New blogger, new garden...
I come from a family entirely free of green fingers. My mother recently told me, utterly bewildered, that a pot of echinacea growing on her windowsill had been a failure.
It was February, a maximum of 2C and the window was more often than not swinging on its hinges.
A thorough investigation of my ancestry has also revealed no link whatsoever to Percy Thrower.
So the chances of me growing up to like gardening, let alone be good at it were always pretty slim. But I love it – as does my husband, who boasts a hobby gardeners’ pedigree and a magic touch with veggie seeds.
A quick look around our garden today and I reckon the jurys still out on whether I’m good or not…
Our teeeeeensy garden with a miniscule shaded border, matchbox sized lawn and truly excellent pond-y, wildlifey corner is looking distinctly ok. A heuchara (sp?) and a geum look spectacular together and a swathe of alliums are cheerful, albeit swamped by an out of control tree – twizzly thing, far too big and encroaching on the neighbours as they BBQ.
The much loved hosta is more lace than plant and the lilies are slug-munched stumps. A puzzling patch of rubbly border in deep shade by the pergola and a crazy but lovely white clematis is bare but for an unhappy looking aquilegia. As for a whole host of potted roses – some gifts, some babysitting jobs – they’re totally out of control despite several minutes spent scratching my head and peering at the pruning section of the handbook.
But the real test is soon to come.
A few months ago I (stupidly) thought out loud about a kitchen garden, being a keen cook. Now the husband is waxing lyrical about railway sleepers, rhubarb and crop rotation. So come autumn, watch this space…
- 26 May, 2008
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