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…”
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