My messy glasshouse
Messy Glass-House
My glasshouse! Aargh! What a mess. A sad, neglected mess. The messiest of messes. I am so ashamed. I have been ignoring it for years. Last year I only used it to start off my seeds. This is pretty poor. And so many recent damp winter days when I could have been cleaning it up, getting it ready for spring. Oops.
Back story : yesterday afternoon we visited friends and saw their new glasshouse. It look amazing. OK, it is new, and clean, full of promises, almost ready to fill up with plants. My glasshouse has a few broken bits, and is full of broken pots and cobwebs. And broken promises! Oops. I came home full of inspiration and embarrassment. I even thought I might grow some tomatoes in big pots.
So today I will sort this terrible mess out. Am off to sing in my choir, and when I get home I will start the glasshouse clean-up. At the same time I will spread more mulch on the Hump Paths. And plant some of my excess roses around the Herb Spiral. So three gardener-clones of me will work super hard all afternoon, right?
Later, at the end of the gardening day...
Oops. Only one of me turned up for work, but it was drizzling. My glasshouse is so much better organised. I've started some seeds off, and potted up cuttings and divisions of Pelargoniums and Lupins. I've also scooped up Nicotiana sylvestris seedlings from the dirt floor and put them in pots.
The big pots which could be planted with tomatoes are laid out, and I've scraped some lichen off the roof glass - carefully! Non-Gardening Partner has got me a trailer completely full of path mulch - my plan is to spread one load a week. Now it's quite late, so I am going apres gardening, pretty happy with my day. I love it when inspiration gets all functional and turns into delivery. That's an awkward sentence, but I know what I mean.
Daffodils in the Lawn
Cat footnote : Speckles my stray cat is more than hopeless. He has now been missing for seven days. I am going to stop thinking about him.
Speckles the Stray:- Hopeless cat! I have been feeding him for a year now.
Next morning : well, knock me down with a pukeko feather. Guess who came for his evening meal? Mister Speckles, looking a bit thinner. It was an underwhelming moment - he totally ignored the sweet old lady in her white cotton nightie, dithering on the cottage verandah. He scoffed down some chicken, drank his milk, and left. Hmm...