Twice a month I write down what the garden is doing, which cup it ended up in, and what I got wrong the previous time.
The bamboo I moved into the shaded corner in spring finally stopped sulking. New culms are thinner than last year, but they harden faster and the leaves are a darker green. The lesson, again: less sun in July, more water in August.
Kept a dozen shoots, cut the rest at ground level. A dense clump looks generous in photographs and strangles itself by the third season.
Cooler water, a shorter first steep and a warmed pot do more for a modest green tea than any ceremony. I started weighing leaves instead of guessing, and the difference between a good and a forgettable cup turned out to be about a gram and a half.
Everything worth repeating in the garden is boring on paper.
Moved it away from the fence after two seasons of readings that were politely described as optimistic. Ten metres of open ground changed the July total by a third.