It’s approaching three months since I last wrote anything in my gardening journal. Since I last wrote anything at all.
The novelty of alliteration, discovered in childhood (a time that often seems like a million years ago to me now) never really faded.
The birches arrived a few weeks ago: two Betula albosinensis ‘Fascinations’ and two Betula utilis ‘Jacquemontiis’.
The last of the early Spring bulbs have gone over now.
As February gave way to meteorological Spring I felt happily satisfied that I’d managed to get a decent head start on this year’s gardening calendar – my first full horticultural Season in our new garden – by doing a lot of the groundwork over Winter.
Today is a day for thinking about doing. Not actually doing.
Words ramble less widely than thoughts, especially so when thoughts flow in pictures.
I dug so hard I broke my spade. Roots. Some as thick as my arm.
Pots I have lots of. Patience, not so much. But I’m trying really hard to cultivate it.
An anniversary – of sorts… And as clear as mud: