Caked in manure and mud... not a great look!
The small greenhouse in my garden is a hub of activity at the moment. It’s packed with seedlings and young plants, all in need of regular watering, pricking out and potting on. Production is running at full capacity as I start to build up a stock of plants to fill the new borders which I hope will soon replace the sloping lawn. Keeping track of everything is essential so I’m making a big effort to label what I grow, but that’s not always as easy as it sounds. Too often pen marks rub off or fade and I find myself having to guess the difference between almost identical seedlings.
I thought I’d got it cracked when the last batch of labels came with an indelible pen, except that the labels were the size of small lollipop sticks and the pen was a chunky marker.
The only way I could fit Helleborus Double Ellen Picotee Pink into the space was to reduce it to ‘Hell. Pic’. And I didn’t even attempt Hydrangea Macrophylla Madame Emile Mouillere. Meanwhile, the first of the daffodils has opened, striking a cheerful note. Daffodils smell of spring and I keep a vase of them on the kitchen table to lift my spirits on days when it’s too cold and wet to work outdoors.
In the woods around here, the foliage of bluebells and wild garlic has started to emerge from beneath the leaf litter. There are wild arums too and, less pleasingly, lots of ground elder. In shady spots, hart’s-tongue ferns sprout from mossy banks and I’ve been told that there are also wild orchids, if you know where to look for them. Where the boundaries of the garden merge into the woodland I’m reluctant to create formal elements, but
closer to the house I’ve got plans to plant a box hedge between the patio and the lawn.
The grass here is quite soggy so it will only work if I first incorporate organic material into the soil to help with drainage and I’m waiting for a spell of decent weather before tackling this as I don’t want to become bogged down in mud. I was covered in mud and manure, too, when one of our neighbours stopped off to hand over the newsletter from the village church. While we chatted he looked bemused. I’d been spreading composted muck as a mulch and working it into areas earmarked for planting but it wasn’t until I came inside later and caught a glimpse of myself in the hall mirror that I realised that it looked as if I’d been rolling in it. I didn’t smell very fragrant either so everything went straight into the washing machine before I headed for the shower.
One of my friends who terraced her garden says she endured a sea of mud before she began to see the results of her efforts, so I’m bracing myself for mayhem once we start proper construction. I only hope our washing machine is sturdy enough to withstand the onslaught.