Good morning to my garden

 Behind the Stables

Good morning to my garden, to the sun, to my cats and dogs (especially Lilli-Puss), and to spring. Beautiful, blossomy, colourful spring, full of little surprises. Good morning to the buzzing honey bees covering the flowering cherry tree. And the bellbirds. Love you all.

Today was going to be simple. I was going to find my slightly lost scissors. How can scissors be slightly lost in the garden? Very easily. Then I would empty the trailer of garden mix - only two or three barrow loads to go. Then scoop up the red orach seedlings out of the driveway...

Aargh! As I was slurping my second cup of tea and writing this paragraph, a man (Non-Gardening Partner) wandered past the window with a knapsack sprayer on his back. Quickly! Run! I got the red orach seedlings just in time. Decided to stay over there and weed the Allotment Garden more thoroughly. Am puzzled by the creeping violets - do they sow seeds? Because although I pulled out huge swathes last year, I seem to have a carpet of tiny seedlings, leaf shape ominously creeping violet shaped. Hmm...

 In spring.
The Herb Spiral

Moved on to the Herb Spiral, planted the rescued red Orach and Calendula seedlings, plus the pot of cat mint. Weeded the wee side border by the Pergola, dug out all the autumn Asters, carefully removed creeping grass roots from underneath, then replanted everything. This took absolutely ages. Then NGP arrived with a trailer load of hedge trimmings for the bonfire. Aargh!


So what I've done is this - I've tipped one barrow load of dry burnable mess onto the ash heap. If it self-ignites, then I'll go back outside, hide my hair underneath a cap, and add some hedge trimmings. If not - I'll read my book, be a bit lazy, then organise my music for a gig tonight.

 And slow fingers!
New Scissors


Just looked out the back window. Blast! Smoke! So I've heaved a really modest amount of hedge on, and things are flaming merrily. Have keep an eye on things while I take some photographs. By the way, couldn't find those scissors.

Much, much later...

Have just come home from my gig. I have worked something out. The rose pruning and trimming season (i.e. late winter spring) is not kind to an oldish pianist's fingers. They wouldn't go fast enough to do rippling right hand jazzy-blues quaver runs. My improv was rather crotchety and minimy. I stared intently at every long note, listening to the sound die away, trying to look artistic, hee hee. Lots of sedate fun.

Next day...

Aha! Creeping violets do throw out seeds. And then more seeds. Blast. And slightly lost scissors have a horrible habit of becoming thoroughly lost. So I have bought some expensive new ones from the nursery, and they'd better behave themselves.