It’s now not just officially Autumn but my garden here in Lewes UK agrees. It has decided to prove that Autumn can be every bit as colourful as Summer and, this year, it looks better than ever.

I’m enjoying the mix of little red apples and dahlias with a sprinkling of crimson nasturtiums. I’ve always tried to conjure an illusion of jungle-wildness in my gardens while maintaining discrete control.

I’ve already eaten a few of these little apples, nearly ripe windfalls, and I’m soon to harvest them. The variety is Croquella and even if the fruit tasted like wax, which it doesn’t, I’d still grow this great little drawf tree as it looks so joyful when covered in fruit.

My espalier Bramley cooking apple is fruiting up well too.

The dahlias have been as joyful as those little red apples and they’ve bee alive with bees since mid-Summer. I prefer the daisy shaped varieties as do the bees.

These two are pleasant variations on a pink theme.

They red nasturtiums are a bold contrast but one that works for me.

Autumn is also garden spider time here in Lewes and often walking out there is like weaving through a series of net curtains. Horace, my old friend, is back and bolder than ever.

The daisies are mood enhancers too at this time of year. They start flowering in late spring and cary on until the frosts. They’re patients companions too for their wayward nasturtium neighbours.

The pyracantha berries have now taken over the old flint wall in the darkest part of the garden. They act like a street lamp brightening up everything around them.

Like the roses and all the other plants in this garden, the pyracantha only arrived here four years ago as a tiny plant to take its place when I started the whole garden from scratch. The roses were magnificent first time round this summer and now they’re coming back for a second flush.

I’m particularly happy to see Benjamin Britten again….

…as well as Claire Austin…

…Mortimer Sackler…

…and, one of my favourites, the richly coloured Falstaff. All my roses are highly perfumed and, maybe I imagine this, but they seem to have an even stronger perfume after rain.

They won’t last forever of course so I’m going to enjoy them before winter takes its turn out there.

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Regular readers of this blog will be delighted, I hope, to learn that my old friend Horace the spider is back in his usual Autumnal place outside my bathroom window.

Now, before spider experts start lecturing me on my foolishness, OK, I know, Horace, the European Garden Spider, Araneus diadematus, our most common orb-weaving spider, also known as the diadem spider or the cross orbweaver, is actually female. The male of the species is a small, weedy creature that only ventures onto Horace’s beautiful orbal web for sex and, if he is not quick enough, he can get eaten by his newly fertilised partner. Horace, female warrior, is a fighter, worthy of her heroic name.

European Garden Spiders have a cross-like pattern on their abdomens and extra long legs to help their  web-site dexterity. The large females weave beautiful orb-shaped webs daily to catch insect prey. They wrap their victims in silk before eating them and weave a new web each day after eating the old one. Oh yes, they bite if you put your finger too close but it is only a mild and harmless pain so don’t think harshly of Horace.

If you live in North America, you may well see your own Horaces and you might resent the name European Garden Spider but Horace is not native to America, he/she went over with the Mayflower or some other boat and, I am told quite likes it over there.

All large spiders that have ever taken up residence in my house are called Horace, it keeps relations friendly without getting too intimate.  I prefer to stay gender unspecific on these things.

Welcome back Horace.

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Horace is sun-bathing in my garden here in Lewes, UK today – Summer has finally arrived, three months late, a so-called Indian Summer but, hey, I am not complaining…and neither is Horace. The sun is shining on him now that he is made one his most intricate webs tight across my steps up to the garden and he has just enjoyed a delicious fly for breakfast. I hope the sun is shining on you all too wherever you are today.

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September here in Lewes in the UK is ending with mild sunny weather and my Bramley Seedling cooking apples are now ready for picking.

My small town garden has produced a fine crop in only the espalier tree’s second year here.

They have now got that seductive blush which tells me that apple pies are imminent.

If I get time this weekend, I shall try to show you the end products.

But for the moment you will just have to enjoy the autumnal feel of my little garden with its handfull of roses still in bloom. Like the ever faithful Celebration.

but you will not be able to smell the delicious vanilla perfume coming from my purple heliotrope flowers – one of this year’s big gardening successes in my little patch.

Oh, and as it is now Autumn (Fall), Horace the spider has returned – here he is trying to get in by my bedroom window. He would like to say hello to all his fans at home and abroad.

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I am not really being sentimental but my best friend Horace, the garden spider,  has weaved his beautiful web right across the doors that lead into my back garden. He has spent a long time making this intricate design and it seems churlish of me just to walk through it.

Also, when it rains, the web catches the droplets and it looks even more attractive so I have decided to let it stay there for a bit. Over the weekend it can act as an unusually elegant Halloween decoration. It might even deter those evil spirits from coming into my house and making things go bump in the night.

I knew Horace was my friend.

Oh yes and that Oakleys’ For Sale sign across the road. Yep, still there in spite of their promise.

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I know you all missed him as much as I did but he is back and everything seems fine with the World again.  My special friend, Horace, is a garden spider, no, he is the garden spider, supreme hunter and monarch of all he surveys. In case you have been following his expoits on last year’s blogs, I shall keep my eye on him for you all. He has reappeared in his usual spot outside my bathroom window.

Happy hunting Horace, we wolves are not worthy, my friend.

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