I spent much of the beginning of this month slightly depressed about the size of my garden. It seemed, when I first got there, like an entirely suitable size for someone who spent all day gardening. Enough to get stuck into, but not enough to consume all weekend, every weekend. And then something happened. It didn't shrink, I haven't amassed more time, I don't have a larger family to feed and it's not filled it up, well not completely. What happened was ownership, I've gardened for 16 years now, 14 of those professionally, but always for someone else (or at least with someone else, in the case of community gardens).
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The sun is out. It may be wet, muddy and cold, but the sun is out. With sun has come the aconites, snowdrops, swathes of daffodil spikes, along with the hamamelis, hellbores, muscari and asphodels (Asphodelus acaulis in the alpine house). It's coming, spring, that is.
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I'm a little miffed about this Christmas. Every day I got up dug for three hours, moved, mulched, sorted out the compost bins, raked and tidied (it was my Christmas present to my parents to sort out their new vegetable garden) and yet I've still put on the Chrismas pounds. I think this is a little bit of an injustice as there was a point where I thought I might not move again as my muscles hurt so much.
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