WATERING THE GARDEN!

Hello dear reader and welcome to another day at Chez Comb. I hope you are well and able to enjoy an occasional day of warmth and sunshine in between the downpours, mists and storms. We have missed the really bad weather in our corner of North Yorkshire. It has been cool and misty, but ever the optimist that I am, I have enjoyed it as it has been pleasant working weather in the garden. I have re-potted my bay trees and large skimmia shrubs and have told them that they must not grow into their new pots too quickly as there won't be new ones coming along any time soon. (I addressed them in a low voice to keep it private between ourselves as I didn't want spouse to have me carted off - he would find any excuse!)

   Thinking about matters horticultural, I realise that I have a long history of chatting to my plants. It doesn't seem to have done them or me any harm so far and I am in good company as I know Prince Charles talks to his plants too. And if it's O.K. by him, who am I to disagree?

   When I was a tad younger than I am now and a single girl, I used to supplement my coffers by going out gardening for folks on evenings and weekends. It helped to pay the mortgage and I met some lovely people in the process. My gardening week kicked off on a Saturday morning when I tended our large church garden. I really enjoyed this and spent a lot of time dispatching the weeds and keeping the flowers and shrubs in good order.  One gentleman remarked that he wouldn't recognise me by my face but that I had the best known backside in Yorkshire as he only ever saw me bent down and tending the borders. Years later and I'm still not too sure what to make of this.

   Another horticultural memory that comes to mind ... well, it's more personal than strictly horticultural. At this period when I was spare time gardening, Britain was in the boom times and consequently, property prices were constantly on the up. And so it was my dear reader, that people started buying their next house and moving on before they had sold their present house and fortunately for me, their gardens needed tending in the interim. Well and good, lots of lovely work for me via the local estate agents, but - with the houses being unoccupied there were no indoor facilities available to me and when Mother Nature calls, she calls and something has to be done about it. 

   Usually I would be lucky and could find a private spot in the garden to commune with nature, but I very soon learned that there is some weird and wonderful  law of the universe that goes something along the lines of the minute you settle down amongst the shrubbery to answer the call of nature, the next door neighbour will appear in the garden bearing tea/coffee/grass rake/biscuits/garden shears or any other combination of items. The first few times this happened I was red with embarrassment. I mean - did they deliberately lie in wait for the moment or was there some malevolent force having fun at my expense? I know not, but it happened so often that I became expert at dealing with situation with dignity and aplomb.

   Happily these days I only garden for myself and tend the local library gardens along with my friends and I am pleased to say that there are excellent facilities in both premises. No more embarrassing moments for me dear reader, not of that kind at any rate.

   We are now into flaming June and spouse and I are about to embark upon some biggish projects. With this in view I am taking a break from writing and blogging and giving you my dear reader, a bit of a holiday from me. I hope to resume on Sunday 24th June and in the meantime I hope you enjoy this beautiful time of year and keep out of mischief as I intend to do and I hope my dear spouse will too.