It appears spring has finally sprung. Temperatures have risen, enabling me to commence garden maintenance for some much needed exposure to fresh air and the sensation of warm from prevailing solar rays.
Gardening my Sunday afternoon assignment, during which the lawns with be trimmed, along with dead shrubbery removal; allowing space and augmenting root nourishment for this years horticultural yield.
Looking out to a scene of sun and cloudless azure skies, my outside efforts not just preparing for a chromatic late spring/summer garden, but also the provision of much needed vitamin D augmentation.
Thanks to the meteorological gods (John Kettley and Wincey Willis) bequeathal of more clement climes, yours truly’s inaugural spade work commenced a couple of days ago. Aubretia, digitalis and sedum among the plants shorn of 2020’s now demised foliage, allowing greater area for the class of 2021.
I get that gardening isn’t everyone’s cup of tea, and indeed that a cup of tea isn’t…. errrrrr…. well, everyones cup of tea, however gardening provides GJ Strachan with great catharsis. The sound of leather on willow, the smell of liniment evoke great memories within….. Actually, I think I’m getting that mixed up with the brio of playing cricket.
Footnote – Positing that a cup of tea isn’t everyones cup of tea, has no relation to the narrative’s topic. Nevertheless, I thought I’d share this arbitrary observation anyway. If you’re a regular reader of these literary offerings you’ll be aware random thoughts such as that, and if The Edge from band U2 aerates his lawn before adding grass feeder, are never far from my neurological corridors.
Clearly, I feel more fatigued following my labour, but ordinarily I’ll return into chez Strachan post-garden with greater levels of esprit than prior to my efforts. My work at this time of the year doesn’t afford much colour now. However, a good purge of dead foliage, winter grown weeds and border soil aeration at this juncture, allowing for an easier maintenance regime throughout the summer and autumn months.
I’m dog-sitting my canine buddy Coco again this week. If she had’ve been able to mower the grass, I’d have probably left the lawn for the adorable lab/retriever cross. After all, I’d proffer with the amount she poops upon the emerald coloured blades at the back, she owes me that at the very least.
So next week GJ Strachan will follow a daily regime of early morning walks and reduced food intake. However, as the joy she brings to the domestic table outweighs the food she fleeces me out of at the dining table, these lifestyle adaptions matter not one jot.
After recently reading West Chuffield butcher Ainsley Nibbs philosophical musing that “Life is hard; but so is a Rubik’s cube!”, I endeavour to adopt a sunnier approach to life. I didn’t inquire as to his meaning, but I took it as a metaphor for not giving up on your dreams.
If it turns out he meant it literally, not figuratively, as I find attempting to crack Rubik’s famous square block rather tedious, I’d be less inclined to subscribe to the meat handler’s philosophical hooey.
Anyhow, time I brought this to a conclusion as I need to get my Monty Don tribute act started in the back garden. Catch you next time, hopefully!