One of my best friends is a gardening guru, adept at gardening with toddlers and whilst heavily pregnant, I expect they will produce lots of healthy dinners this year from the fruits of their labour. Then there is us. Now, a few years ago we really caught the gardening bug. I even bought a blueberry bush. I found myself obsessing over vine weevil on my runner beans and at odds with what to do which so much lettuce. I managed to grow some brownish/ green tomatoes and some green potatoes and for some reason last year we had one stalk of brussel sprouts. I don’t recall planting them. Success. Then I did a bit of accounting, all this effort actually cost more than it would have to have gone to Abel and Cole and had the finest quality organic produce packaged and shipped to my house. Sod that then.
So far this year, I have managed to pick up about 10% of the leaves which end up in my garden, despite our lack of trees. Still, I’m sure they are good for the ground. Maybe insects will live there and diversity will flourish in my little corner of suburbia. It’s not that I’m afraid of hard manual labour. When I was a field archaeologist I got paired up with someone who used to dig trenches in the French Foreign Legion. He was mental, I could just about keep up. The whole thing with field archaeology is that it becomes soul destroying when you talk to the labourers who work for the building/ road laying company. When they get a job digging a trench to lay a cable etc they get paid by the metre. They get paid an awful lot more than the archaeologist digging the same hole. Who is the silly one there? I have been put off digging holes on a regular basis. Desk based archaeological adventures are far easier. I digress.
I do have vast, wild, crazy plans. I’m going to make the husband build a raised beds and some decking. I’m going to make toddler boy do all the vegetable planting and tending and I’m going to buy a nice sun lounger. Spring has sprung and I’m looking forward to this summer.