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.