Puff out your chest...
I'm watching the birdies at their feeding stations. Half apples in hanging coconuts for birds who like privacy, peaches in syrup for the nectar drinkers, bird seed for the finches, and a so-called 'bird-bomb' from the butcher (pure carbohydrates) for the energy guzzlers.
Saturday 24th June
I love the way the birds accept winter days. They just puff out your chest a bit more and find a kind gardener who provides free food in a safe (in terms of cats) environment. Birds just get on with living during the hours of daylight. They don't start late or finish early.
Unlike me, this weekend's version of me. I am cross. My garden needs me. Non-Gardening Partner needs me. Well, my garden needs NGP, and he needs me to encourage, organise, and direct him. And I have choral commitments.
Today (after a lacklustre morning rehearsal) I helped with the shredding, pottering off every now and then to feed my bonfire. It was rather nice working with another adult in the garden. Time raced past, and achievements were much more obvious. But all too soon it was dark and cold, with lots more hedge trimmings to rake up, lots more piles to shred.
Tiger on Bird Watch
Sunday 25th June
Aargh! It's cold-raining. Early this afternoon I have to go out and sing, with clean fingernails and smoke-free hair. There just isn't enough daylight yet to fit everything in. Blast. Grump. Etc.
Tiger the cat has stationed herself on the patio steps. It's obviously worth getting a bit wet if you can flick out a languid paw and catch a little birdie.Tiger! I have spoilt her fun by rattling the cat biscuits, so in she comes for easier pickings - or so she thinks!
Even in the dusk of my gardening career (?) there is something to learn. I arrived home three quarters of an hour before sundown. Aha! The skies were clear, so I leapt into my stylish (well, in Farrah Fawcett-Major's decade they would have been) dungarees and started trimming the Salvia in the Allotment Garden. I'd already made a list of Allotment Garden changes at the concert while listening to the soloist (oops). The irises are all going in one half of one bed. The miniature roses are coming out, full stop, making way for real roses (sorry).
Bonfire Day Seven
NGP's arrival from an afternoon flying coincided with mine. So, in the spirit of gardening maintenance tasks shared being halved, he wheeled out the shredder, and finished the piles over the water race. I helped him at the very end. By now it was dark, and oh so cold. Hot bath time!
Sorry to ramble on...
Sorry to ramble on about an hour and a half's work. But it would have been so easy to get home, slump in a chair, watch the sun go down, and glower (definitely 'glower', not a computer keyboard mistake for 'flower') about losing a whole day.
Bonfire Day Eight
Monday 26th June
The little waxeyes and the big fatty blackbirds and starlings are so groovy. First thing (brr....) I put up a new bird feeder, and the bravest little waxeye arrived at once, almost landing on my hand. Not a problem!
Winnie and I have already been to the frosty dog park, and as soon as the sun gets a teensie weensie bit higher I'm going to puff my chest out and go outside. Aargh! It's still only one degree Celsius. A bit cold to dig up irises.
One word. Amazing. Another word. Brilliant. A huge day, spent bonfiring (with my friend helping) and sorting out the Allotment Garden. I've removed the miniature roses. They will go in pots for now. I've built up one of the wee gardens, adding compost and a higher row of stones, and transplanted the irises therein. They won't even notice the slight change of scenery.
Tuesday 27th June
I am inside to regroup, before the final push of the day. My bonfire is smoking away outside. It feels really cold out there (a sultry eight degrees Celsius, apparently) and the sun is sinking out of sight. What I would like to do is have a shower and put on clean clothes, warm socks, and slippers. Alas. What I am going to do is shiver and poke at my sulky bonfire. If I can encourage the flames, then I'll get warm, won't I? I'll do it. No more muttering.
Sorry, bonfire, but I am abandoning you to sulk and swirl your smoke around.
Bonfire Day Nine
I am clean, and about to prepare the evening meal. My weekly box of vegetables has arrived. Yeay! Lucky Non-Gardening Partner, who will once again be eating camouflaged silver beet, red cabbage, and curly kale. Does he notice? Actually, as long as the green-ness is disguised, it seems to be OK. Oops. Hope he doesn't read this...