In the house it's so easy thinking of things to do in the garden tomorrow. Move this, tidy that, plant here, weed there... Wandering around the garden, I always see things to do tomorrow. What's so special about tomorrow? What's wrong with today?
Aha! I can answer that. Today I am not wearing gardening clothes (except for my boots) and I don't want to get my fingernails dirty (have to keep them clean for playing my piano). Two rather limp excuses, if you ask me!
Too hot for gardening...
And it's too hot (which might be a better reason for procrastination). I've collected two barrowfuls of trimmings from the Herb Spiral. And I sense that today for me in the garden is over, almost before it's begun.
Have decided to formalise this concept of tomorrow. Here's a list. It's in paragraphs, and even has numbering - be very impressed. You will see several structural items on it. It has a sense of purpose. I rather like it - for tomorrow, that is.
1. Nail some wood over Crepuscule's pergola so the friendly Clematis (NOT the montana variety, phew) has something to help it stay up there. By the way, good work today trimming the heavy pieces of Crepuscule rose that were splitting off. And bothering to nip off the wee flowers, take them inside, and put them in wee vases. Thoughtful.
Kate Sheppard Rose
2. Start digging out and potting up the plants that need rescuing. If you don't do them while you remember, then you'll forget (that sort of makes sense). Today you noticed Elina and two Kate Shephard roses struggling (which is a euphemism in my garden for dying). Great observational skills.
3. Nail some wood for the Banksia lutea to sprawl over, so people can actually pass underneath on their way to the glass-house. Good work today cutting off those prunus suckers. You saw something that needed doing, and stopped to do it. Great discipline.
A couple of days later...
I did it! Or, rather, I did them, the things in those paragraphs. Found some wood, successfully negotiated the step-ladder without wobbling, managed to hammer nails in straight. Dug out the roses, trimmed and potted them, gave them little labels. Remembered that I don't remember what they are, months afterwards when I'm replanting them. Labels are useful and necessary. For example, unknown David Austin rose, shifted three times, bought fifteen years ago, name not recorded...
Pat Austin Roses
Aha! Pat Austin (a beautiful relative of David's) needed rescuing from her spot by the pergola. She is an adorable rose, but not doing well this year. Not one flower. Who knows why? A lack of sun/water/food? Incorrect pruning? No pruning? I'll replant her in the Hump's rose garden in autumn, if she survives.
All accomplished, thanks to the power of a list with paragraphs.