The Dreadful Upheaval

Poor Artur. He is cross. Whenever he sees any change to his lovely routine he shows his disaffection.  Usually it takes the form of sharp claws and hissing and refusing to sit on my lap.

But this week he had a sit in protest. Or should I say a lie in. I needed to get all my cabbages and kale and sprouts out of the potting shed and into the elements. Two weeks away and they will be crisp and parched if left just to the kindness of passing neighbours.

So as I started in on the watering  and moving (there are over thirty pots of brassicas here which I harvest for their leaves in stir fry dishes) Artur had other plans.

He kept sleeping on parts of the net I wanted to remove. So I left him be (I’m sure I saw one eye open and a sort of victory smirk on his face) and went and planted out twenty of the plants up at the top potager.

That took hours. But eventually We Had Words. And he stalked off to the shade garden to sleep while I quickly moved the rest of the plants and generally tidied and cleaned.

This is the first time all year the staging has been empty in this wonderful building. Potting shed, propagating chamber, seed sowing factory, tool shed, cat holiday house.  Leisure centre for me. Well, I sit in my chaise longue with a cup of tea and a sometimes obliging cat and plot and plan the next chores.

A ten minute break from the fun of this farm. But it’s reviving nonetheless.