Garden Love

I LOVE my garden, I mean really love it.

It is where I zone out and really relax. I seem to be a bit of an anomaly for my age group on this one; I only get to talk gardening when the grannies are on the school run.

I am not embarrassed about my horticultural fondness (beyond caring) but it would be nice if people didn’t laugh when I tell them (is it that weird? Really?).

For me, it’s an extension of my home; I love decorating my house, so it makes sense to me that I decorate my garden as well. Maybe it’s from working in retail for so long – I just want to visually merchandise my spaces. *Disclaimer: I’m not claiming to be stylish or tasteful, I just take pleasure doing it.

I was in the garden in the pouring rain earlier, covered in mud and ranting to myself about the mountains of cat turds that seem to appear every day (if anyone has any solutions – apart from moggy genocide, please tell me) planting hollyhocks, honeysuckle, passionflower and hibiscus; I was in my element (except for the cat shit).

And this has all come flooding back to me now that we have a working garden again. When we moved into this house our garden was a concrete jungle with a humongous raised bed that was fit for nothing (you couldn’t reach the other side – wtf?). We have spent the last four years undoing a lot of bad garden choices, making the garden child-safe, productive and enjoyable. Anyone who knows anything about gardening will realise this takes TIME. You truly can’t rush a garden. Especially not when you work full-time, are pregnant and then have a small baby. But those factors are now gone.

My mini-greenhouse is back up. My veggies and salad should start sprouting soon.

I have workable (i.e. I can reach them) raised beds.

I have grass for the Little Men to play on.

I have an herb garden.

I have hanging baskets.

Notice ‘I’ and ‘My’. Yes. The Big Big Man is my unpaid labourer, nothing more. This garden is MINE.

And hopefully by the end of the summer I will have a Moroccan courtyard, or at least a sitting area with a corrugated plastic roof. Ideally a pizza oven and fire-pit but I’m not holding out much hope for them.

I could carry on all day, but the pleasure I get from seeing those little green shoots unfurling from the compost is magical. And when the lilies and peonies bloom, heavenly.

The garden is my simple pleasure. Apart from when I have to weed (no one can enjoy that, surely), or clean up any feline faeces.

I can’t be the only one under 60 who’s green-fingered! Let me know if you share my passion, or even recommend some really pretty flowers. I might be living on a budget, but when it comes to the garden I forget.

Okay, I’m just going to crawl back under the stone labelled ‘weird thirty-year old’.


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