We’ve lived here, in this half rural, half urban location, for 10 years. At the back there is a river, water-meadows and a footpath. At the front, a short walk into the centre of an English market town.

Our garden is surrounded by mature trees- some of which we love- a gorgeous copper beech, a tall, elegant pine an elder flower and a few prunus; plus some intrusive, pesky holm oaks which we loathe but are not permitted to remove.

The garden, therefore is not only shady, but dry, having a dry shade bank, the moisture leeched away by the holm oaks and other trees. I’ve cursed the garden since we came, for its reluctance to grow anything requiring sun: no salvias, agapanthus, hebes, There are winners and losers in the garden- lush, abundant tomatoes in the greenhouse, roses that continue to flower, patches of resilient clover. Parched grass, astilbes and heuchera that haven’t made it.

This year is different. This year I’m blessing the garden for its shady properties. We are in official drought conditions, here in the south of the UK, while further north, heavy showers and thunderstorms strafe the landscape. No significant rain has fallen here since May and temperatures have soared. Harvests locally are poor, crops failing. We begin to understnad better how poor, drought-ravaged areas of Africa fail to cope.

Our river level has dropped to the lowest we’ve seen it, exposing gravel beaches and weed. Sometimes a solitary egret walks along beside the bank or we get to see this year’s swan family swimming on the deeper side, but on the whole, the river is quiet.

We’re lucky with wildlife here. There are always signs of fox activity. Once I woke to hear one lapping water from my little decking pond and a couple of months ago I experienced a close encounter with a hedgehog when I opened the garden container to find one blinking and squinting up at me. I went to get gloves and a woolly hat before scooping him up and taking him to the far, wooded end of our garden. Once set down, rather than turn and disappear, he waited expectantly while I fetched some bird nuts, which he tucked into as if his life depended on it!

We’re mindful to keep the bird bath topped up and the hedgehog bowl filled, as well as a dish of water with large pebbles for the insects. Bumble bees are my favourite insects of all, but their future is in question as heatwaves descend. They are not designed for heat, with their furry, heavy bodies. We’ve seen a variety of them working their way around the flowers [earlier on, the alliums were a big hit with them] although lately there have been fewer.

Husband has such faith in evolution that he tells me they will all survive, adapt. But I feel desolate when I think of what we, mankind has done to ruin our planet and all of the creatures that share it and of the behaviour that continues to destroy it. There are still those who don’t believe in climate change- even while it stares them in the face.

Novels by Jane Deans [Grace]: The Year of Familiar Strangers and The Conways at Earthsend. Visit my website: janedeans.com