A strange event occurred last weekend. I decided to try and turn the abandoned wasteland at the rear of our house into a garden.
Now, anyone who knows me will, at this point, be laughing loudly. I am not known for my ability with plants. In fact, no matter how hard I try to look after them, watering, pruning, feeding and yes, even talking to them encouragingly, they eventually repay my kindness by dying.
Knowing that we are not the best when it comes to gardening, hubbie and I have opted for the safe approach; a large grassed area we call a lawn. It actually doubles as my son’s football pitch which is perhaps why it is rutted and full of holes for most of the year.
The remainder is what could best be described as a cottage garden; or weed patch to the uninitiated!
But every now and then I have the urge to create something beautiful to look at through the window.
So, last weekend found me weeding and mowing and raking and planting. Yes, planting. I even dragged hubbie to the garden centre where we spent a pleasant afternoon marvelling at the ability of others to grow things.
I carefully selected the unlucky plants that would be coming home with me. The cost of it all nearly had me heading for the nearest park under the cover of darkness – they surely wouldn’t miss a few!
Back home, my plants looked pathetically inadequate to fill the space they had been chosen to occupy but I am told that they will grow!
Several rubbish sacks (yes, I know that the bin men won’t take them away if there is even one twig sticking out – I sent hubbie to the tip) and one bad back later, I was pleased to find that we still had an ornamental fence underneath the undergrowth.
I scrubbed weather worn containers and planted geraniums and pansies and one or two other things that promised to grow well with the minimum of care.
By Sunday night, I was pleased with my handiwork.
Now if it will just stay that way until this time next year, everything in the garden will, as they say, be just rosy!
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