Sunday, 16 May 2010

Don the old lady gloves and hunchback...

I dont care how grannyish it is:
I adore, revel in and celebrate gardening. Given any spare time I will slip on the tatty old clothes and dire gardening shoes and get stuck in. Ripping out bindweed, uprooting brambles, relocating primroses to a place where they'll be satisfied - and oh, the seed planting...

Every May I pull out the seed box and rifle through the sachets of seeds, free with newspapers or otherwise, and plant the lot. Sunflowers to courgettes. I don't expect very much to come up, mind - some of these seeds went out of date in 1996! The sack of compost is hefted out of the shed, along with pots and trays of all shapes and sizes and tags to label them all up with - because I will forget what is in where.

Almost-fill your container -plastic or lovely, shabby clay - throw in your seeds and cover them over. Wait patiently. Feed and water. Some are shy to come up or require a week in the propagator.
I still get disappointed when the surface remains unbroken, but I know that at least one will come up. Be it a morning glory or pumpkin, I won't mind.
I never said I was a good gardener, just a very enthusiastic one.

When I'm not busy potting and shuffling and cutting and weeking, just pottering about the garden with my camera satisfies me. Each season offers different and exciting things:
Blossom on the apple tree makes sure it gets covered in bees. Doubly so in our garden - my dad has some hives down the garden. They gather around the tap to drink, which makes filling the watering can a bit difficult(!)

In a matter of days the peony bush has become vast and lush, with big fat compact buds waiting to bloom.

Our garden path to nowhere in particular. We like to pave with old bricks and let forget-me-nots spread with almost no control.

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