Apart from the swing set that was a death trap to all but the spectacularly fool hardy. And the table and chairs painted a fetching green. We didn’t do much but ask a bulldozer driver to just lean on that lovely Christmas tree planted out one January in the 1990s.
By the look of it, it was planted halfway down the slope. Just above the now redundant underground spring.
This tree went in the first weeks. But please don’t think me brutal. I usually plant two trees for every one I cut down. Or get ripped out by a passing bulldozer.
You can’t see them clearly. That is because they were never, ever pruned after planting. And looked like bramble supports on a slope, rather than productive fruit trees.
Cut back by a third, each and every one. And they rewarded us with some splendid blossom and eventually, fruit.
I don’t make quince paste. But our lovely neighbour Jean Daniel does. So I happily pick the fruit for him. And he makes a big batch for both of us. There is more than enough to go round.
But back to the garden before I start to drool on the keyboard.
A simple, small barely there stone wall.
I like to think of this wall as a full stop. A marker that says, we really are trying to make this farm less scruffy.
That may be pretentious tosh.
But I love this wall. And I immediately planted up alliums just beside the wall, and drifts of narcissus beyond.
Flat expanses of grass are a rarity in these mountains. So it made sense to celebrate the lawn and keep things to the edges.
The only thing marring the view is when the quince season is in full swing and the heavy fruit fall down and roll down onto the lawn below. I could think of worse calamities in a garden setting.