Done. I can barely make a fist around my large whisky glass. Close weeding work means that the arthritic fingers get a workout. I know I ought to use a trowel, or a fork. But you just get a bit weed obsessed and find yourself hauling them out with a hook of the pinkies or the thumbs.
But that’s fine. I like to think that in a few days now all my annual weeding will be done.
Boasting? Well I do mulch heavily anywhere that gets weeded. I hate to think that bare soil will be exposed to yet more of the darn weed seeds.
So here is the sequence in case you follow the no dig method: I take off the winter mulch of thick leaves (they have gone to mulch the hornbeam hedge below the plums). Next up a weeding of any beasties that have overwintered. I’m looking at you bindweed.
Next goes a nice layer of my sifted homemade compost. Great rich stuff, full of worms.
And then to finish the layered cake of bliss comes the bought in compost (terreau) which covers the lot and hopefully keeps out the weeds.
Homemade compost is hilarious for harbouring the most amazing weed seeds. So it needs tucking up.
And speaking of tucking up: Artur loved the fact I barely moved more than 100 metres from the house today. He found a snoozing spot in among the brambles at the top of the potager path and purred and purred in the blustery sunshine.