There is something very special about a gardener’s pockets, more specifically the contents. As the week progresses, the pouches are crammed, culminating in a weekly unloading ceremony. I know I will not be alone in this custom, when the jettisoning of the weeks detritus is undertaken. The mishmash of items extracted consists of things to be thrown away when a suitable bin was found then forgotten, and items to saved or reused. The stalwarts are plant labels, string, seeds and tissues. Other favourites are teabags, pens, sweet wrappers and keys. And there is always mud.
But what of the less frequent wear, the seasonal coats, raincoat number 6 or the emergency ill fitting fleece? These are the pockets that don’t get checked on a regular basis. It is here we find the mysterious objects, the strange pods, the scribbled notes, the folds of paper containing dust. Once treasures, worth saving, now reduced to disappointment.
Yesterday I plucked a wisteria bean from Max’s tree and popped it in my pocket. Today, just as I was leaving The Bakehouse, I slipped my hand into my pocket and found it. So I donated it to Mrs Bun. Redistribution of the harvest.
These are the flower heads of Miscanthus nepalensis, the glorious bronze plumed grass. As this was also harvested yesterday I can still remember what it is. Otherwise it would be another one for the miscellaneous pile!