Last week felt like spring. Still days with blue skies. Frosty mornings and warm afternoons. Each day was a little bit longer than the one before. While it was spring-like it wasn’t spring. I won’t be fooled.
I remember what the weather can do. It’s fickle. It gives you two good days in a row and you fall for it. You think every day will be the same. Warm and still and blue. You let your guard down. You relax. You forget. You tell your friends that the weather has changed for good. It cares about you. It wants the best for you. The leaves start to flutter. Dark clouds assemble on the horizon. You tell yourself that what you think you’re seeing is all in your head. The leaves are still the sky is blue. Rain starts to fall. You tell yourself you’re imagining things. Eventually, once you’re wet to the bone and shivering you accept that once again you’ve been duped. There are seasons and there is weather. They are two completely different things.
I was on light duties until the weekend, when my energy came back and I could breathe again.
I finished printing my ‘Spring 2025’ pictures for my greeting cards. Now I need to cut them up and turn them into cards.
I started a wreath to hang in Marigold, the pop top.
The seedlings in the greenhouse are growing slowly. Sometimes I think they aren’t growing at all. The overnight temperatures have been around one degree.
I don’t use heat mats or special lights to grow my seedlings. I don’t have electricity in the greenhouse. My seedlings get good sunlight, enough water (mostly harvested rainwater) and a decent growing medium. Beyond that they have to tough it out. They could probably do with a homemade seaweed and comfrey drink (which I always planned to give them). I have lots of it stewing in buckets. Maybe I’ll get around to it. Maybe I won’t.
I guess what I’m trying to say is that my seedlings are very hardy. They might grow slow but at least they’ll grow strong.
This is the view from the greenhouse. This is what I look at when I’m sowing seeds and potting on seedlings. This Garden of Eden is my friends’ Dayll and Olly’s wild garden, full of fruit trees and roses, and a decadent derelict swimming pool.
You’ll remember that I picked up a free table from a local couple. They’d found it in pieces on the street a while back. They put it back together and enjoyed it. Then they gave it away. I painted it and it’s my soon-to-be flower stall. I just hope no one picks it up from outside my house, thinking it’s a freebee.
I spent a few hours on Saturday getting the verge ready for the flower stall. It’s a mess of weeds. The worst are these woody climbers with orange flowers. They have thick underground stems and deep roots. They covered the whole area. At least they did until I cut them down. Once I get rid of the pile I made I’m going to dab the stem ends in poison paste. Then I’m going to smother them in a thick carpet. One day they’ll be gone. Every last one of them. This is a war that I’m going to win.
We had a family outing on Sunday afternoon. All 4 of us. My husband, my son and his girlfriend. We drove to a nearby car park and took it in turns baking Marigold. I was the worst. My son was the best. His girlfriend was a close second. My husband was pretty good too. I thought I did really well compared to last time. I was feeling confident. Optimistic even. I knew I’d master it. I just knew it. I could imagine being able to back Marigold into the back garden, which seemed impossible 2 weeks ago. And that’s what I told the fam. ‘Make sure you keep practicing,’ my son told me. ‘You have to master this before you open your shop.’
