I spent my Sunday at the block. No appointments, no big plans, no big kids and simply gorgeous weather.
I had the loveliest day.
I dragged one of the comfugly chairs under a tree within gossiping distance of MyMan who was dedicating his day to fencing (again) and had given TheToddler his own toolkit so he could join in the working bee.
Spud Towers now has 12 apartments and the sweet potatoes have been evicted out of the towers and relocated against the fence because my lazy day of YouTube research revealed that you mustn’t cover over sweet potatoes like spuds – so there goes that plan. The other slips were dug into the rose garden. The towers garden gets some wind and sun protection, the roses don’t. The towers slips are mounded up, the rose ones are not. So it’s a bit of an experiment to see which will work out best.
The roses are taking a bit of a beating at the moment but there’s small hints – buds, fresh leaves, firmer posture – that they just might make it through.
The herbs, on the other hand, look marvelous: the caraway thyme, which was a pitiful tangle of twigs when it arrived, is now bursting through the peastraw in little green starbursts; the cardamom is pushing up new lime-coloured runners; and the purple sage is looking sturdy; although the neighbour’s cat has taken to sleeping on the catmint.
I spent my Sunday at the block. No appointments, no big plans, no big kids and simply gorgeous weather.
I had the loveliest day.
I dragged one of the comfugly chairs under a tree within gossiping distance of MyMan who was dedicating his day to fencing (again) and had given TheToddler his own toolkit so he could join in the working bee.
Spud Towers now has 12 apartments and the sweet potatoes have been evicted out of the towers and relocated against the fence because my lazy day of YouTube research revealed that you mustn’t cover over sweet potatoes like spuds – so there goes that plan. The other slips were dug into the rose garden. The towers garden gets some wind and sun protection, the roses don’t. The towers slips are mounded up, the rose ones are not. So it’s a bit of an experiment to see which will work out best.
The roses are taking a bit of a beating at the moment but there’s small hints – buds, fresh leaves, firmer posture – that they just might make it through.
The herbs, on the other hand, look marvelous: the caraway thyme, which was a pitiful tangle of twigs when it arrived, is now bursting through the peastraw in little green starbursts; the cardamom is pushing up new lime-coloured runners; and the purple sage is looking sturdy; although the neighbour’s cat has taken to sleeping on the catmint.
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