A sabbath observance
It’s not up there with the No Fiction on the Sabbath rule that my father still follows. But no strimming on the sabbath is something to which I am committed.
Silence reigns here in the region on Sundays. And I don’t need to shatter it with the sound of my strimmer roaring into life.
So instead I focus on quiet persuits.
I think I spent most of the day in the potting shed. There were so many plants to pot on and prick out. It was bliss.
Especially as I was gradually hemming in Artur who found his spacious snoozing spot getting smaller and smaller as I worked.
He was in a cuddling mood which never ceases to please me. And not just for tick grooming.
My main work was in the sedum section. I took cuttings just a few weeks ago and here they are – baby plants. This magic never ceases to amaze me. Free plants.
I have almost sixty new ones. They are potted on and will spend a few weeks growing stronger before I launch them at the potting shed terrace bank outside.
With my two sacks of potting compost (Floragard) I was able to lavishly pot on so many vegetable plants which were bursting through. It took hours.
Every now and then I wandered out to the steep bank and weeded and mulched another terrace. And Artur dutifully followed me out to supervise and demand attention. And over the fence were the horses. I was positively surrounded by four legged life demanding my attention.
With the horses it’s pure cupboard love. I feed them apples. It’s a ruse to get them to leave me manure in an easily accessible spot. Right near the boundary electric fence. Gardeners; we can be devious.