Spring cleaning

Cec comes round, as promised, after his morning constitutional and helps me get the frames back over the berry beds.

No, your eyes do not deceive you. One of these things is not like the other. The strawberry bed in the foreground, built and properly levelled a couple of years ago by Mr Fixit, is the horizon line. The slapdash beds I concocted before that, not so much. Oh, well.

Cec goes off to rob from the rich and give to the poor (he played little John in last year’s panto) or do otherwise good deeds.

Cec as Little John, with my air guitar hero Will Scarlett (Paul O'Sullivan) .

 I go back to the cursed netting and the staple gun to get the strawberry frame done.

Oh, bloody bollocking bollocks. There isn’t enough netting to cover these two side panels. I refuse to buy another bloody bollocking roll of the bloody stuff for just these two panels. Back into the house to ring Cec and ask if he and Joyce by any chance have any spare netting – or perhaps some plastic sheeting? Yes, they do! Cec will return tomorrow. What a guy. 

(When the organisers of the Gabriola Garden Tour come to call – ha, bloody, ha – to ask if I would allow the public in on their fundraising weekend for People for a Healthy Community, I shall have to bill it as the Holmes/Ashley Garden – with special mention to the Rosses of Toronto.)

Oh, by the way, did I mention that Cec thinks my cup hook solution for holding the netting in place was inspired?

Well, he does.

With the netting job brought to a halt by lack of netting, I turn my attention to spring cleaning. Of the house, do I hear you ask? No, of course not. To hell with the bloody house. I’ll get to that later. No, at the moment I’m more interested in the garden path.

Not impressed? Well, that’s because I didn’t take a before picture. Trust me, bloody buckets of pine cones and needles have been removed. Not to mention the ten thousand (okay, okay – several dozen) little plastic potting pots which are going to GIRO tomorrow.

A good day’s work. Time to make a cup of tea and take it down to the garden, where I find Stella waiting.

Fifteen minutes later I’m heading back into the house because it is too bloody hot to sit in the sun. And it’s still only April. Yikes.

The wrath of Jehovah

I am not religious. Seriously. Ask anyone. Check my x-rays. You won’t find a religious bone in my body.

So, imagine my surprise today down in the garden when I realised there was a God. A proper, Old Testament, vengeful, pissed-off-with-humanity God. There must be, because nothing less than the wrath of Jehovah could explain the invention and sale of plastic netting.

At one point, as I struggled with a roll of it this morning, I genuinely thought I was going to lose my mind. I confess that after the first hour of cursing, I did consider ringing Cec for advice. I figured there must be something obvious I was missing. (This before I recognised plastic netting as Jehovah's vengeance.) But then I remembered I am a strong, independent woman who can figure things out and get shit done. So I persevered.

Six hours later (yes, six hours), my thenar (look it up – I had to) is aching from the staple gun,  I’ve run out of netting, but the three large frames have netting attached.  If you look too closely, it ain’t pretty, but from a distance they looks fine(ish) and should get the job done.

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?