The case of the disappearing trowel and other stories

There is a certain walk taken by a gardener in search of a tool.

From a distance it might look like an amble round the acres. Instead it’s that sniffer dog stare and purposeful stride that betakes someone who has lost her favourite fork.

It’s the time of year when you take stock.

On the side of lost favourites I can count my favourite small garden hand fork. Brought over to this mountain eleven years ago.

Plus my favourite pair of secateurs. My second favourites are exactly the same. but missing a bit of plastic coating on the handle. There’s a difference. And I’m cross I have misplaced the first.

I was panicking thinking that I would have to add this perfect garden fork (the ONLY tool that doesn’t break on stones) to the deficit column. But there it was. Sticking out of the gravel on the potager path.

A morning was ‘invested’ in hunting for this.

That’s a relief. And no doubt when my favourite little fork turns up in a compost heap somewhere in the next decade I will whoop for joy. ┬áBut I’m baffled.

Well every lost tool is a cause for head scratching.

I could blame these three. Very playful and curious and not beyond a bit of mischief.

But no. Gardeners lose tools. They don’t get dragged down mole holes. Or buried by wild boar.

And the fork was in demand in the cold this week so I could turn over the weedy grass in preparation for a major planting as soon as it warms up.

I’ve decided to plant up the entire duck pond terrace bank. With eragrostis rejects from the major weeding of the rest of the eragrostis grass banks.

So here’s to 2019. May I keep all the tools in the potting shed and not mouldering in the compost heaps.

And may my lovely noisy reindeer ears not make an appearance until Christmas.

They scare the animals.

Happy 2019 to you all.