My aching butt

Oh, yes, I remember this now.  The day after the first day of really bending down and digging in: the sore legs and the aching butt. I get the leg muscles – all that stretching and crouching, but my ass? I remember posing this question on Facebook years ago, after my first big gardening day in Walthamstow. Someone – I vaguely remember it being Birgit –  who clearly paid more attention in anatomy classes than I ever did, replied with the information that there are butt muscles (glutes?) attached to the thigh muscles which I’d also been stretching more than usual. How annoying is that? Not quite as annoying as the clear recollection that tomorrow it will be worse. That just doesn’t seem fair.

Anyway… 

During all the bending and stretching yesterday, I spot the first flowers opening on the strawberry plants. I haven’t put a seed in the ground yet (must get on to that) and already food is beginning to appear. Hurrah.

Tiny, tiny flowers are starting to appear on the raspberry plants. There are also tons of flowers on the blueberry and black currant plants and lots of berries already sprouting on the gooseberry.

This is all very promising, I think, as I add compost to all these beds.

Mind you, it always seems very promising this time of year. And it all gets very exciting as we move into summer, and then this happens.

There is part of me that thinks it’s only fair that my gardening efforts (such as they are) should benefit other species. (Although never bloody Bambo.) Have I not, after all, made a concerted effort to have a bee-friendly garden? Yes, I have. So, in theory, it should be fine if the birds get something, too. It’s the ratio that’s a little galling. I figure it’s about 75/25. If I was the one getting the 75%, that would be fine, but I’m not. (With the exception of the blackberries, which for some reason the birds leave largely alone.) I mention this to Cec when he comes round to fix the fence.

Two days later, Mr Fixit, bless him, returns with this.

It is the first of four netting frames he’s decided to build for me. What a guy!

Before attaching the netting the frame needs to be either stained or painted. Which should it be? I’m pretty sure I actually have some stain stored away somewhere, but is that what I want? I’m thinking something colourful might be nice? But what colour? Day-Glo pink might be nice. Too much? Perhaps. Turquoise? There’s already a fair bit of it in the garden.

Too much if the frames are turquoise, too? Perhaps. Purple? Cobalt blue? Red? Oh, my god, I just don’t know. Decisions, decisions. Well, I need to figure it out and get on it before the birds start snarfing berries. What do you think?

To rototill or not to rototill?

Very excited the day we left for Vancouver at the beginning of the month to be told by Billy, the guy Pat hired to do his garden, could rototill mine for $150. Yes, yes, if this is truly my garden project, I should be doing all the work myself, but what the hell. Agree to pay Billy the money on our return and ask him to do the garden while we’re away. Am also thrilled when he tells me he can actually repair existing (barely) gate. Hurrah!

Send my cousin Peter an e-mail which includes the news that the garden will be rototilled when I get back. It’s only after I arrive in Vancouver that I read Peter’s reply: “Rototill warning: Don't till if you have weeds which re-grow from pieces of root - you'll make the situation far worse. Ground should be dug over carefully and as many roots removed as possible. Good (bad!) example in UK is couch grass.” Yikes. I most definitely do have weeds which are likely to re-grow from pieces of root (though almost certainly no couch grass – whatever that is). Uh, oh, I think. Have I made job harder on myself in the long term? Oh, well, I have no contact number for Billy, so I shall just have to deal with the consequences of my over eagerness.

Tackle my mission in Vancouver, which is to find Mike a flat to replace as his visit-family-go-to-the-doctor base the tiny, expensive supported living place he’s been renting since leaving hospital in 2008. Job done on first day: find a perfectly okay and surprisingly affordable two bedroom flat in the Capital Hill area of Burnaby (borough adjacent to Vancouver). Sadly it is not on the mountain view side of the Hill, nor is it in the middle of the surprisingly funky Burnaby Heights area (let alone in the middle of the Commercial Drive area, which is where I really want to be), but it will do the job.


Beige throughout, naturally, so will have to be painted. My friend Catherine’s son Josh, a professional decorator, astonishes and delights me by offering to help me paint later in the month free of charge. Can’t believe I found a place on the first day, so lots of free time now.


Social events of the visit include the fourth birthday party of Mike’s granddaughter Celeste – an exceedingly cute little girl who, not surprisingly, can’t figure out who the hell I am in the greater scheme of things.

For me the main event is a reunion the night before we return to Gabriola of the majority of members of the women’s dinner group – started in Vancouver many years ago by me one weekend when Mike was away and I decided it would be great to have a dinner party just for my women friends. It turned into a hugely popular tradition. (I remember my friend Jane asking me one day when Mike was going to be away again, as her husband was driving her round the bend and she really needed a women’s night.)

Thanks to Jane, visiting from Montreal, we have another women’s night. It’s a shame that founding member Rowan and Mariam are many miles away, but absolutely bloody marvellous to see Jane, Eilis, Caroline, Birgit, Catherine and Cathy all in one place at the same time.

Start the evening with dinner at Wazubees (where, I am delighted to discover, they still do their fab Oriental chicken salad) then head to the WISE Club. (Where I am horrified to discover that the smoking room – the last place in Vancouver you could have a pint and a fag indoors – is no more, fallen victim to some bitch who wasn’t even a member reporting them. God, I wish I had her name and address.)

But what about the garden? I hear you ask. Not to worry, I did give some thought to the garden while I was in Vancouver. Did some internet research into Plants Deer Don’t Like To Eat. Turns out deer don’t like lavender, nor are they attracted to many herbs. Hurrah! I can actually get a herb patch going, which is something I’m already missing from my Walthamstow garden and which will also save me spending ridiculous amounts of money on ridiculous plastic packages of fresh herbs at the supermarket. So that will be one of my first jobs when I get back. I’m also going to stick some flowers in a couple of pots, just to have some colour in the garden while I’m working on the rest of it. Not sure what to do about the premature rototilling – other than simply living with the consequences.

Sunday, June 13th: Back on Gabriola and it’s a good news/bad news scenario. The good news is I no longer have to worry about the consequences of premature rototilling as the garden’s untouched. The bad news is the garden’s untouched. What the hell happened to Billy?