|Lavender beds and path before…|
This evening I declared that I would just nip outside for half an hour, to weed the lavender beds either side of the path to the front door.
I thought it would be a quick job. Two straight beds, and some tidying up of the cracks between the paving.
The advantage for me in dealing with these particular beds is that I know exactly what is meant to be in them – lavender and nothing else. Makes it a lot easier for a novice gardener to weed, with no dilemmas about whether a strange plant should be there or not. Lavender – stays in. Anything else – out.
Yet somehow it is three hours later, and I’ve only just finished.
|…and after weeding, as the light dims…|
I sat on the path prodding and pulling and yanking and clipping over enthusiastic grass.
Meanwhile the children wandered about, went in for their baths, and came out in pyjamas.
My husband went out for his run and returned.
The children skipped about with bamboo poles and discussed feathers and showed me laborious writing and absconded with my abandoned gardening gloves and re-appeared with contraband jam sandwiches before finally disappearing off to bed.
And I kept on poking at unwanted plants, levering them out and filling the garden waste sack.
|Who knew two small beds and a path could contain so many weeds and grass and stones?|
The golden light dimmed, slipping away and leaving me in twilight, as I brushed earth from the path and watered the little lavender bushes.
|…and after watering, as the light disappears.|
So now the path and the lavender beds are much neater and more tidy.
|Next morning: lavender in the sunshine|
But I wonder if the weeds took with them some of the romance of an overgrown garden, enclosed and enchanted behind that low door in the wall.