Everything that slows us down and forces patience, everything that sets us back into the slow circles of nature, is a help. Gardening is an instrument of grace.
May Sarton
A few years ago I wrote about my new found passion for growing vegetables; almost a decade on, what lessons? As the quote goes, patience is everything as are persistence, blind hope and an early realisation that seed packets are written by liars.
It seems that no two summers are ever alike anymore. Last year’s heatwave was a challenge with searing temperatures and parched ground; how much to water and when? My root vegetables were a disaster with shrivelled spuds whilst my beetroots looked like little red currants.
What never ceases to amaze me is how a particular crop can be abundant only for the following year to be a disaster. This year I’ve tried spinach, a failure for many years and yet claimed by many as “easy to grow”. Seed packets always say that with as much credence as a statement from a politician.
I enjoyed early success by following advice to keep the plants shaded but once the sun is out, they bolt almost instantly as I do, inside for a cool spot. I’m trying again as the summer months peter out; Popeye would have been a six-stone weakling living here.
So often in another shadow – a paternal one – I have boldly struck out this year to prove my manhood and grow my own tomatoes unassisted by the wise old one up the road. The resultant triffids make the “competition” look like weeds by comparison but with no tomatoes? I cannot face parental visits seeking to avoid his bulging plants. Competitive?
I have had some relative success with peas, now on my second crop, though if one was to be analytical here, several hours potting, re-planting and then podding for two kilos of peas compares somewhat unfavourably with Aldi at 62p/kg. Never, ever expect gardening to be a money spinner.
In an effort to introduce some colour, I have sweet peas, hoping to attract more bees to the garden, under threat from various man made threats. Sadly, they seem to have abandoned my garden and my floral displays have left the resident convict somewhat worried.
For some crops its almost the end of the summer already, for others there is still hope. And every gardener needs hope.
Back To The Future?
It was good to see the original Golden Girl back from her fourteenth beach holiday of the year at Monday morning yoga after a challenging month post waving goodbye to The Iron Lady’s Geriatrics Torture Club.
Despite two new hips and her Sixtieth birthday well past her fading memory banks, there’s no stopping her. “‘Ave yer tried Body Hit? You could do wi’ it lad…all that guzzling beer all weekend?” she asked as she simultaneously pumped out another twenty push-ups, wiping the sweat from her equally pumped up lips.
In search of more classes at my gym, I’d had to admit failure in my attempts to get out of my pit for the 6.30am spin class. Admittedly I made a few, much to the complete surprise of the trainer, but gradually the duvet had pulled me back. So Body Hit at the more respectable time of 9.30am seemed worth a go.
At the ripe old age of 56.25, I was keen to make sure the class would not be full of the usual coffin dodgers with even less to do than me. Although Golden Gal fits that category, she does have more new parts on her than a Nigerian Airways Boeing 737.
Tuesday morning came and, having resisted the urge to get completely sloshed to mark the end of junior cricket training, I rose sprightly. Golden Gal was sporting her Flashdance look, the headband having done well to survive three decades and numerous changes of Just For Women.
The trainer was a fearsome looking bloke who apparently likes to do body combat for a bit of relaxation. Marking him down as a psycho with a shit taste in music, I avoided eye contact.
Not for the first time it struck me that several of us had come full circle from the punishing circuit sessions of yesteryear to a snack-size class; the outcome was still the same. It was a good class although I don’t think I’ll be buying a headband.
Once again, you should never give up…even with tomatoes.
Delusion Corner – Quote of the Week
As Boris sailed up the Mall to meet the Queen he must surely have been weighing up his priorities, amongst them an offer to visit Bradford – see here – from Hapless Hinchcliffe.
The Lib Dems new leader, the kind of woman who probably advocates teaching kids LGBT rights before they can use a spoon, was also hitting the news. As was our very own Cllr Sunderland who threw down the gauntlet to Boris from her power base in…Idle.
Referring to both Jeremy Hunt and Boris, she said; “Both…have refused to denounce recent comments by Donald Trump as being racist. I think if they want to come here they need to play by our rules.”
She did not make clear what rules actually apply in Bradford, albeit most clearly do not think any do.
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