Today was the kind of day that a towering Taxodium distichum to shelter under would have been most welcome As my garden is the size of a pocket-handkerchief and at the moment more Gobi than swamp, it wouldn’t do. Still a modicum of shade was provided by my bloomers on the washing line. It sufficed.
It was also the culmination of the period that I like to call “waiting for signs of plant life before I hoik out the dead”. This was my last chance for any full-on home-gardening for a while. I am away at the weekend and thereafter the diary is full of fun and frolicking adventure with a fair amount of amusing anarchic work thrown in. Action needed to be taken immediately. Gaps in the beds are becoming more and more pronounced whilst waiting for the dawdlers. Quite frankly it is becoming embarrassing. Are you dead or are you alive? A sign perhaps? One little shoot would do. My patience tank had run dry. Out came the border fork, no prisoners would be taken. My limit had been reached.
Back pedal, replant, water, cross fingers, curse my impatience.