I rest my case.
Anyway, by the time I get Mike sorted out in the morning, there isn’t much time left before the sun is going to get into the garden and it’s going to be a scorcher, so I get myself out there. Water and give the vegetable patch another rake before transplanting my seedlings.
They look so tiny and frail in the large patch of earth. Hard to believe these miniscule plants will turn into beets and broccoli and carrots and lettuce and rocket. Which indeed they may not. No guarantee that, just because they’re in the ground, they will turn into food. I can but hope.
At least the tomato plants continue to flower and bear fruit. And now there are two pumpkin flowers!
Realise I need to buy a sprinkler attachment for the hose. As soon I start digging to transplant the seeds I realise the ground is bone dry under the top layer. Only way to give it a proper soak is with lengthy sprinkling. At least this doesn’t involve a trip to the garden shop, so I might be able to resist the call of the fuchsia planter spotted there after my last trip. (And I can hear it calling.)
After taking Mike shopping and to his physio appointment, decide I really have to do something about my poor bench. Go out with some sandpaper to prepare what’s left of it for a new coat of paint. Christ, it is a scorcher. Summer has definitely arrived. Go back into house for a cold drink.
Discover during the sanding process that another of the slats is rotten, pretty much only held together by the paint I’ve just sanded off. Bugger. Pat has promised me some planks and I hope he comes through else there will be nothing left to sit on.
Go inside for another cold drink. (This is definitely not cuppa weather.)
Give the salal a withering look which fails to wither it, so go to the shed and get the secateurs. Blimey, when I’ve finished clipping, hacking and digging up the salal which has infringed on the garden I have a whole new area begging for some flowers. Bollocks. Looks like I’m off to the garden shop after all.
No comments:
Post a Comment