Market Garden Diaries - July 2025

There’s a moment in July when everything starts to hum ... not just the bees, though there are plenty of them weaving drunkenly through the lavender, but a deeper rhythm you feel in your bones.

The market garden, once so tentative in spring, is now stretching out confidently, full of promise and purpose ... a kind of quiet abundance.

The peas are ready, their pods fat and velvety amd we always think there’s something deeply satisfying about shelling them ... a gentle, almost meditative task. The kids like to help, mostly because they like to eat the raw peas straight from the pod! The courgettes are in full swing too, and we're doing our annual dance of trying to stay on top of the harvest before they turn into marrows overnight. I’ve been grating them into everything: fritters (our veg box subscribers got our delicious fritter recipe in their box a few weeks ago) , frittatas, muffins, and even the odd chocolate cake (don’t knock it until you’ve tried it).

Elsewhere, the first tomatoes are blushing under their leaves in the polytunnel. There’s something deeply nostalgic about that warm, green, slightly sticky scent of tomato plants.

The cucumbers are also coming along nicely ... slightly wonky, wildly refreshing, and far tastier than anything you’ll find in the shops ... they've been finding their way into our sandwiches and pitchers of 'Fossoway Fizz'. Salad leaves are still abundant, though we’re picking early in the morning now to avoid the midday sun which can make them bolt. We’ve got onions and chard and beetroot and broccoli and we always find July is a good time for a second sowing to see us into autumn.

The compost bays are in almost constant use, and the hens are doing their bit with kitchen scraps. It all feels like a beautifully messy, circular dance ... one thing feeding another.

It’s not all tidy rows and baskets of veg, of course. The weeds are keeping us humble, and there’s a corner of the potting shed where the sticky willow is staging a coup! But even that feels oddly reassuring ... a reminder that nature doesn’t run to our calendar or our to-do lists.

At the end of the day, we find ourselves drawn outside again, wine glass in hand, to walk slowly through the land and take stock. The light lingers longer now, golden and low, catching on the edges of kale leaves and the tips of onion flowers. It’s a kind of evening meditation ... a quiet nod to the work done and the nourishment still to come.

July in the market garden isn’t about perfection. It’s about presence. About noticing. About savouring what’s here now, and gently preparing for what comes next.

Until next month,

~ Fossoway Stables ~