I’ve received two seed catalogues in the mail in the last couple of weeks. The Diggers Seed Annual and the Lambley Nursery Seed Manual. They’re almost identical in size and glossiness etc, but couldn’t be more different in their underlying philosophy, particularly in regard to their vegetable seeds.
So here’s the rest of the poem, following on from Monday’s post. My point was that if real plants were truly in danger of being superseded, the media and the nurseries had to take partial responsibility for devaluing or underselling both the depth and breadth of the appeal of gardening.
I really should have learned by now that the satisfaction/fun/pleasure returns from any particular job in the garden are nearly impossible to predict. I couldn’t count the number of times I’ve put off doing something – sometimes for an outrageous length of time – only to find that I’ve really enjoyed doing it when I finally faced it.
Just clipping my English box given the cool and cloudy weather, thus minimizing the post-clip burn that can decimate these otherwise bullet-proof plants. Box manifests in three forms here – spheres; long, lumpy curvaceous grubs; and low formal hedging forming arcs around raised veg beds.
It’s funny, that thing when you notice or see something for the first time, and then it pops up everywhere, as if your attention has nourished its multiplication. Some new model of car comes into your awareness, and you start to play with the idea of buying one, and they’re suddenly everywhere you look. What is that?
Seems like some climbers are happier when they’re going up, and others when they’re going out. The wisteria I kept going on about back in early summer absolutely rocketed up its wire, but lost its way once it got to the top. It’s been staggering around drunkenly, and needs to be constantly tied into the horizontal wire.