Spring flowers and bouquets

There now. Back at the farm and straight into the routine.

I have been able to do my Thursday flowers at long last. And don’t we all just thank goodness for the early flowering narcissus? My bouquets would be very paltry indeed were it not for the zing of colour.

Nothing beats getting back from a trip and rattling about trying to find some interesting foliage to fill out the vases.

There is a rogue self-seeded pêche de vigne up at the top potager that I needed to prune. So that yielded a touch of pink in this one.

And the dried flower heads of the spent sedums add a good contrast to all that gloomy cistus greenery. Plus some willow sticks. I keep meaning to risk leaving some in water and getting more plants. But I do not need an invasion. You just have to pick you way almost up to the forest to ‘harvest’ the branches from a tree planted near a disused spring.

But best of all was the electric shock of the yellow from the mimosa tree.

You need sunglasses to admire this plant. But it gives everyone such a lift.

My blossom branches come from the now giant tree in front of the house. And it’s almost step ladder time to reach enough of the foliage. Agnes gave it to me as a teeny tiny plant four years ago. A lockdown project. (My, isn’t it shocking how the bad memories are coming back when we mark the fifth anniversary of that planet shifting time?)

Luckily I can count the good things that came from the Pandemic. A mimosa / wattle tree from a connection with now dear neighbours.. and taming a wild cat.

I won’t post a picture of The Creature here. She is probably busy decapitating the still-twitching body of a mole rat somewhere close by. Definitely a nose to tail feeder, that one.

You can’t miss my mimosa in front of the raised beds in the main potager.

A happy scream of colour in among all the brown. And it is so unwieldy it really needs a prune. I’ll need the extendable ladder for that happy task.