels clearer with the warm fug of high summer days behind me.

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