Gardenwise

Kitty's flowers from last weekend, still perfect

I've had such a productive few days, gardenwise. Nick really did turn out to be just as he described himself, a lazy sod, but I found another gardener who came and worked for seven hours over the past two days and has transformed the place. I also gave up on waiting for frost to get the dahlias and turn them into wilted spinach, but apparently this process is to stimulate dormancy and not really essential. So I dug them all up and they are sitting upside down in the garage waiting for the soil to dry off and be removed before I store them safely for the winter. Peter cleared the beds and raked them smooth, planted a hundred daffodil bulbs and a few shrubs, and mowed the lawn. He also removed the worst excesses of echinops from the front, not an easy job given the depth, intricacy and determination of the roots to multiply below ground. I was very pleased with him, and shall use him again. He drove all the way over from Orford and didn't mind at all.

Did came while he was still here, and cut down the elder stumps to make the bases for my bench. He then completely removed another elder to ground level, and cut back all the offending growth that stops the very last rays of sun from hitting the summerhouse at the height of summer. Everything was turned into another large pile of logs for the woodburner. It's all so satisfying. Now all I'm waiting for is the massive hazel stump to be ground right out, and I'm done.

Did brought his little dog that was a puppy when last I saw it. It's the kind of dog that people fawn over, and it has had that effect on me both times. He is the perfect little dog, a Jack Russell but not typical of the breed. Honestly, I would have him like a shot. Did said he is going to breed from him, but I think me and dogs have had our day. If only I had had a little chap like him in the first place I'd still have him now.

Did and Bobby

Did and I chewed the cud in the warm kitchen for half an hour or so, and then I had the place to myself again. As I looked out over the sunny garden I thought about Of Mice and Men which I saw last night live from the National Theatre. The plot concerns the desperate search of all Americans, according to Steinbeck, for their own bit of land, somewhere they can be independent. The dream went sour for so many people during the Depression when their farms were repossessed, and it resonated strongly with me. I realised I was George and Lennie as they itemised what they would have: a little house with their own bedrooms, a kitchen with a stove, chickens, a cow that would produce "cream so thick you'd need a knife to cut it with", maybe a pig, an orchard, a vegetable garden, and rabbits, eating home-grown alfalfa. A pup too, and two striped cats. I can live without the animals, but essentially my house, my land, my comforts and my independence mean as much to me as the dream meant to them. Perhaps it is what we all seek. Fortunate indeed are they who find it.