Apologies of the routine kind for blog neglect; my sister came to visit and the weather got a bit better, so one way and another I've been otherwise occupied somewhat. I'll try to use up the backlog of intended blog matter (sound a bit bodily and unpleasant, that), and to get round some of yours again.
First off, alliums. Back in the heady, onion-planting days of spring, when we believed there might one day be a summer in this part of the northern hemisphere, I split a bag of Roscoff pink onion sets with Plutarch. The Roscoff pink onion is a vegetable dear to both of our hearts and palates (if you can be doing with reading this post from five years ago you may deduce one reason for this, as well as observing what a loquacious blogger I used to be...), but until lately it has been difficult to procure the sets to grow one's own, since they are appellation d'origine contrôlée. Even these were not permitted to be sold as Roscoff onions, but only Roscoff-type, but for the first time were being offered for sale in the Jacques Briant catalogue
Plutarch has been conscientiously giving news of his onions' progress, which has been a little disappointing I gather owing to the dismal weather we've all been having (not that I'm complaining when I see how some people have had it). I took these pictures a couple of weeks ago now, and in the spirit of competitive old codgers at country produce shows, I think I can probably gloat that mine are bigger than his. This is in absolutely no wise down to any superior gardening skills on my part; from everything I gather Plutarch's veg patch is Hyperion to a satyr compared to mine, but simply down to the fact that even in a rubbish summer, Brittany is still that bit warmer than Kent. And perhaps the little pinkies are just a bit happier at being that much closer to their origine contrôlée, who knows?
These are they, after a shower of rain, who'd have thought it, in their raised bed (which is somewhat weedy), with some chives in the background. The bulbs themselves are a bit bigger still now, but the tops are getting scruffy and flopping about even more untidily now.
I like it when they do that braiding thing.
And a lot more gratuitously arty shots of raindrops on onion tops.
The other members of the onion family I wanted to show you were the tree onions, which I've learned are even more picturesquely called Egyptian walking onions, because, in effect, they walk around the garden, springing sets from flowers again and again, then drooping and dropping a step and then another step away. They go on forever like this, it seems. Vegetative life is very strange, and very largely knows no death.
That's it for onions for now, more stuff from the garden to come, I dare say.