I decided to walk to Church this morning despite knowing this would almost certainly make me late. I hoped that God would forgive me entering half way through the first hymn on account of the fact that I would have been
communing with Nature all the way along the road (not to mention the homeward trek.)
I could have taken the car, once I realised that helping Mr B feel safe and
comfortable before I left was going to take longer than anticipated, but I was really, really looking forward to walking along the avenue, looking out for all the blossom-heavy trees in so many spring-like front gardens.
All in all, the gardens are looking rather splendid and would mostly score highly in the Gardens Game which, regular readers may (or, possibly may not) recall, my Little Sister and I used to play on
our way to school in the mornings when we were young‘uns. At the risk of sounding old and crabbity, I am tempted to comment that we knew how to make our own entertainment in the Olden Days. The Gardens Game was particularly good in that it didn’t
involve use of any specialist equipment and enlivened many a morning walk. What we did was to score every front garden we passed out of 10, based on attractiveness, imaginative use of shrubs and trees, general tidiness and all-important Play Appeal.
This morning I couldn’t help noticing that several gardens along the way had been given over to artificial grass, noticeable for its sheer greenness and lack of the
buttercups and daisies which are such an attractive feature of my own lawns, front and back. I have nothing against artificial grass in principle - indeed, when the Middle of the Darling Daughters had it installed in the back garden of her last home, it seemed
an eminently sensible move, given that the garden would be at the mercy of the Trio of Rampaging Rascals - I just prefer good, old-fashioned grass, with or without the daisies. I couldn’t help wondering how my Little Sister and I would have scored the
front gardens with the immaculate, but artificial, lawns. Would we, indeed, have argued about them? Except that it is written into Family Folklore that my Little Sister and I never argued about anything - back then and to this day. It irritates the hell out
of all our respective children who can’t believe it could be so...
I needed to inspect the front gardens, anyway, in the interests of research as I find
this is by far the best way of arriving at conclusions as to what plants I might introduce into my own garden at some time in the future. This is the time of year, don’t you know, when one’s thoughts turn to The Growing of Plants, big-time. I have
transferred all the mini framed first photographs of my Tremendous Ten grandchildren from their usual place on the windowsill of the smallest bedroom and replaced them with trays of seeds - sunflowers, marigolds, zinnias and hollyhocks. The Tremendous Ten’s
baby photos now sit on one of the windowsills in my bedroom where I will be able to say a fond goodnight to them every evening when I turn in. I will, however, pay daily visits to the seed trays in the small bedroom, during which I will exhort them to grow,
breathing heavily over them because somebody once told me that breathing on my seeds would assist their germination. I have absolutely no idea whether this is true but my seed germination success rate is pretty good, though I say it myself as shouldn’t.
It’s what happens to the poor, tender little seedlings next that is the problem, given my heavy-handed approach to pricking out and planting on. Ah, well, this year I will try harder.
Then, if I needed anything else to make me feel spring-like, there was a sweet, extremely tiny, new member of the congregation in Church today. She was less than two weeks old, perfect in every way, attended by her Doting Dad and Proud
Mum who were generous indeed in allowing us all to draw near and coo over their Precious One.
New life. Like Spring and the blossom trees - not to mention the
seeds on my windowsill - it’s all around us.