I’ve found the recent heat exhausting, along with the consequent demands of our garden and its craving for water. Early spring was relatively placid, the bulbs planted the previous autumn came up as planned, and the rain was more than generous, too generous.
An Iris bought as a tuber from a country house. Eureka. it survived. If you zoom in, you might get the impression we're surrounded by forest. It's a pleasant illusion I try to encourage. Makes for less work.
Before the tulips came the daffodils, now spent, afterwards came the bluebells and an errant primrose.
But now the garden’s gone wild, bursting its borders, weeds demanding their place in the sun, and every damn plant shrieking WATER!
I enjoy gardening. It’s therapeutic and time vanishes. Up until last year it was also pleasant exercise. It has now though become harder and I limit myself to a simple small project a day.
So, apologies, the whinge is my excuse for no blog this week. I lack the mental energy for anything other than pictures of my torture and joy. As you can see, no doubt from a glance, my philosophy of a cultivated wilderness helps make life a little easier, and bees, birds, insects and voles sing my praises daily.
Roses and a rosemary presently disguise a path I have to clear.
Roses seen from the Decking.
Roses, rhubarb and somewhere in there, a gooseberry bush
Rose, woodland plants and another path to the garden shed; an Aladin's Cave of junk, and a lawnmower
And the noble foxglove. Plenty of those, too.
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