Tapestries gracing ancestral estates Welcome mats trimming our public park gates
An eggless raspberry bellied bake Twitcher fuel – Kitchen-side of the glass
The rubble bank is exactly that: a peculiar, linear, broken brick and excavated, relocated dirt mound at the top of our garden.
In the pursuit of pretty, there are two kinds of gardener who wilfully apportion several weekend evening hours to hosing down their lawn, in a heavy storm, on the darker side of dusk.
Radial rhythm – Taps seed to feed agouti Whiskers, fingers twitch.
The garden as we first viewed it, in the estate agent’s particulars, had two obvious and immediate selling points: its wide open size and its impressive woodland backdrop.
It’s approaching three months since I last wrote anything in my gardening journal. Since I last wrote anything at all.