Everything could be jam

A  'jam Sunday' where L and I allow ourselves an extra toast with jam, today it was my homemade plum jam. I am boastful about the jam.  Then L and I surged out into the garden. Lorraine busy with lots of bits above my pay grade such as pruning raspberries, and re-seeding our trug with salad vegetables.  I attended to what's left of the raised veggie beds after the relentless heatwaves.The beans did really well, partially because the wretched snails have had to hide.  I picked a few more to have with our dinner (beans not snails), plus a few leaves of spinach which have recovered after laying their leaves on the ground like limp rags. The celeriacs have not balled up at all, a few leeks have survived, but are thin and small. Perhaps they will all plump up now that there is lots of rain in the forecast.   

I deadheaded roses in the front garden, wondering if we should make rose hip syrup, like Mum did once or twice. Under Lorraine's supervision I also took cuttings from lavender, planting them in pots inside plastic bags. In the front garden, on one of the chaenomeles seem to have six or seven large fruits on it, which are still hard and green. I have my eye on them to make a pot of quince jelly once they are ready. 

Then I idled for a bit before air frying a chicken. Lorraine busy with pottery. Mum had enjoyed going to church this and was going next door to chat to Barry in the evening as usual. A relaxed evening scarfing chicken and veggies, followed by an early night. Why does pottering about in the garden make you feel so pleasantly tired?

Two young caterpillars of the buff-tip moth, or so AI tells me.