As 2015 draws to a close it seems only fitting to update you on my gardening progress.
Towards the end of October I mowed the lawn and put the mower away, satisfied that I wouldn’t be needing it again until the spring. Then I spent the next few weeks uncharacteristically cursing the mild weather and literally watching the grass grow.
Before I grudgingly got the mower back out of its winter hibernation though one of the neighbours offered to cut the lawn for me. I don’t think he was quite anticipating the eagerness with which his offer was accepted.
So I settled back and admired the short lawn which seemed so much better for not having had to do it myself, plus it lacked the wonky lines which always emerge despite my best efforts to walk in a straight line. I delighted in the blissful knowledge that now it definitely wouldn’t need cutting again before the spring.
That was it. My role as the temporary gardener filling in for my Dad had been completed for the year.
Or so I thought.
“The tubs of fuchsias need to go in the greenhouse before the frost comes,” Dad announced two weeks ago. I looked out of the window and scowled at the six big 18 inch tubs filled with soil.
Reluctantly I found myself outside shivering in the chilly November wind, pondering how to get the pesky tubs off the terrace, up two steps and across the lawn to the greenhouse. Thankfully Mum pitched in and between us we pivoted, dragged and cursed the heavy things all the way into their winter home.
With the greenhouse full and my fingers numb I headed back into the warmth.
Dad looked at me apprehensively. “You know the damp fallen leaves that the wind has swept up along the bottom of the shed will make the wood rotten if they’re left there…”