Anoraks, plantains, rain.

Most people who know me appreciate how much I love rain. When it rains hard and long I often get messages from people saying that I’ve popped into their head because it’s raining and I MUST be joyful, and I am. There are no caveats to my love for rain; I love being inside watching and listening to it, and I love being outside being rained on. I love soft light rain and I love rain that pelts. I appreciate rain whether it’s been coming down constantly for days, or whether it’s that first shower after a baking hot spell. All of it is good. All of it.

You might think that as a rain-lover I would have lots of lovely rain gear, but that’s not the case. I do own a lot of coats, but until recently only one of them was an anorak. Do you have an aversion to the word ‘anorak’ or ‘mac’? My children seem to. They seem to shrink from me every time I say ‘Do you want an anorak?’, and if I’m really honest with myself I think I had the same problem when I was a child. Anoraks are very un-soothing items of clothing. They feel cold to the skin, and they are often sort of spiky to wear - the folds kind of stick into you don’t they, and they never used to be breathable either, so you got either very cold or very hot and sweaty, like wearing a very tough plastic bag. And it’s always your mother, isn’t it, suggesting the ‘mac’, saying ‘it’ll keep you dry so you can have fun in the rain!’ And then there’s the smell of anoraks because they’re often damp when you put them away, so they can have a mouldy smell. All I’m saying is that I understand a child’s aversion to the anorak; it’s a deeply sensory thing.

All this to say that having loafed about in my Rotter’s cast-off bright yellow ski-jacket for years, I finally bought an anorak, and it is a very good nice one… it’s not perfect (perfect would be the same shape, but in cotton coated to make it waterproof, like the fabric they use for this) but it’s in the vicinity of perfect; Long, breathable, soft, excellent hood, opportunity to cinch in waist, rollable-uppable sleeves, excellent pocket game, and it’s green. It is very good in the rain, and several strangers have stopped me in the street to ask me about it. I’m not a hugely put-together person, so this is always delightful and puts me in a jolly mood.

Another great joy of the rain is the effect of it on our newly laid meadow turf, which I love more every day. This is a native meadow turf from Lindums and I am enjoying it SO much. You can see from the pics and video above that it has a lot of plantain, and I adore the way the light filters through those leaves. I am supposed to have two types of plantain - ribwort and hoary. I think I have a profusion ribwort…no hoary in sight.

The flowers are quite simply exquisite - right now they are gone over so I don’t have a photo of one in its full glory but my goodness they are just beautiful; the sort of flower you don’t notice until you learn something about it. I first came across this phenomenon when I got a job at Asprey about two hundred years ago and they put me behind the pen counter. I had never spent a moment thinking about pens until I was put behind that counter at Asprey and made to learn about them, and when I did, I turned into a proper weirdo about pens and how they are made, and what they feel like, and how they write, and today I feel like that about plantains…I mean, just look at them!

I have Sarah Raven’s wild flower book, which I wish I could tell you was well-thumbed and dirty, but I’m afraid it’s not; I think it’s because mine is a gigantic hardback edition, and I sort of suffer from a disease that means I have to treat it with reverence and turn the pages carefully etc so perhaps I should get a paperback. Anyway it is just the most brilliant book with mind blowing photos by Jonathan Buckley of each plant, in situ - often in giant swathes. Highly recommend - perfect present for anyone really. Anyway, Sarah on Ribwort Plantain:

‘The flowers start as dark, bristled torpedoes and gradually transform into dried turd-like cigars, like deer droppings, with a frizz of white stamens haloing the top.’

So now I have ribwort plantain, a plant I’d never noticed before, firmly stuck in my brain for ever and ever. Google tells me that ribwort plantain is an antihistimine, that it will do the thing that dock is supposed to do when rubbed on a nettle whelt. Apparently dock is simply a placebo for this, and it’s ribwort plantain that will actually do the thing. Speaking of which I have an instagram friend Constanca who, instead of just thinking about doing creative things actually goes and does them, who presses and frames large specimens not only of flowers but also, often of seaweed (click the instagram link in her bio for some of her recent ones). Love it. Influenced. Will I do it? Dunno, but it certainly seems like a fine excuse to buy a giant flower press and make a gallery of all my meadow plants, and I have just taken delivery of this one, which is very good and sturdy and not at all a disappointment.

I definitely need help with the meadow…I’ve played with meadow plants before but I’m very much a meadow virgin, still deliberating how to look after it. I suppose one could just merrily go in there and chop it down - should I get a scythe?…I think that might actually be a very bad and dangerous idea. Given how precious I’m already feeling about it though I fear I’ll spend days and days on my hands and knees every autumn, cutting each plant individually in order to save particular seedheads. And bulbs, I should add fritillaries no? Tell me your meadow tricks!

Thank you for being here. Please heart this and/or share it if you liked it, and a huge thank you to all of you being so kind and welcoming last week. I’m still trying to understand the ins and outs of this platform, but what a delight this new Substack is. I notice that many people read their posts aloud, so you can listen - I’d be interested to know how many of you like that feature, and if I should do it… I mean what if the person’s voice is a disappointment???

I’ll be back soon with more things

x Laetitia