Despite the continuous rain and even floods, the little bit of sunshine we've had recently has produced an abundance of juicy fruit and vegetables

TWO weddings and funerals, a brace of christenings, a divorce and several notable birthdays; it's been a busy year for family gatherings, the latest of which found us all winding our way down through the gently rolling, sleepy Suffolk countryside. It was my clever and beautiful cousin Helen's wedding, so a happy and up beat event to round off the hectic year of activity. Her intended is a trained lawyer and young London business man, so a well accepted union for all parties concerned.

Neither I, nor any of my immediate family, had visited or been Suffolk before, so we decided to make a holiday of it and hired out a traditional cottage for the week. It was an A' grade pedigree Suffolk cottage, with the full complement of creaky floorboards, crooked walls, beamed ceilings, huge walk-in fireplaces and a thatched roof. It even had a secret windowed room in the attic, to which no one could find the door. The walls on the outside were daubed in one of the traditional ochre-based paints, but not luckily the Suffolk Pink.

Fortunately, the weather was kind and we were able to spend much of the time out in the garden, usually clutching a glass of chilled rosé wine.

Most of the houses in the area of Suffolk that we were staying in stood in large gardens. Land didn't seem to be such a premium as it is up north. The vegetation wasn't clipped within an inch of its life.

Hedges, although maintained, were allowed to tower tall and trees and bushes that sprung up on walkways were allowed to flourish and shine. Villages had swathes of communal lands and public forests. All in all, the feeling was one of a relaxed Eden.

THIS Eden was a productive one, though. Farm shops popped up every few miles, filled with rows and crates of home-grown fruit, flowers and vegetables. Pick your own signs littered the verges and honesty boxes accompanies tables and carts on private driveways.

A short walk anywhere would throw up some bounty. Apples not only hung on boughs in orchards and gardens, but also by roadside and on footpaths. Shiny red Discoveries and deep green cookers dangled from gnarled and wizened branches.

There were also pockets full of hazel and walnuts to collect, just ripe and ready to crack in order to extract the fresh juicy kernels. Blackberries glistened like jewelled brooches on the bramble bushes, and tasted as they used to when I stole them as a child from the rocky Devon cliffs; sweet, earthy and warm without that sour edge that puckers the cheeks and narrows the eyes.

Escaped raspberries, once cultivated, but now roaming wild provided the perfumed tartness to our wild forage, but the first prize had to go to the plums.

They weren't a pure plum (prunus domestica), but more of a cherry plum (prunus cerasifera), with various crossbreedings of bullaces (prunus insititia).

Cherry plums come in a range of colours from yellows to pinks to deep reds (mirroring the ochre tints on the traditional Suffolk houses), and were an ancient introduction to our lands by the Romans who brought them here from expeditions in the Balkan countries.

Today they are superseded commercially by the more cultivated, larger varieties of plums.

The prunus family does well on the calcareous Suffolk soil, as they showed by dripping from every hedge and shrub. Floors and footfalls were covered in their pulpy remains. The local pheasants, chaffinches and blackbirds were plump, as were any and every spare plastic bag that we were carrying; fat with sweet, sticky, juicy plums, luscious, sunshine-filled berries and crunchy, toast-tinged nuts.

This as not a county that would see you starve.

Reader's question

SUSAN from Durham is moving house and would like to take some of her crocosmia Lucifer' with her. It is just flowering now, but is it too early to split the plant and take some with her?

I don't blame you for wanting to take a bit of your Lucifer with you.

Crocosmia, like the red hot poker, has suffered from a bad name over the past few years for becoming an invasive, council-type of plant that is hard to get rid of.

New varieties like Lucifer, with its large deep red flowers and Citronella, with delicate yellow ones have revitalised interest in the plant.

It is not the best time for splitting the corms. That would be after flowering, and once the leaves have gone brown, usually between November and March.

However, if you really need to get the job done with haste, it will not fatally damage the plant if you lift some of it out of the ground now with a fork and re-plant, or repot it straight away. The flowers may suffer, wilt at the worst, but they will bounce back next year, rewarding you with their magnificent ribbed, sword-shaped leaves and deep scarlet coloured flowers.

Jobs this week

■ Pull up onions during dry spells and lie them on a dry bench under cover to dry.

■ Crop runner beans on a daily basis in order to prevent them getting too large and stringy.

■ Dead head roses as they come towards the end of their flowering year.

■ Stake gladiolas as the flower heads open and cause top-heaviness.

* Brigid presents Ask about Gardening' every Sunday on BBC Tees 95FM from 1-2pm. Questions will be answered on the day by emailing brigidpress@bbc.co.uk anytime during the week, and texting 07786-200995 or phoning 01642-225511 during the show.