Sometimes I feel like a plumber. People often suggest to me at work, when they see me escorting children around the world of gardening, that I must have a flourishing veggie patch at home. Each time in the last few months that I’ve been asked this, I get a twinge of guilt. My garden at home has been thigh high with weeds. Not the lovely, nutritious edible sort, but the nasty, impenetrable sort that take canvas pants and steel tipped gloves to make a dent on.
I have heard that plumbers or builders prioritise their own houses last in life, and I’m afraid life has also come before my garden lately. As much as I can rationalise this in my head, it still made me cry a little every time I looked at it.
That of course is all in the past. Two gardening fairies came to visit last week, charged in for the day and swept through my polytunnel, leaving a swathe of even, softly raked, weed free garden beds behind them, all with new timber edging, mulched paths and a stonewall entranceway.
I am suddenly feeling very loved, and a whole lot lighter now that I can gaze into my polytunnel, trays of seeds germinating in their new shelves suspended from the roof…
Thanks gardening fairies, I hope I can return the favour soon, and make your hearts a little lighter..