There was a piece in the Times Weekend section entitled “How to deal with a patchy lawn”. Call for John Wayne, I thought? Round up a posse? Or perhaps just Sioux the law-nmakers. The answer was rather more mundane: buy some lawn seed and topsoil and fill in the patches. They also suggested raising the cutters for the first mow, which should be about now. What?! If I hadn’t cut my grass in late January we’d be living in a jungle by now. What planet are these people on? Actually because of three precipitation-free weeks the grass hasn’t grown as much as it might otherwise have done at this time of year, but we know we’ll be paying for the Almighty’s heartwarming largesse; the rain is coming.
I’m quite excited though because I did invest in some quality grass seed; all part of our major garden rejuvenation programme that’s been possible thanks to the enforced Covid imprisonment. What were once beautiful borders had become overgrown sculptures of twisted climbers, creepers, delvers and all sorts of other miscreants. Previous caretakers of the Watt House estate had preferred knitting and crochet to digging and clipping. Our mission therefore, which we eventually chose to accept, was to strip everything back to the bare bones and start again. The first part of our exploration into deep space took over two years, with much spraying and general slaughter. Finally, with this time afforded us by the Chinese, we’ve been able to cultivate, propagate, sow and fertilise. Part of this process has involved nuking some of the borders, flattening them and turning them into lawn. The exciting bit is that there are more than green shoots. After just a few days of light but frequent watering, there is clear evidence of nascent lawns. Ok, not fit for Nadal or Federer to joust upon but definitely greensward.
One significant and ongoing phase of this operation is The Battle of The Ivy. I’m not referring to fine dining, merely the daunting prospect of stripping out many years of growth of Holly’s partner. It’s EVERYWHERE and so destructive. The lovely wall that borders the garden on all sides is suffering badly and one section of six feet has now collapsed, aided it should be said by some virulent laurel that’s grown through the wall from our neighbour’s garden. That’s for the chop too! (The laurel, not our neighbour) It’s my declared aim to have rid the whole garden of the infernal weed by the time we leave here in 2026, give or take. I’ve recorded a lot of significant early success, but you just know that the vicious stuff is there, lurking below the surface, ready to pounce when your back is turned. Oh the joys of gardening. Still I did read the other day that gardeners have a much more diverse microbiome than knitters and crocheters and that’s a good thing; all those little mites rushing around inside the gut apparently improve our health no end and encourage the immune system to function correctly. A good thing that, with all these nasty bugs around.
The other horticultural battle has been moss. It’s especially widespread this year for some reason. Perhaps because I’ve relieved Green Thumb of their duties. I might have to re-instate them. Meanwhile, maybe the Rolling Stones could help?
I am concerned that this infernal Lockdown might be affecting my mind………
ADayInTheStrifeOf 