An activity that I really enjoy is shopping for plants. It’s such a nice thing to do and full of hope.
But the fact is I’m a rotten gardener. It’s taken me many years to realise this and accept it. My garden doesn’t have neat rows of plants ; it doesn’t have that manicured look which some gardens manage to achieve; nor do I work in it everyday. I stay enthusiastic for a while and then other preoccupations come along and I forget all about the garden except as a place to stroll around in occasionally.
Gardening is an activity that one is supposed to do in this town, which is such a British relic.
Around January, we dig up the beds, put in fresh manure and move things around and then go shopping for plants. We, meaning the boy who does the heavy work and has practical knowledge while I combat him with a little light work and wisdom from gardening books.
Every year, we plant as many annuals as we can, water them through the spring, enjoy the flowers in May and then turn over the garden to mother Nature for the rest of the year. She obliges with lots of rain and lots of green.
(this pic is from a couple of years ago – as the tree grows, we have more and more shade and less sun for flowers)
This year, the planting got delayed and desultory and I went shopping only today. Just the names are so romantic and nice. Such an anachronism to hear them tripping off the tongues of nursery people who hardly speak English.
Calendula, verbena, lupins, daisies, cosmos, phlox, petunias,…..