The Magnolia blooms in all its soft milk and purple glory. August winds now gust and swirl and tear at the petals. They resist.
Six days off work and I took myself into the garden for all of last week. The first few Magnolia flowers had opened. This event signals the last cold gasps of winter. The weather was perfect for weeding - perfect for stretching my body into odd postures and positions and relieving damaged joints. I sieved the soil with my fingers scooping up the fine root networks of winter’s collection of weeds. Clumps of bulbs were lifted, separated into smaller groups and moved into other areas. Probably not the best time to move bulbs which are already above ground but I could see what I was doing and the process was quick and gentle so I expect most to thrive and not miss a beat. Four ton of soil got added to a large bed holding a half dozen Tree-ferns and masses of aforementioned bulbs. Then the petunia seedlings and sugar cane mulch and a good soaking. And ‘That’s that’. I know ‘it ain’t necessarily so’ but - all things being equal - it should pretty much be right, apart from weeding, for at least a few years.
Everything planted will just expand into the space provided. It’s a prehistoric, tree-fern canopied, Garden of Eden in the making complete with Satin Bower birds and Superb Parrots.
Now and over the next few weeks, bluebells, daffodils, freesias, hyacinths will flower and a month or so before the three foot long glossy leaved canes of the tiger lilies will rise. Orange and black flowers reach out from beneath the Tree-ferns and all the while the brilliant petunias are growing to replace the flowering bulbs for all of summer and autumn.
I’m about half way through in terms of replenishing the remaining beds spread through the garden and should reach the fruit trees within a month or so.
Didn’t touch the guitar for the week and although I’m back to practising scales it’s without much energy.
I’m in a pause with music. Thirty five songs recorded and I don’t know that any of it matters. It’s not comparing apples with apples but - in my mind - ‘the body of work’ that I’ve helped create in gardens of all sizes throughout my life and the ongoing joy this provides for any who pass through is just as valid as any written work of mine, dressed up though it be in fine melody and heartbeat rhythm.
Anyway it’s a pause and a reality check with no conclusion.
I never set out to write a song which might sound odd but it’s true.
Cooking up a slow simmer stew and if I don’t go to play at the Family Hotel tonight, Spring approaches.