I’m not much into exercise. Rumba, yoga, spin and gym hold no appeal. If you see me running, then you had better run faster because there must be something big chasing me.
I do, however, like to garden. Planting cheers me, weeding calms me and mowing, for me, constitutes instant gratification.
The most exciting endeavour,I think, is digging a new bed and I have been digging for Ireland this Spring. Our garden is only a baby, less than four years old, and we have no funds whatsoever for landscaping but I am pottering about almost everyday edging it ever closer to the picture in my head.
We aspire to having a kitchen garden. The word potager floats around in my wishful thinking. Just this week, we have begun to harvest our very first crop. Mizuna and Rucola leaves with radishes made a great spicy salad with honey mustard dressing.
A sprinkle of wild garlic flowers looked pretty and made Teenage Son groan (always a bonus).
I did a little dance when I saw flowers on my broad beans.
The neonate pea pods are appearing daily.
Gooseberries are pinking up nicely.
Black, white and redcurrants are getting plump.
I need to get a net over these raspberries soon or the birds will have a feast.
A lock and key might be needed to protect the strawberries.
We shared two figs between the six of us last September. I’m hoping for at least one each this year.
This crab apple was a haze of gorgeous blossom a month ago but the teensy fruit are like a little miracle.
Rosemary, Bay, Lavender, Fennel, Chives and Sage are becoming established in the herb bed. I dug out the rampant Mint and replaced it with Feverfew and Chamomile. Lemon Balm and Oregano are running riot but the slugs completely ravished my poor parsley.
It’s all trial and much error but I love it.
I have cleverly edited out my washing line and abundance of dandelions. That’s allowed on blogs, isn’t it?